The Happenings, Part Two

The Boy From Work left yesterday morning. When it was time, I walked him down the back stairs to his car. I was wearing sweatpants and flip-flops. I cried underneath a shower of gold and red leaves from the tree overhead. I cried all the way back up the stairs, in the shower, even as I watched an episode of The Golden Girls while I ate breakfast.

I cried because now that he's gone, I will plod through another month without him, and my life will be much less bright, much less filled with things as fun and beautiful as these:

(1.) The Boy Making Me Dinner

Here's what I've learned: there is nothing more spectacular than teaching all day and then coming home to a full, huge, and delicious dinner on the table. When I walked in the door from school, the BFW said, "Dinner's ready. Come eat." He'd filled the table with dishes of sage roasted potatoes and homemade cranberry sauce and roast duck with skin so fatty and delicious I wanted to smother myself with it.



There was a salad, too, and carefully-selected wine. For dessert we had brandy-soaked pluots served up with vanilla ice cream. It was a really impressive spread. Now if only I could decorate my dining room...


(2.) Dragging the Boy to Freeport

As has been previously noted, I am a big fan of Freeport. I knew I couldn't let the BFW leave this state without seeing the town that plays host to the giant LL Bean boot, so off we went. And even though we had lunch at a seafood joint in town that turned me green, green, green, we still managed to sneak in a few brilliant moments in the winter weather section of LL Bean:



The BFW used to have a hat like this. He has since misplaced it, which relieves me. I'm fairly certain he would wear it every single day if he knew where it was.



Well, it was pretty warm. Nicely played, hat.


(3.) Carving Pumpkins with the Boy

When we picked through the orchard the other day, the BFW and I also got to kick around a pumpkin patch, where the BFW finally realized the extent of my anal Virgo tendencies: I must, must, must have the perfect pumpkin. My pumpkin needs to be just the right size, shape, and color. It must also have a good stem--one with a bit of curl and oomph. I spent entirely too much time in the pumpkin patch saying things like, "Well, this one is cute, but see this little dimple in its skin? Wait, what about that one. Looks good, looks good... oh, but that stem is jacked up. What's over there by your foot?" All this while the BFW was balancing our 20 pounds of apples and his pumpkin--one of the first he'd seen--in his arms.

But we both did good in the end. Real good.



My pumpkin turned out much happier than the BFW's. He started carving his in the mouth-region, and when he turned it around to show me the progress I was horrified. "BFW!" I exclaimed. "Your pumpkin is PERVERTED!" That gaping mouth looked like it was up to no good. No good at all.



In the end, though, it ended up looking more like a mildly constipated and cranky pirate pumpkin.



Mine had a tooth.



And it looked pretty badass when it was lit with its tea light.



Actually, they both did.