Monday mornings are sacred to me, much like Sundays are for most. It’s writing day. I have trained myself to rise early and get to my desk to work on this column. I work on the farm business too. I plot and plan our family’s week so everyone knows who is going where.
At some point, I take a walk through the forest, just to get the happy sensory overload that comes from nature. No headphones. No mobile phone. Just me and my dog. I know that my work week ahead may not allow time for it, and that’s okay, because weekends follow and the path is always waiting for me.
We’ve officially marked our first year anniversary in the country now and have no regrets about the decision to alter our life, switch careers and embark on something new. It’s been a good challenge to work on a business together and the Carpenter and I have done it without battles, mostly because we have enough land to walk around to give one another space to cool off when the need to be right is wrong.
But also because, through everything life has thrown at us, we’ve remained best friends. At the end of the day and the start of every new one, that’s our foundation.
The Carpenter, now semi-retired, has settled into new routines. He is happiest when I head off to work away from home. He’s unsupervised. You know what that means.
On Monday morning, I was up early and uncharacteristically, the Carpenter was not. I loved the thought of a morning to myself, so I left him to sleep in. I proceeded to make the pot of coffee, stoked the coals in the fire and added a log to it. I took the dog for her morning run and let the chickens out of their coop.
The morning sky was a blanket of gray, slowly allowing the light to fill the day. The sound of blue jays squawking broke the quiet, but not the peace. I stood in the yard, in my frumpy work-from-home attire and rubber boots, holding my coffee mug in both hands, smelling the rich steam as it warmed my face.
The chickens walked around my feet, pecking at the ground in search of treasures, while my little dog attempted to herd them in a circle. I was present at that moment, very aware of how amazing my life was, this place at this time. Gratitude is a super power I have cultivated with devotion.
I looked up and saw him through the kitchen window, in his trademark ball cap and hoodie, moving about in the soft glow of the yellow light that overhangs the counter. The light spilled into the garden. My Carpenter’s movements are so familiar to me. Reaching for his mug. Pouring the coffee. Stirring in the sugar.
He didn’t know he was being watched, which made the moment sweeter. I have seen enough loss this year to know how fortunate I was to be standing there, watching the love of my life in our kitchen, drinking my coffee.
Then I realized he was finishing the coffee. All the coffee. He didn’t leave me any. He turned to leave the kitchen, without even making a second pot. Sigh.
Today I’ll let his error in caffeine judgement slide, because, well, I love him. I was enjoying a calm moment. But Tuesday morning, he might not survive it.
Yep. True story.
