...do us part

OH is leaving Monday for another stint in NC; his brother is having his cancer surgery, and their mom can't be left alone. BiL's partner is coming to stay near near the hospital and advocate for him during his hospital stay, and OH will be there once he's discharged to recover at home. We're expecting six to eight weeks before BiL is on his feet and well enough to manage for himself, and supervise Mom, if they've not found a good long term residential memory care place for her by then.

So there's that. He's been going ramming speed getting the bookcases together and in place so I'll have the books, DVDs, CDs, etc. to shelve and organize while he's gone. Then there's the walk-in closet reorg I've been putting off and half-assing for literally, years. I'll be busy.

So we bolted yesterday after he got the second coat of paint on the last shelf unit, heading for leafy shade and pleasant scenery, quiet music, and each other's company. Strapped into the passenger seat, I over-reached for something and my left shoulder spasmed and cramped. I eased it as much as I could, but as cramps do, it hovered right on the point of clamping down again. OH drove one-handed for a minute or two, while he jammed his fist into my shoulder blade, and when the knot went loose, he rubbed it out.

Once we were home again, he saw me working the shoulder and prepared to push his fist into the knot again. "No," I told him. "It's just sore from cramping up tight." So he massaged it (he paid for a semester of college as a masseur at the Y), rotated the arm and massaged it more until the joint was loose and happy. 

So far this week I've had a gastric upset (due to inflammation and medication), aching thumb joints and resulting near-useless hands, loose hip joints curtailing walks of any length, and now a malfunctioning shoulder. I feel so useful, not to mention attractive. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I told him. "That you got such a dud."

He hooked his arms around my shoulders. "You are intelligent, you're good with people, you have a good heart and a fierce sense of honor, you have a killer sense of humor, you have enormous patience, and you have a fabulous smile."

"I try," I said. "Yes, you do," he agreed. Then he grinned, the little shit. "And you have a *won*derful personality." Which is his way of avoiding telling me I'm pretty, because he's a little shit. Which was a good thing, actually, because up to that point it was starting to feel like, "You is pretty, you is kind, you is important," and nobody wants to bawl in the middle of the kitchen.