Several times last night while writing my blog, Larry came downstairs from the Netherlands and asked: "are you coming up?". I issued my typical curt answer: "when I am done." I answered this question a few times...but it's OK, it is part of the routine mating dance that we perform with love, grace, and at times, brevity. Finally, after summoning enough energy to write a few emails and a few thoughts on the blog, I headed upstairs. I performed my typical night regime; pee, brush my hair, brush my teeth, brush the hair on my teeth, (I know, b a d Patti...) and entered the bedroom. Larry is in bed, and smiling. I begin to slough off my painting clothes; a much loved and lived in t-shirt, and my favorite pair of feels-great-to-do-anything in jeans - the haute couture of my introvert art world. I look on the bed, and there is a bag. "Garbage?" I ask him quizzically. He laughs. I see that in the bag is tissue, and that it is a present. "Because yo...
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