“Want some carrot soup?” he asks. I look up from my Chromebook and laugh before making a puking sound like a five year old. “You’ll like it,” he confirms, answering his own question in spite of my obnoxious reply and saunters into the kitchen to set to work. I glance out the window from where I sit and think to myself that it certainly is the perfect soup day. Although the sun is shining, the wind howls outside as it rushes through the flowering cherry blossom tree in the front yard. The gusts cause the slightest chill indoors as cool air sneaks in under the back door off the kitchen.
I snuggle in deeper on the sofa, curl my toes in between the cushions, and settle my neck against the purple satin pillow from India with the elephant embroidered on the front; an exotic pop to the otherwise traditional decor. I breathe deeply and can detect the homey smell of the detergent he used to clean the over-sized sweatshirt he lent me and I pull the fleece blanket that covers me up to my chin. I let my gaze settle on the two red candles that burn on the table nearby with the wax dripping so perfectly into the brass holders from Germany, they look fake, like props from a classic movie.
At the pronouncement of soup ready, I emerge from my couch nest and join him at the kitchen table. Before we sit, I point out the window to the clumsy birds swinging in the wind on the feeder hung from the garage, knocking prized bits onto the ground for grateful squirrels. I say finches. He says sparrows, and playfully throws the book at me: The Sibley Book of North American Birds, that is. He had it conveniently stashed on the sill to settle disputes like these. “Look it up, librarian.” I do, and I stand corrected. Damn…
The birds and the book are quickly forgotten as the smell of carrot soup fills the room. Far from the smell of mushy cooked carrots my mom used to make (Sorry, Mom!), I pick up hints of spice; ginger, cinnamon, maybe nutmeg or cloves? It’s amazing how a smell can tear you out of one season and thrust you into another! Suddenly it is no longer April, but autumn, our favorite, Thanksgiving being our favorite holiday. I wrap my icy fingers around the oversized mug he gives me and mindfully savor the scent wafting upward in silent, steamy swirls. The first spoonful warms my gullet and my very soul. I confess he was right again… I like it… That’s twice!
After soup I retreat to my cozy couch cocoon and open my Chromebook on my lap once more. It’s time to get to work in earnest. He settles in across the room on a well-loved recliner and pops his feet up. A tiny hole on the bottom of one of his favorite socks from Greece makes me giggle inside. Face suddenly serious, he sets to work himself. I will be serious too… that is until a new email grabs my attention. The wizards at Google compiled pictures of my cats from my photo files and presented me with a digital slideshow set to a cat-meowing version of The Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss. The obnoxious song breaks the silence and seriousness of the moment and sets me laughing. From across the room I read his expression as one of annoyance intermingled with amusement (a barely perceptible eye roll accompanied by a smirk). I offer my apologies for the disruption by silently sliding across the wood floor in my own socks, to his side to share Google’s handiwork and offer a kiss on the head.
A good morning of a good life. So simple and so very hygge.