admiring the lights on the Christmas tree and embracing the warmth coming from the fire in the large brick fireplace, she sits in her spot on the sofa...
the only thing separating the two is an end table, which is really no barrier at all... as the two, more often than not, sit holding hands with their clasped hands resting alongside an old rotary phone on the small etched top table.
here, they never have to be apart from one another.
"mommie, where did mike go?" he asks slightly bending down the top of his paper and peering over at her.
"he went to run some errands for me," she clearly recalls then grins at her doting husband, "he should be returning anytime."
he straightens his paper and continues reading.
a few moments later...
"now, then... can you give me a hint of something you would like for Christmas this year."
she thinks.. but for not long...
"i cannot think of a thing, george. i have all i could ever want!" she glances back at the pine standing in the corner of her den. the Christmas lights, which are perfectly strung from branch to branch, reflect in her glasses, she smiles a beautiful nose-wrinkling smile because she is happy.
here, she clearly remembers everything,
she has more than she could ever have imagined,
and there is no sadness.
(furthermore, here, there is no need for spectacles.
she is just more comfortable wearing them...
he puts his paper aside, rises out of his chair with ease, and makes his way over to the rather large windows that overlook the river. there is steam coming from the water, which is much warmer than the air. he makes a mental note of the barge pushing its way upstream, third one today.
he turns and gingerly walks into the kitchen to mix himself a toddy.
"can i make that for you, george?" she offers.
"golly muggins, no, mommie," he responds as he steadily pours first a shot of vodka followed by enough tomato juice to cover the ice into his highball glass.
here, there are no artificial hips nor knees,
no arthritis, no cataracts nor parkinson's disease.
there is commotion coming from the entry way...
upon being opened, the car-port door makes its own distinct sound as it loses its seal,
the wind coming off the river howls into the foyer and down the hallway,
then, there is the sound of the door being forcefully shut against the wind and locked...
finally, mike, bundled head to toe carrying a couple of grocery sacks, appears in the kitchen.
"i'll take one of those too, old man" with a twinkle in his eye and gleam in his smile he adoringly says to his dad.
"mike, are you back already? that didn't take long at all!" excitedly, she says as she hurries into the kitchen to join her two favorite men.
here, there is no need for worry;
their beloved son always returns safely and soundly.
love and God's blessings,
ps. on my side-bar, you will find earlier entries entitled,