There is something comforting about the way Beloved will ‘examine” a glass of whiskey before he partakes of it. It’s almost an art, the way he does this. There is something comforting about the way he will rub his upper arms and loudly announce that he is going to put on his “jumper”. (I’d call it a sweater/cardigan, as jumper to me is what little girls wear, but such is the differences of culture). There is a reassurance in the way he “potters about” to get the tea sorted. And there is a sense of home in the way he insists everyone have lashings of cream with a scone.
You get used to the way people in your life do things. These common every day occurrences are amazingly simple and yet remove them for a short period, toss in a little sprinkling of doubt at seeing these things again, and suddenly you realize that you enjoy or cherish these little things.
Beloved insists on stating that there is no sense in grabbing an umbrella if my shoes are leaking every time I reach from one. Which drives me up a wall, around the bend or does my head in. Wet feet are completely different from drenched hair, water running down the back of your neck and so on. Wet feet I can manage. Wet feet, at times, I do not mind. A wet head? Save that for the shower or swimming only please and thank you.
Today he was pulling on his “wellies” to take the four-footed ever energetic bundle of joy out of a dash in the rain and I realized it seemed like I’ve been hearing these things forever in my life, when in fact its really only since he came into my life that they have become “staples”.
I know what life was like before these words, habits and traits were brought into my life. I wouldn’t say my life was lacking, but these moments have certainly enriched my life. Not just because they come from him either, as it is allowed me the joy of playing with language again in a new way. I could get by without these words, without this comfort, but why would I want to? Especially if the jumper he’s put on is nice and warm and soft? Surely if my shoes leak he will keep my feet dry through all sorts of gallant measures while promising me lashings to go with my scone. Lashing of freshly whipped cream that is.