Husby and I were watching Bones last night, and if you watch the show you'll know that the the lady-forensic doctor 'Bones' and her FBI partner 'Booth' (me likes Booth) have sort of an affectionate undercurrent thing going on. Because that's what makes the show interesting.
The two of them were discussing whether they would see one another anymore if all murders ended. And they proposed that they would like to still have coffee with one another. And it was very sweet. And initimate. And that's how I feel with Husby sometimes. Like maybe we should be very grateful for the seconds, perhaps minutes, of intimacy shared even over coffee at 5:45am. We agreed that we will always have coffee, and we treasure the moment.
In other news, we are very excited to be heading out of the dry desert 115 degree heat for summer vacation. I grew up in the South, and vacation consisted of either visiting grandparents' homes (and doing their summer rituals including canning produce, cooking in the basement where it's cooler, working in the vegetable garden, collecting honey from the bee hives); or going to the Beach. We went to Hilton Head (when we lived in Georgia) and the Gulf (when we lived in Alabama). Every summer. Sometimes more than one trip.
My husband is a good Wisconsin boy, so his summers included bug bites, tube socks and playing in neighboring creeks. His family owns land in a small town in central Wisconsin, so that's where we go for summer. Sometimes I miss the beach of my childhood, and I regret that I have not so far shared the ritual with my three babies. But we have (free) access to the land in Wisconsin. We tube the Pine River, we walk up to the "cafe" at the corner of Highway A and Highway W for local flavor. We cook. We go to Fish Fry (please, please educate yourself on a Fish Fry....it's so hilariously culturally Midwestern/ Wi-SCAN-sonian...I had never heard of such a thing until I met Husby, and among those folks it's as common and normal as going out for pizza...they even compare 'who has a good Fish Fry'). We pick berries, bring carrots to the neighbor's horses (they -- the neighbors that is -- don't speak much, being good Midwesterners), nap in the tree house, amble off to the Covered Bridge, listen to the rain fall, build campfires, singing, laughing, and drinking brandy manhattans all night. We visit Fleet Farm, marveling that we could acquire a fishing license, a aluminum retractable awning, and Farm Life udder antibiotics under one roof. We could walk into any Wisconsin McDonald's and order 'two brat', but the fact is we'll ony walk into Culver's for our fast food fix. Even my food-snob clean-freak mother LOVES her some Culver's, which she encountered when she and Dad visited the Wisconsin land with us one summer.
I leave you with a link to more about small-town life in the great state of Wisconsin, with credit to its webmaster:
http://www.bratwurstpages.com/smalltown.html
and a view of what I'll be seeing for the next few weeks:
The two of them were discussing whether they would see one another anymore if all murders ended. And they proposed that they would like to still have coffee with one another. And it was very sweet. And initimate. And that's how I feel with Husby sometimes. Like maybe we should be very grateful for the seconds, perhaps minutes, of intimacy shared even over coffee at 5:45am. We agreed that we will always have coffee, and we treasure the moment.
In other news, we are very excited to be heading out of the dry desert 115 degree heat for summer vacation. I grew up in the South, and vacation consisted of either visiting grandparents' homes (and doing their summer rituals including canning produce, cooking in the basement where it's cooler, working in the vegetable garden, collecting honey from the bee hives); or going to the Beach. We went to Hilton Head (when we lived in Georgia) and the Gulf (when we lived in Alabama). Every summer. Sometimes more than one trip.
My husband is a good Wisconsin boy, so his summers included bug bites, tube socks and playing in neighboring creeks. His family owns land in a small town in central Wisconsin, so that's where we go for summer. Sometimes I miss the beach of my childhood, and I regret that I have not so far shared the ritual with my three babies. But we have (free) access to the land in Wisconsin. We tube the Pine River, we walk up to the "cafe" at the corner of Highway A and Highway W for local flavor. We cook. We go to Fish Fry (please, please educate yourself on a Fish Fry....it's so hilariously culturally Midwestern/ Wi-SCAN-sonian...I had never heard of such a thing until I met Husby, and among those folks it's as common and normal as going out for pizza...they even compare 'who has a good Fish Fry'). We pick berries, bring carrots to the neighbor's horses (they -- the neighbors that is -- don't speak much, being good Midwesterners), nap in the tree house, amble off to the Covered Bridge, listen to the rain fall, build campfires, singing, laughing, and drinking brandy manhattans all night. We visit Fleet Farm, marveling that we could acquire a fishing license, a aluminum retractable awning, and Farm Life udder antibiotics under one roof. We could walk into any Wisconsin McDonald's and order 'two brat', but the fact is we'll ony walk into Culver's for our fast food fix. Even my food-snob clean-freak mother LOVES her some Culver's, which she encountered when she and Dad visited the Wisconsin land with us one summer.
I leave you with a link to more about small-town life in the great state of Wisconsin, with credit to its webmaster:
http://www.bratwurstpages.com/smalltown.html
and a view of what I'll be seeing for the next few weeks:
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