Life in the Slow Lane

I look up from my place at the computer to see my husband squatting in front of two stools, carefully separating out egg yokes into a series of bowls perched on the bar stools. Good thing we registered for the mixing bowls with anti-slip bottoms. He asks where he might find a measuring cup, and since I can't readily direct him, he pulls out the stack of paper cups we are using, notes they are nine ounce cups and calculates how full he needs to fill it in order to arrive at the proper measurement. The microwave beeps over by where it is plugged in, smack-dab in front of our only door. At least we still have a box long enough and wide enough to rest it on. Very much longer and we may decide to add wheels to the box. Speaking of resting on boxes, S.O.S. and I have been doing that for some time. 15 uniform boxes set side-by-side makes an excellent bed frame for an air mattress. And when it comes time to add spices, we know where they are by what position they held in the boxes gri

My dear S.O.S. remarked recently that he has moved more times in the four months of our marriage than ever before in his life. Poor man. But he may prove just as influential on me as I have proved to be on him: we bought a house. Maybe the term "house" is too generous, but it is a domicile we intend on occupying for as long, if not longer, than any place I have previously lived. One of the best things about our little condo is that because of the mirror which fills the largest wall in our home, I can eat a meal sitting next to my sweetie and across from him at the same time . Here is a picture illustrating this (don't you hate it when the photographer gets you with your mouth full?) When we make enough room for a third person to sit on the carpet next to us, maybe you can come over for dinner.