the house is quiet.
there’s a light on in the window. it’s on a timer because Wife says this is good. she wanted a timer, so i bought one and installed it at the old apartment and she smiled and said my heart is happy, and mine, in turn, was happy. so now, at the house, we still have a timer turning the light in the window on and off with the sunset and bedtime.
she’s not here. long day at work, but i think of her when i enter and there’s a light on in the night making it home.
i go to the fridge because i haven’t eaten dinner. it’s eight, and she would frown at me. errands can wait, but i just want to get them done and then there’s the whole what to eat debacle. my errands run, the fridge door open, i stare at endless possibilities in their various parts spread across the shelves. endless concoctions and creations waiting to be made and consumed.
i pull out the bread from a week or so ago, take out a slice, wrap the bag back up, throw in the fridge and close the door. into the toaster oven goes the bread, a quick turn of the nob and i sit on the bar stool and i watch.
i watch the bread go from a dry white thing to a golden brown, crunchy piece of toast. glorious.
peanut butter is in the cupboard above. i grab it, open the lid and inhale like i’m six years old. peanut butter will always be one of my top five smells. there’s a knife in the drawer and i know she would like me to use it, so i grab it, even though what i really want to do is rip chunks of toast and dip it right into the jar. she wouldn’t fuss. she would just roll her eyes and make a sound with her mouth and that would be that. still, i don’t really want that.
i dip the knife into the jar and swirl it around, snatching peanut butter from the upper crevices often ignored and swirling it into a DQ Blizzard top. the simplicity of all of this is not lost on me, and yet i am captivated by the site and the smell and the absence of sound of peanut butter.
the toaster dings, and the thing that is now toast comes out hot and crunchy. glorious. i spread the peanut butter on the crumbling toast and watch as the paste turns into a liquid, melting into a drizzling goo. glorious.
i sit on the bar stool, leaning over the small plate with a piece of peanut butter toast and i venture into thoughts. memories. and peanut butter.
also, this is a Just Write endeavor which was started by Heather - a brilliant woman in MN. Check out her addition on this day here. i was introduced to this idea by zizzyvizzy - and she’s also brilliant, but not from MN. i do not hold this against her, too much.