No words are spoken
but there’s comfort in the night –
Photo credit: Pinterest
No words are spoken
but there’s comfort in the night –
Photo credit: Pinterest
Friday night but my disciplined husband keeps his weekly work routine and goes to bed by 9:00.
Past 9:30 but this cinema buff keeps her weekend desire to watch old movies past midnight.
Classic Hepburn was a given. Including Spencer Tracy and Sydney Poitier was like adding salt and pepper to a favorite dish.
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 1967 choice. Looking back in time at this social issue was the comedy-drama I wanted.
15 minutes into the movie and I wonder why I hear my husband going out the back door? I figured he needed more wood to ensure the fire made it through the night. My mind stays focused on the screen and I pay more attention to the gallery and nice digs than I do to my own artful home. When I hear the stairs, I finally turn my head thinking Richie decided to join me.
But it’s not Richie!
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 2018 reality. Gawking in surprise at my non-social butterfly baby girl was the comedy-drama I needed.
She had not flown in on United but I was thrilled to be reunited with her.
I didn’t have a Tillie to make us sandwiches and it was too cold to eat outside but I did whip us up some cheesy scrambled eggs to eat in the kitchen.
I never made it past the scene where the doctor meets the dad. On the interesting flip side, Tarah’s dad visits his doctor in the morning.
Our reunion tonight was comedic. I can’t wait to see what drama unfolds tomorrow…in both households.
Richie has been very clever with his Amazon dot. He uses it as a timer, to check the weather, to set reminders and to bate me. All things he was able to do before she came along.
I tried once more to give him a taste of his own medicine. I decided to set a reminder to go off when we’d both be hanging out in the family room. He’d be done getting wood and making the fire and I’d be finished the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. The reminder needed to be juvenile but classic.
When I saw him coming in from the garage, I quickly asked her my basic favor:
“Alexa. Reminder me that Richie smells in one hour.”
She was repeating my command as he reached the back deck and I took off down the hall like a criminal.
I changed out of my work clothes and took a quick call from a friend before we sat down to eat leftovers for dinner. I easily cleaned up the dishes and then decided to bathe myself in some hot water too.
I went back into the kitchen in my bathrobe as I combed out my hair.
“Were you going to clean out the fridge today?” Richie asked.
“What? No why? Do you think it needs it?”
“Alexa does, she sent a reminder to “Review smells”.
Unbelievable. Clearly I know whose side she is on. I want Alexa out of my house. I don’t favor her at all. We can miscommunicate just fine without her…
Even though it’s a comfort food from when I was a child, I sometimes forget how much I like pot roast. It is a Yankee culinary delight. Richie basted this one in our crockpot last Monday. The meat cooked so slowly, it quickly melted in my mouth. The carrots, Irish potatoes and onions swam alongside in the delicious gravy on my plate. Yankee me couldn’t get enough, even after several pot roast dinners last week. I am comforted as the cold weather approaches; warmed by the wood stove, a crock pot and my man.
2 T olive oil
1 T balsamic vinegar
1 T raspberry jam
1 t mustard
Sprinkle of garlic powder
Sprinkle of white pepper
Dash of salt
Whisk until oil is visibly blended
Salad: Romaine, walnuts, dried cranberry, feta cheese (and chicken, if desired).
Our girls are finally settled in their new apartments as of today. It’s been a lot of hard work and I am excited for them. However, tonight my husband and I got back to some 1×1 cooking. The above vinegraitte recipe is the result of a sadly quieter house at the same time it is a renewed sense of being together. I was the sous chef but didn’t mind, since I learn the family recipes and food secrets my husband has tucked away in his Cordon Bleu brain. The last time Richie made this recipe, he whisked it up in moments and kept the ingredient list to himself. I historically just eat the fruits of his labor! I love working side-by-side in the kitchen again but why am I still writing at this hour? Perhaps some other 1×1 cooking is in order…
A walk with the family dog after work usually makes my day.
Our pug, Otis, was following at my heels as I entered the kitchen, where my daughter was reading her book at the table.
As I headed toward the back door I said, “you have to do poohs and pees before you get your dinner.”
My 21-year-old daughter muttered an “okay” as she looked up at me.
I broke into laughter and explained that I was talking to Otis.
“Wait, what did you say?”
I repeated myself as the dog and I continued toward the back door.
Tarah’s embarrassed sly grin, as she realized the humor in her response, is actually what made my day.
Photo credit: Disability Images
It’s the first time we’re not with our two girls on Thanksgiving, since the year before Tarah was born. That’s 20 years of tradition that now has to be different. People say embracing change is a good thing. As the day unfolds, I’ll be the judge of that.
It started yesterday when I was thrilled to be working from home, so I could be there when my youngest arrived from campus. She stayed long enough to unpack the car, drop-off her laundry – and leave to meet friends for dinner. Typical. It’s happened before. They’ve been away from home long enough for me to know their world revolves around more than me.
I still didn’t have a commute, what’s-his-name and I had a nice dinner together and we’d paid the electric bill – so we were also able to leave the outside lights on. Evidently, Tarah had a long dinner with friends because of the holiday.
I can sleep before they get home nowadays but I still wake up in the early hours to check on them in their rooms. She was safe in her bed and clearly exhausted. She’d been too tired to even flick the outside lights to ‘off’.
It’s now 7:30 a.m. and I’m wondering if it was passive aggressive of me to pick this hour of the day to unload the dishwasher? Is my husband reacting the same way as he finishes baking for the day – with his Android playing The Doors? Either way, it’s got to be less disturbing than the dorms, right?
As the day only starts to unfold, I wonder if she’s in her room questioning the day she was born? I’m going to ponder that as I change out of my pajamas and fold some laundry.
Stay tuned for future “Parts” of our day…
I had a “Peter Brady” dinner tonight – – –
– – – you know what I’m taking about…
Our 24th wedding anniversary was yesterday. It was filled with the annual sense of awe and irritation. Awe that we made it this far and irritation knowing we pushed a few buttons along the way.
We’re like a comfortable old wool sweater that can’t be thrown away. It keeps you warm and protected but if there’s nothing else, you itch like hell. Hell or high water (more snow in this case) we were getting dinner from our favorite Italian restaurant. We enjoyed it in the comfort of our rustic home. We’ve raised a family here and had stressful challenges too.
The point is, I wasn’t sure how to feel about our long-term affair? I needed to know it was commitment versus comfort. More fun and happiness than growing pains and worry. I didn’t know if I was thankful or just trying to endure?
I looked to my calendar to gain some perspective:
“Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.” 1 Corinthians 13:7
I do love you, Mister. I can never forget that part…even if you do still eat off my plate!