“This next song goes out to Joey O.” I’ve always wanted to say that, though I’ve never wanted to be a DJ. That was my friend Traci Barry, who was crazy, mad about the music profession. I promise to talk about her “passion” later, but right now I want to talk about Joe Olson, my husband. As husbands go, he’s a keeper. Here’s one of the many reasons why.
On Friday, during our respective lunch breaks, we went to a local farm, Happy Hollow, to buy a Christmas tree. As Connecticut farms go, it’s really, really small: one horse, two donkeys, four sheep, and a chicken coop. I don’t know how many chickens. But from time to time, as I pass the farm on my way to work, I hear them in the coop. It’s very close to the side of the road.
Over the last two years, the owners of this teeny tiny farm have spruced up the place. They’ve upgraded the barn for the horse and the coop for the chickens, and they’ve also set up a roadside market for eggs and fresh vegetables and fruits. Last year they began selling Christmas trees. On Friday, after Joe and the woman farmer strapped the tree to the roof of our car, we paid for the tree inside an open shed that had wreathes and decorative planters for sale. I saw a planter I thought would look nice on our mantle.
“What do you think about this planter for the fireplace?” I asked Joe.
“Sure, if that’s what you want. I just wanna make you happy,” he said with tease in his tone, a tease that gave a nod to the name of the farm as well as to a standing joke we have with each other—that it’s our life’s ambition to make each other happy. I know. It’s sad and pathetic and sappy and the thing that makes people roll their eyes and walk away from us when we say things like this to each other. Unfortunately, the lady farmer was trapped behind the counter and couldn’t escape the saccharine laced sentiment. She plopped her hands on the counter, swooned, and dropped her head, saying, “Awwww. That is the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long, long time. I hope he means it.”
“He does,” I said, reeling in my smile.
So, this next song, which is on my iPod’s running playlist, is for Joey O, the sweet talkin’ brother of a teacher man. By the way, I chose this version to play because in my delusional mind I’m as tall and as sexy and as talented as Joss Stone.
Oh, yeah, before I forget, here are my stats for the week:
T, Th ran 15 mins
Sa 1.5 miles.
good song, good voice. did sshse wear a thong?