Sunday

The snow is coming down steadily, just as predicted. It's pretty, but it feels cold outside. Or maybe it's that I am officially looking forward to spring?







I want Ed to sleep in today and so I am extra quiet as I come down to do morning chores. I see that Stop Sign is on the porch, but Miss Calico is gone. Silly girl, putting herself at risk for all the wrong reasons.






Everything moves slowly. There is no rush. I want to savor the quiet. The rest of the month is super busy for me and so a day of calm should be a good thing, right?






I must have clanged a dish or perhaps cleaning the coffee maker caused too much of a rumble. I hear Ed stirring. So we have breakfast together after all.





He thinks we should ski. I look at him and shake my head. Is this any way to kick the bug that's been ravaging your system all winter long? It's windy and cold outside, I tell him.

We go out anyway. For a handful minutes. To shovel. Then home again.



We play a game Ed has taken to lately: if you could not live where you live, where would you set up home? It used to be that Ed would say New Zealand. I'd laugh at that. Neither of us have ever been to New Zealand. Still, a quite, kind, and beautiful landscape tugs at him. Today, he's drawn to British Columbia (which he has been to, so it's fair game).

He brings up houses for sale in Victoria on his computer. Would you live on a houseboat? -- he asks me. Then he checks himself. No, you need a garden. Let's look at houses with garden space.

We pick one we like. Small, clean, bright.

So we're set? I ask.

We laugh and go back to our various reading materials.

No Sunday eve dinner of note. No kids, no parents of kids, no need to pop open a bottle of Prosecco. Just quiet. Ed rests, I read.