February 2, 2014

If it weren't for Chris, I would be lying in bed all day. If it weren't for Chris, I wouldn't even get up to go to the bathroom.

Every morning he gets himself out of bed.

On the weekdays, he has a routine:

He usually is awakened first by the dog. He won't get up until at least 5am though, so if it's any earlier, he tells her to go back to bed...and she does. You hear her nails go click, click, click down the hall. When she comes in the next time, he gets out of bed and puts a scoop of dog food in her bowl. You hear her munch, munch, munch as she gobbles her feast. He comes back to bed for a few more winks while she eats. Then he gets up again to put her out. Then he comes back to shower and dress. Sometimes the dog will be raising Cane out there barking at the wind; sometimes she waits quietly. After he's all dressed, he lets her in and goes for his routine trip to Jeannotte's. In the warm weather, he will take the dog with him on this early morning jaunt. Wintertime is too cold, and he will teasingly announce The Princess doesn't like the cold! And she will sit by the door and wait for him. At Jeannotte's, he will purchase a Manchester Union Leader newspaper, a Boston Herald and a peanut butter biscuit for the dog. Then he comes back to make breakfast. Michelle has come downstairs by this time, and he will make her breakfast. I strain to hear what they may be talking about hoping for a glimpse into their lives. Like the proverbial fly on the wall, I want to know whats happening. I pray to myself that they relish these precious father-daughter moments, and I take comfort in knowing that they too value this relationship. Chris will eat with her, and then she is off to work. He will bring my plate in, and leave me to smell the delicious aromas of coffee, eggs, and turkey bacon. "20 more minutes", he'll tell me as he fills his own coffee cup and sets off to his basement office to turn on his computer and begin his workday. As promised, he returns 20 minutes later to stretch my legs and get me out of bed into the Jazzy Blue. 

He goes back downstairs leaving me with all I need to do my own morning rituals.

The weekends vary only slightly in that he will sleep later, and Michelle is not part of the agenda.

On this particular winter Sunday morning, the roads are clear. The sky is grey, and it is cold, but it is 37° which is a break from the near zero degree weather we've been having the past month. So he takes the Chevelle out for a quick trip around the neighborhood. I hear the engine roar in the garage as he starts it up, and about 20 minutes later, I hear it purr back home. Both car and driver are happy. He tells me he "opened it up on Henry Bourque" and this makes him smile. Winter will fade, and Spring will come.