Slow Walks and Politics

Sometimes I imagine myself as an old man sitting in a recliner with a book by my side discussing politics with my wife as npr jazz plays softly in the background. It's a Friday night, and the house is quiet. Our furniture is dark, as are the wood floors under a red Turkish rug. Lamps give the room a soft glow as the sun sets through the curtains. My glass of ice water sits on a coaster on the coffee table and there is a dish made of Venetian glass with hard candies at its side.

pictures courtesy of http://taza-and-husband.blogspot.com/

We would take walks, hand in hand, along tree-lined streets, all the while discussing society's problems and our future endeavors. The smell of lilacs and freshly cut grass fills our noses as we admire small fenced yards and flower gardens.


The house has a woodsy smell with a hint of a fresh linen given off by an air freshener in a corner of the front entryway. As the door closes, it catches a little on the lock, which draws the attention to a doorknob that is a replica of those of the Salt Lake Temple with the inscription, "Holiness to the Lord."


The stairs creak under our weight, I carry Kenz up the stairs in an attempt to be romantic and she giggles as she protests and insists I will hurt my back carrying her petite frame. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth, having used the "marriage saver" to squeeze out toothpaste from the end of the tube, and reflect on the years that have brought many a gray hair and smile wrinkles around my eyes.

A soft kiss goodnight, we lay our heads on pillowcases worn soft over the years and drift into slumber, my hand gently resting on her shoulder.