"No, no, not like THAT," I say. "Here," I extend a hand to Jane, snatch carrot and peeler, and stroke the long neck of a carrot down to soft orange flesh. "Like THIS."
"Oh. Ok," she says.
Company arriving in 15 minutes we scurry from cutting board to sink to counter top. I sigh.
"Are you mad?" she says.
Sigh. "No," I say.
"It just seems like you sort of are on edge," she says.
"Oh." I sigh again. "I guess, I sort of am. Sorry. You really are a huge help."
"Thanks," she says. "You are doing a ton too."
I sigh again, this time as if finally rolled over and ready for the backstroke. As if in tandem we work as each other's right hand.
"You two just keep talking to each other," Craig says. From the living room, he and Jack race the clock, competition gas in their engine.
Jane and I grin at each other, companionship better than a clock.
6169. Dear friends join us for dinner. Their heritage from half around the world, we marvel at how our lives overlap.
6170. I make lotions, deodorants, and toothpastes all week to stock up.
6171. Taco soup. All week. All the fixin's. Including finely chopped red bell pepper and full fat sour cream.
6172. We all get sick. A family of eight. So we lay around, listen to audio books, and take turns taking care of each other. Nourishment sprouts up between us.
6173. Craig's ears get cold from being sick. He settles on an old toddler hat that covers the ears just right.
6174. Pork loin soup to fill in the cracks.
6175. The election plods to conclude this Tuesday. We await with curiosity. We pray God will give us a better leader than we deserve.