An Unexpected Arrival

Ginevra LetterIt happens. The high starts to wear off when you leave the hotel. The chocolates on the pillows turn into wrappers in the dustbin, the rich meals become a decadent memory (and maybe an extra pound on the waistline, truth be told). If the weekend is especially delicious, the high lasts a little longer, but eventually, all good things come to an end. You come home and realize that indeed, after the ecstasy, there really is laundry. A lot of laundry. I soak the stockings, hang up the slips to dry, sew a loose button back on my skirt waistband, take a couple of things to the cleaners. I sort the darks, the lights. I think. A lot. About what we did. A little bit about what might have been different. Mostly about what will happen next.

I was just coming down from that high, just settling back into my daily routine, just getting back to some kind of normal; when it happened.

I was sitting on the sofa reading when I heard the mailman (mailwoman? who knew?) clatter the lid of my box, so I rose up and went to bring in the daily round of bills, sale flyers and junk mail. Thumbing through the stack to sort what I could immediately recycle, I notice a heavy cream-colored envelope. Hmmm… I wonder who’s getting married? Not recognizing the return address, I set everything else on the credenza, and turn it over to open the envelope. It’s not an invitation. It’s a letter. Nice… It’s linen finish laid paper. You don’t see that much for correspondence. A moment of dread fills me. It’s probably from some lawyer. But the envelope isn’t business sized, and the letter is folded in quarters. Like, well, like a letter. I slowly unfold the paper and read the following:

*****

Weston Place
June 17, 20–

Ginevra,

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be totally about flirting and playing and seducing. I was supposed to be the seducer. I was supposed to be the one in charge of this affair. I was supposed to be Mr. Suave and Mr. Have It All Together and Mr. Sophisticated. I was the one who told you I would lead, take you to places you’ve never been, and ruin you for life. You had no idea what you were getting into. That’s what I knew. That’s what I thought.

And then the seducer got seduced. I found you willing to bare your very soul to me. Without revealing a single bit of flesh, you stripped yourself naked right in front of me. You revealed parts of you that you have never revealed to any of the men who have known you . And I was humbled and intoxicated at the same time. I found myself drawn into your essence long before I ever entered your body. Long before our lips ever met for the first time. Long before our fingertips ever touched.

I have no idea where this is going or how it’s going to play out. I only know that you have touched me in places that have lain dormant for many, many years. I only know that I have fallen for you, Ginevra, in a way I never dreamed possible. I only know that I am eagerly awaiting the next chapter of our story, the next scene of our play, the next page of our novel. I only know that right now, I cannot imagine anything more desirable than having those love-filled eyes of yours looking directly into mine, touching your hand, holding you in my arms, and kissing your lips.

I love you, Ginevra, and cannot wait until we are together again and together for the first time. For it will "Seem like the very first time," when our bodies entwine, our hearts unite, and our souls trade the very breath of life itself.

Steffen

*****

Oh, my… Oh… I sit down. Hard. Knees a little weak. Heart beating a little faster. I reread the letter. It’s real. It’s really real. The faintest, so faint as to be almost imaginary scent of cologne wafts up from the paper. It’s a real letter, and it’s from Steffen, and…and…now what? I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do.

_______________________________

Special Note:
This is the followup to my “First Kiss” story.
This is a letter I actually received. Upon rediscovering it, I realized it would be the perfect “next chapter” in the Ginevra story. I contacted the sender and received his permission to use it in this blog, and, with changes amounting to less than twenty-five characters, I submit it for your pleasure.

Gentlemen readers, you can do this. Ladies, you can hope for it. It’s not impossible to do, It’s not impossible to receive, and well, let’s just say it was effective. Very effective.

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Five Favorites: Part Deux

Five Favorites Moxie Wife Joining up with some other ladies to exchange a diet of delights as we share the five favorite things that’ve recently caught our attention. Low key fun all around, and a great way to discover some interesting things.

1. Aussi Instant Freeze Spray

Aussi Instant Freeze Hairspray

My go-to hair spray–this stuff is amazing. They call it Instant Freeze, and they’re not kidding.
I really think it could suspend me off the ground. Just sayin’…

2. Knitting Socks

New socks for Sophia 001

I knit. All the time. I carry knitting in my purse. Socks are the most useful things, and they fit. Easily.
I made these for my daughter last year.

3. Papal Conclave

Papal Conclave

http://www.ewtn.com/multimedia/live_player.asp

The waiting is the hardest part.

3. Rolling Stone Magazine

Rolling Stone Johnny Depp Cover

People sometimes ask me how I manage to stay abreast of pop culture without watching television. This is it.
Bonus picture of Johnny Depp!

4. Brocante Home

Brocante Home header

Cute and oh-so-very-British! Housekeeping superstars, unite!
Charming vintage pictures and tips, all served up by a lovely lady, Alison.

5. Laura Ingalls Wilder

Laura Ingalls Wilder

I saw the very first episodes of Little House on the Prairie on television, and then I found the books. Even better!
(Believe me, the TV series may be interesting, but it’s not for aficionados)
Always inspiring, never objectionable.

Five Minute Friday: Afraid

5-minute-friday-1Let’s just put the cards on the table right at the beginning and play this hand open, okay? I’m a Christian, and I’m a Catholic (although there’s plenty of people who think that never the twain shall meet, they’re obviously wrong). So, I’ll probably get all up in your face about Jesus, or Mass, or Mary at some point, which you may or may not like. And because of that, you may or may not like me.

That’s the scary part. I’m often afraid that people don’t like me. (I’m actually afraid of a lot of things. Don’t let’s go there, okay?) I’m afraid they’ll think I’m a lunatic who, indeed, would be better served by being on medication. Probably a lot.

But if there’s one thing I’m not afraid of, it’s God. As you can see from my previous post, I’m certainly not afraid to take on the Creator of the Universe in a giant, tear-stained-face, foot-stamping, roll-on-the-floor-in-a-fit-of-toddler-like-temper-tantrum blather that, frankly, often leaves me exhausted.

But then we’re cool.

Because the other thing I’m not afraid of is that He’s going to love me less for it.

Nope.

Not gonna happen.

I posted this on Facebook and Twitter the other day, and I really believe it:

God loves each of us so much. There’s not a single thing you or I can do to make God love us more. Or less. Realizing that will set us free!

*****

What’s Five Minute Friday?

A blog-prompt project dreamt up by LisaJo Baker, which you can read about here. The skinny is that you spend five minutes of writing, generally unedited (I correct typos, WAY too OCD not to do that, and set up links), on a prompt that she provides just after midnight via a tweet, then spread the word, and link up. Interested? Join up. Check it out.

 

My Pleasure In Creases

Iron love...or is it lust?

Ironing, what’s not to love? Almost instant gratification that lasts longer than a dinner party! Hooray! (Of course, if I had this adoring swain by my board, I might engage in it a bit more often!) There’s nothing like the warm smell of linen, and the hiss of the steam as it puffs from the sole plate (Maybe it should be called the “soul” plate?), not to mention the satisfying feeling I get from seeing the wrinkles disappear from underneath my gliding hand. Ahhh…bliss.

Now that the weather is getting hotter, I’m trying to get more of it done early in the morning when it’s still pretty cool. Otherwise, it can get a tad warm. Fortunately, the mornings are still quite cool. So, I’m doing all the linens as I come across them in the unpacking. By linens, I do not mean sheets. (There is a limit.) I’m talking table linens, dresser scarves, and the like.

Around and About

Great food and atmosphere.Despite a brisk wind and a temp of 23° (-5° C), Paul, Lindsay and I walked the six and a half blocks to the excellent Milwaukee institution Beans and Barley this morning for lunch. Excellent Pesto Lasagna for me, Paul got one of their legendary It's a great store!burritos and Lindsay had the egg salad with sprouts. Excellent  fortification for braving the wintry walk back, though we did stop at Whole Foods for some staples, since I decided I wanted to make bread this afternoon, a decision that seems to always be seconded, no matter where I am.

Reversible Knitting by Lynn BarrOnce I put the bread in the bowl for the first rising, and knowing it would take at least two hours, given the temperature of his (soon-to-be our?) kitchen, Paul and I decided to walk to Boswell Book Company (yes, another half mile each way—we’re no wimps!) to check out the selection for some holiday gifts. They’re not late, because I don’t give gifts until Epiphany anyway.Kilvarock Kilt Hose

I was fortunate enough to receive (a big thank-you to Paul) a book I’d had my eye on for a while. Reversible Knitting by Lynn Barr. I wonder what I’ll make first. Well, the first thing to finish is the kilt hose I’m making for Paul. Such are the labors of love.

The Weekly Yumster: 30 December 2011

Milwaukee 014Reporting from Milwaukee this week, we found ourselves at the amazingly wonderful and well-nigh irresistible Peter Sciortino Italian Bakery. They haven’t changed a bit since I was last there, over ten years ago. Thank God, because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.Milwaukee 011

Sciortino’s carries the full complement of Italian baked goods, from delicate cookies and hearty yeast breads, to luscious cannoli. Everything is super, and the place looks and smells delicious. I got a dozen cookies and figured that would be more Milwaukee 012than enough to be satisfactory.

What I don’t remember from the last time I was here was a display of gelato—a dozen delectable flavors in all. Sooooo hard to decide… Peach mango won the Milwaukee 013day—though any would have been excellent.

Next we stopped at Glorioso’s Italian Market. Though we only needed butter and eggs, it was SO HARD not to walk down each and every aisle, so varied an intriguing was the selection. However, lest we come home with pasta in unpronounceable shapes, and sauces of indeterminate usage, not to mention pocketbooks of flaccid emptiness, we quickly left. I’ll have to make a list first, next time.

Never a Master

The final computer-generated Yoda as seen in t...

Image via Wikipedia

A learner I will be. Always. (Sounds a little like Yoda, no?)

I’m telling you, no matter what people say about how women are mysterious and hard to figure out, and full of PMS craziness, demanding, emotional minefields, and other nonsense, I think men are just as bad. Maybe worse.

I’ll be the first to admit it: stereotypes make life a lot easier. Men drive me nuts. And not just the kind that are like some strange species of shaved bears with furniture, burping and fist-pumping their way through another football game while they check out Kim Kardashian look-alikes in Hustler magazine. No, I’m also talking about the sensitive, women-respecting kind that listen when you talk and aren’t afraid to cry. The kind who read books, and not just comic books. (Excuse me: Graphic Novels.) Yes, the kind who open the doors for you and help you with your coat while murmuring sweet nothings comprised of equal parts John Keats and Steven Hawking. They are the best in bed (because they let you come first…and last), and out of it. Yes, as the song goes, let’s hear it for the boy!

But they still drive me crazy. No, I’m not getting all “emotional” here. Well, maybe I am. So what!

Okay, this is the year 2011 (for a few days yet), and I’m a modern woman who’s not afraid to take the initiative and call a man. But if you think I’m initiating all the calling, all the texting, and all the emailing, think again. You want me? Prove it. You, Mister Saying-You’re-Interested-In-Me! Yes, you. Can I get a call? Can I get an email? Can I get some text messages? Can I get some attention?

So, I did what I thought would be the right thing. I sent a completely honest message, via both text and email. Not nasty. Just saying that if he had time for this, that, and the other thing, surely he had time to call, etc., etc., Was I pissed? Yes. Was I a bitch? No.

He emailed and called, in approximately 2 minutes and 17 seconds. (Nope, I was not counting. I just made that up. I did…) WIN!

But it really wasn’t a win. No… it was more like a fail… Not quite an epic fail, but a fail. After hearing him and his lovely soothing voice, I felt like a loser. Like a demanding, emotional minefield. How could I ever have thought he wasn’t interested? He. Is. So. Interested. (Fist pump not required.)

I just never learn. But, he did call…so, maybe he learned, too… I don’t know, but I hope I’m learning.