There we were, enjoying our last day of holidays before going back to work today.
Hubbs and I lounged our way through a lazy morning. I walked past the Christmas tree and confidently said “no” in its direction. Clean dishes waited in the dish rack and a clothes basket sat nearby. “Jimmy Cracked Corn,”I thought to myself.
Yes, friends, I took a page out of my own book and said “yes” to the day – our very last day off together and my fourth of feeling really well.
We went out to a favorite restaurant, a place we never made it to last week when I was sick.
We ordered our favorite foods, chatted with friends, and watched the Spartans win in overtime – wow!
Coming home, we braced against the bitter westerly wind. Brrr … we both said as we rushed to our cozy spots in the basement.
“I think I’ll start a fire; sound good?” said Hubbs.
“Yes, please.” Said I.
It was there, by the fire, feeling that last bit of satisfaction of a day well spent, we noticed it.
A down draft. A big down draft.
Soon the basement filled with smoke.
We opened windows, raced to get summer’s fans, sleeping in cold storage.
We stood near windows, venting out the smoke that choked our lungs and drawing in the air that tried stealing our joy.
Finally, his bottled water put out the fire-log and, with it, the last of our holiday.
It. Was. Gone.
In an instant.