Hm. The thing is, I often do find myself with a free hour. Nap times are pretty regular around here, and especially now that I have a passel of grandparents and aunties willing to hold babies, my obligations are pretty minimal at times. But they do still exist, I suppose.
Realistically, in a no-obligations hour to myself I would be in bed with a good book and a plate of things to munch on – goat cheese and olives and nice salty crackers. Maybe some boursin and earl grey tea with lots of milk.
But, If this was a no-holds barred fantasy hour where anything was possible, I would spend that hour at my cottage on the shores of Pigeon Lake, Ontario. It would be dusk and I would be treading water, the lake lapping at my chin. My siblings would be swimming around me, their voices echoing across the water.
And if I turned around I would see the shadowy outline of my grandparents in the cottage window. Grandaddy futzing about with the fire, and Annie sitting in her chair, that satisfied, contented expression on her face. I could get out at any time, cold and dripping, and join them and hug her and feel her thin wrinkled skin under my arms and have her slap me on the back so hard that it almost hurt.
That would be pretty perfect, I think.
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