Missed Connections in Toronto
A Sunday Afternoon
It was a Sunday afternoon. One of those deceiving winter’s day where the sun was shining bright but the air was bitterly cold. They sat together in the living room.
He thought about the tea on the stove-top; gently steeping and growing increasingly bitter. Maybe it could be sweetened with some honey, he thought. Maybe they should make a new pot? Maybe they should just switch to coffee.
He looked at her as she read the newspaper. He wanted to discuss their upcoming trip but he didn’t want to disturb her. She was, after all, reading the funnies, which was one of her simple pleasures amongst the depressing current events. Instead he allowed the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock be the soundtrack for the afternoon.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The couple exchanged glances. She neatly folded the paper, placed it on the coffee table and went to the door. He could hear the soft murmurs down the hallway. Who could be visiting them at this hour?
“I’m going for a walk!” She shouted. That’s strange, he thought. It was unlike her to venture out in such cold weather.
“When will you be home?” He asked in reply.
But she was already out the door.
He thought about the tea.
Her Two Cents
Our habits and routines become such an easy fixture in our daily lives. Quiet winter Sundays spent hiding from the cold and snow, insulated by newspapers and cups of tea. And then, one day, all of that changes and a new routine, a new fixture, enters the scene. Sometimes, not much can be done beyond making a fresh pot and appreciating the rare form of constancy its presence brings!
