Morning Routine

You sit across from me with black coffee in hand dressed in your red flannel shirt. Sleeves rolled up and long handle underwear showing from elbow to wrist. It seems these days you are always cold. You were thirty-one when I met you in that old Silver Saddle honkey tonk. I loved to dance and I think you just loved to hold women while they danced. You were so handsome, young, and strong. Golden tanned skin from your outdoors carpenter job. I loved your blondish red hair and red beard. Soon you'll be seventy years old this December. Hard to believe the years flew by so quickly.

We talk about the weather. You notice the news lady has a new dress. We laugh at an inside joke. I mention that once I thought only "old people watched the news enough to notice a change in their wardrobe." "Well, I guess we ARE old. "

You are up for another cup of coffee. I decline the second cup. I notice your limp is more pronounced. The weather has turned colder. We'll delay our Bible reading this morning and instead talk of old times. The time we first met and the excitement of our love and lust. You wink at me and I just shake my head. No time today. I have to go to work. Who says "old people" can't still have lust? Of course we can...we're old not dead.

A sad look crosses your face and it's as if I can read your mind. Last night you mentioned our son being eight years gone. I don't want to make you cry, but I do. I read you the poem I wrote yesterday "Another December." We briefly acknowledge our grief then move on.

It's time for me to go to work. Our morning routine has about run its course. I get up and go put on my lipstick. When I come back you are standing. We kiss and hug a very long time. I love the warmth of you and the flannel shirt against my face. You tell me you will pray for me to have an easy good day. I wish you the same. You mention you should have warmed up the truck for me. I tell you it wasn't necessary and wish you a wonderful day, too.