Simply Scribbled

Would it surprise you to learn that I’m a
 hopeless romantic?

Well, I am, and I have a vivid imagination. I like to imagine that my life is like a page out of a Jane Austen novel.

And the husband is Lord Byron...

 Gushing out stacks

of flowery love letters...

which I would save

all tied in blue

and secreted away

in an antique trunk

in the corner of an attic…

Where they will be discovered in the next century by some other hopeless romantic in the family tree…

That’s just the way I think.
But that's not the way it is.

While the husband is pretty romantic, he’s just not a flowery sort of guy; he is a man of few words.   (Pretty convenient since I’m a woman of many) He’s even less expressive when it comes to the written word.

Oh, he’s written some cards and notes over the years, and I’ve saved them all.
They are just like the man:
Brief
Honest
Forthright

Even his penmanship misses the mark.  I always imagine letters tied in blue to be penned in beautiful script.  I’m not sure that my husband ever learned cursive at all. It must have been taught the same day that the lower case letters were introduced because he never uses them either. Everything he scrawls looks JUST LIKE THIS.  Sometimes worse.

You might be wondering where I’m going with this ramble. Well, it’s this.

The husband left to work out of town this week as he usually does, but before he left, he managed to hide a little note where I would be sure to find it.

When I opened the refrigerator on Tuesday evening to fix my lonely meal for one, I found this note propped around some left over grilled chicken.

Since his chicken scratch is difficult to read, I’ll translate. All  misspelled words and names are intentional and designed to make me read them exactly as if he were speaking it.

Uncle Ichabob's

World Famous

Twain- Rented

Rota sere Chicken?

Now, I realize that this means absolutely nothing to those reading this post, but it gave me the full out belly laugh.

Just as he knew it would.

As you might suspect, each line of his little note represents a funny moment… a private joke… just between the two of us. The husband loves to keep a mental collection of our silly moments and scribble them back to me when I least expect it. If he can string them together in a line of silly nothings, it’s all the better.

I suspect that he considered this quite the masterpiece.

After I laughed, I gave him a call.
Just as he knew I would.
Then, we laughed together.

When I got off the phone, I thought about my quiet husband and his silly little notes.

And it seems to me

that though the script is nearly illegible…

and the sentiments aren’t flowery…

and I certainly wouldn’t save them in the attic

all tied in blue…

They qualify as love notes nonetheless.

This week’s simple pleasure was remembering that sometimes, the best love letters are not mushy at all.

*****

I’m pleased to join Dayle

 at A Collection of This and That

 for her
Simple Pleasures Party.
Please join us.
 I promise that you will find it a pleasure.