Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Rainy days, but not Mondays, always get me down.  For anyone under, say, 50 years old, the pop music reference and partial retraction probably went right by.

Mr. A slept in, so soothed by the rain drops that kept falling on the roof, (vintage music alert) he incoherently asked me if rain was in the forecast today.  I burst out laughing in decibels surely not appreciated at his level of consciousness, but that is a difference we have to dance around daily.  In case you didn't know, I am the one who wakes the roosters and he is the one to pull the shades on the night watch.

Sleeping in is the last indicator of sloth on Mr. A's part.  I don't know anyone more productive than he.  When he's not busy producing signs, he's actively trying to sell them, and when he's not engaged in either of those endeavors, he's often in the middle of something creative.

Like the swing pictured above.  (Is it ever freeing to put sentence fragments on my blog!  :D )

We attended a wedding two summers ago at Alcyone Plantation which made us feel like we'd walked onto the set of a lavishly budgeted movie.  Twinkling white lights, man and God made, and a beautiful waxing crescent moon hung on a blue velvet backdrop enhanced a truly enchanted evening.

(front view of Alcyone Plantation)

Then there was this back porch swing, fastened to the bottom of the second floor balcony, creating a long, lingering back and forth arc.  It was the perfect observation point to see the guests in the garden and the dancers under a white tent so large, a chandelier hung from its peak.  

I had a back yard swing, but it didn't swing like that.  

I look out the sliding door one day and spot Mr. A in his bucket lift, amending his original design of the swing frame, raising the height not quite to second floor level, but plenty high enough to recreate the slight tummy flip on the ascent of the swing.  While he was at it, he built a platform, too.

We, meaning Mr. A, Maggie the Australian shepherd granddog and I, sit in the swing, walk back as far as our legs will go, Mr. A counts, "One, two three..."  We raise our feet and there is lift off!  It's sweetly exhilarating, every time, and more times than not we reminisce about a lovely evening in the summer of 2011, custom made for love.    

Like my swing.  

It's getting a bath today, but soon, very soon, we'll be in the back yard, just a-swingin'.  


(We heard this song about two zillion times during our early/mid 1980s courtship.)

Until Winter Storm Boreas fizzles, 

Mrs. A