change
This is only my third evening home, but already I'm looking to my right to see my partner. And he's not here. I can sense him, feel him, almost hear him. He'd be asleep, sitting up. It's a sweet but troubling sound. He's taking the "intervention" sleep study tonight, to set him up with the proper care.
He had an early evening meal of beef barley soup I'd put up in the freezer, along with some crusty bread.
I cooked my butt off the past many days (once my sister was home from hospital), enjoyed every moment of the work, and actually tasted very little of my efforts. I'm pretty familiar with the methods by now, and tend to leave any extra salt and pepper to the diners. I did have some of the Guinness stew, and some of the butter chicken, and a piece of the pork tenderloin. (I'm not complaining. This wasn't for me!)
Mike had some delicious lasagna for my first night home, with plenty of leftovers, which we gobbled up last night. There aren't any leftovers in the house. From the cheap seats here, that's an abomination! It also means I at the very least offered a larder which was used and appreciated, which isn't a small satisfaction. He can fend very well for himself, but damn I love that man.
My sister, when she was visiting in August and October, called my refrigerator "Jenga" because you can imagine why. Some of you have been here. You know.
You also know that I get antsy when I can see the back of the fridge at every shelf. It's unholy. We're druid labs We are always prepared to entertain!
Since the plague we haven't entertained. It's unlikely we'll do so in the near future. And future means something different than when we were in our 50s, or 40s. As we hover around our 70s (I am the younger one thank you!) a new focus emerges. What's next for us? What's this last part going to be?