We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Inspiration

It’s Sunday night, and because I’m supposed to be doing my homework, I’m scrolling through my social media. By now, you know my ability to task avoid could win me a gold medal if it was an Olympic Sport; on this particular Sunday I am outperforming my usual excellence in not doing what I tell myself I’m supposed to. I begin watching a sweet video about people giving advice to their younger selves; I had just begun the inspired rapid eye blinking that signifies a heartfelt “Awwwwww” is about to escape, when my husband interrupts me with the dulcet tones of, “Whatareyoudoingwhat’sfordinner?” He says this as if it’s one word, so read it that way.

We pursue our inspiration differently, my husband and I. His is more along the lines of finishing a project and finding satisfaction in a job well done. Mine comes from looking around, taking stock, celebrating the moment, and sharing that with others, usually the family. Sometimes that blends, sometimes it doesn’t. Sunday night, for example, he has taken a break from his newest project related to restoring an antique Ford pickup truck (forest green, 1963 F150 for those of you who speak Car and Truck). He’s inspired, gratified, motivated, and quiet obviously, hungry.

If I were a subservient wife, I would stop watching my video clip and hunt/gather/prepare dinner. I am not such a person. Make of this what you will. I finished watching the clip, and then called husband and son to help me with dinner. What we lack in culinary prowess, we more than make up for in ability to transform a humble meal into a social occasion. We eat in the dining room this Sunday evening, largely because my homework occupies my kitchen table. We don’t’ light the candles, but we sit and visit, laugh and tease, have a serious discussion about adulthood, and a lighter one about my unfinished sewing projects.

We clean up the table together and retreat to our own caves: Husband into the garage, though he welcomes us all to join and grab a wrench; Son to his room to listen to his newest music find (Salsa? Calypso? I can’t quite tell which); me to my homework to wrestle with the twin desires of completing work ahead of time and the equally provocative notion of finishing the book I’ve been reading.

I finish the homework, smug and self-satisfied for completing it early, and then grin when I realize what I would have contributed to the video of what I’d tell my younger self.

“Hey! Son!” I holler over the salsa/calypso/happy music playing in his room.

“What?”

“I love you, and I think you’re really great!”

He doesn’t respond because that’s not his way, but his happy chuckle is better music than the tune on the radio.

“Hey! Husband! I love you!” I call over his swearing at the truck’s reluctance to part with some mechanism or other.

His grimy, smiling face pops out from under the truck. “Love you too. Will you pass me that wrench?”

Task accomplished, I am now ready for my turn on the video. My advice to my younger self: don’t miss a chance to tell people you love them.

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