Sunday, March 12, 2017

Sunday

Some days I swear we are nothing more than just two people drifting on a raft heading nowhere in particular.

Take this day. Oh, I could go on about the weather: too cold, threat of snow tonight, too arctic, too wrong for the first day of daylight savings time. But honestly, there is a bit of sunshine, which lasts through our rather late breakfast...


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So not too bad and especially not too bad when you think about the rest of the country east and north of the Mississippi -- it has blizzard warnings for the next few days!

And yet, something is holding us back. I say to Ed that a walk would be nice. He mumbles words that only under the most optimistic reading could be regarded as a "yes!"

Had I been insistent, he would have gone along, but I wasn't, and he didn't, and so we just stay home. He works, I work. I put a great deal of thought into my spring break trip (the week after this). He puts a great deal of thought into his machine design. The usual.

My theory: we are treading water until spring comes.

Thank goodness for the appearance of the young family tonight for our usual Sunday dinner! You can't just stumble along when Snowdrop bounds in and grabs her grocery cart and says  -- gaga, want to play?


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Okay!


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Dinner. Pasta and stuff. By the light of the early evening ! Oh, let's not forget that -- it is no longer pitch black at dinnertime!


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After, Ed tries to catch the tail end of 60 Minutes on the TV. She wont let him. She wants to play.

They strike a compromise.


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And in the end, he plays ball, she plays ball. Oh, does she play ball!


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She calls it baseball. She calls all ball games baseball so far as I can tell. And why not? It's all grand. All of it. Even on a Sunday with no real meat to it. A pasta Sunday. Good enough. Really more than good enough.

Snowdrop would agree.

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