Midnight Picnic

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Abstract

t-do’s before surgery. So many hours without food, that it made sense to eat just before that cut-off point. I set the alarm for ten minutes before the return-to-pumpkin hour, and got up and made something nourishing and easy to eat— banana slices with peanut butter, and tea.</p><p id="9327">I loathed the thought of turning on bright lights. I did not want my spouse to become so fully awake that it would be hard to return to sleep. He was already having issues with sleeping. So I lit a candle in a lantern with cut-out stars on its side and top.</p><h1 id="43fd">Needs a picnic</h1><p id="8d28">And so we had a midnight picnic by candlelight. I had to assist him with sitting up, and wrapped him in a cozy blanket, and helped him eat and sip the tea. And I had some tea myself.</p><p id="8438">The candlelight shone through, and stars flickered over the walls and the ceiling…and I wondered why, WHY, through almost thirty years of being together, we’d never done this before. I wondered why

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people who love each other don’t wake up in the night and say, “Hey! Let’s have a picnic!”</p><h1 id="bb22">Magic</h1><p id="48b1">Since childhood, this hour has had a magical call; I was quite certain my dolls came to life, and many nights tried to stay awake, but always failed in that quest. But there are the stars, the summer’s meteor showers, the moon’s phases and grumblings and celebrations at that hour. So much going on in the middle of the night! Let alone the witching-hour of 3 a.m.</p><h1 id="22e1">Pack a basket</h1><p id="c865">And set the alarm. Plan on stars inside or out.</p><p id="5e17">~~~</p><p id="85c3"><a href="https://alisonacheson.com/">Alison Acheson</a> writes stories for all ages, from picturebooks to short fiction and memoir for adults, including <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dance-Me-End-Months-Days/dp/1927366860">Dance Me to the End</a>, an account of her time caregiving. She is a card-carrying member of the 3-brothers-and-3-sons club.</p></article></body>

Why don’t we?

In my life, I’ve had a midnight swim more than once, a midnight drive, a Christmas Eve midnight walk with my son, in falling snow. But I’ve done a midnight picnic only once. And it did not start out as a picnic.

It was the eve of the one and only trip my spouse had to take to the hospital when he had ALS. Those months were spent at home otherwise — one of the very few gifts of that disease. But the night before he had a procedure for a feeding tube was the same night that we had a picnic.

The no-food for hours before surgery…

It was borne of the practical: the doctor’s list of must-do’s before surgery. So many hours without food, that it made sense to eat just before that cut-off point. I set the alarm for ten minutes before the return-to-pumpkin hour, and got up and made something nourishing and easy to eat— banana slices with peanut butter, and tea.

I loathed the thought of turning on bright lights. I did not want my spouse to become so fully awake that it would be hard to return to sleep. He was already having issues with sleeping. So I lit a candle in a lantern with cut-out stars on its side and top.

Needs a picnic

And so we had a midnight picnic by candlelight. I had to assist him with sitting up, and wrapped him in a cozy blanket, and helped him eat and sip the tea. And I had some tea myself.

The candlelight shone through, and stars flickered over the walls and the ceiling…and I wondered why, WHY, through almost thirty years of being together, we’d never done this before. I wondered why people who love each other don’t wake up in the night and say, “Hey! Let’s have a picnic!”

Magic

Since childhood, this hour has had a magical call; I was quite certain my dolls came to life, and many nights tried to stay awake, but always failed in that quest. But there are the stars, the summer’s meteor showers, the moon’s phases and grumblings and celebrations at that hour. So much going on in the middle of the night! Let alone the witching-hour of 3 a.m.