She liked to drink. She was a laugher. I liked her hair. We talked for hours. I walked her home. She was staying at the shelter for abused women. We kissed.
In the summer of 2016, after dinner on the screened porch, in front of her son and his girlfriend, I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. With blushing cheeks she said yes.
We are two longtime independent people. We have yet to set the date to tie the knot. There is no time limit on being engaged. I think it is the next best thing to marriage.
All the nurses at Dialysis love me. I’m sure of it. I am starting to love a couple of them, even with my girlfriend sitting in the lobby. I will survive this kidney thing and then she will kill me. The food she has cooked for me tastes like poison, but so far I am all right. I tell the nurses when I think they look beautiful. It helps to pass the time. They are sticking big needles in my arm, so I try to stay on their good side.
I am grateful for my dog. He gives me unconditional love like no other.
I am grateful for my car. Without it I might have to call Uber.
I am grateful for my food. Nothing has provided more satisfaction in my life than food.
I am grateful for Netflix. Since quitting pot, Netflix has helped me escape reality.
I am grateful to be alive. Passing away and going to my eternal rest is not yet appealing.
When you get totally angry at someone and in return they get furious with you, yet neither of you go anywhere, that is called being in a relationship. This behavior can occur over and over again, causing high blood pressure, stress, and hemorrhoid flare up.
Why does this childish phenomena occur? Is it just poor communication? A need to be the one who is right? Or just the fact that we somehow need to hurt the one we love. I don’t know but I need to figure this out.
All you need is love. Love is all you need.
I heard my dad yell up the stairs, “Boys, we’re going to Aunt City’s after church.”
I put on my best blue sweater. My Aunt City was a real chef–I had seen a picture of her with a chef’s hat on. She welcomed us into her kitchen with kisses on our cheeks and big hugs. She filled the kitchen table with foods like country ham and cheese spread with Ritz crackers. It was so good, cheesy and salty.
Her homemade kinklings were very special: square donuts designed to hold more powdered sugar. I ate one at the table and ate two later when I hid in the broom closet. I was sneaky like that, but Dad noticed that my sweater was covered with sugar.
She served a powerful eggnog. I drank a cup and threw up in her spotless bathroom.
Uncle Joe and Aunt City had been eating this good food all their lives, and they were both quite large. Uncle Joe’s back was three feet wide. He could really block your view of the TV. Aunt City had big ankles which carried her through a loving life of cooking and taking care of Joe, a railroad worker.
When mass ended, the priest said, “The mass has ended. Go in peace.” My brother and I would smile and reply loudly, “Thanks be to God!”
We knew we were going to Aunt City’s.
I had finally persuaded my girlfriend to sleep in my bed with me. It is a queen size with what I thought was lots of room. Her dog Daisy would be joining us and my dog Louie. It did not work out.
Louie would not give up his normal pillow area position. He had a nightmare and kicked my girlfriend in the head. Daisy likes to snuggle, but if you move she growls and snaps at you. With the dogs sleeping between us, there was no chance for hanky-panky. When she fell asleep, there was a snore too loud to ignore. The next day she said she preferred her own bed, and I totally agreed.