Sunday, November 10, 2013

Quince Vodka

I am sipping quince vodka.  A friend with a quince tree presented it to me and I feel honored.  It had aged for two years, chunks of quince crammed into a bottle of vodka.  It has a delicate flavor and aroma, and a slightly pink hue. 

I have had a decidedly so-so day.  I slept strangely, so my neck and shoulder are cramped and sore.  Chuck has been welding all day under the plow vehicle, and is tired.  He is already breathing deeply, starting to drop off to sleep.  I remain bemused about marriage.  I don't remember worrying this much in my first marriage - about how to keep him happy and engaged.  I am fearful that he will become indifferent and my life will become what is was before. 

Simon is back from his business trip to England, and has brought me a gift:  a nice box of tea.  This is the first gift he has given me since our divorce.  It came with a card, thanking me for being willing to take the kids for an extended period during his absence.  Sara is annoyed.  "It's a little insulting, him thanking you for parenting us.  You're our mother, after all."  I agreed, "But what he is really thanking me for, in a roundabout way, is for being flexible."  It just comes out sounding funny. 

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