The Mister creates.
He lives outside most of Society’s boxes.
He is a free thinker.
He is a tinker.
His workshop is his garage.
My Mister does not maximize his time. He does not usually multi-task. Instead, he applies himself to understanding the “how” and the “why” things work the way they do. Understanding IS the goal.
Learning and Thinking are the proactive steps.
Productivity is not the main variable in his economics, Knowing is.
He attempts to engineer another way to do things. . . just because. He Can.
I do not usually spend time with him in his creative space, but I think he would like me too. As we grow older together, I seek ways for us to connect and I found one, today.
Dwell in his space with him.
We do not need to talk. I really do not need to fully understand what “we” are doing, but just applying myself to the mastery or help think beyond the current possibility will bring a quantifiable amount of satisfaction.
I jumped. He took the bait. I knew that “the whole day” may not be my own and that the typical Sunday schedule would be thwarted.
. . .
Today’s setting is a familiar one. My Mister and I are so different and this season presents opportunity to labor like architects to redesign our living. We give more. We bend.
Square homes and round homes both provide structure and shelter but the design is entirely different. That is our dance. A square home. A round home. A structured tower. An unboxed dwelling. But we must do more than “co-habitate” we want to live together. . . share lives together.
The new season is one when work and finances and children do not pull for every moment. The pressure is internal, not pushing on. . . but pulling inward. We need more than crisis to keep us. More than children. As so we dance on as architects looking for the design that suits our days.
. . .
In his garage we quickly found our median.
Naturally, I was dressed in my Sunday favs. Designer jeans + White lace shirt + new yellow wedges = Not the best attire for the greasy garage.
I am naturally cold. Turns out, so are garages.
Work-benches and chairs are naturally covered in grease, wood shavings, and strategic piles. This may not be the best place to set my new laptop.
A non-wine-drinking husband doesn’t keep a corkscrew in his domain.
He is round. I am square.
He is dirty. I am clean.
. . .
List for the Next Garage Dwelling:
He – clean a spot for me, stock the space with wine, heat and a corkscrew
Me – where warm play clothes and learn to linger and engage.