Love is a Many Splendored Thing

What a day the husband and I had today. We hit the floor running, from one appointment to the next. Thankfully he went with me to Duluth, driving while I hammered out contracts, answered emails and made real estate calls (the wonders of technology today). I would look up occasionally and gasp, thinking we were surely about to die in Atlanta traffic. We hoofed it back home then criss-crossed our ways to more appointments. By the time I plopped in my recliner back home, I had no mojo left to even think about throwing together that healthy salad that was lying unassembled in my refrigerator. But I did have enough juice left to cobble together sandwiches and popcorn. We marshalled that down and then Pa said, "Let's go out to the porch." He turned off the TV and we sauntered out there, too pooped to pop. 

Our porch is of legendary status, the stuff of Southern Living dreams. The animals curled around our feet while we listened to the fountains splashing in the cool air (finally -- it's been fired up something hellish lately). Eventually, the sun went down and the crickets began to burr. The frogs joined them, along with the cicadas. A gentle rain was falling. Our daughter eventually got home and awwwwwwed her way on down into a rocking chair. She had the yack-yacks and then quieted down like us. There's not too much you can say, after you've expended the day's work, talked out your major problems and then found a good porch to set down to. There were things I needed to tend to, things that had worried at my mind all day. A file here, a download there, another email to send. I laid them far back in the yonder land of my mind, as I mentally excused each one. That one can wait 'til tomorrow. I'll do that one tonight. I'm canceling that silly morning meeting. It's a perfect night, my people are right here on this porch, and how many of those do we get these days, really?

Finally Pa moseyed on to bed, daughter padded back to her room, then the phone rang. It was fireman son Daniel, ready to talk. We mused on for at least an hour, something we very rarely get to do. He's either working at the fire department, up on a roof sweating day labor or playing with his kids. I enjoyed his fine humor and dear heart for a spell then headed to bed myself. I thought about all the things that we have to do to make a living, all the running that this modern world seems to require. But the gold that's there is still in the simple things. A quiet, serene night on the porch. Plain talk and laughter about everything and nothing. Crickets, frogs and love, warm as a blanket on a fall night. Blessed.