Today is John's birthday - 74!
We've had some great birthday celebrations over the years starting with our first one together when he turned 35.
I am celebrating with him in my heart today.
Love you, Honey.
I miss cooking. Not the every day type of cooking. Not the "We're
home from work and it's late and we're starving and what can we throw
together?" type of cooking or even the usual run of the mill every day
No, I miss the cooking days John and I used to have every
so often. There were some Saturdays that we would decide to make soup
and it would literally take all day. There was one particular soup that
was our favorite - potato soup.
Potato soup started out early in
the morning by peeling a mound of potatoes. Then we made what was called
Garbage Soup. This was a soup that was simmered for hours by making a
soup of the potato peels and lots of garlic and spices. This made a
broth to base the potato soup on. Some of it we saved and froze for
minestrone on another soup Saturday.
After the garbage soup was
just right we made the wonderful potato soup. Its aroma would fill the
apartment, making us hungry and impatient. To tempt our taste buds even
more, I would bake some bread to dunk in the soup. In the early days I
made the bread by hand, kneading it on the kitchen counter top, getting
out any frustrations from life in its bulk. Later, when we had more
money, we bought a bread maker and just timed everything to be ready
Then - then! - that evening we would sit down and feast on our day's work - potato soup and crunchy bread. A feast for a king.
it an especially tasty meal? Yes, because - potato soup. What's not to
like about potato soup? But there was more to it than that. Making
potato soup is one of my favorite memories about my earth life with
John. I go back to it often. And I talk about it to my friends with
fondness. Making soup with John was a treasure because we spent happy
time together. We laughed. We talked. We played with our fur-babies. We
hung out in the kitchen all day together. Nothing else mattered on those
days. We lived in our own world surrounded by good smells, good food,
and love. Lots of love.
There were other meals that we made that
took all day, too - lasagna and fried chicken are two that I remember.
Each of them reside in my heart for the same reason - more for the love
than the actual food.
Today I eat a lot of frozen dinners, usually
in front of the TV. Dinner for one just doesn't have that appeal. I
could make the soups and lasagna again but it's not the same. I'd rather
just cherish the memory of the days I spent with John.
But I miss the cooking - and I miss him.
I know I blog a lot about the ways that John continues to stay in touch with me and I hope people are not rolling their eyes and saying "Not again!". But I have to tell you that even I - no matter how many times it happens - continue to be amazed at how our loved ones can communicate with us across the veil. And it seems they never get tired of it.
And that makes sense. Do we get tired of saying Hello to those we love on this side? Of course not! I'm sure it's the same for them. Probably more so because of the circumstances and the fact that they know we are missing them.
For me, every nugget from John is precious.
Yesterday was a perfect case in point.
As I mentioned in another blog post, my birthday was March 1. I purposely didn't ask John for roses. He has sent them to me in one form or another in the past since he transitioned and I didn't want to be a glutton. I did send flowers - with roses - to myself because I know he would have if he were here and I like flowers. I was content. So yesterday a dear friend took me out to lunch for my birthday to a restaurant both of us like. Our waitress was very nice and very attentive. Shelley - my friend - told her it was my birthday and she brought a candle over with dessert so I could make a wish.
But then she took it a step further.
Totally unbidden by anything we said or did, she showed up at my table with a beautiful single rose and wished me Happy Birthday again.
Shelley and I were both blown away and we looked at each other and said "John!".
We just knew. It had to have been him.
Even though I didn't ask, he sent me a rose. A single beautiful rose that meant more to me than I can express with mere words. My Love is alive and still loving me. He knew I was in a restaurant in Phoenix celebrating my birthday and he was there with me. How wonderful!
My point is simple. Keep looking for the signs. Never stop. The more we are open to them the more we will see them happening.
It's like any other relationship. If we keep investing in it, it grows. If we don't, we lose touch and the communication stops.
The joy it brings cannot be measured.
No, nothing is the same as having our loved one here with us in this three-dimensional life. But if a rose, or a feather, or a penny is what we have, I'll take it and I know you will, too.