Me: Sometimes I am so full of emotion that I don’t know what the emotion is; I don’t know if it’s sorrow or joy.
Anthony: What’s brought this on?
Me: Tonight, having tea at my mother’s place, sitting between my two brothers and, earlier in the evening, playing with my little niece and nephew.
Anthony: Don’t you mean your great niece and nephew?
Me: Well, yes, technically, but I prefer to call them niece and nephew. It makes me feel less ancient, ha! Do you have to be pedantic? I’m not in the mood.
Anthony: Why are you so out of sorts, Jules?
Me: I guess I feel that my blog entries are sometimes too sad and I don’t want that. I certainly don’t want other people to be made sad by what I write and I definitely don’t want anyone to be sad for me; it’s a conundrum.
Anthony: I wish I could help.
Me: You do help – you do, Ants. Talking to you like this – these imagined conversations, this imagined you … your voice is so real.
Anthony: Your mother, your brothers and your whole family love you so much, Jules. I have never seen anything like it. Of course they worry, especially your mother and she has an uncanny intuition, I’ve noticed.
Me: But I don’t want her to worry about me; I don’t want anyone to worry about me! I’m fine!
Anthony: Months ago, Jules, you wrote about being able to be intensely happy and intensely sad in the same moment – something like that. It was profound, it was wise, and it was original. Is that what is happening now?
Me: Yes, that was an amazing realisation at the time but things change and now it’s winter.
Anthony: I thought you liked winter.
Me: This one seems to be particularly cold; it’s the first winter since you died.
Anthony: Ah, that explains a lot. You are probably experiencing an early equinox.
Me: What the hell are you talking about?
Anthony: Well it sounded good, didn’t it?
Me: Have you made friends with all of the dead scientists now too?
Anthony: You know me, Jules, I’ll talk to anyone.
Me: Argh – remember that woman in the wheelchair on our honeymoon that you tried to start a conversation with and she swivelled away and I couldn’t stop laughing at your dejection?
Anthony: Her carer deserves a medal.
Me: Oh yes! You mean the one pushing the wheelchair? She looked so miserable.
Anthony: She’s here now – the old lady.
Me: Why are you whispering?
Anthony: Because she’s just around the corner in the Horrible Suite and I’m on call.
Me: For what?
Anthony: My job is to charm her somehow. Any ideas?
Me: Okay, perhaps be a bit less pushy and loud? You and Ming don’t have much subtlety, do you.
Anthony: That’s my boy.
Me: It’s so interesting to me because I never knew you when you were the age Ming is now but he is obviously a clone of you?
Anthony: He has a lot more freedom.
Me: How’s that?
Anthony: He’s not milking the cows day in, day out, endlessly.
Me: But I thought you loved milking the cows!
Anthony: Have I cheered you up?
Me: I think so. I’m starting to remember all of these wonderful things by talking to you like this.
Anthony: At your service, my beautiful, wonderful wife.
jmgoyder 
Milking the cows. I remember watching my grandfather do this when I was a kid. He squirted milk at me. LOL
Glad this conversation cheered you up, well done that girl.
Some posts maybe sad but not all, some are a mix of sad and happy stuff, these conversations often make me smile and I so enjoy coming here for a visit
You just made my day Jo-Anne!
Keep remembering.