An Extra Day

One day more, another day another destiny. - Les Miserables

It wasn't the train that passes by my house every morning that would wake me up. Instead, it would be the stillness of it all. The sunlight would shine through the skylights of my bedroom and would illuminate it with long shafts of the rising sun. I would hear the birds chirping outside my window and, looking out of the skylight, something would attract my eye. I grope for my glasses, placed clumsily on a near-collapsing pile of books on my nightstand. Lazily, I would put them on and notice two squirrels on the branches of the tree through the skylight. They are playing with each other, teasing. I would smile my inner smile and only a rustle from the sheets beside me would break my reverie.

I'd turn to Mike's sleeping form and would become aware of the warmth of our cosy bed. I'd notice the cool bedroom air against my face and the difference of temperature between that and my toes. Carefully, I'd shift over towards him and kiss a bare shoulder. He'd hum quietly, communicating to me that he's awake and appreciates the attention. I'd curl up to him and fall lightly back to sleep.

Here. Making each day of the year. - The Beatles

By the time I would wake up, Mike would already be downstairs and I had my glorious bed to myself. I'd stretch like a lazy cat and fumble out of bed, grabbing my robe and putting it on as I went downstairs to the smell of cooking eggs and toasting bread. I'm not the type for breakfast in bed, but I love sitting in the florida room, looking out at the morning-kissed sky. My fingers wrapping around a warm mug of sweet, fragrant tea. Leaning against the cool window as I enjoyed this small communion with nature.

Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away. On my way to where the air is sweet. - Sesame Street

After breakfast, Mike and I would shower and get dressed. The day would be a cool, almost crisp fall. The leaves on the trees would be at the peak of their color and the sky would be ablaze with reds and yellows and striking oranges. We would take a walk sometime during the day, to soak in the sights.

"Look at that one." he would say, pointing to a large and impressive tree. It's trees would be a flaming yellow, almost hard on the eyes.

I'd smile. "I find the vine creeping up it far more impressive," I'd say noting the bright red coil snaking through the trees' branches.

He would nod in agreement as we made our way past it.

Day after day... alone on a hill - The Beatles

I'd spot a monstrously ugly house, or a nicely painted one and would point it out to him, sharing my aesthetics with him. We'd speculate what we would do living in a huge two or three floored house. Just the two of us. Without fail, one of us would bring up how bad of an idea it would be. We'd spend an inordinate amount of time trying to find each other, just the two of us in one of those big multimillion dollar houses on Upper Mountain Avenue.

I would take a stop in front of the asian-styled house, purportedly owned by one of the Jackson sisters. It is my favorite on the block and I would stare at it and think of what it would be like to live in that house. It didn't seem very large to me, it just gave the impression of being large because of the terraced front steps gave the one-story structure a taller feel, especially set against the side of the tallest hill in the area.

Do you recall what was revealed the day the music died?" - Don McLean

I would spend most of the day, lying on the living room floor which is littered with soft pillows and cushions. I'd reread a favorite book or explore a deliciously good new one. I'm not sure which experience would be more enjoyable. Perhaps, I pop a favorite DVD in to play in the background. Some people would consider it a distraction, but I enjoy flipping between the book and the television, enjoying the best parts of both.

Dinner would be another outdoors experience. We would drive to our favorite restaurant, Robertos. It would be unusually empty with only a few isolated couples sitting as far away as possible in the tiny restaurant. We'd spend three hours dining, ordering our favorite appetizers (stuffed onion, grilled portabello mushroom, garlic and shrimp served in a sourdough bowl), stuffing ourselves on delicious entrees (he'll have the Steak Roberto, a generous steak topped with red and green peppers and large bites of Italian chorizo; I'll have the shrimp with herbs served in a light wine sauce over pasta), and topping it off with our favorite desserts (Tiramisu for me, a dark and rich Black Forest Cake for him). We'd talk about the food, games, politics, the food, recent scientific discoveries, interesting trivia, the food. We enjoy a lengthy episode of gastronomical hedonism.

I have waited, waited for this day to arrive. - Pulp

Before we retired, we would play a few rounds of a game. Gin. Lost Cities. I'm not quite sure which we would indulge. A round of friendly competition and a later discussion of strategy and tactics for the particular game is always fun. Perhaps we would sit and pop in a tape of Yes, Prime Minister or Monty Python's Flying Circus. In an ideal world, it would be one that we haven't seen before and is extremely funny. We'd discuss the merits of the episodes, or, knowing Yes, Prime Minister, we would have a philosophical discussion about government. We just can't stop stimulating our grey matter.

When we retired, Mike would light the candles in our room and we would snuggle in our bed, talking about the day or continuing a discussion that we had earlier. I'd smell the wonderful aroma of his shaving cream still lingering on him and he'd put his face in my hair. I'd feel him breathing in deeply, trying to breathe me in. We'd hold each other, make love, and afterwards look up at the sky though our skylight at the twinkling stars. Groggily, I'd fall asleep, my arm on Mike's waist, my hand cradled in his, knowing the peace of a perfect day.