The Perfect Summer Day

"Actually, I'm a drinker with writing problems."
- Brendan Behan

I walked in the side door and went directly downstairs to peel off my unbearably binding work clothes. On good days, the martini glass was chilled and I could hear the ice dancing in the shaker when I walked in the door. This was a good day. "Hey," he said with a grin as I re-emerged in my most comfortable [read unattractive] clothes and he handed me the glass. I smiled, grateful that I was in that place at that time. The feel of the glass in my hand, the scent of the martini and the first slow sip all worked instantly to ease my troubled mind.

It was a beautiful late summer day complete with bright blue skies, fluffy white clouds and the scent of fresh cut grass and barbecued everything in the air. Such days should never, never be spent in the office. Determined to enjoy the last few hours of this gorgeous day, I gave him a quick kiss, grabbed my book and headed out the sliding glass door to the deck. I settled into the Adirondack style chair he had made for me that, although it was made from scrap wood he had collected over the years, could not have been more comfortable. I took a deep breath and sipped my martini. I swallowed then exhaled. I opened my book and began to read.

Soon I heard him in the garage preparing to mow the law. He smiled at me now and then as the row he was completing neared the deck. Later, as the sun began to set, he grilled steaks while I enjoyed my second martini and tended to the hanging flower baskets that adorned the wraparound porch of our little Victorian bungalow. After dinner, he made a fire in the terracotta chiminea on our deck. We relaxed in our matching chairs, alternately staring at the fire and gazing at the stars.