On the morning he packed to go away for a week-long business trip, I cut some heart-shaped bits of paper and wrote little love messages for my husband. I tucked them here and there. One in with his socks, another in a pocket, and put one in his wallet. When he got home and was unpacking, I saw the notes, carefully saved, nestled in the corner of his suitcase.
In return, he had left behind some of his own clothes to make room in his small case for the cozy new Colorado sweatshirt he had brought home for me. It feels like a hug.
He does not travel without me often, and the house felt strange without him. It was quiet, for one thing. There were somehow more hours in the day. And things stayed tidy. But there was a noticeable lack of laughter with him gone; the bed was too big, too cold, and the dogs were restless.
One morning while he was away, I woke up, did all the animal chores, baked bread, and even put a fresh coat of paint on our stairs before work began. It was a good time to do it, knowing the steps would have a whole day to dry without a booted man stomping up and down them.
It was good when he came through the door late Friday evening after a long day of travel. The house was filled with sound in no time, and the dogs snored contentedly around us.
On Saturday, as we often do, we hosted "family supper." Though winter is far from over, the days are perceptibly longer, the sun a little warmer, and during the day, water drips from the eaves and can be heard rushing in the brook at the top of the pasture. We felt celebratory, and in a warm-weather mood, so Chris filled the grill with marinated chicken and balanced precariously on the ice in the yard while he cooked. I baked a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert, perfuming the house with a sweet tropical scent. I cooked wild rice and made a cucumber salad. Earlier in the day, I made dough for pita bread and let it rise in a sunny window before cooking each disk in a screaming hot skillet.
Watching them balloon up as they turn from pale to golden is a treat. And the flavor is a delicious reward for the effort of making them.
At supper time, our daughter and son-in-love breezed in with the Owlet, the show's star, and three favorite friends joined to fill the big table nicely. There was no lack of chatter, and the platters of food were well-appreciated. It felt a little festive, a sweet return to the regular order of our lovely lives.
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