digi-history in the making: first text ever from my husband

Whereas I am ever one-pay-scale-away from becoming a device-slut, it could be said that Sam has bought a ticket on the slow boat to digi-land.

As in,

- it was the year 2010 before he replied to his first email

- 2011 before he composed one from scratch

Put a nail gun or a miter saw in his hand and he is home on the range. Digital texting? Not gonna happen.

Until tonight. He is away tending to his mother. He and his sister are at her house. It's looking to be the first step along the path of moving her toward an assisted living situation. Convincing her. Not something any son or daughter looks forward to.

So while I was grocery shopping, I sent him a text for the first time*

A bit anti-climactic, wouldn't you say? Instead of replying, I just smiled. And waited for him to call, i.e., bypass the whole confounded texting nonsense. In his mind, not mine. Me? I lubs me some texting.

*Thanks to Mental P Mama and her Parentexting series, I was able to take a screen shot of her screen shot and pretend that I can take a screen shot of my own.

avoiding bed

Because when I wake up? I'll be a half-century old.

Next stop, Old City.

So, yeah. These are my last few minutes of 40-something.

I remember that I liked saying I was 30-something.

It was a cool, hip television show.

I took pride in 40-something.

Visions of a woman in her sexual peak.

But 50-something. Where is the comfort in that?

So tomorrow? I will gladly accept gratuitous gifts of

TLC.

a cowboy hat to remember

The other day, Motherscribe was reminiscing about how she met

her husband, here and here. Mrs. G at Derfwad Manor was describing a defining moment when she knew that Mr. G was her forever and ever man.

It got me to thinking about the defining moments in the early days of my relationship with Sam, my husband of 16 years. Maybe I'll post about a few defining moments later. But right now I want to tell you about one of the most memorable moments. One of those moments I wondered what in the hell I had gotten myself into.

It was late on a Saturday night, probably 2am. SAM and I had just gotten home from our favorite dance hall, a place we called the "Hall of Shame," or "Shame" for short. As in, "You going out to the Shame tonight?"

Earlier in the evening, like any night at any Texas dance hall, there were a ton of guys wearing cowboy hats. It occurred to me that I had never seen SAM in one, or I didn't remember if I had, and I told him so. SAM was born and raised in Texas. He owned nearly a dozen pairs of cowboy boots. His grandfather was a horse trainer and a horse trader. His father routinely wore a hat (Stetson for most of his life, then a sudden switch to Resistol). So with that background, I knew he owned one. SAM told me that yes, he had owned a hat or two in his lifetime, but that he pretty much only wore a cowboy hat to shield himself from the sun when he was framing a house. He couldn't remember if I'd ever seen him wearing one, either.

So I'm in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, eating one of my favorite late night treats: an egg, potato and cheese taquito from WhatABurger, with lots of hot sauce. Which explains why I was leaning over the sink, to protect my shirt from the dripping. Or, this is how you do it when its 2am and you've had one too many longnecks.

I looked up and realized that SAM wasn't in the kitchen. His taquito was getting cold. Where did he go? I presumed he made a trip to the bathroom.

A few seconds later, I hear SAM say my name. I turn around to find him standing in the doorway, buck nekkid except for a pair of boots and a cowboy hat on his head.

"What are you doing?!?" I yelped, egg and potato dripping down my chin.

Sam replied, "You said you couldn't remember if you'd seen me wearing a hat. This way, you won't forget."

I reckon.

more hugs

In response to my last post, Kelli of PlanetTransgender reminded me of another hugworthy video.

mother of all hugs or that's a mother hugger

Dr. Deb's post on one type of therapeutic hug reminded me of another, quite different hug.

An organic hug.

A spiritual hug.

My social work therapist friend attended one of Amma's hugging events. She flew to the other side of the country, stood in line with thousands, waiting, and then getting, her hug. She was quite in awe and remains inspired.

Below is a video of Amma, "The Hugging Saint," at a visit in New York City.

How do you get your hugs?