. . . the most ordinary things could be made extraordinary, simply by doing them with the right people.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The rhythmic percussion of the knife on the wooden cutting board is a meditative addition to the quiet Christmas Spotify playlist music coming through the Bose speaker. I’m making shortbread cookies, and Gerry is chopping bananas and pineapple for the dehydrator—special treats made in preparation for children and grandchildren coming soon.
We work silently, together, but focusing on our individual tasks
”This is nice,” Gerry remarks. I concur.
I’m reminded of a similar Saturday, back when Saturdays were precious, when we worked together this way. I said, at the time, that I imagined this is what it would be like when we retired. Turns out, I was right.
A roaster full of crunchy Nuts and Bolts cools on top of the stove, shortbread cookies with red and green sprinkles rest on the counter next to it. The dehydrator, full of fruit, is humming away downstairs.
We take time to do a bit of housework (both of us managing to avoid picking up the dusting cloth), have a light lunch, and a few rounds of MasterMind, then decide to take our cameras and go for a drive.
We head out of town to a place where Gerry snowshoes in the winter. The light is flat, not good for photography, but we get out of the car and capture a few images anyway.
Then home, to a Yorkie demanding her dinner, and a hot tub and conversation. The day, on the surface, not too different from that Saturday I remember from back in our working days—and yet, a horse of another colour, entirely.
My cup runs over.