A Peep into their Life

The weekend after camping once again found us heading to Connecticut for the second time. Twice in two weeks - that's actually more than our total for the rest of the year to date.

And this time we had even bigger and grander plans - a weekend chez Mr. and Mrs. Pooks. I couldn't believe I hadn't even been to see their house once since they bought it in February. I was mortified by my own slackerdom. And then I started thinking of slackers, and realised that Doobs still hadn't filled the photo frames in her room (now coming on a year since we moved into our apartment, and yes she still has a collage of empty frames on her wall), and I realised that I was hardly the slacker of the house. It's funny how all you need to do is point to someone else's misery, and that has a remarkably cheering effect.

Anyways, back to Mr. and Mrs. Pooks. So Doobs and I wanted to take them something, and being as there isn't that much choice in Grand Central station, we settled on a bunch of sunflowers and an assortment of baked goodies. Climbed on to the train and I started to read (what is it about trains that always makes me want to read?!), but Doobs swatted my book away with a pointed look. Nope, she had a list of topics she wanted to yak about, so by the time we'd got through all the gossip, and given each other minute-to-minute updates on everything happening in our lives, and finished hypothesising about what might happens to ourselves and everyone around us, it was already time to get off.

Mrs. Pooks was waiting for us at the station. We handed her the flowers and baked assortment excitedly, but only to have her push them back at us. "I have no time for this right now, I have to pee!" she yelped. Oh phew, to be with someone just like me.

When we finally got back to the house, I just stood by the doorway in stunned silence. Partly because I was being driven comatose by the instant pandemonium that ensued, accosted by yowling cat, and headbutted by yelping dog. But mostly because I was in awe of the home they had made for themselves. The shiny hardwood floors, laid by Mr. Pooks (diagonally, he pointed out). The skirting boards around the guest room wall (to enhance the beach effect! Mrs. Pooks exclaimed ecxitedly). The rolls of blue and white towels (procured, ahem, from a hotel in Omaha?).

And it wasn't just about the house either, it was simply the perfection with which the entire weekend had been planned. The barbecue lunch on the back deck, the walk down to the beach, the slide show of their trip to the Galapagos, the tour through their wedding albums, the candlelit dinner, and the beers on the porch. Every little detail planned to perfection. As Doobs and I pored through their photo albums, they interjected with explanatory anecdotes.
Mr. Pooks would start, "and that was the time when - "
" - Wait a minute that's my story! Let me tell it!" Mrs. Pooks would interrupt.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
Doobs and I exchanged amused glances. It was endearingly obvious how they had actually built their memories and stories together.

And there it was, a peep into the entirely new life that Mr. and Mrs. Pooks had created for themselves. With dog and cat and boat and house, they had built their new home, and it warmed our cockles to finally see a sliver of it.