Through a Glass, Darkly

After my comment about wanting to be enjoying life more these days (the only part of the post I think Mike actually read), Mike has made an effort to shake us out of the read, watch TV, and sleep pattern that we seemed to be in. Wednesday night this meant that I was complaining about wanting a milkshake, and he pulled me off the floor and we drove to Wendy’s for frostys (I don’t like McDonald’s chocolate milkshakes. And for all our town’s finer qualities, it doesn’t have a Cookout). We rolled down the windows and listened to David Grey, who, by the way, makes perfect music for driving at night with the windows rolled down. Or any driving at night, really. And I am not a huge David Grey fan, so that is high praise indeed.

Mike says that driving around with no real purpose at night with me always reminds him of this one time that we were having a disagreement and he needed to drive to clear his head, but he let me come with him. And we drove and drove and listened to music, and things seemed easier after that. The frosty run was much like that . . . although we weren’t in a fight, it was a nice change from the routine our lives had been in lately. When we got home, things seemed easier, somehow. Not so dull.

Mike’s going away this weekend, to ride rollercoasters with some guys from church. Tomorrow night, some of the wives who have been left behind (hey, we should write a book about that! Better yet, a whole series!) are having dinner together, but tonight will just be me, some wine, and some ironing (I have gotten way behind in the ironing).

As we drove home last night from dinner with some friends, we talked last night about how our lives take different turns than we expect, and how hard and exciting and scary and disappointing it can be all in one. And we listened to David Grey again, and Waterdeep, and all these songs that make us think of summer. And Mike held my hand and let me cry.