Thursday, September 6, 2012

My Heaven

Photo Credit: Clarita

Let’s start with décor, shall we?  If you get to decorate your heaven, what will it look like?  I’m thinking Roman Garden, perfect weather. Oddly enough, there sits a desk with a laptop right on my terrace. Angels are Tech Support. Sigh. In person. Sigh. You rarely need them though, because MSWord didn’t make it through the Pearly Gates. To publish the book after I’ve finished writing it, I hit “send”. Okay, maybe I send a query e-mail that says, ‘I wrote this book, read it.’  This is my heaven after all. What décor did you choose?  And what will occupy your weekdays in your heaven?
There are dogs in my heaven, but they don’t shed and they are born house-trained. They’re all my favorite dogs from earth, only now they behave, mostly. They are, after all, dogs. There is no housework here because nothing gets dirty or messy. If you like to clean, you can change that up to suit your own version. Cats sleep in the sun on the garden wall now and then; I don’t know who they belong to. Yard work is not necessary, everything grows neat and orderly. This is a place where cooperation reigns. Except on Saturday nights, when all heck breaks loose…um, well, it is my heaven after all, right?  And I like to entertain, especially now that there is no prep work or clean-up involved. All those parties I meant to give on earth, yep, that is what we do on Saturday nights around here.
Nobody minds how much time I spend writing either. They’re all busy with their own heavens. There is a self-replenishing glass of iced-tea with a fresh slice of lemon – and no condensation on my notes. I don’t need notes, I remember everything. Ah, now that is heavenly. And Jamie Fraser, from the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon (turns out he is real here, yep) stops by and rubs my shoulders while I type. (In his kilt.)  My husband doesn’t mind either, because his hands are busy fly fishing. Besides Jamie’s just rubbing my back, People!  There are rules in heaven too, sheesh. Family and friends gather in the evenings. We sit in the garden and chat up old times, tease about the differences in our heavens and listen to my music – live – every night. Remember this is my villa. Maybe it’s different in their heaven.

There are homemade muffins or croissants with dark chocolate for breakfast, fresh squeezed orange juice and full-on fat lattes in real cups, big ones. I don’t know who does the baking, but it’s divine. For lunch I always meet someone. Sometimes one of my children, and we catch up on what happened after I left town and how life is in their own heaven. Sometimes it is with an old friend. We meet at a little café around the corner. It has the best gelato. Sometimes I get a hamburger, which is okay because I am the worst part-time vegetarian in heaven too. Dinner is often al fresco, and a family affair, or sometimes at a romantic seaside getaway with Dear Hubby. There is always dessert.
There are libraries to wander through, and all the questions I’ve ever had?  It’s all in there. Snorkeling and skydiving require no equipment, oxygen is optional and what’s the worst that can happen anyway?  We are in my heaven, after all. Some days I run, just for fun, because I’m fast now. While I’m out I swing by other heavens and look people up, enjoying their space for awhile. My Bohemian Gram has the exact same kitchen she had when I was a kid, but her pet monkey now weeds her flower garden and the only sound he ever makes is a quiet, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  I don’t feel bad for him, at least he got into heaven and I for one never expected that. I think Gram pulled some strings, for a lot of us probably. The variety of heavens is astonishing. My BFF has drums in the parlor of a three-story Victorian. Comrade enjoys a parade every day, in her honor (she earned it). There’s an entire forest where children live in tree-houses and eat only ice-cream. Be careful if you stop in. They share, but gave me worm ice-cream once. Kids.

Photo Credit: Stephanie Karfelt

Now you’ve had a glimpse into my heaven, it’s only fair that I get a peek into yours, right? Tell me about your heaven. What does it look like, and what do you do there?  Is every day Saturday? Or Christmas?  Who are your neighbors, if you have any, and what kind of music are you listening to?  Just out of morbid curiosity, does yours involve a kilt-wearing masseuse too?  Not that I’d drop by uninvited or anything.

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