Last night, Madeleine Peyroux crooned during our first dinner in the new house. Ingrid sliced green tomatoes. I carried the slices to the flour, salt and pepper, and battered them before laying them in the hot oil in the (finally) cast-iron skillets. Paul sipped on wine, spatula at the ready, and flipped the tomatoes. The barbecued pork chops were already done to perfection. Greta concocted a salad. The baked potatoes were the holdup. They would bake only slowly. Dagne sat at the island, pen in hand, frowning at a piece of paper. She was busy inventing names she wanted to name her children when she grew up.
“How do you spell Paul?” she asked no one in particular.
Paul quipped, “P-O-L.”
She fist pumped with confidence. “Got it!” she said.
We all laughed. Paul helped her correct her spelling. I glanced at her list of names — all spelled phonetically.
Elsa and Greta wrestled in the living room.
It felt like home.
We sat down to dinner. As we buttered our potatoes and sliced our pork chops and moaned over the tomatoes, Elsa explained how she had requested to take Italian and classical guitar next semester at Redmond Proficiency Academy. Then, it was Dagne’s turn. She related several terrible things that Harriet Tubman endured as a child. Ingrid narrated the discovery of Pap’s footprint in the snow in Huck Finn.
It felt soooooo good.
On Saturday, we were, once again, showered in love in the form of moving help. Thank you Mom, John, Bud, Anne, Heather, Robin, and girls!
We haven’t gotten internet at the house yet, so regularity on the blog will not be possible for about a week. Until then, thank you all for your prayers and good-wishes. The Harris family is settled and satisfied.