I’ve been quite taken with the word bliss since I think 7th or 9th grade. (Bec? You reading today? You remember?) See, I lived in another podunk town then, and we had the same English teacher both years. He came from a well-heeled family in Texas, and his middle name was Bliss, and why he shared that with us is beyond me, but that kind of personal connection is what made me love poetry, specifically Tennyson, Frost and Langston Hughes.
Yes, I digress, or as a local, non-bloggy friend put it, “I love your stream of consciousness emails, but can you help me connect…” Hem. It’s who I am. I don’t think he was the teacher that taught me that what I do is actually a style with a name… I think that came my senior year with that former nun, married to a former monk who really taught me more about me and writing than everyone else before or since combined. (Again, why do I know that and perhaps more importantly, why do I remember these things so many – VERY MANY – years later?)
Now that we’ve digressed all over the place, this post isn’t about my ‘tween and teen English teachers, although that would be a great topic. I could go on for DAYS about them. I really wanted to tell you that in the midst of this crazy week with more meetings than one human should have to attend in a month, much less all in the span of 6 days, I had just about the most perfect evening.
See, I think perhaps I moan and groan and gripe too much here, so you need to know that I do have a pretty cushy life. I mean, The Help is on the big screen and while times have changed, being President Elect in the local Junior League was a choice, and it has far more rewards than tribulations. Being married to a fire chief pales to having a husband deployed, at war. (Not to get political on you, but we are at war and good men are dying. Please don’t forget that.)
No, I don’t have my dream job. I’m not a vice president at a big bank wearing killer boss suits and high heels, nor am I hanging out at home writing and giving Sissy belly rubs on demand, with Gretchen in my lap to ward off writer’s block. But still… I have a very good life, and yesterday afternoon was the cherry on top.
(Yeah, those of you who know me best know I hate that cherry on top and when I don’t remember to ask them to hold the cherry, it’s going to get snatched off and deposited on a saucer somewhere… but the metaphor is well-understood, so humor me!)
What did I do? Well, when we walked to our vehicles, MJ and I both remarked on how perfect the weather was. Sure, summer warm, but none of the sauna-like humidity we usually have about now, and the temperature was perhaps 10 degrees below what I normally expect in mid-August. So, when I got home, I immediately changed into walking attire, harnessed up the pair and away we went for a good hour’s walk in our little slice of rural America.
We got home, cooled down, and then the Knight took me out to dinner. The meal itself was barely passable, but the Knight shared his better entree with me, and then we went home and Gretchen and I went to the study to upload “our” proposed bylaws and policy changes for the League. After that, the dogs did a swap… Sissy dropped her melon head in my lap while Gretchen curled up on the Knight. Not exciting, not even romantic, but just about perfect in my book.
Oh – and we made the girls new dog tags at PetsMart, because the information had rubbed off of Gretchen’s and Sissy’s was looking rather worse for wear too. Perhaps the best part of the whole evening was when I was passing through – I did three loads of laundry on my blissful high – and saw the Knight looking at doggy medical alert tags for Sis. We fully intend to keep her safe and secure at all times, but stuff happens, and we want her back ASAP if it happens again.
What does bliss look like for you?