The Habit of Crisis

For weeks and weeks and, I think, weeks, Shannon & I have had no crisis. The pace to which we had become accustomed has broken stride, and we would have stumbled. Fortunately, there were others nearby, and they had crisis to some degree and could lend us a cup or two.

Not much of a crisis, mind you; just something that extra hands would do well for. We had extra hands and are good neighbors. Crisis navigated, life goes on, but Shannon and I still lack for crisis of our own…but there are kids, there are relatives of varying degree and description, there are friends of friends in need, and our hands have no crisis of our own, so –

At some point recently I became somewhat grumpy. I couldn’t put my finger to just why. Then my son’s life had a fairly major blow-up at the same time that the in-laws irrigation system had a fairly major blow-up, and we dropped everything and drove south to tend to both issues. The week following was out of kilter; the laundry was undone, the kitchen fouled with a week’s accumulation (we do dishes, but there are deep-cleaning things that wait for the weekend), the garden was untended, the writing not done, the yoga not practiced.

Shannon, stepping carefully next to me as we picked our way through our own untended chores, noted “I want to live my life for a while instead of everyone else’s.”

Bingo. The source of my grumpiness.

This weekend we tended us. We walked through gardens, we played with fluff (well, Shannon played with fluff), I will write, we yogged, laundry is even now in the doing, the kitchen is all a-soak, and there is a steak marinating while a soup steams on the stove. Later, I think, there will be an Indy or a Caspian.

OUR weekend.

Just right. Smart wife. I wish she’s said it earlier.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry