Warm Fuzzy Socks

It's a rainy Sunday, the rain creating our own multi-media show on our window. The drum solo on the glass, mixed with the refracted light show is quit mesmerizing on a lazy day. We've just finished breakfast, I made Norwegian pancakes for you. I think the rest of the world knows them as Swedish pancakes, but since I learned them from my Norwegian grandmother, Norwegian pancakes they are. You love that I cook for you. You sit and watch with that smile that melts me. You watch the economy of motion I learned as a cook, when I put myself through college cooking at the Space Needle. Every motion accomplishes 2 or 3 tasks. And I love to cook for you, ad I flip the pan to turn the pancake with a quick flick of my practiced wrist. The pancake floats into the air and softly nestles back into the pan to cook the other side. Then I fell them with strawberry jam, roll them up and cover with powered sugar. Total and complete decadence I know, but moderation is the key, and we can splurge occasionally.

You go out into the living room to catch up on some of your reading, while I finish cleaning up the kitchen. I come out and build a fire, and slide in next to you on the couch. You lean over and rest against me, feeling my warmth. I sit there, admiring your concentration, and trying to keep from kissing those eyebrows knitted in determination. What a wonderful feeling! This simple act of togetherness fills me with love for the depth of our intimacy. Just sitting next to you, in our loose comfortable clothes, not speaking, but not needing to speak. A man of simple pleasures, these quiet moments together fill me with love for you. Although I am the man you share your most powerful and volcanic desires with, I am also your warm fuzzy socks in front of a fire on a lazy Sunday morning.

You turn the page, and a small piece of paper falls into your lap. You pick up the paper and see another one of my silly little notes...

Always know...

You've someone who loves you.