Friday morning, and it’s a gray one. The light is on in the kitchen where I’m working in silence, chopping hard-boiled eggs into a bowl, adding them to diced green onions. When I’m finished, I’ll add a dash of salt and pepper and Miracle Whip salad dressing, and spread the mixture on buttered slices of sourdough bread. Lunch for today and tomorrow.

The sound of the washing machine humming in the laundry room provides the only background noise. I’m washing towels and a couple of face masks—it’s the standard Friday morning chore. It’s amusing to call it a chore, really. All I do is gather towels from the various rooms in the house and toss them in the washer along with others I’ve been saving throughout the week (Oops, I just realized I forgot to add the ones that were in the hamper. Guess I’ll be doing a second load later.).

The dogs wander in and out of the kitchen to check on what’s going on in case a morsel of something has fallen to the floor. Sorry, pups. Not today,

Gerry’s gone to get the oil changed in the car and, more than likely, have coffee with a crony. I asked him to pick up a tub of margarine while he was out. Margarine, not butter because since the “butter gate” thing started where butter remains too hard to spread even after being left out on the countertop overnight I switched. I’ll probably go back to butter when the whole thing is sorted out—I’m trusting that it will be sorted out—or maybe not. Perhaps the convenience of soft margarine will become a mainstay. They told us at the Vascular Improvement Clinic we attended a few years ago when Gerry had his heart incident that it was better for us anyway. I’m not necessarily buying it, but there is something to be said for ease of use.

I saw a meme once that said something about remembering that the things we have now are the same things we once dreamed about having and I think that is true. A peaceful Friday morning spent at home making egg salad sandwiches and doing laundry is certainly something I longed for during the busy years and, before that, the tumultuous ones.

The world is still in chaos, the news disturbing., but here, in my kitchen where I’m lulled by the sound of my washing machine, as I side-step around dogs, and make sandwiches we’ll enjoy over a game or two of chess, I’m nothing but content.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
1 comment
  1. There is nothing like Miracle Whip in a sandwich. Simple pleasures = contentment.

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