On Monday night this week, my husband and I slip outside to sit on the patio. The too-warm temperature has surrendered, dropping its pretense of hanging around. Delightfully cool air is making an appearance. Our dogs gaze expectantly at us, convinced that telepathy will cause us to feed them (again), throw a ball for them, or pet them. After a few fruitless minutes, they resign themselves to laying down at our feet, their loud exhalations signaling disappointment and disapproval.
Don and I transition from workday weariness to end-of-day relaxation – a mysterious and somewhat magical process that we have practiced, in parallel, for decades. We stretch just a bit, raise cold drinks to our lips, and gaze at the landscaping around us. The foliage is just shy of robust, a bit weathered by late summer dehydration but cheerful in anticipation of fall rejuvenation. Just like us, I think.
We begin to talk. At first, our discourse is truncated, cliched snippets of daily toils and duties. We counter each other’s comments automatically with sympathetic murmurs and acknowledging nods. We speak about the week’s calendar, and I remind Don of upcoming tasks that need completion.
The tone begins to lighten, and I test the conversational waters by making a joke that Don does not respond to, whether due to distraction or intention, I cannot tell. I repeat the joke and give him a playful shove, and he turns to me, sheepish at not responding and gives me a slight smile. His body relaxes imperceptibly, as does mine. We fall silent, once again.
The quiet and stillness summon reflection. I remark how peaceful the evening is. Though our lives seem incessantly and frantically busy, we have time to sit – unlike the days when we had children at home. Those years were wondrous and affirming, but we had too-few opportunities to reflect on their richness. Gratitude begins to tiptoe towards us, hesitant in its approach. We stay motionless, allowing gratefulness to become emboldened, rushing up to us with unfettered abandon. We hold space and breathe in a sense of abundance.
Our conversation becomes more thoughtful and introspective. We speak with almost reverential solemnity about how hard we have worked – and for how long. Career, family, financial, health, and relationships goals - those never-ending lifelong endeavors - seem almost incomprehensibly within reach. We acknowledge that loss and adversity are always around the corner, and we cannot predict when our life paths will take that turn. But even that awareness does not diminish the tangible, glimmering light that our earthly aspirations are, against all odds, capable of accomplishment.
Boomer interrupts our reverie by getting up and pushing a wet snout under my knee to get attention. Bailey remains several feet away, her back towards us conveying petulance for our inattentiveness.
Don and I glance at each other with perfect understanding, honed by living more years together than we have apart. We smile and sigh. The pre-bedtime routine, timeworn with repetition and comforting in its familiarity, calls.
Life beckons.