I met a man a couple of weeks ago by the name of Robert. He was skilled in electrical work, plumbing, and even something he called "laser guided missile repair." Though I have no idea what the latter is, I found myself impressed just by the fancy and highly skilled sound of it. "What a smart guy!" I thought to myself as I tried to picture him in the line of duty. When we met, it was cold and rainy and Robert sat bundled up on a bench outside of my local Albertson's grocery store. I didn't see him as I walked out because he was off to my left and not even my peripheral vision picked up his presence. Plus, I was in a hurry to get home so I could kick back with the family to have popcorn and watch movies. On cold, rainy days there's nothing I like better than snuggling up under the plush blanket that my mom gave me for Christmas three years ago. The picture you see doesn't do it justice
because this thing is velvety soft and oh so warm. I like it so much that it took me two years before I would even allow my son (who is now almost 7) to touch or use it. It was just a generally accepted rule in our home that no one, under any circumstances, was to touch "mommy's blanket," and this rule extended to my husband, friends, family, and anyone else who happened to stop by. "Don't touch it now, don't touch it ever," was the unspoken message anytime it was sitting out. I could be in another room of the house and still know if someone ran their unworthy finger along it to cop a feel of it's satiny soft lining. I love this blanket, but... today's entry isn't about my blanket, though you no doubt see now why I love it. Back to Robert. As I walked to my car, popcorn and seasonings in hand, and hood over head, I shivered under the falling rain. I couldn't wait to get back home, so as I turned on the car and began backing out I had only blanket, popcorn, and movie in mind. And then I saw him. 