Yesterday evening I sat in the kitchen waiting for my second dinner to cook, because one dinner simply isn't enough. While I'm too skinny and don't eat enough I am asked to loosen the tightly lidded jar tops, though. As I sat and watched my second dinner being prepared I found the culprit to my intestinal distress, cheese. I watched as she scooped out a bowl full of cheese from the pot on the stove, spoonful after spoonful of a white mass that looked like yogurt. This was then dumped into the pot of sausage and potato soup I was to eat, much to my dismay. I ate a bowl full of the cheese-flavored water with bits of potato and sausage at the bottom, grease on top. Needless to say when I woke at 1am trying to keep dinner down and this morning when dinner kept going down the cause of my distress was well established.
But as I sat in the kitchen that evening what I found most endearing were my hosts. They sat by the stove as my dinner was boiling down and pulled apart and old garment of some sort. Thread by thread she would pull it apart as he balled up each line, a ball of thread that would then be used to knit a pair of socks or sweater or something yet to be determined. And as they worked, my host, recently turned 77, and hostess, 74 in May, played and teased and flirted with one another as if they were teenagers. I did not need to know the words to understand. The pinching and ribbing and playful slaps and smiles are universal signs of love. I dare say he would have goosed her, I saw his eyes flash and hand flinch, but he thought better of it when he remembered my presence with a grin on my face. Spring is in the air….. even though it snowed last night..... and is snowing right now.
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