Today was a day of peaceful pursuits. A little cleaning and tidying, a little cooking, a little walking, a little baking, a little Jeopardy. For most of the day, it was just the two of us. We saw almost no one on our one excursion outside the house: a walk around Rice Lake near Bruce Pit. When we got back home, I settled in for the day, enjoying the warmth of the house, the taste of our homemade food, and the serenity of our moments together and apart, as we chatted or pursued individual activities.

My favourite part of the day was our collaboration on dessert.

— "Let's make date squares," you said.

— "That's an idea," I replied. "We haven't had them in a while."

We bantered back and forth as we tried a variation on our traditional recipe.

— "Do these dates look like they need more cooking?"

— "What size of baking dish should we use?"

When the date squares were finally baked and out of the oven, you were impatient to eat them.

— "Should I put them outside to cool faster?" you asked.

— "If you do, you'd better cover them. I don't want squirrels sampling them."

— "Like Yogi Bear stealing a pie from the window sill. 'Hey Boo Boo.'"

Your Yogi Bear impression made me laugh.

Finally, we sat down to eat our still-warm date squares, with their soft, sweet filling sandwiched between layers of crunchy, buttery oats. I drank hot coffee. You drank cold milk. We might have been in a fancy restaurant, enjoying a gourmet dessert—it felt that special. It was like being on a date: Date Squares for Date Day.

As I reflect on this day, our time together in the kitchen is what I remember most; it was nostalgic, comfortable, serene. Ordinary days can feel incredibly extraordinary.