I’m writing this blog today not from the kitchen, but from what I’ve come to affectionately call The War Room. The huge honkin’ deal is that I’ve never sat at this desk to write before today. (Just my luck, I have a migraine looming, complete with sharp pain behind my left eye, so I get to blog instead.)
Last Sunday, I bought a desk chair and just left it in the box on the bed in here. I’m still just as nervous as ever about actually using this room for anything other than hanging my pages on the wall. I pulled the door mostly closed and walked out. But… while outside at the koi pond, I casually mentioned that I’d like the desk moved beside the window so I can see the pond while writing.
I came home Monday and found the War Room completely rearranged, and cleaned, my desk moved to a place by the window. Normally, anyone touching anything that belongs to me not only sets my OCD on edge, but squicks something in my brain. Gods love my husband, though. He knows. While everything was moved, nothing was out of place. He took great care to make certain I knew where everything was and that nothing was lost or missing. And took even greater care to re-hang my “trinkets”. The Axe ™, my IWTV poster, my little bitty picture of the Natchez, all of it.
This is what I now see to my right…
A Room With A View
Last night, we ran into Rose’s ex-husband while out shopping. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade. He’s in extreme ill health and hadn’t been able to go to her funeral, and had never met my husband. In fact, he wasn’t even aware that I’d remarried – he’d met my ex many times. He and Rose were better friends apart than they ever had been married and, I dare say, she was the love of his life. (His health had prevented him from going to the service, but his daughter told me his heart was too broken to attend.) We talked, we laughed, almost cried right in the middle of that store. Tight hugs were exchanged. Later, my phone blew up with the latest pictures of he and Rose’s grandchildren, plural. Yes, after Rose passed another one was born. Landon, less than a year old, is just as beautiful as his sister, Lilly, who I got to hold at the funeral.
Scott told me I looked good. I laughed. I’m a solid thirty pounds heavier than when he last saw me, but I have a reason for that. When I last saw him, I was getting a divorce – stressed out, not eating, a miserable size one – all skin and bones. He knew my ex was… my ex. I smiled at Bobby and said, “Bobby’s good to me. He’s so much better.”
So, when we got home and I looked at THIS fresh hell that had been found, earlier, when I first got home…
I smiled instead of wanting to pound my head on the steering wheel – like I did when I first saw it all – and smiled even bigger because I bought THIS at the store before we left…
I am blessed. Blessed because the Universe let me find Bobby, because he’s here and I’m not having to live without the love of my life. Because he calls the War Room my “office”. Doubly blessed because he understands me, “gets me”, supports me and loves me.
Even when he knows I’m going to repaint these gnomes into zombies and put them in the yard.
I married one if those too. I’m feeling like crap today, the worst for the week, so while I slept he made me a doctor’s appointment for me.