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., sunrise already 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. Get used to it. Humph!
I pull down the blackout shades, climb into a cozy bed with a heated mattress cover, and consider setting the alarm for 4. Really? Do I really want to jump out into the cold night alone, inch my car out of the clunky garage, swerve into deep dark blackness littered 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’m going.
Which is -- by the way -- to the moon.
So, I don’t set the alarm. Maybe I’m already changed enough too.
At 4, my body knows better. I pop up.
Aren’t there all sorts of things you want that your partner doesn’t? He skis, I don’t anymore. I do yoga, 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 find my coat -- stomping my feet and slamming doors in case someone, somewhere wants to join me -- I hesitate. I walk outside, doubting I’ll go anywhere, and get a surprise.
The full moon is shining in my backyard, a full-on view of the lunar eclipse underway. Barely the need to get out of bed. No drive to a distant lookout, no scary animals.
I take off my coat, settle 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? Isn’t this great!
With the moon and stars as my witness, I turn to look at him, as he climbs out and sits next to me.
I say nothing. Not whatareyoukiddingme or areyoutotallynuts?
I already know the game at our house. It goes like this: He says no then yes, and I say yes then no.
Ray 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, often get myself in 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 gaze upward and thank the heavens for saving me from lions and protecting him from having to go somewhere.
We watch as the moon changes us -- reminds us we are not the center of the universe, that we are tiny players in a vast mystery, that the big important things in life are often out of our control.
Like our mates, for example.
Wink, wink, wink.