The dinner is ready and the fire burning well to welcome my dearest Len. When I open the door for him, his fine cheery smile greets me and the loneliness of the past twelve hours fades away behind me.
"Any letters or phone calls?" he asks and I tell him any news.
"Did you see Tony? Are they all well?" I ask and so we
settle down for an evening watching TV or reading papers or books. We don't talk a great deal, just a loving glance or a warm hand touch to keep our nearness.
Life is made up of lovely
things. In town today the crocuses are out and in the green grass around, a solitary Daisy. So beautiful, with its bright face shining up at me.
My mother never worked after she married. I think
my father liked it that way, he was very much the provider. This short passage makes me sad to think of her loneliness after we had all left home. She was always reading, or painting, or cooking - but clearly always just waiting for my father, "dearest Len"
to arrive home from work. However her description of their quiet evening "nearness" brought tears to my eyes.