Dating McIrish

As you may know, I’ve been here in Southern California, working furiously on a book, failing at the occasional yoga class (there is no fail, Kristan, there is simply limber and not-limber), and yes, even cooking myself meals.

Today, McIrish arrives.

Absence is good for the soul, right? And, er, other parts, too.

I feel like we’re dating. Right now, for the first time in days, for example, I got dressed in something other than pajamas. I vacuumed my tiny little rented house. I went to the farmer’s market and bought spicy hummus, avocados (when in California…) and flowers. In fact, I now have four flower arrangements in the place and should probably stop buying flowers. I washed the sheets and towels. I agonized over how to place the throw pillows on the bed. I swept the walk and emptied the trash.

Not that he will notice, mind you, though I will probably say, “Did you see how nice and empty the bathroom trash is?” and “Smell these flowers! Smell them!” and “Please note how precisely I folded these towels.” He knows me well, of course. Better than anyone.

It’s been a little lonely here in the best possible way…I’ve gotten so much done, and I’ve taken bike rides and walks. I got to see my friend Heidi, who lives near Los Angeles. But mostly, it’s been quiet, and the only people I’ve talked to are dog owners who tolerate me for a minute or two (shout-out to Reynaldo, who put up with me for 10). To demonstrate my mood, today I held up flowers to woo a hummingbird. I keep going to the window, like my dogs do, to see if he’s here, even though I know he’s somewhere over Colorado right about now.

I’ve made a reservation at a nice restaurant for dinner one day this week. We’re going to go kayaking and snorkeling. Our friends have invited us to their house. It will be a lovely time, I’m sure, but mostly, I’m just so happy to have my person back. When you’re the daughter of a widow, and your husband is a firefighter, it’s not something you take for granted.