January 8, 2009
I think Abe was more upset about my accident than he let on. Every two or three weeks he makes a wonderful dinner for me, and last night he decided to do it again. When I came home from a late meeting, he had dinner waiting for me: green salad, shrimp cocktail, grilled salmon, steamed summer squash, merlot, and Girardelli chocolates. Everything I love. That was impressive enough, but after we rinsed the dishes he put on Michael Buble and we hug-waltzed to slow jazz in the living room. A few kisses later he told me to do whatever I liked until bedtime. Then he went upstairs to do some work. I melted into the floor.