The big coffee perk is still on the counter. The Christmas cookie plate covered in crumbs. The Christmas dishes in the dishwasher. Recycling bins overflowing. Unfinished bottles of wine. Stockings in a pile under the couch. A pile of as-yet unopened Christmas cards.
The calendar says December 2021 but it's not.
The calendar needs to be replaced. Bags need to be unpacked. The floor should be swept. Bedding washed. Boxes flattened. Bottles taken to the depot. Curling shoes and extra boots and pool towels and games and skis and toboggans put back in their places. The fridge checked for the last of the leftovers. The few remaining cookies eaten. The decorations returned to their bins in the basement. Christmas dishes packed up once again. The tree must come down, its lights and ornaments stowed away.
But that’s for another day.
Today we sit by the fire.
Today we listen to music.
Today we watch the birds.
Today we sit surrounded by the warmth of of a house so recently vacated it still feels full.
So it's easy to imagine that big coffee perk will be filled in the morning and emptied by noon. The cookie plate will be restocked and the cookies consumed. The seven sets of unique dishes will be set around the table once again. Meals will be eaten. Wine will be drunk. Canasta will be played. The house will ring with laughter. And those half made beds are just waiting for someone to crawl into them at the end of the night.
Today we pretend.
