Normal is more than a setting on the dryer.

Tim's been away in the woods, hunting today. He left while it was still dark. I slept on, waking up just before 8 when the cat wandered in to loudly inquire as to what I was still doing in bed. His inquiries continued until I got myself upright and out of bed. 

Once Houdi had his breakfast, he was at the door, I let him out and finshed brewing my coffee. 

Today was laundry day and stripping the bed day. It all sounds very organized, doesn't it? Except that I don't have a set day for this. It happens once a week at some point, and is dictated by what is going on. Today, Tim was gone, and so it was stripping the bed and doing laundry day. I will put the bed back together this afternoon and spend an hour folding laundry while watching an episode of 'Antiques Road Trip'. 

So very exciting, but as I have discovered, when life takes wide detours into difficult times, the mundane and routine become a bit of a comfort, a familiar touchstone in unfamiliar times. I imagine that this is exactly why Tim was so anxious to get out into the woods this morning. He has hunted all his life. It is his routine. It is his familiar activity. It lends a touch of normalacy to a chaotic time in his own life. 

I'm not allowed to call him while he out. His phone pings and he does not want to alert any already wary deer in the area so I drank my coffee and wandered around blogs while the first load of laundry ran through. I was just tidying the livingroom when he called. 

He wanted to tell me that there seemed to be a problem with the charger in the living room. I'd left his phone on it over night, and it did not charge. I told him that I'd replace the charging block. 

I also told him that I'd made eye appointments for both of us in Erie, his at 12:30, mine at 12:45, next Tuesday, He seemed glad to hear that. 

I should have wondered at the time. It was not yet lunch time. He wouldn't be calling from the woods. 

"Oh," he casually said, as if this were an afterthought, something that just popped into his head. "How do you want the venison done?" 

"You got a deer?" I asked stupidly. 

He did. It's a big doe, so big that he got it part way out of the woods and left it, walking home to get the four wheeler to pull it the rest of the way. 

He told me that he did not need my help. In the end, we decided to do things as we always have. The first deer is our 'hamburger deer'. We mince the meat (except for the tenderloins. I think that you go to hell if you grind up the tenderloins) and divided into 1 pound packages for the freezer. Since it is a big deer, it is probably an older deer and the meat is likely to be tough anyway, which made the decision even easier. 

"Yes," Tim jubilantly agreed. "We can do it differently with the next deer." 

And he sounded a lot like his old self again.