Contentment

I want to write about something that happened this morning, and it will be an exercise to see if I can adequately articulate what it was.

My new husband and I are still discovering our pattern of living together. Maybe just through the honeymoon phase, but still finding ways about us which are "new."

Lately we have been reading more. I should say I have been reading more. I've been more of a get up in the morning, check-the-email/Facebook/Google News Reader-type of reader for the past few years. I'm ashamed to admit it's been a few years since I've read more than a couple entire books. I think the last one I read was on my Kindle, an autobiography by R.A. Dickey (if you don't know who he is, I might write about him sometime).

At any rate, this morning I was up early, got the coffee going, and picked up a book I've probably read at least a dozen times, "Walking Across Egypt," by Clyde Edgerton. I had checked it out from the library because I thought hubs would enjoy it. It's the kind of genre we both like a great deal: home style good folks with kind hearts getting themselves into pickles. They are a nice switch from suspense thrillers, his other favorite.

He got up when he heard the coffee pot doing its death throe thing and, after pouring a cup for himself, kissed me good morning then turned to the kitchen table to continue the book he was reading, a novel by Garrison Keillor.

We sipped our coffee and read, I on the couch, he at the kitchen table. For the next hour, one of us would chuckle at something read, and the other-- hearing the laugh-- would smile. Two cups of coffee later, we set the books aside and each got ready for work.

Reading  separately, we still shared an intimate morning of humor together. Later we will end our day telling the stories we read that helped to make the start of our day special.