Bob Seger?

My house feels alive again. The past 13 weeks while Bryan was gone, it felt like a morgue. I'd come home to no lights, no noise, and not much warmth. The TV stayed black, nothing moved randomly out of place, and I stayed confined to the one corner of the house that had everything I needed. Now when I come home, the lights are on in almost every room, the TV's blaring with music, the counters are a mess, and Bryan's slaving away in the back corner room. We started into the final upstairs bedroom a week or so ago, and just finished painting the walls. Painting is extremely relaxing for me (no it's not the fumes that lull me into a hazy dream world). I like the rhythmic rolling of the brush and the time spent thinking away while accomplishing a mundane task. But it's even more special spending the time conversing with Bryan. I love his silly comebacks to every question I have. Like where's the stepladder? "If it was up your bum on fire you'd know!" Or the quacking ducks and barking spiders that have returned from their hiding places. The best random comeback he had was "At the breadstore". This was used for everything back in the day. Then while he was in Sacramento, he found a place called "At the Breadstore". We laughed our heads off and went there for breakfast when I visited, because now we had officially been 'at the breadstore'. The sound of his truck yelling its way home is wonderful. And the final tap of the throttle right at our pine tree as he downshifts to pull into the driveway is comforting. There's also the telltale signs of his scattered clothes all over the house; from where he was sitting on the couch working on the computer (more like finding every possible image and commentary on the Camaro), to his dirty painting clothes in the kitchen, just outside the bathroom where the unmentionables lie, to the socks from the night before lying next to our bed. Then there's the dirty oatmeal breakfast bowl sitting in the sink, where I've asked him to put it, but not rinsed (which is really weird, because the mornings he's almost late for work it's rinsed, but not the days when he has til noon). And there's the countless water bottles stashed everywhere, and the random piece of garbage in the recycling bag. The best part? Having him on the other end of the couch, like right now while I blog. A house needs life, and I wasn't hacking it. Neither was Bob Seger.