At 1:43 this morning I am slammed awake by the following memory unfolding in my brain like a movie:
I am in the kitchen, hand squeezing orange juice and scrambling eggs while he sits at the table talking himself into wakefulness, and "rolling" the oranges to soften them and make them juicier before I take and cut them in half and twist them on the juicer. It takes a lot of oranges to make juice for three people. When the eggs are done, I sit at the table and eat with him. Daughter gets up, and wants the juice, but no eggs; she wants cereal. I clean up the breakfast dishes and daughter goes in to watch TV, and he goes to shower. I get the green vegetables washed and ready to make the green drink we have decided on earlier in the week to bath our tissues in nutrients with and make it. We both are so much more knowledgeable than the experts so I do not cut the juice with carrots as is recommended, we are going to drink it strait. I dig out the juicer and make the juice as he sits at the table again and talks, allowing his waist length red gold hair to dry, dressed for the day. I wash the juicer, and cut up veggies for supper, putting the three colors of bell peppers, onions, garlic bulbs and celery in a large covered container in the fridge as we drink our juice. It is so strong, I have to drink water with mine, and after a moment he drinks some of the ice water I have sat in front of him. We sit experiencing the extreme stomach discomfort and waves of hot and cold that run across our bodies from the intensity of the juice. Yep, we know so much more than the experts. *laughing* We go outside as the sun comes fully up, in an almost drugged state that the juice has caused. I sit on the patio in my pajamas sipping water and watch him climb the backyard trees and swing on the vines and limbs that hang from them, laughing as he works off the juice energy and entertains me like the human monkey that he is. I take my shower and we head off to Savannah for a Saturday of shopping, the only day we have, as we work too many hours in the week to have the energy for it. The laughter rarely stops as we hit every health food store, the commissary, drug store, what have you as we work off our lists. Next to the last stop on the way towards home is the video store, where we argue and snicker over what two movies to rent. I want to just pick one, he has to have the PERFECT movie, and our discussions bring attention and laughter from those around us, as they usually do. We finally decide and make the rental as the afternoon wears on, and daughter begins the inevitable calls, every 20 minutes or so; when will you be home? Did you buy me something? What is it? Can you get me something else? Where else do you have to go? Are we having the stir-fry tonight? Last stop on the way out is at Kroger to pick up the horse grass like plant; grown in a third world country in brackish water, giving them a cash crop that does not tax the forestation. It is a shame that I cannot remember the name of the plant now that along with the raw cashews purchased at the "snooty" health food store in the historic district that make my stir-fry into the stir-fry. I instruct daughter how to make the brown rice, how much water, how much broth, how long to cook it etc, and when we will be home. It is late in the afternoon when we get home; the light is low in the sky and golden colored as he and daughter talk, and put up the purchases, and I wash and snap the beans for supper. I cut up the chicken first, and cook it. Then I alternate stirring the rice and batches of veggies in olive oil for the meal. I know from experience that they don't really want to wait until it is all cooked, and I get calls from various parts of the house of "is it done yet?", "can I have some before you are finished?" and "how long?". When the rice is finished I place it in the huge pasta serving dish, and top it with the mixed veggies and chicken. I wait until the last to stir fry the raw cashews and at the very last minute the crispy slightly salty plant that adds so much to the color and taste of the dish. It is done, and everyone digs in. Coming and going, he eats at the table, as he does not have one in his apartment that isn't covered with computer equipment or books, daughter eats in front of the TV watching it or a video. After supper we get on the internet, and eventually our hysterical laughter attracts daughter and she alternates between laughing with us, and giving us looks like we are crazy for laughing at some of this stuff. I eventually end up curled on the antique sofa that is no longer in this room, with Rosebud lying in the crook of my knees as he alternates playing the silly computer games with my daughter that they like so much. Squash the bug, or run over zombies complete with silly noises. I notice him continually look over at me in glances, and realize that he is memorizing the scene he sees on the red velvet couch. In his sculptor/artist way he is imprinting the vision and he does not really see me, it is the curve of my hip and legs, with Rosebud sitting with her beautiful head on my knees, staring out at the world from safe refuge, her ever present queenly attitude and quiet dignity apparent. I get up eventually and clean up supper, as he puts in the comedy of the two movies we have rented. Sometimes daughter watches some or all of it, at times she gets bored and goes back in to get on the internet. She goes to bed and we get into our jammies, turn off the lights and on the couch under a shared blanket watch the second movie crying or sitting in stunned awe, his foot rubbing against mine. I lean my shoulder against his and sigh contented. After the movie, about 3 am usually; we say goodnight and go to our respective rooms.
I realize simultaneously that I am crying and that I have just had a memory of the perfect day. The loss is still there, but someone else has replaced the ache that used to accompany it. I am glad I recalled it with such clarity. I am going back to sleep now.