Pumpkin Bread

He loved Pumpkin Bread. He loved a lot of specific things. He knew what he liked because after much living and much thinking about living he made a point to extract the wheat from the chaff. He knew by practical experimentation which things worked best and he held tight to those things. 

So I always knew what to expect. I always knew where things stood for him and with us. And even though, at the time, it was occasionally frustrating - his certainty, his precision, his discipline - there was an awful lot of comfort in his smart, steady and well reasoned ways.

Now, since his death, my husband's quirky and concrete preferences are landmarks in time. So often, when I come across "the right hanger" or I again "hang the towels his way" in the bathroom so they dry fast and well, I smile. But sometimes these things, like this speciality bread at the beginning of Fall, break-my-heart-all-over-again. 

No sense in avoiding it, so I just let it come. Once Iit, it races up from my heart straight out my eyes like how brush fires hop fences in a robust wind. I think about how I have no napkins to wipe my tears here in the cafe. And how I should have some sunglasses to hide my swollen eyes. 

Thoughts act as a break dousing the thing. The more I think the more things improve.

I have lots to do today and lots to look forward to. Lots of new beginnings and exciting changes going on! And just as I know every moment is sacred, I also know this moment will pass. Some new thing will happen and this event too will become the past.

Fire now out, smoke and char remain. But I keep it together. And I move on…

Have you tasted the Pumpkin Bread at La Farm French Bakery? Oh you must, it is sooooo delicious! 

Why can't we live fully with joy - no matter what?

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