Tonight I am sitting in a darkened study, listening to my husband practice his guitar in the living room. Right now, I don't know which song he is playing. It is slow, a little romantic and sad, good for the dark.
Tonight Younger Stepson and two friends are downstairs, talking and watching videos. We are happy to have him back.
Tonight we bought planks of wood. He is going to build bookshelves in the basement. I almost said, "we", but that wouldn't be right. I don't think I will have much to do with it. I think it may turn out to be a father-son project, which would be great. I wonder if there is such a thing as a mother-dog project. (Oh yes, agility class.) (Also, digging in the dirt.)
Tonight it is quiet. We didn't have quite the kind of fun evening I was hoping for. But there was significant whooping earlier when the Twins beat the White Sox for the 2nd time in one day. It seems that in our house, a Twins win can bring a ray of sunshine into many a depressed and darkened soul. When the announcer said that Justin Morneau had tied three other Twins for the most home runs in one game (Bob Allison, Harmon Killebrew and Tony Oliva were the others), my husband got a little teary.
Tonight I am content. I have a sermon for Sunday. Almost. It is called "Tips for Travelers." It will not win the Pulitzer Prize, but perhaps it can be a rope let down for the lost. That is my hope.
Tomorrow I may fret and fiddle, visit more people in the hospital, worry about those I have not had time to visit yet, the long lists of people to visit, call, pray for, encourage to leadership. Tomorrow I will try in vain to organize tasks, believe what I wrote is not good enough, and also want to look out the window into the green summer day.
But tonight I sit typing in the dark. My husband has stopped practicing his sad romantic song. The dog has gone to bed. The son is quiet.