Boot waffles...

 I heard a story about a woman who was mightily vexed throughout her long marriage because her husband had the habit of leaving his dirty socks on the floor. Then, when he died, after all her years of bitter complaints, she suddenly felt that she would give anything to have more dirty socks. 

Chris wears big, serious work boots with deep treads almost all the time. When he comes in from outside, he deposits what I have dubbed "boot waffles" around the house. They tend to shed from his boots on the white stairs most of all. Because we live on a farm, the mud he tracks in is so much more than mud. Let's just be frank. It's poop and dirt. I spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning everything from layers of fine grit to big chunks of yuck from his boots. And I am here to tell you right now that I would NOT miss that if he died. 

Here is what I would miss. When we go to bed at night, I like to lie on my back for a while, feeling the smoothness of the sheets and the deep softness of the mattress and letting my muscles know it's time to rest. Chris rolls to his left and scoots toward me until his knees press against my legs and his chin touches my shoulder. Then he inhales deeply as if presented with a bouquet of lilacs. He makes a little happy sound as he exhales. He puts his right arm around my waist, tucking his hand beneath my back and pulling me tightly towards him. It's like I am on an amusement ride called The Dreamland Express, and his arm is the safety belt keeping me firmly in place. And then? He is asleep. Just like that. 

I usually read for a little while or just lie still and let my mind wander. I think about my day, what I could have done better, what I wish I had not done (or said), and what I intended to do but forgot about. I do a little tomorrow planning, think about what I might cook for supper, and what projects top my list. Not Chris. He finishes his day and shuts off like someone flipped a switch. Once I am done reading and thinking all the busy thoughts, I want to roll on my right side, and even though he is sound asleep, when I softly ask, "Hug your back?" he flips instantly. Then it's my turn to put my arm around his solid warmth, match his breathing and join him wherever our souls go when we sleep. That. That is what I would miss.