(From November 15, 2007)
George is working down at the harbor with Brett and my dad each day, overhauling crab pots and getting the boat ready for the Dungeness crab season, which is set to start in December. He leaves the house each morning at 7 a.m. and returns each evening at 6:30 p.m.
I spent yesterday working on this blog, emptying the dishwasher, getting a crockpot meal going for dinner, moving Vince from baby swing to bouncy seat and back again, and cleaning up the three-inch thick layer of baby powder that Eva flung around her room while she was supposed to be napping.
My friend, Tish, came to visit me in the late afternoon. When she left for Jazzercise at 5 p.m., I started my countdown to George’s arrival home. When 6:30 p.m. came and went, I waited for a little while.
Finally, at 6:32 p.m., I called his cell phone.
“Where are you?” I implored.
“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes,” George answered.
“Fifteen minutes? Where are you?” I asked again, knowing full well where he was. “It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to get home from the harbor!”
“Well, twelve minutes, probably,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered. Twelve minutes made more sense.
But then he said something else.
It was hard for me to hear what he said over the music to “You are My Sunshine,” from Vince’s swing in the dining room, and Eva’s yelling for her fifth bottle of milk from the kitchen. But I was pretty sure what I heard him say.
“You’re drinking BEER?” I asked.
“We’re rigging gear!” George answered.
“Oh!” I said. “I thought you said you were drinking beer!”
“Well,” he replied. “We just did have a beer while we rigged the gear.”
“But we never stopped working!”