Earl and I have put our luggage away, stuffed our dirty clothes in the laundry hamper, and settled in to our regular chores. You’d hardly know we’d been away. Tomorrow, Monday, it’s back to the usual weekly routine with a return to the gym, my piano lesson, doctors’ appointments, and – yes – gainful employment with Fred Flare.
I’m sitting here enjoying the final hours of the weekend. A speckled bird pecks at the feeder just outside my window; and while he seems to get enough to eat he drops an equal amount on the ground. Earlier I saw another bird pulling a thread from our patio carpet, presumably for some cozy nest. I can’t imagine being a bird and doing everything from household construction to dining on sunflower seeds with my beak.
The crocheted lap robe I worked on in the car is spread on the floor. I have only one row to go to finish, and the next time I watch a television program it will be done.
Earl and I are going to cook together this afternoon. He bought a cookbook in Topeka, Kansas, home of the Eisenhower Presidential Library; and we’ve decided to make one of the recipes from it. I believe Ike’s mother made it first, and most likely it could be fodder (yes, pun intended) for tomorrow’s blog.
The tangible remains of our vacation are this cookbook, various brochures from other sites we visited, and – in a couple weeks – the credit card bill. But the real remains are the memories. Ah, the memories.
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