stick a fork in it

by Bella Rum

Big and fluffy flakes are falling now. So is darkness. It won’t be long. I’m waiting for H to wake from his nap to make a cup of tea for us, or maybe I’ll go wild and have hot cocoa. I’ve spent the day watching rain mixed with ice, and then ice mixed with snow and now all snow. It’s supposed to continue through the night. Even with the constant snowfall over the past five or six hours, the ground is barely covered. It’s too warm.

H hasn’t worked for the past couple of months. Freight is down. One of their biggest customers went exclusively international – no local shipments anymore. So he’s home every day except when he plays golf. The weather has permitted outdoor activity a day or two every week, thankfully. I’m not sure how people do this full-time retirement thing. We’ve started going in opposite directions at least a day or two a week. A couple must be apart for at least a while if they are to have anything of even mediocre interest to say to one another, or if they are expected not to puncture each other with forks while one or the other is sleeping.

The snow is calming and lovely. Its soporific effect combined with one of us indulging in his thoroughly developed proclivity for napping is probably responsible for the fact that we are both still breathing… for the time being. How long this will be the case, I can not say. We mustn’t expect too much. I have no documentation to back this up, but I have a theory. When the skeletal remains of an ancient couple is excavated, and one has a mysterious hole in his skull, it’s safe to assume they were probably retired.

The other unfortunate result of H being at home all the time is that he can finally see how little I actually do when left to my own devices. The lazy, ne’er-do-well part of my nature has revealed itself in all its odiousness. How I’ve managed to hide this side of my temperament for over forty years is a marvel even to me. I’m good but no one can keep up a charade when being supervised twenty-four hours a day. Ah, the burden.

I wonder if we will wake to the softness of a snow-covered world. They’ve readjusted their predictions down from 3″ to 5″ to 1″ to 3″. We’ll see. If it snows enough he’ll have to shovel. That could take an hour or so. Then he’ll be tired. So he’ll need a long nap. Work with me here.

Where are those forks?