I got up this morning (late, I might add) wandered into the kitchen to make me, my hubby and my oldest son some breakfast. While mixing the batter for homemade buttermilk biscuits, my husband sat and talked with me and moved around the kitchen getting me things I needed for our meal. I had the bacon frying in the skillet, while I was rolling out my dough. I use one of my large glasses to cut the biscuits because they like the huge biscuits for their eggs and gravy.
It doesn't take long for the smell of bacon to waft up the stairs to reach my son's room, so he comes down a few minutes later.
The sun is shining through the windows, we see a few deer grazing in the field, and watch our dogs press their faces up against the window with their tails wagging. They smell the bacon, too, and know what's to come.
After the bacon is fried crisp, the gravy is bubbling and the eggs are ready, we fill our plates and congregate in the living room to watch an old Christmas movie on the television.
As we sit there and watch the same movie we've seen a half dozen times, we reminisce about the first time we watched the movie and how we all giggled and laughed at some of the antics. And while we reminisce, we still giggle and laugh once more.
As the movie is nearing the end, and as all Christmas movies do, it becomes touching, and I look over at my husband and he's all teared up...again...as in all the times before when we watched the same movie. This gives me such a feeling of peaceful joy.
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