J and I were trying out an old recipe that I'd come across. How did it turn out? Well. Not so good. I now have a pretty good idea why they called it the Great Depression. Life hack: when trying something like that, probably halve the recipe until you know if it is edible.
Tim was running a bit later than usual coming home from work, and I was worried a little. He travels through some pretty remote areas on his hour drive home and it has been snowing and cold. But there he was, coming through the door, pulling off his boots, setting his lunch box in its usual place, hanging his coat on the back of the kitchen chair.
I was trying to put the kitchen back to rights. "What happened?" he wanted to know. Flour was everywhere.
"Nothing," I said. "J helped me cook. He stirred."
"Ah," Tim said, and J smiled proudly.
"I got you something," he said, and he set a bag on the table.
I looked inside and it was a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"What are these for?" I asked.
"No reason," he said. "I just decided to do it, and so I did."
What did I do?" I asked.
"Nothing," he said.
I looked at him. "What did you do, then?"
"Nothing," he said. And he laughed.
"Are you sure?" I stood there holding the flowers. They were beautiful. There were roses, a lily, carnations, some buds that have yet to open, baby's breath.
I retrieved a crystal vase from the glass curio cabinet and returned to the kitchen to arrange the flowers.
He watched me, smiling and proud of himself. "Those really are beautiful. I've never seen a flower like this," he said, pointing to a the calla lily.
"They are beautiful," I said, arranging them in the vase. "Thank you."
We ate dinner in the living room to watch the news, the flowers sitting on the glass topped steamer trunk we use as a corner table between the two couches. When we were done, he carried the dishes out to the kitchen as I put away the wooden tables.
He acted completely normal for the rest of the night, but I'm keeping an eye on him.