Sunday, November 19, 2017

What will happen to love?

Sitting at the kitchen island, snacking on corn chips, and Jared's delicious green salsa. Beren holds up a heart shaped chip. "I won't eat it," he says as he puts it back into the bag. "What will happen to love?" He asks. 

If I could tell the story many ways, I would write about how good Jared's salsa is, how well its texture survived freezing, how glad I am that he found the biggest chest freezer that could just fit through the basement door and around the corner, and that he could do the math to make it happen so we could defrost and enjoy his salsa all winter. And, that my Dad spent the day in the basement installing an outlet for the freezer, and that we all were upstairs, sick while he did it, and of course, he also installed two more bulb sockets because the basement was so dim, just because he thought it was a good idea, and he asked via my Mom how I liked the bulb over by my washing machine. And that, yes, of course, it is very nice to not use the clip lamp anymore to plumb the dark pit of the washer looking for one lost sock.

"What will happen to love?" the kid asks. "It will be inside you," I say. I think about how perfect life can be within little minutes.

But I will let someone else have the last word. "What will happen to love?"

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