The time is fast-approaching to pack our bags and return to the Land of Sand.
We're transitioning; from sifting through drawers to pull out the warmest pair of ski tights, to packing everything up except for the last day's ski wear and a change of clothes for the train and subsequent plane ride home.
Days no longer stretch out languorously before us; rather, we're left wondering "where did the days go?"
Soon, we will no longer be enjoying wine with every meal. Before you tut tut us, be assured that we didn't partake in wine with breakfast ....
that's why Bailey's Irish Cream was invented, now isn't it?
The mood is subtly shifting.
This morning Smilin' Vic packed up the recyclables to bring down to the village recycling/garbage hut. Upon his return, he realized his "insanely expensive, brand new, progressive, photochromic, anti-scratch, anti-fog, titanium" glasses were missing. Whereas two days ago he would have taken it in stride and walked back through the morning's activities calmly, today he became quite ornery and unhinged.
I finally suggested he trek back to the garbage shed to make sure the glasses hadn't fallen into one of the recycling boxes (ours being easily recognizable by the fifteen empty bottles of wine therein).
Really, I was just looking for a means to search the flat without the blackness of his mood obscuring my vision. And wouldn't you know it, barely five minutes after he'd gone, I found his glassed right where he'd left them on top of the camera case.
You would think he'd have been happy when I announced my find to him upon his return an hour later. Instead, he just barked "where are they?"
Being the sweet, fun-loving wife that I am, I suggested a game of hot/cold to find them. You know the one: "you're getting waaaaarmerrrrr!"
My suggestion was met with outright hostility and a few expletives. He wasn't in the mood for games. He blamed it on the fact that he'd been sifting through refuse for the last 40 minutes or so. But that wasn't it and I knew it. He was in the military for over 25 years for goodness sakes, I know he's handled far worse.
Nope, I knew what was bothering him. It's the same thing that's bothering me. The one thing we won't talk about. The thing that we won't mention out loud, even in hushed tones, even though it's been on our minds continuously for the last twelve hours or so.
Alas, all good things must come to an end, or so the saying goes.
The dreaded Re-Entry looms ....