If you were to tell me when I was nine years old that in 25 years I would own a house with a wood stove, and enjoy stacking wood, I would have rolled my eyes so far back in my head I’d be blind. I remember my parents pleading, yelling at my brother and I to get up off our asses and go attend to the pile of wood in the driveway and haul it up by the house. It was, without a question my least favourite chore. However, this week our first two bush cords of wood arrived, and I took immense satisfaction in the procurement of my wood pile. Maybe I just needed better scenery.
Every once in a while a simple moment takes me away to a former occasion where I savoured the remarkably familiar nuances of life. It just so happens these heart-stirring occurrences have been happening a little more frequently lately, and they’re rather fortuitous. There’s a good chance I’m walking around grinning like an idiot, but it’s true what they say about east coasters; Everybody is really nice here, and so far they’re all smiling back at me.
My alarm goes off. It’s Monday morning, and the last day in my work every weekend, five day work week. I immediately reach into the fullness of blankets next to me, and locate my husband. He has just finished the last of three, 12 hour night shifts. We said goodbye to each other on Friday morning when I left for work, and we both spent the weekend working opposite shifts. He sneaks in early in the morning, and I sneak out a little after that.