Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato, and Us

[About as close to a perfect evening as I've had in the new House occurred yesterday. Already cut short because of the long night before, the day (as Tin Man so rightly explains) was abruptly evening. I'd performed a few tasks on my new Things To Do List when Allen called to say he was making BLTs and tomato soup for us, and we'd better just accept the cholesterol-laden inevitable.]

[Maple-flavored sizzle-smell soon filled the air, John puttered in the living room rearranging furniture, we all expressed preferences as to what combination of B, L, T, avocado and cheese we wanted on our sandwiches (butter, not mayo, for me, please), light rain fell outside, and we sat down to eat.]

[I've heard all the arguments against watching TV during dinner, and I usually agree, but somehow, an episode of The Bionic Woman from one of the DVDs John and I picked up on our last trip to London seemed just right. Allen shared his goose bumps at the opening theme music and the 70s-era graphics, and we all agreed we wished we could have the famous bionic sound effect follow us around and emit when we lifted something heavy. John, sprawled on the couch and filled with dinner, dozed off and his one quiet snore drew delighted smiles from Allen and me. Jaime defeated the bad guys (jumping into high windows and over cyclone fences in a gabardine dress and pumps!), Allen and I did the dishes (we opted for jeans and sneakers), and we woke John to see if he felt like going to the Friendly Neighborhood Cabaret for a drink.]

[Sean, Leah, and Arthur (that is to say, the rest of the family) were doing post-show cleanup, and we had a couple (but just a couple) and wound down the weekend. The night before had been a big party premiering a new night at the F.N.C., and various indiscretions were chewed over (processed?) until they were well sorted. Back home, yawning, and into our respective beds for me and Allen, as John sat up late and started exploring Dreamweaver.]

[(The only jarring note happened when I had slipped into that half-asleep state after turning out the light, and felt paralyzed panic. This happens every few months; I think I'm awake, but am very aware that I can't talk or move. It takes a real effort of will to claw my way back to consciousness. I called and called, eventually was heard, was reassured that everything was OK, and fell more firmly asleep as heavier rain fell.)]

[At some point, John came to bed and wrapped himself around me for some warmth. Winter's just about here, and this new pattern at home sounds like a good start to a new season.]

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