Recently my husband and I listened politely to a woman with green fingernails and an iphone with a ringtone that sounds like something Michael Flatley would raise his knees to—listened as this lady (dressed in a tunic the distracting green of fairy-forest canopy) told us she drove home from work with a sunset in her eyes, the sky so spectacularly fractured by colors that she broke the law and called her husband from the car and insisted he rush to the West-facing windows in their house. “It was the last thing he wanted to do,” she confessed, “get up and move–but once he was seeing what I was seeing? He appreciated the call. We shared something amazing and calming and real without even being in the same room, near the end of a day in which we’d barely spoken and not set eyes on each other for hours, hours, eons. It was,” the lady told us, flicking her Cher-hair from her cheeks Cher-style, “good.”
“Hi,” my husband said as I balanced my iphone between shoulder and ear and flipped my son’s Super Cheesy Chicken Burger! (organic chicken secreted with organic carrot puree, flaxseed and a little bit of cheese so I’m not actually lying to him about what he’s having for dinner). “I’m in gridlock on the 101,” he said. “Go look outside.” I started to protest, but remembered. “Gorgeous,” I agreed, shivering in the back yard as fire-sky seeped into my eyes–then deeper. Eventually my husband suggested, “Why don’t you?” “Already on it,” I said, fetching the boy (and his hoodie). “Oh my gosh look at that,” our Kindergartner gasped, hands in the pockets of his little-dude jeans. “Mama, do you know—sky starts with an S?” “As do Super Chicken Cheesy Burgers!” I replied. We stared at the sunset. He took my hand. We went inside.
This made me happy.
Special moments, wonderful.
My mom was always doing that to me! Dragging me outside to look at a sunset, calling me into the living room to watch someone play the piano on television – things like that. I love her for it.