Tricia is at work. It’s 10:15 on Sunday night. The boys are in bed, the dishes are done, the laundry is ignored. The dogs are sleeping at my feet and there may or may not be a cat somewhere.
Everyone is fed and off to bed. Me? I’m thinking about another beer and eating peanuts for dinner. It’s like a diet. I’m also not considering sleep, tired as I am.
My day is long and filled with noise. The night has Dean Martin in the background and brings a gentleness that softens the rough edges left from hours of work, play and the constant spin of the wheel. This is supposed to be a weekend, but every day is the end of somebody’s week and tomorrow is a holiday built on memories and BBQ’s. This weekend will stretch.
I enjoy this time, despite the pile of work that I will never see the bottom of and the Netflix movies that have been sitting on the table since February. I enjoy this time and I find ways around the work and excuses for hitting repeat on Martin and letting the movies gather one more coat of dust.
There is a controlled quiet here and it fills me with peace, and peanuts. It is good.