Moving from a flat to a three-storey townhouse takes quite a bit of adjusting. Not least in learning that if you need to talk to your beloved, yelling from the top floor to the kitchen *might* not be the best way to carry on a conversation.
Fortunately, technology is on our side. We have installed a set of cordless phones, which function well as an internal communication device. Beloved was initially dead set on walkie talkies but has accepted these as a compromise. It helps that he'd long since formed the habit of texting me from bed to let me know that he'd woken up and wouldn't mind some attention.*
So every so often the peace of my study is disturbed by a ringing phone, as Beloved requires my urgent attention to matters of great consequence. This afternoon, for instance.
Ring ring.
[Completely absorbed in my very demanding brain work,** it takes me a second to surface, place a mental bookmark and find the receiver.]
"No I'm not cooking yet!" I say.***
"Isn't the rain great?" he says.
"Oh. Yes. It is."
"I just wanted to say that."
It was, though.
Note to Greg: actually, I don't think the magic is because I'm not out in the rain. I get a very similar pleasure from heavy rain even when I am out in it, at least sometimes. Don't you?
_____
* This was back in the flat. Distance from his bed to my desk: oh, maybe 5 or 6 metres?
** Researching pattern support for new yarns. What? Ravelry is totally work!
*** Luckily, there's a different ring to let me know when the call is coming from outside the house, and should be answered more politely.
