I do not own The Magic of Ordinary Days.
Cool to see Skeet Ulrich very un-Skeet-ish. Even if I am 20 years late to the party.
The Magic of Ordinary Days and Nights
Epilogue
And it is then that Raymond Singleton finds the life he hadn't dared dream of the first time he had laid eyes on the woman who, through her own poor judgement and misfortune, had found herself pregnant and abandoned by her previous lover, was to be his wife.
He awakes early every morning in his home, on his land, in this place, tucked away from the turmoils and tribulations of the larger world beyond.
He rises, cares for his morning ablutions.
And heads down the stairs.
His beautiful wife and babbling baby boy greet him in the kitchen.
Toast and jam, coffee and tea.
Eggs and sausage and bacon, some variation of those things awaiting his growling stomach.
Hot oatmeal, perhaps.
On very special occasions, french toast or pancakes.
He sits with his beautiful wife, who is improving as a cook, through trial and error, dedication and reading, and more error.
He sits with her and feeds himself.
As the child grows bigger, more able, he feeds him nibbles, bits, sips.
Or tries . . .
"Oops. Here, you have jelly in your eyebrows."
. . . to.
They chat if they are particularly wakeful and cheery.
If not, they simply abide somewhat quieter and still congenial.
Afterward, if it is not Sunday or Town Day, Ray rises, kisses his wife, his son.
Takes his hat.
And walks out onto the porch.
Into the rising sun, the morning hidden behind the clouds.
Rain, if that is the way of it.
And he goes.
To care for his crops.
Turn the soil, water the seeds.
Direct his workers.
To that which is his job to do.
His father's before him.
And his father's father before him.
He rests as he must, works as he must.
He returns at close of day, showers, redresses.
And joins his family for evening meal.
Evening pleasantries.
He kisses his wife, if the child is peaceful, helps her wash up the dishes, prepare the kitchen for the following day.
Bounces the boy on his knee, ruffles the fluff of hair on his head.
Talks to him.
Plays with him, sings softly the song his father once sang to them.
And then when the child has tired and lain down, all housely duties done for the day, he follows his wife upstairs.
And closes the door.
And stays with her.
They talk, they laugh.
They dream of the future, reflect on the present.
They kiss.
Ray caresses his wife's body with his hands, his fingers, his tongue.
He learns what touch makes her sigh in that way, gasp in that way, cry out in that way.
He learns to let her touch him, kiss him.
He learns to relax in her arms, become bold and passionate, tender and loving.
He learns to take his time and to let her take hers.
And at the end of their waking time together, Ray Singleton sleeps with his arms wrapped lovingly around his wife, Olivia Marie Singleton, in peaceful repose.
At least until their darling baby boy . . .
"Shhh, alright, son, . . ."
. . . awakes and demands, as is his right and privilege in their small, doting family, . . .
". . . it's alright . . ."
. . . hugs and kisses, cuddles and snuggles.
A midnight snack.
And possibly, . . .
"I love you, Ray."
. . . repose between his mother.
"I love you, Livy."
And the man he will always know . . .
"We love you, Danny."
"Abbaa . . ."
. . . as his father.
Watched the movie on Youtube October 2024, so yeah, 19 years late to the party.
Really enjoyed it, thought it was very sweet and wholesome and relaxing.
A nice break from an often harsh and abrasive world.
Have not read the book (yet) so if this little fic gets book stuff wrong, I apologize.
Anyway, thanks for reading, I appreciate that.