So we spent the day looking for this house (MapQuest being quite unaccustomed to Texas back roads...Roads Of TX will never be left at home again) that we're considering. For us, there are many different aspects to its selection. I want something fairly traditional - early Texas with hints of Southwestern style - and he does much the same but is more flexible in his mind about the end result.
Then there is the land. I want no less than 8 acres and he is willing to compromise if the house suits. For him, 20 acres or 2 are okay. I've reasons for this - most of which comprise fields of fire and a surfeit of sustenance. He also appreciates a vantage point and a bit of safe distance but has perhaps not fully appreciated the matter until recently. I had him read Lucifer's Hammer as a sort of primer - a glimpse of what humankind will likely turn to if things go as I fear they will. Not that I am some sort of survivalist - more like a stoic. Yes, a stoic and a realist. After all, look at what people will do now to get what they want. Imagine if it was all in short supply.
I've other concerns, too...there is a bounty of sorts, these days, for the badge he wears. His blood has value to someone who has little cash and less honor. In my mind, I can arrange scenarios - what I would do if I were they. And it's far too easy. Too easy to bring things to a...standstill. So for me limited access points, wide views and such matter.
The rest is negotiable.
The roads were rough here and there and my mind turned to how different it all was from what I've known. I had to pit in the shrubs and mesquite - not a problem, mind you - and my mind turned to the person I once was and this one here, kicking leaves to stir up rattlers and warn them of my approach. City girl, you see...city girl watching the glass windows for the reflection of approaching molesters and muggers. Knowing too well the weight of a knife in pocket and the fear of needing it as the bus moved from one zone to another - from a place of dire consequence to one of mere concern. That girl seems to be another person to me and I cannot help but wonder what she'd have thought if she'd seen a snippet of this life...space, distance, sky and road so long and straight that it is like a seam stitching pastures together. Well, likely enough she'd have nodded, turned up the bottle of sloe gin and turned slightly away to end the conversation but kept the mad woman in sight.
And now - the scent of cookies in the oven, a balm to the nerves of another Trooper. It amuses me now how my mind can settle to such normal tasks with deep pleasure. Once, it took extremity to stir me. I was like the waking dead, wryly smirking at the masses, as the meds made the pain fall away to depths that need never be stirred. But not now. A tide has rolled it all away, the waters are clear and the wry smile comes very rarely.
So now the waiting for him to come home to me. And I always believe he will. It never comes to mind that he might not. Well, that's not quite right, either. I simply refuse to believe that there is anyone who can best him. Or if they manage, that they will not last long either.
And I would, of course, ensure the loss counted. Someone would pay. Ah, dark thoughts for a midnight hour. I am, occasionally, melancholy. But it's tamped down, now, with the love for him. No need for self-indulgent morose tendencies.
Except that I do miss mommer. I miss her somethin' fierce. And the blanket smells just like her.