“I just love you,” Andrew says, as he sends me off for the day. That was yesterday, when the laundry avalanched. I was wrapped up in it, tangled in the bulk of it, one hand reaching out, grasping for help, and he came in search of me, pulled me out, and happily agreed to deal with the dragons of the day. There were plenty of errands to be done anyway, so I slipped into my little yellow spaceship and disappeared for most of the day, bringing back pizza for the hungry crowd. I even remembered to get chocolate milk for Renee. This was significant because I always promise treats and I always forget. Not good for credibility, as you might imagine.
Tonight we grabbed dinner at Dixie’s—the only place to get a decent meal within the thirty minute driving range. The trade-off for that drive is living within listening distance to the humming laughter of the River. This morning Andrew and I sat on her sandy shoulders and tried to slip out of the to-do list and into Life—and we did manage that tonight, as we drove along the feet of mountains and beheld the mirroring eye of the Moon rising through the glowing lace of clouds. His fingers lightly kissed my hand, my knee, my neck, and I leaned into him, into this crazy life we’ve quilted, together, its pattern not distinguishable until we step back. Only then can we see the unfolding of our lives, and the rare beauty of the love-stitched blanket that wraps the seven of us into one.