When Hubs and I are at home together we have a rhythm.
Gently awakening at around 715 we make a pot of herbal tea to take in bed while journalling and reading portions of the Bible out loud.
We go off to our quiet spaces for exercise, I practice yoga in the nest with Callie. The only cat allowed in. She waits patiently until she hears the final ‘Om’ and stretches and yawns, climbs down from the back of the couch and prepares herself for a game of ‘feather’. This gets her blood rate up and keeps her flexible as she chases the long, tantalizing peacock feather around the room. When it stops ‘flying’ she looks at my hand as if to say,
‘Hey, come on, I was just getting warmed up!”
Hubs and I rejoin each other in the kitchen after showers and have breakfast, a bowl of cereal with fruit and coconut milk and a cup of coffee.
Then I go off to write while he heads out to ranch. It’s about 9 O’clock.
Sometimes I sit until 2 or 3 in the afternoon and when I wander back to the kitchen I’ll be met with,
“I thought we were on a fast today…I was beginning to wilt,” as we move into a hug.
Other days I’ll be ready to break at 1, or when I catch him coming in worn out from mowing, or trimming or wood-working in the barn.
I write for a couple of hours more and then go off for a walk.
When the evenings are long my afternoon writing stint can stretch all the way to 6 and walks get later.
On my return I’m ready for something new.
We prepare dinner together, talking about our day, listening to music new and old, reminiscing about having children underfoot and those early rhythms when everything was new and we were making up the rules as we went.
We sit down late to eat taking our time, drinking a glass of wine, enjoying the waning ambiance. The evening light filtering through the trees,
the creeks and hollows bouncing the night sounds off the walls of the house, the frogs in the high grasses, the coyotes in the creek bed, the wind in the attic.
It’s about 9pm when we dry the last dish, dim the lights and lock up the porches.
We relax for an hour with something or other on Netflix before turning in to snuggle into each other’s arms before reading and quietly falling asleep as we awakened, gently, thus completing the rhythm.
When I work the rhythm shifts and dances to an allegro; no time to linger over prayer, tea and yoga.
Our quiet time happens on the road during the 20 minute drive down country lanes.
The road to Emmaus, meeting with Christ, unpacking what we’ve learned together for the day ahead, alone.
When I return In the afternoon we drink our second cup of coffee and reflect on our separate paths.
I walk.
I rarely write.
The evenings remain the same.
On a rare day it is Hubs who goes off for the day.
A vigil at the hospital waiting for his mother to have her knee replaced.
A cry for help with moving a workshop from my son.
A business trip to LA.
At my desk, alone in the house, Callie stretches out on my computer,
reminding me she is there, her body whispering ‘feather’, her silky patience wearing me down and willing me to get up and play.
Later I tear myself from my screen and walk in the cold air causing my breath to come in gasps and remembering, too late, I’d forgotten to take my inhaler in the upside-down rhythm.
I’d forgotten to do a lot of things without my help-mate, drink coffee, eat breakfast make lunch.
There were no shared pauses centred around the kitchen table.
I don’t feel so good at the end of the day.
On my own I push through going from one thing to another without a break.
I suspect Hubs does that too.
When together we think of one another and stop, to prepare, to talk, to hug, to eat, to remind each other that there is someone in the next room, under the same roof, who loves him, who loves me.
The rhythm of fellowship.
This is what relationship is all about; a shared day, broken up with prayer, with eating, with pausing, with companionship.
Nothing exciting, nothing taxing, just being in the presence of God.