Holidays

Melvin would be so excited when calendar holidays rolled around. Personally, every day we were together was a holiday, but the days set aside to celebrate an event, delighted him emensely because then, everyone else was on the same page as we were and in the same book. Any other time, if a friend or relative came to visit or called, they were either giving or sharing negative news, requiring an ear for their pity party or blaming someone, something or some cause. This would give our joy a momentary fast, so we started screening our calls or ignoring them all together.
Thus, scheduled holidays were a welcome respit to share joy and laughter with others.
The routine: Melvin would get up, shower and put on his holiday attire which consisted of one of his gabordine shirts and freshly ironed jeans, preferably the black ones with the red stitching, I hate those and his blue suede bucks." Then he would get me in gear to start cooking, I cooked on all holidays. Next, phone calls to the boys, JB and his sisters. He'd walk on the deck, have all the televisions on the sport for the season and talk to me while I prepared the meal. He'd come behind me and kiss my neck, "I't's just smellin' too good in here Poo." The bar would be set, house sparkling and the guest arrive.
Now you would think he would be entertaining from one end of the house to the other, but by the time the house was full he would have retreated to the TV room or our bedroom and select ones would be allowed to sit and enjoy him. Wind and I usually hosted and entertained the masses. Melvin enjoyed the preparation and the knowledge that everyone was having a good time. He trusted that, though  I am a loner, I enjoy coordinating festivities and making sure laughter is the order of the affair.
When the last guest left, even the children, he would help me clean up and ask if I had saved him any of the food. He knew I had, I always did.
If we were invited to someone elses house to celebrate he would say, "Poo you gone cook my food?" "I'm going to fix your plate, but I can't cook in someone else's kitchen." I would say.  My triangle girlfriends, his sisters and my mother knew he only wanted my cooking so they would indulge us, I guess we must have seemed a funny pair.
It wasn't that we thought any less of anyone else, we just thought so much of each other. Since he went home, holidays, for me, are extremely difficult. I tried the first few years to go on as usual, but I would start to cry and spoil it for everyone or be so somber the room would chill. And even though things have changed and my joy seems thwarted I hang on the phrase, "It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

Tomorrow