The Unromantic Death of a Frog

 To Hear Sir Read This Post Please Click The Greeting

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My City Slicking Darling

I have mentioned before and we have discussed at length your encounters with our native fauna. You have fed wallabies, frightened innocent little blue tongue lizards, and been petrified of spiders. Wait a minute. Did I just say petrified? Because the next animal of which I speak was exactly that.

We stayed at a little Bed & Breakfast in the Hunter Valley called “Hilltop Lodge.” I was recently nearby and saw signs entreating me to stay, so I can only assume it still operates. It was a nice home with a nice view. We checked in late in the afternoon, and when we had our room to ourselves you retired to the en suite. Upon entering our bathroom you shrieked and came running out. My immediate fear was that a snake had come up through the plumbing, something that occasionally happens here.

You were virtually speechless. I’m not sure I had seen you like this before. Eventually you alerted me to the beast within, and I steeled myself for the encounter to come. I entered with a little fear and trepidation to find a dead, dehydrated, petrified, it-ain’t-ever-going-to-breathe-again frog. I was about to deal with it, when you pulled me away. Your face was filled with worry and concern. I summoned the owners and they apologetically removed the offending carcass.

As a fitting coda you were attacked yet again. The sun had been down for many hours, and we were heading out to dine. We made for the car, but before we could embark a very much alive frog leapt out in front of you. He had back up. His mate was watching nearby. You shrieked and clung to me for protection. I laughed as sympathetically as I could manage. They were only seeking the sanctuary of the nearby pond my love. I don’t remember where we dined, but I remember your angst at having to cross the threshold that was the frogosphere before we could sleep. Suffice it to say we made it across safely and lived to tell another tale.

I will save you my Darling

Amphibiously Yours

From Sir With Love

Hill Top 1

Hill Top 2

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To Hear Darling Read This Post Please Click The Greeting

Play Symbol - Small    My Dearest Sir

I went in to take a shower, and all I saw was some dark thing in the bathroom with me. I didn’t stick around to see what it was. Your smirk is etched in my memory. I added heaps of amusement for you during our adventures. I was happy to oblige. I do feel awful how terrible the owners felt though.

If I hadn’t been with you nearly every waking hour, I would have suspected you of planting that dead frog just for the chance to be my hero again. You had already reached hero status with me, love.

I had forgotten about the live froggy assault outside. I’m beginning to wonder if there was some sort of cold-blooded, vertebrate conspiracy going on, and they were out for justice for their fallen comrade. The frog certainly died in the most unromantic way, and those neon-green buggers knew it. They blamed me. They knew I had dined on frog legs in the past – numerous times. They were figuring out a way to creep into our room at night, to pounce on my face, and stuff their webbed hands up my nose.

I knew it would be dark when we returned to the Bed & Breakfast, and the frog brigade would be lying in wait for me. You would have just laughed yourself to death, and where would that have left me? With a lifeless Australian and a lane full of dead amphibians after I beat them all senseless protecting myself because my “hero” died in the throes of a laughing spree. That just wouldn’t have been ideal.

I laughed when I saw the pictures of the Bed & Breakfast and the room we stayed in. I had forgotten how the towels on the foot of the bed looked like giant nipple pasties. The room has changed very little from the link you supplied; I guess we stayed in the Deluxe Room.

The owners were sweet, and they fixed us an awesome breakfast the next morning, so deceased animal carcasses and burlesque bed lingerie just added an element of excitement to the otherwise quaint atmosphere.

And if memory serves, you asked me to assume the frog position a time or two for a game of leap frog. Yeah that’s right – leap frog. Ribbit.

Croakingly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

I Hold a Candle For You Too

My Dear Sir,

For our 100th letter, I want to share another song that you play. I love knowing that you’re playing it. I love that it’s your beautiful hands working their magic over the keys.

Thank you for sharing yourself with me. I know you. I see you. I love you.

Love always,

Darling

Play Symbol - Small Sir Playing Elton John’s Candle In The Wind

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Hello My Darling

I love that you love me. I also love that you love that I play the piano.

Happy 100th. This was all your idea and so the credit must go to you.

I love you my precious Darling

From Sir With Love

The Last Day

Play Symbol - Small To My Dearest Darling  Click The Greeting To Hear Sir Read His Letter

It was March 1999. It was your last night in Australia. It was the last night I looked lovingly into your eyes. It was both awful and intense. I was despondent.

We had returned to Sydney after our dalliances in the Blue Mountains, at Jenolan Caves and in the Hunter Valley. We had one last day together, one last night. We thought we would see one another again and yet still it hurt. The pain, it was like no other. It was a pain that has no name. You were soon to leave these shores. I was desolate.

You reminded me recently how we stood in my laundry as we washed and dried your clothes. I had forgotten, but the memories came flooding back. I would have tried to keep busy, tried to deny that awful reality. I would have also wanted your life to be easy; so we washed, we dried, we folded, and we packed. We readied ourselves to send you on your way. I was disconsolate.

I had booked us tickets to the theatre. We went and saw quite a famous Australian performer at the beautiful State Theatre in Sydney. Barry Humphries and his characters Dame Edna Everage, Sir Les Patterson and Sandy Stone featured in a quite wonderful show called “Remember You’re Out.” You sat beside me struggling with the accent. I wanted the distraction. The show? It was hysterical. My laughter? It was shrill. I was dejected.

I don’t remember where we ate that night. I remember the ride home in the taxi. I remember driving past the incomplete Sydney Olympic Stadium. I just held your hand with a quiet intensity. I was wretched.

We went to bed. We made love. It was fervid and frantic. We could sense the inevitable. Tomorrow’s dawn, it was the Sword of Damocles above our heads. I just lay there and held you. We barely spoke a word. I was bereft.

The sun’s early light would broker no argument. The day was here. It was ours to face. I hated it. We had to return our hire car. I loaded your luggage. We would off load it again as we caught a cab to Kingsford Smith upon returning the vehicle. I remember the taxi driver. He was everything you would want, happy, cheerful, chatty and ready to please. He saw the look on my face in his rear view mirror. He went silent. I was mournful.

We arrived at the airport. I don’t remember checking in, I don’t remember what we did. I just remember one thing, holding you in my arms for one last time. My left hand was tightly round your waist. My right, it cradled your neck and head. I drank in your aroma one last time, our lips locked one last time, and we held each other’s hands one last time. Then it was time to go. We separated. You went forward. Then with tears in your eyes and one last long look back, you were gone. I was inconsolable.

At that point I just lost it. Until then I had held it together (well almost). There was nothing for it now though, the tears where streaming down my overwrought cheeks. What was I to do? You were gone. I grabbed a bottle of water and sat at some dodgy outside table and awaited your plane’s departure. I saw the wheels leave the tarmac, watched them slide under the fuselage and with the four angry engines of the Qantas 747 screaming, awash with ugly power, the plane ascended, banked and you were gone. I was numb.

The centre of my world had left me. In pain, I set off home. I didn’t jump a bus or hail a cab. I walked, well at least I started to. It was about 30 kilometres from the airport to my home. I think I walked about a third of the way before my shoe leather began to bite, and I abandoned my ridiculous undertaking. When I returned to my home, well it had never felt so empty. I began to tidy things up and found your pyjamasa story I have already relayed.

My Darling I have never experienced such love, such loss and such anguish all wrapped together like a pain ridden bundle of hurt. I knew then at least that we would be together again. That was how I consoled myself. I most assuredly messed that up as you well know.

Darling I must say it again. Thank you for searching for me, finding me and reaching out to me. You are my everything.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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Play Symbol - Small Oh My Sir,  Click The Greeting To Hear Darling Read Her Letter

That day is hard to talk about. It hurts reading your words and seeing it through your eyes. I can still feel the pain even now from that day; it’s sharp and real. How crazy is that?

Our last night together was so beautiful as well as excruciating. The theater was stunning, and you were so handsome. While I enjoyed Barry Humphries, I was more aware of the good-looking man next to me. Many of Barry’s jokes went over my head and I did struggle with understanding him, but to be fair I was very distracted as well. The time bomb was ticking, and I was really conscious of it.

I remember making love with you after we returned to your house; I cried nearly the whole time. I wasn’t sobbing, but the tears silently rolled down my face. You tenderly kissed them off my cheeks and held me. We weren’t rushed that night. Our love making was unhurried, deliberate, and poignant. You gave me your body and your heart and soul, and I gave you mine in return. I cherished every bit of you.

I remember I had a huge lump in my throat that made it hard to breathe. I was scared to sleep because the morning was coming; it was inevitable. I had a hard time getting up the next morning because of the sorrow that hung in the air. I had to go home. I was leaving you.

I recall crying in the cab as you firmly held onto my hand. I don’t remember the cab driver though. I was too dejected to notice I suppose. You notice everything. I love that about you.

I remember our last hug. I can feel your strong arms around me even now. You held me so tightly. I bawled. My legs felt like lead as I forced myself to walk away and pass through the security gates. I remember thinking that I shouldn’t look back, but I had to. I needed to see you. My last vision of you was blurry, because my tears got in the way.

When I felt the plane lift off from the runway, the hole in my heart got bigger. I left a giant piece of it with you. You still have that piece; it was yours to keep. The flight attendant kept asking me if there was anything she could do for me as my swollen, tear-streaked face was obvious. I could only shake my head no. I remember I was still crying when we flew over Hawaii. I would cry myself to sleep, wake up, and then I would start to cry again. I was one dehydrated, hot mess.

I called you from Los Angeles. You were relieved I had made it back to the United States safely. We talked about me going ahead with the plans we had made while we were together. You told me about finding my purple pajamas in your spare bed. I told you to keep them safe for me until I returned.

If I had only known…..

Sadly yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

Stupid With a Capital S

Click The Greeting To Hear Darling Read Her Letter

Play Symbol - SmallMy Dear Captivating Sir,

There are times when you whisper sweet nothings or my name and say the most romantic things to me, and it makes me Stupid beyond measure. I can’t think. And when you speak to me in your husky morning voice, oh my have mercy. The memories it evokes are many, and my hands become sweaty. I can barely speak, and I’m just short of stuttering. I lose my train of thought easily. When I get that way, it makes you laugh which in turn makes me laugh. I’ve even announced “I’ve just gone stupid.” I daresay you love it (as do I).

At the times when my mind goes blank from your words, we just sit there in silence – just feeling each other – and the connection between us grows stronger. The love is very apparent. I feel the smile in your very being and it stretches across the ocean and permeates me. I picture your glowing eyes.

So forgive me for my many moments of stupidness. It’s all your fault you know.

Stutteringly yours,

Darling

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Click The Greeting To Hear Sir Read His Reply

Play Symbol - SmallMy Most Intelligent Darling

I have enormous trouble believing that you would ever become stupid. You are a feisty, opinionated and smart woman! Those are just some of the many reasons why I love you so.

You too have your own sultry morning voice. I hear you when you awake. My pulse quickens and many virile thoughts gallop through my mind. Plus there is that urgent need to tickle you just as you reach the pinnacle of your morning stretch.

I am pleased I can make you speechless my Darling. I assume that’s why you keep quoting Lord Grantham from Downton Abbey at me? “I blame you.” A cruel man would say that I do it as the only possible means to stop you from talking. I am not a cruel man therefore I so love to hear the sound of your voice.

Eloquently Yours

From Sir With Love

©2014 Darling and Sir

Merry Christmas From Darling and Sir

My Dearest Sir,

I simply adore you. I am also very proud of your abilities. I love when you play the piano. I love watching and hearing you. I want others to be able to get a glimpse of how truly talented you are – just a glimpse mind you hence the inserted clip art at times you are fully visible. You’re still entitled to your privacy.

I cherish you, my love. I always have.

Forever yours,

Darling

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My Lyrical Darling

I loved to play the piano for you. I look at the video and adore that you love it. I still have trouble being objective though. I can see its faults. You know I play a lot of improvisational jazz, blues and rock material. Virtually none of that is showcased here. I am being self critical I know, but I consider that style to be my greatest strength. I have said it before but all the effort that went into making the videos including practice, time and money was undoubtedly worth it. It led you back to me.

I Love You My Darling

Merry Christmas

From Sir With Love

©2013 Darling and Sir

Wake Up Call

My Dear Somnolent Darling

We seem to be talking quite a bit about sleep lately (or lack thereof.) We spent a night (or two?) staying in Caves House at the beautiful Jenolan Caves. Apart from the absolute awe and wonder of the natural beauty to be found, two other events stick in my mind. Firstly there was the inadequacy of the room we were offered and secondly there was that wake up call.

Jenolan Caves 6

You had been doing all the driving, as we have previously discussed. The road down to the caves is both narrow and bendy. By the time we arrived you were feeling a little nauseous and car sick. You bravely soldiered on but you needed to nap. We checked in, then went to our room. There were no curtains or blinds. You were not impressed and rightly so.

Caves House, as the hotel we stayed in is known, has been through its ups and it’s downs. Sadly when we visited it was on the way down again. I was quite looking forward to showing you the stunning Waterford crystal chandelier that graced their reception area. In a moment of culture vandalism they had obviously recognised it’s value and replaced with a brass and glass number that would be more fitting in a tasteless Hollywood mansion owned by Tori Spelling. Having said all that it really would be a hard hotel to run. It is a good hours drive from the nearest town of any size along a pretty hair raising road. There is no other reason to come and stay except to visit the caves and the staff would need to live on site. I am not making excuses just pointing out the logistical nightmare of running such a remote venue.

Jenolan Caves 1

I presented myself at the concierge desk (there being no phones in the rooms and no mobile reception at the site) and was grudgingly assigned another room. I also booked a wake up call, or what passed for one at the venue, for 6.00am. This is when everything was forgiven.

The next morning at about the appointed time there was a firm knock at the door and a staff member calling our names. “Mr and Mrs Sir, Mr and Mrs Sir, this is Mandy from reception. This is your wake up call, can you confirm for me that you’re awake?” Well my heart was singing. It was clearly obvious to all that Darling and Sir were husband and wife. We spent the rest of your trip my Darling as just that.

Yours In Matrimonial Bliss

From Sir With Love

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My Dear Adventurous Sir,

I remember Jenolan and the Caves House very well. I was looking forward to arriving, getting to our room, and just snuggling up next to you on the bed and resting. As I looked at the picture you posted, I recognize the windows to the right edged in green. One of those windows was our first room.

I remember walking into that beautiful room and exclaiming over the missing curtains and blinds. I was feeling so poorly at this point, that you insisted that I lie down while you went to the front desk to sort things. I vaguely recall you waking me up to change rooms. You had to literally help me up and walk. I feel bad I was such a burden that first night. After I rested for a short time, we did wander down to see the caves. You watched me closely and kept saying how pale I looked. Luckily it passed.

Jenolan Caves 4

I was disappointed that they had removed the chandelier you had told me about. The place was beautiful still, and had such a quaint aura about it. It was here, at the Caves House where I heard my first kookaburra. That made me happy. Thank you so much for taking me to this serene place. There is still another tender memory that I recall there, but I shall write about it at a later time.

I remember that wake up call. I can still feel my face freezing in surprise when we were addressed by Mr. and Mrs. Sir. I whispered to you, “Did they really just say that?”  You were grinning so hard, I’m surprised you could answer. You were absolutely thrilled. I was too once I got over the shock.

Espousing-ly yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir

Jenolan Caves 2

Gag Me With a Raw Oyster

To hear Darling and Sir read their letters please click on the greetings.

Play Symbol - Small My Delectable Darling

Food played a massive part in your time here. One of your first and most memorable culinary adventures was your experience with oysters. Really in this case it should be singular and not plural, so from henceforth I shall refer to it as oyster. On your second day we rode a Sydney Harbour ferry to Watsons Bay. This is a fairly exclusive suburb populated by the well to do. It is also home to an iconic Sydney seafood restaurant named Doyles. It was here we dined, and where you had your first experience with the dreaded oyster.

I know I goaded you into eating one. I always order mine natural and just have some cracked pepper and fresh lemon with them. Normally when someone first tries oysters I suggest they have them cooked (not raw) either Kilpatrick or mornay is often the safest bet. I feel a little guilty knowing I ordered them natural for you. You no doubt had your dander up and I was responding in kind. The look of disgust on your face was priceless. Your desire to show no fear was a delight. Your attempt to eat one was simply magic. Your failure to do so was my personal triumph (does that read like an advertisement for MasterCard?) What I think I enjoyed the most though was your description. After your brave attempt to swallow ONE oyster, it still brings tears of laughter to my eyes. Your words: “It was like a reverse loogie!”

Deliciously Yours

From Sir With Love

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Play Symbol - Small  My Dear Sly Sir,

I can actually hear your laughter ringing in my ears as I read your words. You, Sir, are evil incarnate. I had told you that I liked oyster soup, so I guess you assumed that I would like the raw, slimy version. There is a huge difference between the cooked versus the raw kind. I still think you had an ulterior motive, my love.

I distinctly recall you telling me to just try one, and if I didn’t like it you’d happily consume the rest. I think I just realized your ulterior motive. I remember looking at the platter in dismay and at the gelatinous globs of slime thinking, “You want me to swallow that?!” Then I glanced at your face, and I knew you would not best me. Even though your face was sincere and solemn, the twinkle in your eye was a dead give-a-way.

You demonstrated the correct way to slurp that sucker down. You lifted the shell to your lips and gobbled it in one swift movement. You made it look easy enough. I reached for a shell and you picked up your second one. I believe you said cheers, and we clinked the shells together. I followed suit and attempted to have my first raw oyster.

Words can never express the horror of that moment. I shudder to this very day remembering the feeling and texture of that lump of snot that got wedged in my throat. I started gagging and choking. I couldn’t get it up or down. In between your fits of laughter, you thumped me on the back in an effort to help me extricate that vile piece of mucous. I finally dislodged it from my mouth and spat it on the ground in disgust. A stray dog hurried over and lapped it up, adding to my revulsion. As you correctly stated, I announced to you that it felt like a reverse loogie!

You kindly offered to order me some other delicacy, but my appetite had vanished completely. I was suspicious at this point, knowing you’d order me something else just as nasty. In an attempt to quell your mirth and to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, I remember telling you that I wouldn’t kiss a mouth that ate raw oysters. You just smiled and knew I was bluffing, because you leaned over and laid one on me right then and there.

Your kiss was nearly enough to make me forget this incident – nearly. You’re such a devil.

Innocently yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir