over the moon together
/I have a guy who needs convincing.
Him: No, no way, nope.
Me: Oh, come on. We’ll get up at 4 a.m., nearly sunrise in some parts of the world. We’ll throw our coats over our pajamas and take a tiny ride. I’ll drive.
Him: We don’t wear pajamas.
Me: I’ll cover up this old ratty nightgown and you can throw on some sweatpants. Eazy peezy. Pleazy?
Him: Absolutely not.
Me: It could affect you for the rest of your life you know. People go through all kinds of changes when they do this kind of thing.
Him: I’m already changed enough. Enough! You and your ideas. I’m going to bed.
Me: If that’s all you want out of life, fine with me. Humph.
Him: That’s all I want. You should be used to it by now. Humph.
I pulled down the blackout shades, climbed into the cozy bed with a heated mattress cover, and considered setting the alarm for 4 a.m. Really? Did I need to jump into the winter night alone, inch my car out of the clunky garage, swerve into blackness with all sorts of nighttime animals like deer, fox, maybe a mountain lion, who knows? It would be an obstacle course to get where I was going.
Which, by the way, was to the moon.
So I didn’t set the alarm. Maybe I’m already changed enough, too.
At 4, my body knew better. I popped up.
Aren’t there all sorts of things you want that your partner doesn’t? He skis; I don’t anymore. I do yoga and meditate; he doesn’t. He watches grade B superhero movies; I can’t understand why. I go from museum to museum, happy, tired; his back aches after one.
He could live on rice; I want potatoes. A good meal to him has few vegetables; broccoli is my secret weapon. His coffee has milk and sugar; my green tea is naked. A good day to him is quiet and slow; to me, it’s busy and full. When we travel, he wants to stay in one place and explore from there. I want to move, move, move.
But the moon? Who can’t agree on that?
At 4, as I grabbed my coat—stomping my feet and slamming doors in case someone, somewhere wanted to join me—I hesitated. I walked outside, shivered, doubted I’d go anywhere, and got a surprise.
The full moon was shining in the backyard, a full-on view of the lunar eclipse underway right there at home. Scarcely the need to get out of bed. No drive to a distant lookout, no scary animals.
I took off my coat, settled back upstairs near a bedroom window—dragging a chair, stomping into position—because I know how this goes.
Him, drowsy: What’s happening?
Me: It’s the lunar eclipse right outside our window. Go back to bed. So sorry if I woke you. Sooo, sooo sorry. I was trying to be sooo quiet. Wink, wink.
Him, perking up: Did you grab the binoculars? Go get the binoculars. Is this really the best view? Did you look from my office window? How much more time do we have? I heard it’s supposed to get dark red. Will we see it until the end, or will it hide behind the trees?
With the moon and stars as my witness, I turned to look at him as he climbed out of bed, dragged a chair, and sat next to me.
I said nothing. Not what-are-you-kidding-me or are-you-totally-nuts? I already knew the game at our house. It goes like this: he says no then yes, and I say yes then no.
He also typically points a finger in my direction: “Don’t wear me down. You know how you wear me down. Don’t do it.”
Little ole’ me?
On the other hand, I’m ready to jump into anything, get myself into trouble, then say, “Why didn’t you warn me? You never warn me. You know how I am.”
And I know how he is.
Sitting together, passing the binoculars between us, watching the moon turn deep red, I gazed upward and thanked the heavens for saving me from scary lions and saving him from having to carry his lazy butt outside.
We watched as the moon changed us—reminded us we’re not the center of the universe, just tiny players in a vast mystery, with the big important things in life out of our control.
Like our mates, for example.
Wink, wink, wink.