My sister’s children sent us inexpensive pre-done valentines – the kind you get at any drug store. One of them came with a small tattoo. My girls have placed their tattoos on their ankles.
Oh, how I long for the days of my youth when the only tattoos I knew about were on the biceps of brawny sailors or scary motorcycle men, and my knowledge of them was gained through TV and movies and not real life.
For the first time ever, my husband took the early shift with Mary and let me stay in bed. She was most unhappy. “Daddy, go back to bed,” she ordered. In his defense, he was deployed for 6 months and our last house had a master bedroom right off the living area. Since I’m naturally an early riser, sleeping while people are talking (or babies are screaming) right outside my door is impossible. Last night I made sure my iTouch was charged and in my room. Not only did I get an extra 90 minutes of sleep, I got to check email and headlines without interruption. That’s a lovely Valentine’s Day gift.
Yesterday, my husband anchored our living room bookcases to the wall, and we unpacked the boxes of books and the knick-knacks that were on the bookshelves. When I saw that the packer had wrapped a small porcelain rose in a single piece of paper, I knew things didn’t look good for my larger porcelain rose grouping. Sure enough, a single piece of paper was used to protect this one as well. The small rose survived; the larger grouping was destroyed.
Other victims included my statue of St. Nicholas, now with an amputated arm, and my favorite statue of Mary, armless, handless, and decapitated. I’ve googled and been unable to find statues like these, so if you have any clues, let me know. The bodies are wood, the capes are metal and the arms and head are porcelain. Not only do I want to replace them, I want to claim their cost with the moving company.
While every move incurs some damage, this is over the top. I had more paper around inexpensive drinking glasses than I did around those flowers. It makes me mad. It’s not the attachment to the things as much as it is the complete disregard for my belongings. The flowers are irreplaceable. Bill gave them to me in the early 90’s when we were dating, and they aren’t made any more. I don’t want to replace them anyway. Bill has learned: you don’t give knick-knacks to an Army wife, especially not ones that break. I’ll take the money we get for them and buy a cookbook. Hardback. Useful and sturdy.
Speaking of cookbooks, with Lent approaching, I’m planning a menu and heading to the grocery store today. I like to go meatless for Lent, which doesn’t really fly in this house. I tend to make meals like tacos where everyone can have meat, but I use beans. This year, though, I’m determined to subject them to more meatless meals. I don’t know why, but they don’t like soup. Too bad. I’ll make bread or rolls, so they can fill up on that if they don’t want what I’m serving. For inspiration, I’m digging into two of Brother Victor-Antoine d’Avila–Latourrette’s books: From a Monastery Kitchen: The Classic Natural Foods Cookbook and Simplicity from a Monastery Kitchen. I do not own his Twelve Months of Monastery Soups, but maybe I’ll take the St. Nicholas and Blessed Virgin blood money and buy it. Most of the recipes in these books are simple. All are meatless.