looking down and thinking

love,

there was an evening when we were in the car driving back from somewhere--the memory escapes me--and we started discussing our lists. the ones we made for our future mates. mine was riddled with descriptors of a man with dark eyes and a crooked half smile and a thousand other things i never knew i didn't want.

but you had only one: your wife would have pretty hands.

and though i've loved you with my core, i feel i have failed you on this.

because my hands aren't pretty. they are marred by hangnails and big cracked knuckles. when i was younger and fell in love with writing, i gripped my pencil so tightly and at such an odd angle that it left me with a permanent callus on my right ring finger. i am nervous, and bite my nails to the quick. and in the wintertime, even cold lotion from the fridge cannot turn the mountains of my joints from their crimson wash.

but there's a tan line on my left hand. from a ring never removed. that's stayed in place while i pulled weeds, cleaned our bathroom, mixed meatloaf and a million other messy things. a symbol that though my hands aren't the ones of your dreams, they are yours nonetheless.

and that has to count for something, no?

you could fry an egg, or your mind

this week has just about done me in.

july has almost reached its capacity, and as we nose forward, inching minute by minute toward the heat wave masquerading as august, these last few days have been exhausting.

i've stared into too many screens and too few sunsets. i've spent way too much time in my car and not enough on my front porch swing. i found myself almost crawling through the front door last night, with just enough energy to lie on the hardwoods and let pablo sprawl all over me, his paws in my damp hair. school. work. volunteering. heck, even eating has seemed like a chore. thank goodness for summer and its light, simple meals.

i've given up this week on fixing my hair. curls deflate upon my first step outside. likewise, i've forgone eyeliner. even my usual lipstick has remained tucked in my mama's old floral change purse, deep in the abyss of my pocketbook. if nature is going to rear itself so heavily, in such a desperate show, i'm going to reciprocate by airing my natural self.

but yesterday, while waiting on a friend, i pulled out that tube of lipstick. and gave myself a quick swipe. and sitting in my car, with the a/c on full blast and my hair pulled back, i swear i felt...dare i even say it?...cool. as in less hot, not in terms of swagger.

it's a funny thing, this weather. i curse and  bless it all in the same breath. but thankfully, if i can depend on anything, it's that this weather will turn. and give way to snow showers and rainy mornings. hands stuffed in mittens and cheeks chapped with chill. and i'm not quite ready for that just yet.

so i soldier on. with sweaty hair and melted half-makeup and a tired, sleepy mind that just wants to sleep. in a cool room with a fan. for about 50 hours. yes, that would be enough.

photo source

preserving the stains

i cleaned on saturday morning. that kind of deep clean that takes a few hours. i opened all the blinds, turned up ray lamontagne on pandora, and got to work in the sunshine. feeling like my mama and my grandma with my spray bottle and washrag.

and it was good. it was fulfilling and easygoing and productive. but i tell you, there are few things more fabulous than relaxing on the couch, taking in a clean home, putting your feet on a freshly dusted table and just stopping. satisfied that the work is done. i took in that moment. turned to face the sunshine smiling down on me, and laid my head on a floral pillow.

then i looked down.

at my couch. and saw the stains. the spots and scratches. the smudges and smears. and my heart sank. it didn't matter how much i vacuumed the rug it sat on, or mopped the floor around it, that couch wasn't going to look any better. i've cleaned it, scrubbed it and swept the crumbs out of its deep folds and crevices. but it's still marred.

i gave in to a little pity party by myself in the morning light. then i thought some more.

about the late afternoon in september when we first brought the couch home. to our first house on the grassy cul-de-sac. on the back of robert's grandfather's truck, on a wooden trailer. it took three grown men to carry the sectional inside the doorframe. the same doorframe robert carried me over as a newlywed. and later, when we moved into the little cottage, taking the couch apart piece by piece and spending an entire night trying to fit it into our new tiny living room, collapsing into exhaustion, frustration and laughter on the cold floor.

and i thought about the late nights in both houses. staying up far  past a reasonable hour just to be with each other, to soak up this new sleepover called marriage. the movies we watched nestled into it, and the greasy popcorn we devoured on its arms.

when we first got pablo, he was shaved and cold. we wrapped him up in a big crocheted blanked and let him sleep on the chaise lounge portion. that's still his favorite spot. a majority of the stains are from his dirty, wet paws. his licks and his nose nudges spattered all over.

so my couch is stained, but all is not lost.

all is not lost, indeed.

one day, we will inevitably get rid of that sofa, the one the salesman said would "wear like iron." we'll replace it with a new one, and make new memories on its cushions. but saturday morning, with noon rising outside and a little bird perched outside my window,

this couch was impeccable.