Brian arrived safely home on Saturday afternoon. After meeting him at the terminal, we made our way out to dinner at one of our favourite restaurants. Being a Saturday evening, the lobby was teeming with humanity. The wait was long, and it was loud, and the warmth was frequently penetrated by arctic blasts from the front doors as more diners arrived.
We sat and chatted, trying to keep the children distracted until our table was prepared.
Suddenly I became aware of someone standing on the periphery of our little family circle. I looked up to see a face I knew well. A face I hadn’t seen in several years.”Mary!”, I exclaimed. We embraced each other and the years melted away. We had an opportunity to catch up with each other – talking about our children, and life in general. It’s hard to express what a joy it was. An unexpected blessing. Those are always the best, aren’t they? Like a splash of colour in a dreary landscape.
The same kind of magic held the children spellbound in the presence of their Papa. He becomes the point of colour in their scene. And it produces a day or two of blissful harmony in our home. A warm glow of contentedness. They wait to be read to, cuddled, petted, told stories of Papa’s week, shown photographs. Their world is once again in order, the stars and planets set into proper motion again.
The sun shone all day yesterday, made all the brighter by the snow outside the door. These are just the sorts of days that invite us to pick up a book and get lost in the story, or in beautiful pictures, curled up together in the sofa or seated companionably at the table. They are days filled with beautiful music, and domestic hum. Days filled with wood fires and cocoa, stories and naps. They are days filled with the soft colour of love. The kinds of days that will be remembered to our grandchildren.
And just maybe they’ll sit in the winter sunlight and share a book that was enjoyed by parent and grandparent before them.