The day yawned, stretched, and rose up from pink pillows. Of course, I had to rush outside and catch its awakening. And I came back in with cold, wet feet that tracked green grass clippings across the kitchen floor.
Dennis is getting used to these early morning door bangings.
I made sure to tuck the camera in my purse since I had to ride to Lansing with him to pick up his now-repaired car.
Just in case I spotted something photo worthy.
Anyway, even though we’re empty nesters, supposedly, we seldom enjoy undistracted time together, so I looked forward to an early morning drive.
Just the two of us.
I had a bit of a headache and asked if we could stop and get me a cup of coffee–a habit he declares expensive and kind of nasty. But he loves to humor me, even when he’s in a hurry.
Of course, he had to go in and get it because I had no makeup on. And he declared that getting “a tall coffee, light roast, with a cinnamon bagel and plain cream cheese” order correct was probably the hardest thing he’d do all day.
He tickles me sometimes.
We talked about his cousin who was in our wedding and died Saturday. He felt ill only about a month ago and found out he had liver cancer. We talked about his life and visitation and funeral plans.
And we talked about a former pastor who’s having surgery today for prostate cancer and his rosy attitude and how we miss him.
We talked about whether or not we could sneak away this weekend.
He reviewed instructions about how to use the rider because he ran out of light while mowing last night.
And I asked him to tell me again about bull thistles. They once grew all over the pasture, he said, but Mike the burro loved to reach up and munch the flowers off. Not the stems because those are thorny. And by eating the flowers, he helped keep them under control because they couldn’t reseed.
I asked about the “reach up” part, and he said they could grow quite tall, even as high as six feet.
I said I thought they were beautiful and that a whole field of them could be quite beautiful. They’d look like little pink trees. I showed him the photos I’d snapped the other day.
And he kind of rolled his eyes and shook his head and smiled. He thinks I wear rose-colored glasses, and I tickle him.
But I see beauty even in the weeds these days. Treasures in pink.
And white and green and purple and blue and orange.
And I asked how they got the name “bull.” And he didn’t know. The pasture they grew in also housed the bull. Maybe because they are big and strong like a bull, he said.
Bull-headed? Like me?
I’m still thinking on that.
Today I’m linking up with others who are unwrapping gifts with Emily over at Chatting at the Sky .
Nice picture of the sky and the flower.
We have a great big pink flower in our yard that I didn’t plant. It is so pretty and pink. It might be a weed, but I don’t care. I am not going to be all worked about weeds that are pretty.
I love pink. Nice.
Weeds are in the eye of the beholder. 🙂
Terri Tffany says
Oh this was beautifully written. I love your voice! And you are a good photographer too!!
Thanks, Terri! I play with my little camera. I’m learning.
It is His grace that allows us to see beauty in the weeds!
Kelly Langner Sauer says
what a beautiful post! this just makes me happy. I mean really happy. love it!
You were having a glowing day yesterday. 🙂
Anne Lang Bundy says
There are some wealthy people in some of our circles. And you, my friend, have riches to exceed them all.
You enrich my circle!
Sarah at SmallWorld says
Sounds like a lovely, blissful, simple morning. I look forward to those days, while cherishing where I am now.
And that’s the key. The now.
Wonderful post, Sandy.
I think weeds are in the eye of the beholder. I love mimosa trees, but my brother in Hawaii says they are weeds, because they are unwanted. I’ll take those weeds anyday.
Our first church was on Mimosa Blvd in Roswell, GA. I have a special fondness for mimosas. Apparently, it’s an “invasive week” there, too. Pink fragrant flowers . . . silk tree.
I love mimosas! And I can’t imagine a whole forest of orange and bubbling glasses being “unwanted.” They’d even go well with this author’s love of mornings! But I’m guessing we are not speaking of exactly the same thing…
in the hush of the moon says
i LOVED this post… and your hubby sounds like mine. he hates coffee… you write pure poetry. and your photo is marvelous.
I always hated those ads where husband and wife made up over a cup of Folgers. We can’t fight, cuz making up just isn’t the same over a glass of water.