Sunday Night San Antonio

It's just about 7:30 on a beautiful October night.  Mike and I have the trucks all packed and every single thing on our list completed--finally.  We'd planned to leave for Georgia this morning, but he insisted that we hang the things I wanted hung, fertilize the yard, paint a beverage cart on the deck, and get everything ready for Halloween for the kids.

A time or two, in sheer exhaustion, we've snapped at each other--mostly me snapping at him.  "I didn't get a nap today!" I might say, as if it's his fault.  "I can't eat another bowl of that chili!" I said last night--because he was too tired to go out to eat.  Of course, he's tired; he works like nobody I've ever seen.

I have a window curtain made of ribbons and beads.  I wanted to hang it in the kitchen, so of course, we weren't going to leave before they got hung.  In the process of moving them around, they'd gotten hopelessly tangled.  I spent two hours untangling ribbon and beads.  It was tedious and it was fun. They sparkle in the window now; the house is clean; he's taking a nap--and then we're going to head out later tonight and get through Houston before morning traffic.

I was teasing him about taking a cruise.  "You'd be meeting the captain to see if anything needed fixing," I said.  "You'd be taking food back to your room for tomorrow, not wanting to waste anything."

"You're right," he said.  "That's exactly what I'd do."

I don't see a cruise in our shared future.  What I see tonight is a generous and exhausted man sleeping in a newly painted bedroom and a house and casita that look exactly like I hoped they would.

A brightly painted birdhouse is filled with sunflower seeds--my birthday present from Georgia.  Ribbons and beads sparkle in the kitchen window.  Mirrors are hung.  Electrical work is done.  Windows are glazed.  A storage shed for my yard tools is built. The truck is packed to the gills--including about ten shirts he never took out of his cleaners' bag and two pair of boots to wear dancing.  The only dancing we did was the dance of the drill and hammer and paint brush.