Returning home on a holiday makes it harder to land. I may have my favorite brand of coffee here, my familiar bed, but I’m still not in my groove. The suitcase is not yet unpacked and I’ve got a stack of tasks at hand.
The writing workshop I signed up for six months ago, looms ahead in ten days. I’m supposed to bring 750 words describing some kind of extraordinary experience. My life seems like a series of synchronistic events (just like yours) but for some reason, I’m drawing a blank. I can’t seem to cull one phenomenal event.
Marvels aside, life goes on. The referenced dishes from last week’s post have arrived. With a carload of boxes, I drive Jeb and the Bohemian home for dinner. Jeb’s in the backseat practicing blowing bubbles with Orbit gum. The Bohemian’s in the passenger seat with one large hand gently curved to the back of my head. I steer past banana trees and over the one-lane bridge.
From the back seat comes a question from my eight year old’s uninhibited, gum-filled mouth. “Are you guys going to get married?”
I stare straight ahead at the curve in the road, the corners of my mouth turned up in a soft smile. I don’t look at the Bohemian, though I feel him in our collective quiet.
When neither of us answer, Jeb prods, “No, really, just tell me.”
I can’t even sneak a sideways glance, as I hold the wheel and turn into our driveway. Perfect timing.
Jeb adds to the silence, “I hope so.”
I pull up and place the car in park. The Bohemian makes the best reply. “You’ll find out.”
Satisfied, Jeb’s out the door and jumping on his skateboard. I unlock the front door. Busy myself with the unloading of the car and the Bohemian helps me with the boxes, moving in his typical calm with steady ease.
It’s like this with him. He rounds the corners of awkward moments and leaves them to settle in the rear view mirror. He asks me how I want things, then does it. Or sets things up in better ways than I could have imagined.
It’s extraordinary, really. Not the kind that one could see at first glance, like some sort of light show from the beyond (though the man is quite a sight to behold – I’d say he sparkles). No, it’s a quiet kind of phenomenon that’s even more spectacular. A deep inside incredible. The kind that creeps up and surprises you in a slow and steady satisfaction.
It conjures notions of spending days and days with him. It softens me.
It feels, quite simply, extraordinary.
One thought on “Feeling the Extraordinary”
I met him, your know. He definitely sparkles. And a very, I’d say extraordinary, handshake.