Red is the Color of my Favorite Cup

…or rather the color of the cups that signify the beginning of the holiday season. Yes, my friends, the red cups are back at Starbucks and with them have arrived peppermint mochas (which you can actually get all year, but taste better in red cups), eggnog lattes, and caramel apple cider. I’m a mocha girl myself, while Fuzzy’s a cider guy.

He was up til six this morning working on, well, work, and I spent yesterday using Nyquil to help nuke the last of a cold that I couldn’t shake, since it was determined I have nothing wrong that antibiotics can help (no sinus infection). Nyquil doesn’t do much but knock me out, but sometimes being asleep is the best thing you can do. I had a long nap yesterday afternoon, had the lights out for the night by eleven-thirty, and didn’t get out of bed this morning til after ten, then returned to nap some more about an hour later.

This evening we went to Panera, but it wasn’t at all satisfying, and then to Half Price Books where for $63 we got more than 100 Christmas cards, a book for Fuzzy, and a bunch of little gifty things that I can’t mention because some are for my mother who reads my blog.

And then, of course, we went to Starbucks for hot, steamy, red-cupped goodness, and another present for Mom.

It was a good day.

By the way, if you’re not on my Christmas list, and want to be, or are, and have moved since last Christmas, please send an email to Melissa AT MissMeliss DOT com with your name and snailmail address so you can receive a card from us. (If you’re reading this on LiveJournal, I’ll be setting comments to be screened, and you can reply there.)


Sprawled across the bed last night, lamplight shining warmly on my book, my hair in a loose knot sealed with a scrunchie, I saw something moving in the corner of my eye, and turned to follow it.

At first I thought I was seeing a reflection of the neighbor’s backyard light. It’s one of those tall arcing boat-dock lights and glimpsed through wind-blown trees often reminds me of a lamppost one might find in Narnia (or the back of a wardrobe), but their light was off.

I raised my hand, noticed the glittery fleck moving in tandem and had to laugh. I was seeing light reflected from my diamond rings, the larger engagement one, and the smaller wedding band with it’s platinum inset, sheaves of wheat on the sides, and microscopic diamond chips.

I laughed because these rings – both of them – are tiny, and in truth the diamond in the engagement ring is flawed. I know this because my grandmother told me the story of it often. How my grandfather bought it for all of $75, how she loved the way it would sparkle.

When I used to visit her in the nursing home, after she’d passed it down to me, she would hold out her hand for mine, and move our clasped fingers into the light. “See it shine,” she’d say, with a soft smile on her face and memories dancing in her eyes.

I knew, in those moments, that she was living fifty years in the past when love was new and her body and mind worked in tandem with each other instead of against.

Last night, after my moment of realization, I closed my eyes and imagined her voice, a little shaky, but still very much alive, saying, “Look at it sparkle. See it shine.”

And for just a fraction of a second, I smelled her powder and perfume.