Post by goldenmyst on Sept 17, 2020 13:21:49 GMT -6
Mardi Gras in the Garden District
Marsha and I are happily married and living together in the Garden District of Baton Rouge. I am on a city bus at night on Mardi Gras day coming home from work.
I step off the bus and there is a health food store with goodies on display behind windows that I know Marsha will like so I get her a small bag, just enough to please her sweet tooth. When I step through the door and into the living room Marsha smiles and hugs me.
We sit on the couch and I say, “I saw a movie for sale at the mall. It is the last in the Karate Kid series of which we saw the first three. But I don’t know if you will like it because in this one Mr. Miyagi teaches a young girl instead of a boy.”
Marsha says, “My traditional values always held the man as the hero but I would love to see it because I admire strong women.”
“Reminds me of how you won those wrestling matches when we were young.”
“You threw those games in my favor. But I did enjoy the victories.”
My heart is happy to be next to her in the autumn of our lives but the never ending springtime of our love.
We speak softly a band brass plays from the parade in the street. I ask, “Do you have contact with my cousin and his family from California.”
To my surprise she says, “I do but the email address is for family only.”
I say, “I guess I am family since he is my cousin but you always were the one with a good head on your shoulders in this marriage. I am glad he sees that and sees fit to share it with you. I don’t need their email address. You keep it because though I have the raw talent your clear thinking makes for a much better public image for me and I’d have been sunk decades ago without you.”
My mood grows wistful remembering friends lost to the grim reaper. I tell her, “Remember my friend Timothy and his crazy but hilarious jokes.”
She says, “John, don’t feel bad. You’ve got enough inside jokes for a dozen Timothys. And the wonderful thing is I get them.”
And so I hold her close as the grandfather clock chimes but I have long since stopped counting the hours and just let them flow with my gratitude for her embrace as I honor her.
Marsha and I are happily married and living together in the Garden District of Baton Rouge. I am on a city bus at night on Mardi Gras day coming home from work.
I step off the bus and there is a health food store with goodies on display behind windows that I know Marsha will like so I get her a small bag, just enough to please her sweet tooth. When I step through the door and into the living room Marsha smiles and hugs me.
We sit on the couch and I say, “I saw a movie for sale at the mall. It is the last in the Karate Kid series of which we saw the first three. But I don’t know if you will like it because in this one Mr. Miyagi teaches a young girl instead of a boy.”
Marsha says, “My traditional values always held the man as the hero but I would love to see it because I admire strong women.”
“Reminds me of how you won those wrestling matches when we were young.”
“You threw those games in my favor. But I did enjoy the victories.”
My heart is happy to be next to her in the autumn of our lives but the never ending springtime of our love.
We speak softly a band brass plays from the parade in the street. I ask, “Do you have contact with my cousin and his family from California.”
To my surprise she says, “I do but the email address is for family only.”
I say, “I guess I am family since he is my cousin but you always were the one with a good head on your shoulders in this marriage. I am glad he sees that and sees fit to share it with you. I don’t need their email address. You keep it because though I have the raw talent your clear thinking makes for a much better public image for me and I’d have been sunk decades ago without you.”
My mood grows wistful remembering friends lost to the grim reaper. I tell her, “Remember my friend Timothy and his crazy but hilarious jokes.”
She says, “John, don’t feel bad. You’ve got enough inside jokes for a dozen Timothys. And the wonderful thing is I get them.”
And so I hold her close as the grandfather clock chimes but I have long since stopped counting the hours and just let them flow with my gratitude for her embrace as I honor her.
