Tuesday afternoon’s sudden storm turned Wednesday morning into a Currier and Ives Christmas card. A clear sky, branches of spruce leaning down to dust off the footprints of a doe as she crossed the meadow, and the lake, completely snow-covered and enjoying its masquerade. All of nature stopped to revel in its own glory and hoped Hannah would appreciate its efforts to make today particularly special.

The sun joined in the festivities, poking its head over the tops of the trees, peeking into Hannah’s bedroom window to see if she was awake yet. She lay perfectly still in her bed, curled up with a blanket tucked under her chin, fighting for those last moments between asleep and awake, holding on to a dream. The sun insisted she wake up and raised itself a bit more to look straight into her eyes and pry them open. Hannah squinted and retorted, "Damn you sun! It’s too soon. Get out of my face or I’ll stab you and bleed you dry and leave you shriveled up like a dead useless little raisin unless you go back to hell where you belong!" She glared back through the dusty and frost-covered window, waiting for the sun to make amends. She held her face stoic for what seemed an eternity but really was only a few seconds, before rolling into laughter. "Okay you beast. You win, you always do."

"Ben?" Hannah’s eyes lit up like fireworks. She jumped to her feet to scan the room, but her blood-shot hazel eyes quickly fizzled. She crawled back into bed. Hannah hated mornings; worse yet, she hated forgetting good dreams, and this morning’s was a particularly good one worth remembering - images and snapshots of life with Ben. She dreamt about fishing at the lake and spending the whole day in their battered boat with the peeling green paint. Ben had dropped the oars in the middle of the lake and they laughed and rowed with their arms, going in circles until dusk when the neighbors came out and picked them up. "Wait a minute," Hannah whispered to herself, "I don’t think that’s how it happened." She drifted back to sleep, back to the dream of Ben and the lake.

She woke up rolling with the waves of the lake, and for a brief moment thought she was there until the sun slapped her and put her back in her bed. She stared beyond the ceiling, trying to relive every moment until the vision blurred, replaced by the cobwebs in the corner. "Hello, Tuesday," she crackled, "or is it Wednesday? No matter. The day’s the day whatever they call it. And this is our anniversary and a very special day indeed."

Hannah snapped, "Ben, kiss my ass, you fool. You know I don’t get up this early, fishing or not. You’d better have one hell of a breakfast ready for me if you expect me to move, and it better not be oatmeal again." She looked beyond the closed bedroom door, toward the kitchen where Ben made coffee and oatmeal every morning. She smiled.

Throwing her moth-eaten blanket to the side, Hannah pulled herself up to sit on the side of her cot, sitting on her hands to warm them. Her feet searched for a pair of green tattered slippers that once upon a time were fluffy and soft, while her eyes searched for Dag, her German Shepherd and faithful companion. Dag looked back at her from his corner, cocked his head to the side and waited for the familiar cue. Hannah whispered in baby talk: "Do I love Dag? You ready for the best day ever made?" He wagged his tail in reply, and skipped over for some morning love. Hannah rubbed her hands, rough and callused from years of labor, over Dag’s head, under his tummy, behind his ears, and down his back, tapping her toe in time with his tail. Dag stretched his neck and relished every stroke, repaying her kindness with a face full of doggie kisses—perfectly wet and slimy.

Hannah groaned as she stood up and stretched her arms wide. She followed her usual routine: scuffling across the wooden floor, unaware of or unconcerned with the dust she kicked up, yawning with each step, and barely missing the turned-up edge of the braided rug. "Dag, Ben’s made coffee. Want some? And don’t tell me I slept in my clothes again, because I already know it." Dag obeyed in silence and walked toward the door, waiting for her to let him out to play in the snow.

She opened the cabin’s front door and saw nature’s gift of the sky, the trees, the deer, and the lake still playing hide ‘n’ seek with its snow-covered mantle, now adding Dag to the troupe. Hannah propped the door open with a large rock, sliding it in place with her foot. The morning sunshine and crisp mountain air flooded the room, leaving her intoxicated. She breathed deeply, took in the pungent pine, exhaled, and shouted to the trees: "Thank you, God, for this day. Thank you for the pain, and thank you for the beauty. And thank you for the love of my life, Ben. Happy anniversary, Ben, you old fool." The breeze tickled the leaves in answer, dropping a clump of snow by the shed. She continued to breathe in as much pine as her lungs could handle and entertained herself by watching Dag play peek-a-boo behind the spring house.

"I thought Ben said he made coffee, but he must have been pulling my leg," Hannah snickered under her breath. She grabbed the Folger’s and percolator. She lit the stove and started the coffee. The familiar smell of French roast made her smile, and yet again as she reached for her cup on the open shelf above the stove that held a few cans of pork and beans, a small box of brown sugar, and a large container of Quaker Oats. There she spotted the small cardboard box at the end of the shelf, and she touched it so lightly, if only to know that it really did exist.

While the coffee brewed, Hannah tip-toed back into her bedroom to a small cedar chest at the foot of her cot. She paused. Taking a long, deep breath, she opened the chest and caught a glimpse of the wedding portrait lying on top. She picked it up, gently as picking up a new-born baby, and brushed the dust aside. She caressed the picture, holding it close to her bosom, dancing around the room to a melody she could only hear in her head.

"I guess he’s too busy getting the boat loaded to make his usual oatmeal, so I suppose I have to do that for him, too," Hannah barked to the wall. After she poured her coffee, laced with a bit of whiskey to warm her insides, she reached for the oatmeal pot and the Quaker Oats, and added some brown sugar to make it special. She shuffled outside and plopped down in the splintered Adirondack chair that Ben made for her years before, the green paint faded from sun and exposure. Hannah looked from left to right and back again, spying the meadow below, the carpet of pine trees that ended where the sky started, and Dag rolling in the snow. She wiped a tear from her eye and muttered under her breath: "Damn you, sun. Damn you for waking me up and showing me this beauty." She slid down in the chair, closed her eyes, and dozed.

Hannah woke with a start as the sun shrank behind the trees, now with most of their snow lost or melted. The glare hit her eyes like a brick, waking her to remind her of its presence. "Damn you, sun. Get out of my face, you damnable sorry excuse for a friend. I should poke my own eyes out so I don’t have to look in your sorry-ass face again." She glared back as the sun slipped behind the horizon, and she said victoriously, "Ah, so I get one today. Let’s do it again tomorrow." She got up from her chair and stretched. "Ben, you old fool. Happy anniversary. Ten years now since you’ve been gone." She kicked the rock back into its place and watched the door as it inched itself closed behind her. Shuffling back into the cabin she took notice of Ben’s oatmeal bowl sitting on the green-checkered tablecloth. In it lay crusted remnants of oatmeal untouched, enshrined. She walked over to the shelf above the stove, picked up the cardboard box and opened it slowly, gently. She spoke quietly, her voice strained and controlled, "Ben, this was the ugliest coffee mug I’d ever seen, and I’m so glad you had it. I just wish you could have used it again, just once more." She closed the box and put it back in its rightful place and headed for bed.

"Dag, are you the best ever? Was this the best day ever? And don’t tell me I’m sleeping in my clothes again, because I know it." Dag took his place in the corner to keep a watchful eye until his mistress was at rest. Hannah closed her eyes and fell quickly to sleep, hoping for a good dream about a lake and a fishing trip.

"Happy Anniversary, Hannah."

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