It was Sunday morning.
As usual, I had spent some time writing over a hot Americano at a café. Then I came home and made a simple brunch for everyone.
After cleaning up, I opened the freezer.
There was one round loaf left.
Hmm, should I make some bread dough?
I felt like moving around a little more, so I took out two large bowls.
I was going to make bread dough with two kilograms of flour.
I reached for a bag of flour and was about to open it.
Then I stopped.
Why don’t I feel stuffy?
I just went into the living room and sat down on the sofa.
Rain was in the forecast, but it didn’t look like it was coming anytime soon. The air was warm and humid, and all four of us were home.
In the past, I probably would have said, Ugh, I feel stuffy, as soon as we finished lunch and gone out to practice golf. Or my daughter and I might have gone somewhere.
But here I was, feeling good and about to make bread dough with two kilograms of flour.
What is this?
I turned my head.
The door to my husband’s study was closed.
Oh, he closed the door today.
He usually left his door wide open to let the air flow through.
Not long ago, he had been sitting right by the doorway, almost blocking it, with his phone plugged into a wall charger and a fan blowing on him. He hadn’t moved at all.
My daughter had been the first to say it.
“Why doesn’t Dad go out?”
She had felt stuffy seeing him. I had felt it too.
That day, I told her,
“Dad can stay home if he wants.”
If we were the ones feeling stuffy, we could go out.
And we did.
Is he writing an article?
Just then, the washing machine chimed.
I went toward the kitchen balcony to move the laundry into the dryer. Through the wide-open window of his study, I could see my husband sitting at his desk with his laptop open.
I quietly started the dryer.
On my way back, I glanced at his screen.
He was watching a video of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.
He looks pretty serious about it.
We Came Straight Back Home
Later, my daughter and I drove out to get a decaf iced Americano for her. We got it to go and came straight back home.
We sat at the dining table, a little apart from each other.
She read her book while I typed on my laptop.
A little later, my son came out of his room and into the kitchen.
He glanced over at us, opened the refrigerator, and started moving around the kitchen. I could hear the microwave running behind me.
Ugh, I feel stuffy.
I got up from the dining table, moved my laptop to the small table by the sofa, and kept typing.
“Oh, you moved,” my daughter said with a smile.
“Yeah.”
I looked up and smiled.
My son pressed a button on the small oven to preheat it, went back to his room, then came out again.
He opened the oven.
Oh, he’s making cinnamon toast.
Soon, the smell of cinnamon filled the room.
A little later, my son carried the whole pan back to his room.
“Ugh, it’s hot,” my daughter said.
“Want to go get shaved ice?”
“No. I don’t feel like it.”
“Do you want to go to the screen golf practice range?”
I laughed.
“You don’t even play golf, but you want to go more than I do. I don’t feel like going.”
What do I want to do?
A little later, I got up from the sofa.
“I think I’m hungry.”
Maybe I’ll make myself some cinnamon toast too.
But the small oven pan was still in my son’s room.
For a second, I thought about knocking on his door to get it.
Maybe I’ll make French toast.
“Want some French toast?” I asked my daughter.
“I’d like that.”
So I Made French Toast
I cracked two eggs into a bowl and added some milk and salt.
My daughter mixed it with a fork.
When I dropped butter into the pan, she tilted the pan to spread it.
Then, while I was cooking, my husband came out of his room.
“What smells so good?”
He stood right next to me, watching the French toast cook.
I had put out a plate for my daughter, but I laughed and gave him the first two pieces. He took the plate and went back to his room.
Then I made two for her.
The last two pieces of bread were small, so I cracked another egg and made two more for myself.
They were really good.
Later, thunder rolled outside.
Then the rain started coming down hard.
My daughter came out of her room and looked toward the balcony.
“It’s raining.”
She stood there for a moment, watching.
Then she went back to her room.
The rain got even heavier.
Some of it blew in through the open balcony window. I walked over and stepped in the water on the floor.
“Wow.”
I closed the wide-open window, leaving it open just a little.
Ah, it feels cool.
