Our old house languishes two hours north of us… the rooms almost empty, the workshop a mess… waiting for coats of paint and new floors and its new occupants to enter in.
So Doug and I trek there and begin our weekly list of chores.
Then a son and daughter-in-law arrive, then two more, then three more. And hours later the house is emptier, the truck fuller, the workshop… well, that’s another story.
We head out with tired muscles and hungry stomachs.
And we sit around the biggest table they have available – – six grown-ups and three small ones.
And we eat burgers and fries, and talk all over each other, and laugh, and kiddos are content.
“that’s my favorite thing”, Doug says as we drive home, “impromptu, enjoying a meal, everyone relaxed – Christmas dinner is nice, but I like this best”.
And I think about that all the night and all the next day.
I think about the big holiday meals, the birthday parties, the years of dinner around our table. Dinner at the table was non-negotiable, even for teenage boys. And I’m glad for that. It was the simple meal times where the real was shared… dreams and plans, jokes and laughter… and even the occasional heated debate.
So, I agree with Doug. In fact, it was the best meal I’d had in days… high fat and calorie content not withstanding. It fed the body AND the soul.
And if that wasn’t enough, Little Girl finally has enough hair for her first barrett.
Does it get any better than that?