I’m going to try to blog more often. Don’t know that I’ll make it by every day, but more often.
So, that said, it’s going to be necessary to come up with things to blog about. Not always an easy thing. But here goes for today.
With Valentine’s Day this week, lots of folks are focusing on things romantic. This morning, the Methodist Church in town, which is half a block from my house, invited the ladies to the men’s prayer breakfast they have…every week, I think. And since the parsonage occupies the half block between our house and the church, making the pastor & wife our neighbors, we got invited to come. At 7 a.m.
I’m not real good at getting out of bed at six o-freekin’-clock in the morning, and I didn’t actually have to–but 6:15 a.m. isn’t a heck of a lot better. But since my fella said “You don’t have to go, but it would be nice,” I got up, threw some clothes on (blue jeans dress up real nice with my beaded, embroidered denim jacket), and let him drive me the half-block to the church.
I was close to the youngest one there, and I’ve passed the half-century mark. I imagine the younger folks all had kids to feed and get to school. Anyway, they fed us a yummy breakfast complete with from-scratch biscuits, and had a local singer with his guitar performing while we ate. At the end, they presented all the ladies there with a red carnation. (I put it in the vase with my Valentine roses.) Then the fella dropped me at home and I went in to wipe my eyes and take a nap.
Wipe my eyes? You noticed that, huh. Yeah, I’m one of those sentimental types. The singer did an old song about a man who offered to bring his bride a daisy a day–and at the end he was delivering the daisies to the cemetery. I teared right up. Tried to hide it, but… And then, after the songs were done, and the preacher (it was a prayer breakfast, remember?) got up to talk, he told a few more stories that were just as beautiful and sad. I wasn’t actually sobbing in the fellowship hall, but the denim jacket was getting spots all over it because I couldn’t catch everything. I am incredibly easy when it comes to tears, and I wonder if that’s just a girl thing, or a romance reader/writer thing, or what?
Anyway, romance? Even the happy endings can make me cry. I might as well just embrace it, ’cause I’m never going to change it.