The depth of love, part 1

Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

The craft thoughts are flowing! Typically, I don’t get caught up in Valentine’s Day. The story that I’m working on, Winter Season https://byjolenerice.wordpress.com/2023/09/24/winter-season-2/ page 1, I’m trying to time for Valentine’s Day.

My original thought was to paint the heart, in the pictures, white. But each person brings baggage of some kind into a relationship. Be it cultural, parental, spiritual, or personal expectations. Maybe you have trauma. With this, I decided to leave the heart pink and the canvas white. For me, there is no such thing as a clean slate where human emotions are involved.

I serenade my sweet

What’s your favorite candy?

I serenade my sweet.

O, how I love thee.

Thy scent, divine.

The mere thought of you, heaven.

~

Oh, my sweet.

Numbers are useless.

Words powerless.

Expression meaningless.

~

My sweet.

My desire.

My knees buckle at the thought.

My mind looses all direction.

~

Oh, my sweet.

I number the days.

An eternity has past.

True, sad hours.

~

My sweet.

My eyes blur.

A vision you are to behold.

No flower as delicate.

~

Oh, my sweet.

I long to caress you.

My hands tremble.

Nothing is as sinful as you.

~

My sweet.

My mouth salivates.

You and only you.

A little drool.

~

Oh, my sweet.

You allude me.

Tease me.

Torment me.

~

My sweet.

Mine, you will be.

Together.

For – moments.

~

Oh, my sweet.

How I need to sink my teeth –

anywhere.

You will crack.

~

My sweet.

You will crumble.

My sweet.

I will lick you up and down.

~

Oh, my sweet.

I will glide my tongue

over every surface.

My sweet.

~

My sweet.

Come to me.

Cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, candy.

My sweet.

~

I serenade my sweet.

I hate a diet.

I Serenade my Sweet

Winter Season

Are YOU okay?

She wrapped him up with her arms and legs. “Ess?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

He was the one that blacked out. Why did he ask her this question. “I don’t understand.” She finally squeezed out.

“I read the book about menopause.”

She held him a little tighter, “oh.” A light sigh escaped her. “You’re doing better than me. I haven’t made it past the first chapter.” His chest moved under her hand in a light chuckle. “When things happen, I’m trying to remind myself, it’s menopause and move on. Every time I get a hot flash, I take my temperature to make sure I’m not running a fever. Thanks for asking.”

“How can I help?”

“Be understanding. Don’t take things personally. And you can gently call me out on my b.s.”

“Gently?” He teased.

She snuggled into his back, “gently. I bruise easily.”

“But you were a cop.”

“Cops have feelings too.” She playfully snubbed.

Winter Season

A conversation

The most important invention in your lifetime is…

I’m not just talking about talking for the sake of listening to your mouth move. Having a conversation about anything… stuff.

Here is what I’m trying to illustrate. In an interview Elon Musk said, “his mind is a storm”. A multitude of doctors have come out on their own pod casts to talk about why he would say that.

Doyle writes about Sherlock Holmes, “My mind, rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation.”

How do you fit into the conversation about the mind? My mind is all over the place. For example, I just read a lovely poem and my mind goes to ‘ticket to ride’.

We were watching a piece of local news one day about where the police dug up someone’s entire driveway looking for a body, I think. I made the comment, there is a machine they could have used to drag over the driveway. Archeologists use it. To which I received, ‘You just made that up, science fiction nonsense’. But I couldn’t remember the name of the device. Lack of focus? Lack of maturity?

But we can have these conversations now with not as much stigma as in the past. Elon Musk can talk about his mind being a storm. Doyle saying that Holmes rebels against stagnation. And I can talk about how my mind is all over the place. Pulling even more attention to the fact that even though we are human, we are all different.

Winter Season

Black out

Oscar’s mind was filled with the soft hum of something running. He felt calm and secure. This space was cool. Restful. The immediate area around him was soft. Wiggling is toes alerted him that he didn’t have any socks on. His last memory of himself was that he was fully dressed. After rubbing his legs together, he felt skin on skin. Where were his pants? There was material laying on his upper thigh, shorts of some kind? He didn’t own any shorts. He had a shirt on. His hands were folded under his head. When he opened his eyes, the space was dark. Where was he?

“Would you like something to drink?” That was Esther.

“Coffee would be nice?” That was Chet. “Esther,” his voice cracked. “Am I going to loose my best friend?”

“I sure pray not. We are just getting started.”

“I went back to school and the principal let me watch the security footage from Oscar’s room. No one was around him. He just collapsed.”

They must have moved to the living room. He couldn’t hear any more of their conversation. This cool inviting space pulled him back to sleep.

This time Oscar knew what woke him, it was the uncomfortable pressure of a full bladder. The act of swinging is feet over the edge of the bed didn’t hurt but the pain from his head knocked him to the floor.

Esther slid her arms around his waist. “Going somewhere?” She asked playfully.

“To the bathroom, I had hoped. My head really hurts.”

“You hit your head when you passed out. EMS said you don’t have a concussion. Are you able to talk about what happened?”

“Mom called this morning and was continuing her delightful conversation about how it is my duty as a Christian to marry Doris. Bluh, bluh, bluh.”

“But it had a negative effect.” She said softly.

“I thought I was doing fine. I told her that wasn’t my job, Christian or not. In typical fashion, she hung up on me. I guess as the day drug on; the conversation just laid on my mind, picking the wrong time to reappear.”

“I’m sorry.” She guided him to the bathroom door, then back to bed. “I am glad you found your voice.”

He said weakly, “some voice.”