There isn't time -- so brief is life -- for bickerings, apologies, heartburnings, callings to account. there is only time for loving -- & but an instant, so to speak, for that.
- Mark Twain in a Letter to Clara Spaulding, 20 August 1886
May marked our second anniversary. We celebrated with champagne, cakes to match our wedding cakes, and having friends over for a dinner party. Mike bought the Nikon D90 that he had been wanting for a long time, and I ordered a hand-knotted Persian rug for our bedroom.
Mom had a very bad reaction to chemo and received a trip to the ER for Mother's Day. After that reaction, Dr. S. decided not to pursue any additional treatments as the costs vastly exceeded any possible benefit. Mom's cancer has been dormant since then.
The weather was just warm enough to enjoy the boat, but the water sure was cold. And the yard tomatoes were just coming up. I was able to harvest enough herbs for some great salsa.
And Dante found something dead in the backyard in which he found impossible to resist a good roll.
Mike gave me flowers all month long.
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