I would like to dedicate the letter H to my husband, but he does not want to be written about nor have his picture on the internet. So I will leave out the details here.
We were neighbors and good friends long before we became closer.
Once my husband crawled into a burning house and rescued two old men, one of whom died. The L.A.Times sent a reporter to the scene, but when she learned that he rescued two old drunks, she made a snotty remark and left. Fortunately, since then he has only rescued dogs and cats.
My husband is a master carpenter who had a construction company with his brother. He knows every building trade and can design and build a house from scratch.
We have been through some tragedies and come out the other side, together. A very good thing. And I am blessed as he, coming from a New Orleans Creole culture, cooks the best food in the world for me. Every single day he creates a wonderful dinner. In the great tradition of the American South, for my husband this is love. I have a deep enduring love for this man I married 27 years ago.
My husband is a master carpenter who had a construction company with his brother. He knows every building trade and can design and build a house from scratch.
We have been through some tragedies and come out the other side, together. A very good thing. And I am blessed as he, coming from a New Orleans Creole culture, cooks the best food in the world for me. Every single day he creates a wonderful dinner. In the great tradition of the American South, for my husband this is love. I have a deep enduring love for this man I married 27 years ago.
My husband's garden
and his gumbo pot.
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P. S. It is Tuesday afternoon and I just sat down to read your comments on my Gratitude post. And tears came to my eyes. I am so grateful for you, my blogger friends. Your comments are so supportive and kind. And right now, I wish you were here so I could hug you all. I really do and I want you to know that.
