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I dreamed of you today . . .

I dreamed of you today . . .

Janie, I saw you today. You were seated in a room and you stood and walked across the room and I followed. You were wearing black slacks, low-heeled black shoes and a red shirt, and you were carrying the black purse that Kelley brought from New York, and as always you looked exquisite.

I stood and followed you, but I awoke after you had taken only a few steps toward the door of the room. I don’t know where we were, and I can’t describe the surroundings because my attention was focused on you. Although I was asleep, I knew that I was asleep, and I was horribly disappointed when I awakened so soon after you appeared.

I saw you at 1:40 PM today on Sunday, the second day of January, 2010. This is the forty-fifth day since you left me, and I have prayed on every one of those days for you to come to me in my dreams, and today you answered my prayers. You came to me, only for a few seconds but you came to me. I had dozed off in the recliner in our den for a brief few seconds and you came to me.

I picture you in my mind throughout every day and into the evening, continuing on until sleep overtakes me—not continuously, of course, but sporadic through the entire day whether I am sitting, standing, walking or driving. My thoughts of you do not in any way distract from my daily activities—they seem to blend in perfectly, and my thoughts will always be of you. You were and still are such an important part of me that my thoughts will always keep you in my daily life, even though you are not with me.

Those incredibly brief seconds that I was with you today sparkle in my memory with the glitter of fine diamonds and glisten with the sheen of dew drops on tulips. I will keep them close in memory and bring them out from time to time to admire them and keep your memory strong, but I yearn for more—I’ve seen the previews of coming attractions—now let me see the feature-length film.

I love you more today than yesterday, but less than tomorrow.

Sleep well in heaven, my darling.

Mike

 
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Posted by on January 2, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Goat in my hotel room . . .

Near the end of my three-year assignment to US Customs Headquarters in the nation’s capital, I traveled to Seattle, then to Blaine, Washington, then to San Francisco and on to Los Angeles on official business—my duties at that time were those of the National Program Manager for Custom’s detector dog program. In Seattle I met a fellow officer from Los Angeles, and together we observed and evaluated Customs’ operations in Seattle, at Customs’ land border port of entry at Blaine near the Canadian border,  Customs’  operations in San Francisco and finally Customs operations in Los Angeles, with concentration on the detector dog program in the various locations.

My purpose in this post is not to bore the viewer with details of Customs enforcement programs—my purpose is to relate two separate incidents, one that was hilarious and one that was somewhat embarrassing.

My fellow Customs officer told me that his baby in Los Angeles would meet us in San Francisco and travel with us back to Los Angeles. I assumed that his baby was his wife, and therein lies a tale. His baby, an amiable and quite presentable young woman—much younger than he—dined with us at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco that evening, checked into the hotel with him and traveled with us on the flight from to Los Angeles the following day. Dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf included fried octopus, my reluctant first—and definitely last—encounter with that creature as cuisine.

We had adjoining rooms at an upscale hotel near the airport. When I went to check out, my fellow officer was already checking out, so I fell into line behind him. While I waited I heard him tell the woman behind the desk that he was bothered by noises coming from the room adjoining his. He said there was a party in that room that included an animal, one that sounded suspiciously like a goat or a sheep, and that the sounds continued late into the night.

The clerk registered a mixture of surprise, skepticism, incredulity and something akin to horror, and said that she would tell the manager right away and an investigation would be made. I stepped forward and told the clerk that the room was mine, and that all the party goers were of sound mind and legal age—including the goat.

Okay, I admit it—that was funny, but the surprise that awaited me at his home the next night when I accepted his invitation to dinner was not funny. I arrived with a screw-top bottle of fine wine, rang the door bell and was invited into the house by a very lovely and very pregnant lady that introduced herself as the wife of my fellow officer. Nope, it was not the same baby that met us in San Francisco and traveled to Los Angeles with us—didn’t even come close. The best part of the evening was my feeling of satisfaction with my selection of wine for a dinner gift.

That was an embarrassing moment for me. I wisely held my counsel until the following day, at which time I ticked off the reasons why I should not have been misled. My scorn was wasted on him—he found the incident far funnier than the goat in my hotel room debacle.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 
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Posted by on September 3, 2010 in Humor, marriage, Travel, Writing

 

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