Lookout

Paul went out early this morning to take the dog out for his morning walk and also to get the Sunday New York Times. I began making the muffins and realized we needed half and half for the strong coffee Paul would be brewing in our 1950s style percolator. I love this white enamel pot, but percolating the coffee is a lost art and so I set out Paul's directions, which he retrieved from the Internet, next to the stove. I wondered, if I just sent him a psychic message to get half and half, would that work? I decided it was safer to call the general store (Vermont still has quaint country and general stores).

"Hello?" I gave her my name and asked if my husband, a small, dark-complexioned man had come in yet.

"What do you need?" The woman said in a familiar, friendly way that told me I was not the first wife to call to and squeeze one more thing onto the shopping list. After all, we live in a rural area and getting what one needs in the way of groceries usually requires careful advance planning or, at the very least, creative ingenuity. One friend keeps powdered milk in her cupboard for the occasions when she runs out of the real thing.

"Half and half. Thank you," I said, feeling a renewed appreciation for the kindness of Vermonters.

"Large or small?" she asked.

"Small," I said and repeated he was a short man with olive skin and added that he had a British accent and also would be buying the Times.

"No problem, Mrs. B.," she said.

When Paul got home he told me he wondered why the woman behind the counter had been eying him so carefully and why she said, "Good morning," several times. He understood, later, she was hoping he'd reply so she could glean his accent.

We had a long, pleasant brunch with our friends, a fire going in the dining room fireplace and a visit, once again (they have been here a lot), from the turkeys who came down from the woods to scratch for bird seed below our feeders.

When everyone left, we took our usual walk with the dog. We both drank a lot of coffee this morning and so Paul told me to be the lookout while he peed in a snowbank on the side of the road. I told him I felt like the turkey on the ridge--the turkey's always have one "lookout" who paces the ridge above our patio while the rest are below snacking on seed. Yesterday Bruce told us he saw the same behavior over at his house: one lookout turkey a distance from the others. We continued on our way and noticed, happily, despite the bitter cold, pink clouds in the crisp blue sky and the fact that at our usual hour of  3:30 PM there was more light--the slow turning toward spring.