|Neither Cava, nor Champagne|
So I open a bottle of Cava (can't afford Champagne) and my dear husband, who has been moody for days, asks me why I should be doing this. "Three reasons," I say: 1. To thank him for all his hard work on renovating the kitchen ...
"No," he says - "1. because we have it."
"O.K" I reply, "four reasons."
1. We have it, waiting to be opened; 2. all his hard work on the kitchen, which seems to be extending beyond all reason (with a new fashion for speckled everything where paint has descended as in an unseen atomic cloud and shelves, pans, cooker, surfaces, even his specs, are as you would not wish to see - keep calm, Ann, it doesn't matter); 3. my long stint of work deadlines, complicated features on a divers range of topics, is completed ahead of schedule (I can take a deep breath); and 4. it is ST.VALENTINE'S DAY.
"What's that?" he asks. Oh oh oh oh - the romantic in me feels a shrivelling of the heart. But somehow, and I do not understand why, for my turbulent self will normally vent aloud feelings that are not worthy of who I believe I am, I feel this inner calm. I cannot berate, or retaliate, or do other than just be so very relieved that he is coping with his 80-years-plus 'old age' and whatever he does is better than not attempting to get out of bed in the morning.
|'Wild Somerset Child'|
I cannot explain my change from normal explosion and former descent into a black abyss. But one thing I realise, is that my heart is his, and that is all that matters. And within that premise, I can survive. Though I do need a quiet time everyday to be myself, to write and create, and to remind myself that no matter what, I am still a somewhat selfish being. This feeling of calm does not sit easily. He sleeps, and I will read late into the night; too tired to do anything else. Tomorrow is another day, and we never know what bombshell will fall; what new problem will surface.