Inside of a day.
Soup on the stove bubbling.
The fire warm, outside air cold a good combination. IU on the TV. Well until the first half ended. After that it was another game, a game where I didn’t care who won or lost. The boys were upstairs doing the Dr. Who thing – meshed in the mythos of a television show that stretches back 50 years.
Friday wasn’t a good day. Everywhere reminders that what had happened 50 years ago was still real. I saw my father cry that day it is the only memory I have of November 22, 1963. Barb remembers more but she was 3 years older than me so was 5 rather than the 2 nearly 3 that I was. To be honest I remember the death of Bobby Kennedy much more. The train slowly making its way across the country. It is a scar like 11/22/1983 and 9/11/2001 as well as the loss of Apollo 1, Challenger and other space disasters. Those days come with sadness attached to them, waking you in the morning with a sense of dread and slowly filling the day with that dread.
Soup still bubbling and Dr. Who done now. We head out for a walk. Dylan loves this part of the day he has been ready for the walk since noon and it is now 4 pm. Barb heads out for Thanksgiving feast shopping and the boys and I begin the walk around the neighborhood. The boys are silent on the topic of the show Dr. Who and instead we converse on the concepts of why walks.
Soup still bubbling on the stove, now that gorgeous deep purple of Cuban Black Bean soup. The smell fills the house and wipes away the memories of the day before. Cornbread baking in the oven adds its gentle flavor to the air and then we eat.
Outside of a day.