So after the last rain, we noticed some sizable bubbles in the ceiling in our bedroom. As they dried, they cracked, and the next rain will start the dripping. This makes me nervous, as I'd like to be shoveling money into a "Baby Dagmar Provision Fund," but all the ready cash (and a lot of credit) is going into just keeping our heads, feet, and furniture dry.
I think there's a song in all of this, and I'll have to take a day and write it up. I can feel it percolating in the back of my brain; something along the lines of Blues Traveler's "The Mountains Win Again," called "Water Always Wins." Knowing me, it'll start with the futile hopelessness of trying to keep it out, and end with a celebration of how water will always find a way. I try to be pessimistic, but it just doesn't work.
I'm currently cherishing in my mind the image of my wonderful wife on the 4th of July. We spent most of the day kicking back under a tree in a public park, and as it got dark, we broke out the sparklers. She was tired and had a headache and was feelin' the pregnancy, but she took a sparkler in each hand and danced around, lit by a gentle green glow, her face radiant. I looked at her and my heart leapt and I fell in love all over again. You'd think that two years of marriage, plus two more years of co-habitation, plus two more years of being together, would mean we could stop acting like newlyweds, already. Personally, I hope we'll still be baby-talking each other at Baby Dagmar's high school graduation.
As I said to Jess the other day, "it's a good thing that we love each other. Because that means all these other problems we come up against, we can solve. Most of them boil down to money, and money comes and goes pretty predictably. If we didn't love each other, we would only have one problem -- but it'd be the one problem that can't be solved."
Friends, I'm no genius, but occasionally I say a true thing. Even a blind pig finds an acorn every once in a while.
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