Jan. 27th, 2017

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Wednesday on the ride home, I scramble quickly for my phone to capture him. He is mid laugh with the sun setting, his beard on fire, the copper red coming out that I adore. My Abe, his elegant fingers cradling his head.  He is the fruition of my mother's prayer.  He is everything I didn't know I needed.  I tell friends I have never ever seen him angry, and they think I'm joking or exaggerating.  It's true, though.  Not once since I met him.  He presents the gift to me, and I am all bravado as always.  "What's this," I sneer skeptically?  He has checked out a book for me from the library--Danielle Dutton's Margaret the First:  A Novel.  It is the perfect selection for me--heavy on whimsy with a thick froth of decadence. I've lost count of all the kind ways he shows his love to me, but this one is one of my favorites.  He said he'd read several reviews during his incessant periodical combing, and he thought of me.  A book, no less!  He whips up mashed potatoes for me for dinner because he knows they're my favorite.  Sometimes, he runs to the grocer, and his talent for always picking perfectly ripe avocados is frustrating but rewarding when a dinner of chips and guac is served.  We are spending the night with our animals babies in the new house for the first night.  We have a lot of unpacking to do, and we will for the next few weeks probably.  He promised to celebrate with Thai food soon.  



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