At exactly 6:00 am, we launched ourselves out of bed with all the speed and grace of two antique refrigerators being pushed downhill. Our knees held a committee meeting before approving the first step. Every joint announced its presence with a pop, crack, or mysterious click that sounded suspiciously like breakfast cereal.
I declared, “I’m moving!” Mary replied, “No, dear, you’re making noise. Moving comes later.”
The coffee maker fired up like mission control. We stared at it with the devotion of explorers spotting fresh water. Before the first sip, conversation was limited to grunts, eyebrow raises, and an occasional “Did you hear that?” Nobody ever knew whether we meant the house settling or one of our hips.
By 6:20, we had checked the weather, discussed seventeen doctor’s appointments that belonged to other people, and complained about youngsters sleeping until noon.
Feeling energetic, I attempted ten jumping jacks. I completed three enthusiastic arm waves before deciding he had already “captured the spirit of exercise.”
At 7:00 am., we proudly announced we had conquered the morning. The dishwasher was running, the coffee was gone, and absolutely nothing important had been accomplished.
It was, we agreed, another wildly successful Friday.
We waited until a decent hour, 10:00 am, to call our accountant and the insurance people. After that, Mary made a beautiful brunch which we gobbled down in a matter of minutes.
Around 1:00 pm, we decided to go out to the patio and set up the yard decorations so they could be repainted.
Our rain gauge was almost white after five years in the Sun!
Doctor Mary used her acrylics to repaint the statues. We have several others that also need attention!
They looked brand new after Mary’s careful painting effort.
Around 4:00 pm, we headed inside to prepare dinner.
I cooked the spaghetti squash, took the innards from one half, and put them into a bowl.
Mary decided tonight was the night she would become a culinary legend. She brought a spaghetti squash from the HeShed, patted it like a prize melon, and announced, “Tonight, we dine fancy.”
The squash, however, had other plans. It rolled off the counter, bounced into the floor, and came to rest under the table. Mary rinsed it, glared at it, and asked me to microwave it anyway.
While it cooked, she warmed up her famous spaghetti sauce: tomatoes, garlic, basil, and “just a tiny pinch” of chili flakes, which somehow became half the jar. The sauce bubbled like a volcano with attitude.
When Mary scraped the squash into noodles, she felt victorious. She poured on the sauce and called me to dinner. I took one bite, blinked, and whispered, “I can hear colors.”
Mary tasted it, coughed, and declared, “It’s rustic.”
Nobody knew what that meant, but we drank three glasses of milk and kept eating, because honestly, it was delicious. By dessert, we were sweating, laughing, and calling it “Mary’s Fire Squash.”
Mary smiled proudly. Next Friday, she planned soup.
Chef Boy-R-Dee, eat your heart out! In addition to the main course, Mary made a new caprese salad, provided cherries and grapes to munch on, and we polished off a glass of vino!
An amazing dinner is served!
Post dinner, we went into the hot tub and soaked for a while. We tried calling Diane Porter since it was Sue’s birthday, but they must have been out and about.
We ended up watching Von Ryan’s Express. Von Ryan’s Express (1965) is a classic WWII adventure film starring Frank Sinatra as U.S. Colonel Joseph L. Ryan. Shot down in Italy, he takes command of Allied POWs. The men hijack a German freight train and race through occupied territory to Switzerland while evading intense Nazi pursuit.
Mary loves these old WWII movies because she speaks German fluently; she gets more out of them than I do. She does translate the critical parts.
We finally crashed at 10:30 pm.
Today was Sue’s 75th birthday and Colleen wrote a loving note on her Facebook account:
Happy Heavenly 75th Birthday to my bonus mom. ?
Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. I never realized just how much I would depend on your wisdom, your love, and your gentle guidance. Looking back, I know I didn’t always make things easy on you as a teenager, yet you loved me anyway—with grace, patience, and an open heart.
Whenever I was in the middle of a recipe and realized I didn’t have an ingredient, you were the one I called. Somehow, you always knew exactly what I could substitute, and you patiently walked me through it. When life became overwhelming and I needed advice, encouragement, or direction, you were always there with a listening ear, a loving heart, and words of wisdom. Those conversations are treasures I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
Even though my heart still aches from missing you, I find comfort in God’s promises. What a beautiful celebration Heaven must be having today as you celebrate your 75th birthday in the arms of Jesus.
Thank you for loving me as your own. One day, because of God’s amazing grace and His promise of eternal life, we will see each other again. Until then, I’ll cherish every memory, trust in His perfect plan, and thank Him for the incredible blessing of having you in my life.
