In Each Other All Along

This morning in the New York Times was a photo of a Nepalese felt rug that looked like a puddle of colors spilled on the oh-so-shiny loft floor.

The rug, described as a Nepalese felt rug, looked like this:

NY Times, 'The Fun Starts Here," 5/10/12

When Warren came down for breakfast, I was looking online at Nepalese felt rugs, more conventional (i.e., circular) but just as bright and all well out of my price range.

I showed Warren the photo and he said, "it looks dangerous."

It looks dangerous? I thought it looked fun and bright and inviting. I thought it looked like a rug I wanted to sit down on while I read a book. I thought it looked like a rug a small child or toddler would pat in satisfaction. 

I guess I was expecting a chuckle and a comment along the lines of "I bet you would love all that color on the floor." Or maybe a humorous "And which of us is buying this, hmmn?"

But, "it looks dangerous"?

I was caught off guard and quickly blurted out, "I want that rug on the floor of my 900 square foot house in Montana."

"The one with the wood floors," I added, quickly completing the dream sketch I have just tossed into the air.

There was a quick flicker of pain across Warren's face and his voice, softer than usual, quavered slightly as he replied. "Well, you will just have to go there without me." 

Oh, my dear husband! Why would you ever begin to think I'd set off without you?

We have been through a long stretch when outside factors—some big, some bigger—have bulled their way into our lives, muscling aside some of the peace of the home. Warren is carrying a lot of weight on his shoulders and in his heart and lately has often had a thousand yard stare in his eyes. Add to that my own bundles that I am carrying and it has made for some very quiet, not unpleasant but not terribly close and connected either, times. 

When I began writing this post, I was sitting at the Valvoline shop, having the oil changed on the car. Warren is off with the Symphony, performing an educational concert in a nearby community. I opted out of going—not for lack of support, but because I needed a breather in which to run my errands on my time at my pace. I've had a chance to reflect on this morning and the rug discussion with a little more acceptance and humor.

I am completing this post in the afternoon after finishing running a number of small errands. There are more errands to be sure, but I will do those tomorrow with Warren. I am looking forward to his return later today, looking forward to hearing about the concert, looking forward to sharing supper. I am looking forward to a quiet moment in which to reach over and take my husband's hand. 

The poet Rumi wrote Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They are in each other all along. Even during our disconnected times, Warren and I are always in each other. 

Just not on that rug.