Journeying through loss last summer blew a lot of our smog away; these days, Ben and I move through life pretty eye-to-eye. As we navigate newness -- house, school district, church -- our combativeness softens quickly to kindness and we seem to be striking compromises with surprising ease. The word "maturing" has crossed my mind a time or two.
But then a Saturday rolls along and we make a move toward finalizing window treatments. Our little blissful harmony is smacked with harsh tones and utter impatience and at the end of the weekend, we still have no conclusions. Window coverings are not a part of decorating that thrill me, especially window coverings for a house we're renting. Or shall I say paying for window coverings in a house we are renting does not thrill me. So 2 1/2 months into living in this little pink house, we still have vinyl blinds, circa 1980 with a strip of flower trim at the bottom and a mauve tassel, hanging from wobbly braces.
And every weekend, we brew near each other about the unfinished-ness. It is the simple collision of approaches: bang it all out in an hour vs. wait to find what you want. And though the frustrations make sense, curtains seem a ridiculous Achilles tendon (though these battles are never really about the curtains, are they?)
And so as I sit in the living room wishing I'd climbed into bed two hours ago, I listen to the rain pat and splatter, quiet, and pour. Rain clears smog, too. Maybe tonight it will wash out ours.
This morning I sat with the front page section for twice as long as usual because the world is bubbling. And then tonight I sat in a room with lit windows beaming at a dark street and bubbled about blinds. *sigh*
Next week I head east to breathe wet Spring blossoms, and hopefully by then the curtains will have quieted and perspective will have righted itself again. Already Ben is giving me a half smile across the room. That's a start.