The Eve of St Valentine

Looking forward to a very pleasant evening with Mr B, my so-called "unboyfriend."   Evenings with Mr B are always very pleasant. Featured on the menu tonight will be a rare delicacy: salami sandwiches.

In our history, the salami sandwich is his token of affection. I got one to get me through my last lonely night at my old job. I got one to take with me when I flew back East for my Dad's funeral.
They have often figured in the lunch menu on hikes and picnics.

Since he's gone paleo and I've gone slow-carb, neither of us eats much bread anymore. So these sandwiches will also be a rare treat. As I continue to find his lively and affable company.

Reminded me of parts of another blog post of a few years back:

Had a couple of gloomy days this week. Provoked by a parking ticket and a missed appointment. 

No need for gory details, but these otherwise trivial events sparked that interwoven string of angers, fears and loathings I keep in my cupboard. They came out to play and made my stomach churn and my brain slow to a cranky grey slush on Wednesday and Thursday. I was whiny, self-pitying and unmanly. 

Mr B, while not really wishing to know what was bothering me --he's not much for talking things through-- knew that I was bothered, and therefore was his typical "salami sandwich" helper. 

I was taken out for a hamburger at a local high-ceilinged joint jammed with noisy schoolkids. I was walked over to the liquor store that sells the cheap cigars I favor. I was given a can of pasta with sauce, fabulously decorated with a picture of FogHorn LegHorn as the spokesman for Spaghetti-O's. I was semi-humorously complimented. I was semi-humorously needled. 

I was not coddled, but I was not left alone. It did the trick. 

Part of what I try to teach my patients is to recognize what love and concern comes their way even if it is not in the package that they imagine they want or deserve. I think people miss a lot of goodness directed at them because they have a rigid and pre-conceived notion of what care or support or sympathy "ought" to look like. 

I am grateful that I have learned how to recognize it in a hamburger, a cigar, a can of pasta and a joke. Mr B did not sit down and sympathetically try to talk through all my strung-together irritations. He just showed up. It's what he does. 

Happy Valentine's Eve.