serving toast and eggs

I always relish the days between Christmas and the new year, that in between week when it's okay to be slow, to make few commitments- when there's a reason to be especially reflective.
Saturday after Christmas John and I were doing just that. . .then we heard from William, early.

William use to be our neighbor, living in the house across the street where occupants cycle in and out almost before we can greet and learn their names;  during William's brief neighbor status, my husband got acquainted with him a bit. William is profoundly deaf, a rather lost soul.

"Can I come to your house? I'm hungry. I'm at the bus stop." William sent John a text.

Well, of course, William could come. . . all week we'd been eating Christmas leftovers from the fridge.
"We can give William eggs and toast--not much else." I told my husband.

John returned William's text, "Sure come on over, we have eggs and toast!"

So, we welcomed William and fed him and the morning stretched on. I passed through the dining room now and then, observed the men intent in written conversation. I heard William's laughter and verbal outbursts, and I noticed my husband's face, engaged, happy to be with William.
The merciful man does good to his own soul. . .that's my husband.

Later I cleared away the dishes, noting that while William eats toast, he leaves the crusts, like the sandwiches I prepared him in the past. I glanced over some of the written conversation:

John: "How do you like your eggs? sunny side up? over easy? scrambled?" (in pictures)
William: "Do you have bacon or sausage?"
John: "Nope, I have popcorn. . .!"

Ahh, I am married to a wonderful man, still, in 2014.