The cupboards were not as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's, but some of our favorite foods were gone.  Still I had recently finished a book by Jodi Picoult about the Holocaust, and our slim pickings looked like an extravagant banquet compared to the diet of the characters in her novel. In one chapter the prisoner pounced on the soup left by her Nazi boss, but when he abruptly came back in the room her hands shook and it spilled. He spoke to her, ignoring what could be held as a punishable act, and left again. She bent on her knees and licked the floor. 

I offered to make a snack for the twins, and they looked up from their last indulgent days of summertime reading.

"Yes, please!"

I opened the refrigerator door, knowing that the easy choices were eaten last week. But in the drawer was a red pepper, and a cucumber. Nice and cold. I cut them in slivers, and took two apples from the bowl on the counter. I put a plop of peanut butter next to the sliced apples and brought everything in on a tray.

"Thank you!" they called in stereo.

Culinary presentation.  That was all it took. The vegetables and fruit were in easy access, anyone could have found them. But, well, it took a bit of effort. As in five minutes. 

Relationships need replenishing, as much as bodies. But it can seem like a Herculean task to find sweetness on the other side of the door of our isolation.

"I'm too busy."

"After this show."

"I'm too stressed."

Every marriage group we lead begins with appreciations. Each person tells their partner a string of things they are grateful for about them.

And it only takes five minutes.