It’s 4:30, and I’m in my pajamas.
George just left. It’s his turn to have someplace to be today. This morning he agreed to forego our usual pancakes-and-bacon Saturday breakfast so I could get out of the house early and off to cover a story. When I returned, 4 hours later, he had made the bed, done the dishes, and baked a loaf of bread. He’s such a special guy.
Now he’s off to Appleton with another musician for a recording session. I miss him when he’s gone, but I’m glad he can do something dear to his heart: meet new music makers, and create tunes with them. In mid-winter, when gigs dwindle, it’s his personal cure for potential cabin fever.
The evening now belongs to me and Lady. She keeps me company, and I keep her content, sleeping in a relaxed beagle heap on the couch, happy to be home with at least part of her pack.
For supper I treat myself to fruit and cheese–cheese is my one weakness–eaten in front of the television, while I watch “Miss Potter” through Amazon streaming. I’ve seen it before, which is why I know I’ll like it now. Beatrix Potter, of Peter Rabbit fame, is treated with as much charm as she put into her famous children’s books. I remind myself to ask George if he’s seen it.
I close the blinds on all the windows as the evening progresses–not out of fear, but from a love of cozy closeness. Besides, it’s supposed to snow a bit tonight. I’d like to look out later and be surprised. The porch light is on in welcome for George when he returns, likely after I’ve already gone to bed.
Lady stirs and fixes round brown eyes on me in a steady gaze. Treat time, of course. Every evening, when George and I fix our tiny snack, she gets her treats, too–two little morsels from each of us. Somehow, in mid-snore, she remembers what she’s due. Knowing that she’ll stare until she gets it, I get up. A cup of tea for me and a piece of orange-cranberry bread, and two little dog bones. Hopefully, she doesn’t miss the two she didn’t get from George.
The television is off, and I listen to the almost-quiet as I sip my tea. Our new humidifier hums gently in the kitchen, and the furnace breathes out its forced air now and then. I don’t mind the quiet. I let my thoughts drift, touching on the day’s events, the drive through farmland to the presentation I covered, the women of faith with whom I shared my morning, the plans for tomorrow, new recipes I’m eager to try (lemon linguini, served as a side with baked salmon–can’t wait!) and my end-of-day prayer time, when I talk it all over with God.
The phone rings and interrupts my thoughts. My son Justin, needing some cooking advice–which I couldn’t give him. Melting Velveeta cheese in a crock-pot? I’ve never done it. (Processed cheese is NOT my one weakness.) Try a double boiler on the stove top, I say. He laughs and says he’ll figure it out. Then I tell him about his aunt’s heart attack–she’s OK, now–and he promises to call her. Across the miles, across the country, family ties still twine about.
The dark outside is complete, my lovely little birds are all roosting somewhere warm and safe, Lady needs only one more trip outside, and then we’ll head for bed, where I lay awake for a time, whispering a prayer for George’s safe trip home, and ending with the familiar refrain from Compline:
“Protect us, Lord, as we stay awake; watch over us as we sleep, that awake, we may keep watch with Christ, and asleep, rest in his peace.”