Good evening from Lake Tahoe. We arrived in the middle of a snowstorm and made it safely to the lake house with only a couple of harrowing moments on the road. The driveway was plowed, all the lights were blazing when we pulled in and the house was warm and well-stocked with everything my heart desires and a chef who will be visiting twice per day to cook for us while we are here.
The lake looks cold but beautiful from my vantage point in the master bedroom or from the hot tub on the deck. He's had heaters installed outside for my comfort and all of the generic cabin-themed bedding has been replaced with vintage inspired patchwork quilts in washed ivory and tea-stained hues with furs layered on top.
He's listening.
We had a whiskey toast and then some simple cheese toast for dinner, light since we arrived so late. I had a hot bath and an early night and slept until noon today. No dog to wake me up, no sounds of the house stirring with music playing or loud deep-voiced laughter to rouse me from my dreams.
And surprisingly no Diabhal on this trip. Just Caleb, somehow anxious to make sure I do nothing at all, and anxious to add nothing to my anxiousness overall. Today all we did was watch the snow fall and watch a couple of scary movies on Netflix.
What would you like for dinner this evening, Bridget?
A Monte Cristo. With a pickle on the side and french fries.
Always with the Cristos.
They're so good.
Still?
Yes.
Done. Any dessert?
Naw. Maybe an Irish Coffee.
And then more sleep?
Yes, please.
