My hands hurt. My fingers, when I try to use them to pick things up, feel like they’re coming apart. I grit my teeth and cuss, soft, beneath my breath.
But I’ve promised my daughter and her fiance a steaming hot pot of my homemade Hungarian goulash tonight. It’s been fallish around here lately — cool, crisp, bright days and increasingly chilly nights. Soup that’s thick with vegetables, potatoes, bits of meat and spices, mopped up with chunks of warm, crusty bread, will warm our bones and make us smile. Since I’m the only one around here who knows how to make it, here I go, off to the kitchen, achy hands and all.
Yes. There is joy in this.