There have been several movies showing locally in recent weeks that answered my husband’s repetitive, “Any good movies on?”

Last night we saw “A walk in the woods.” Loved the book — one of my favorites by Bill Bryson — and we liked the movie. Lots of laughs and, of course, the scenery was outstanding. The opening scene was filmed at McAfee Knob not too far from here, and the rest of the Appalachian Trail views were reminiscent of its path through southwest Virginia, though it was shot near Atlanta.

We ate at a favorite restaurant, Gillies, before the 7:00 p.m. showing. A stutter in Peter’s brain kept him glancing at a table card that reminded patrons Wednesdays were “Dinner and movie at The Lyric” nights.

“What day is it?” he asked over and over. “Wednesday? Is it Wednesday?”

Each time I nodded, his eyes sparkled because we’d chosen the right evening to go out. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he knocked his water over. It flooded across the table towards me, rained down into my chair, then onto the floor. The waitress tossed me a towel and I grabbed extra napkins to mop up.

Peter was bewildered. “Did I do that?”

“It was an accident. How many times have I done the same thing?” I asked to remind him that I’m the real klutz.

He shook his head and looked down. I would’ve been embarrassed, but he wasn’t because he didn’t remember he’d caused the mishap. He was very upset. I continued to sop, trying to stem the puddle spreading under the table and toward the feet of the woman sitting behind Peter.

Suddenly, his eyes brightened again, “At least I didn’t spill this,” he said, holding his beer up. “That would have been awful, wouldn’t it, eh?” He watched carefully to make sure I got his joke.

I did.

Header photo: November walk in Leslie and Martin’s woods.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.