La versión en español está después de la versión en inglés.
I did it! Christmas has been packed away for another year. The house is back to normal, or as normal as our house can be. Moose threw up on the dining room rug, in three different places. The first was enormous (and included hair). The second two were little puddles of what was left. Later, he yowled at me for ignorning him when I got up to pee at 2:30 a.m. I had to sit at the foot of the bed and pet and cuddle him before I could go back to sleep. Dudo woke me up at 5 a.m., meowed while staring right into my face. He wanted a 3-minute cuddle and then left me, wide awake. They get more attention than San Geraldo. Dudo shredded another flattened piece of tissue paper, and I replaced it.
SG roasted a chicken Friday night. Delicious, of course. Saturday, he made his equally delicious chicken salad with grapes and raisins for lunch. Sunday, he made his superb open-face grilled (baked really) cheese sandwiches with ham and tomato. While those were in the oven, he remembered there was still chicken salad. So we had both, as is SG’s way. He then asked me after lunch if I had had enough to eat.
He learned that from his mother, Alice. When she was in hospital days away from dying of uterine cancer, her grandson Matt walked in and gave her a kiss. He had driven up from university an hour south. Alice, we thought, was in a light coma. Without opening her eyes, she sweetly asked, “Did you eat something, Matt? Are you hungry?” Had he said yes, she would have been out of bed to make him a sandwich.
But back to her son, San Geraldo: He asks me the same question after every meal, as if I’d ever go hungry around here. Yesterday he asked me twice. I answered “Are you kidding me?” around burps.
They say the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I understand a more direct route might be through the fourth and fifth ribs. All San Geraldo had to do to reach my heart was open the door (a poor transition to today’s theme).
I was still feeling weird and dizzy Sunday, but I powered through it until an afternoon siesta. Barometric pressure has been high. Maybe that’s the cause. At least I have the freedom to nap whenever I need. These are the kinds of days when retirement is especially nice. Come to think of it, I can’t think of a kind of day when it’s not.
¡Lo logré! Ya se guardó la Navidad para otro año. La casa ha vuelto a la normalidad, o tan normal como puede serlo. Moose vomitó en la alfombra del comedor, en tres sitios diferentes. El primero fue enorme (y con pelos). Los dos siguientes fueron pequeños charcos de lo que quedaba. Me maulló por ignorarlo cuando me levanté a orinar a las 2:30. Tuve que sentarme a los pies de la cama, acariciarlo y abrazarlo antes de poder volver a dormirme. Dudo me despertó a las 5, maulló mirándome fijamente a la cara. Quería un abrazo de 3 minutos y luego me dejó, completamente despierto. Reciben más atención que San Geraldo. Dudo trituró otro trozo aplanado de papel de seda y lo reemplacé.
SG asó un pollo el viernes por la noche. Delicioso, por supuesto. El sábado, preparó su igualmente deliciosa ensalada de pollo con uvas y pasas para el almuerzo. El domingo, preparó sus magníficos sándwiches de queso a la parrilla (en realidad, horneados) con jamón y tomate. Mientras estaban en el horno, recordó que aún quedaba ensalada de pollo. Así que comimos las dos, como es costumbre en SG. Luego me preguntó después de comer si había comido lo suficiente.
Aprendió eso de su madre, Alice. Cuando estaba en el hospital a días de morir de cáncer de útero, su nieto Matt entró y le dio un beso. Había conducido desde la universidad una hora al sur. Alice, pensamos, estaba en un coma leve. Sin abrir los ojos, preguntó con dulzura: “¿Comiste algo, Matt? ¿Tienes hambre?” Si hubiera dicho que sí, se habría levantado de la cama para prepararle un sándwich.
Pero volviendo a su hijo, San Geraldo: Me hace la misma pregunta después de cada comida, como si alguna vez fuera a pasar hambre por aquí. Ayer me lo preguntó dos veces. Respondí “¿Es broma?” entre eructos.
Dicen que la forma más rápida de llegar al corazón de un hombre es a través del estómago. Entiendo que una ruta más directa podría ser a través de la cuarta y quinta costillas. San Geraldo solo tuvo que abrir la puerta para llegar a mi corazón (una mala transición al tema de hoy).
El domingo seguía sintiéndome raro y mareado, pero aguanté hasta la siesta. La presión barométrica ha estado alta. Quizás esa sea la causa. Al menos tengo la libertad de echarme una siesta cuando la necesito. Estos son los días en que la jubilación es especialmente agradable. Ahora que lo pienso, no se me ocurre ningún día en que no lo sea.
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Sweet story about SG’s mum.
Another array of beautiful doors there! Endlessly fascinating… Jx
Jon:
And I don’t think I’ve repeated myself yet. I hope not.
Food is love. A great last paragraph.
David Godfrey:
Food can be love with some people. SG and his mother are perfect examples.
Clearly, SG’s love language is food! Dudo’s and Moose’s love language is demanding cuddles and food.
So many beautiful doors and entryways!
Debra:
Grateful for the love languages.
SG’s Mom sounds like mine … and she always had food around. My father says she learned to cook for an army but the army never showed, so leftovers was a real thing at our house!
Bob:
Alice was love! Sounds like your mother was a wonder. So lucky.
What a lovely guy! No, Mitchell, I mean SG..
More doors with little doors, how did you know I wanted doors? Thank you. Boud
Boud:
And I have SO MANY doors.
Wonderful doors! They may be my second ‘weakness’….after chairs that is.
Jim:
Chairs would be a fun set of photos.
Now that you mention it, “Did you have enough to eat” was often heard in my young days. Don’t know whether it’s a generational thing or a Midwestern thing. My mother said it; my aunts said it; etc.
wickedhamster:
I don’t think it’s generational. I was not raised on that question.
I love looking at pictures of front doors of places I don’t know why. And these are all fabulous. Later today I’ll be on the hunt for San Gerardo’s book!
Mistress Borghese:
The book just received some excellent reviews from readers he doesn’t know! The doors here are works of art.
I love that song. I love that video. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
And I do believe your door photos are some of my favorites. They fascinate me. They vary so much in design and in materials used and in colors and yet they all look so sturdy and functional.
Bob’s comment reminded me that I’ve always said in a former lifetime I was a cook at a lumberjack camp. I still believe it. Even when I was cooking for a family of six, I always made too much. Now that I cook for two, it’s ridiculous. I’m learning, though.
Marymoon:
I can’t stop photographing the doors here. What a variety. I think SG must have been cooking with you at that lumberjack camp. He always cooked for 10 even when it was just the 2 of us. He’s gotten better in recent years and now only cooks for 4 to 6.
Same.
Tales of SG and you, and Moose and Dudo… along with food, sweet family story, and great doors… what a way to start my day. Merci 🙂
Judy C:
Aw, shucks. Thanks, as always, Judy.
Some of those homes seem to have deep entryways. I imagine there is a reason for that. Is there another set of doors or do they open into the home?
Doesn’t sound like you’ll ever be going hungry.
ellen abbot:
Some simply have large formal entries. Most open into an entry that then opens into a central courtyard. Rarely do they open directly into a living space of the house or lobby of an apartment building.
I love “Let My Love Open The Door.” I do not love animal barf. I wish our critters would learn to throw up into the toilet or down the garbage disposal. My mother fed everyone, too, and did so no matter what. She was sick one Christmas Eve but insisted on preparing a metric fuck ton of food because “people are coming over and they’ll expect food.” It was my sister and her husband. We could have ordered pizzas, but nooooo.
Love,
Janie
I forgot to order you to stop feeling weird and dizzy because if you don’t stop, I’ll have to worry about you.
janiejunebug:
Definitely the weather. Don’t worry!
Don’t tell me not to worry. If I need to worry, then I’ll worry. Someone has to worry about you.
janiejunebug:
Don’t you have enough to worry about without keeping me on your list? PLEASE don’t worry about me.
janiejunebug:
My mother knew how to host and throw together a feast of coffee and cakes and cookies at the drop of a hat, but she wasn’t that kind of nurturer. And she would have had me order pizzas if she wasn’t up to it. Someone left me a small gift this morning, from the other end, outside my bathroom door. I guess he didn’t make it to the toilet. What a nice start to the day. Old cats!
Yuck! Before Penelope died she had problems with making it outside. Poor girl.
janiejunebug:
It’s so common in older pets and so upsetting.
So much to like in this post! Some people think it’s crazy, but the barometric pressure does affect me.
Kelly: Lots of studies have been done about the effects of barometric pressure on health. We’re not imagining it.
Between the fourth and fifth ribs. How anatomically romantic!
Kirk:
And quick.
I have three serenading me as I come downstairs to the kitchen in the morning. Can’t use the bathroom in private; Goldie knocks the door open to ensure I know he’s hungry.
Being brought up by parents raised in the Great Depression, I also learned the value of leftovers.
Rade,
Ours not only demand food when we’re in the bathroom but they like to hang out. Moose sleeps in our underwear around our ankles. SG also was raised by parents who grew up during the Great Depression, as did I. SG is finally learning to use leftovers. He never liked it. We’re both great at saving leftovers and forgetting about them.