...but then I got caught up in writing for the rest of the day, and never went back to edit this, until this morning.
Rabbit.
August: the month when school supplies begin to edge out the pool floaties. School supplies appear in July, I noticed, but they don't begin to really take over until August. I remember first noticing this as a child and simply being horrified.
We tried out a new church yesterday and as we sat in the truck, waiting out the last few minutes, Keith noticed my extreme levels of anxiety.
"The first day of school must've been rough for you," he said, sympathetically.
Today we've been married three years, though we've been calling it "anniversary weekend" since Friday.
Last night I had an especially vivid dream. I was living in a Japanese style house house that was just completely overflowing with guests and stuff. There were shelves all along the high walls, and they were piled high with boxes and containers.
I felt comfortable in the house and was used to living that way, but I didn't like it. I'd given up asking Takahisa to take the stuff down, because I realized that it was just a part of who he was; in my dream, it was a part of being Japanese. We were happy despite the way we lived.
Then, at one point, I looked up and saw him at one end of the house, sorting through the things on the shelves. In fact, as I looked around, I saw that the shelves were almost bare. I felt this rush of joy.
I wanted to hurry over and tell him just how beautiful the house looked and to thank him for finally taking down some of the stuff he'd held on to for so long.
But as I made my way over, he left. He went out the back door with some boxes. I decided I would go visit our puppy in the front yard; I knew I could always tell him later.
Then I woke up.
Dreams are so fascinating. I must be reaching a new point of closure on that part of my life. I look back at myself and I think, my god, I was so young. So adorably, so terrifyingly, young. I loved like a child, in my early twenties. Now I can love like a woman.
I see Keith's grass stained sneakers beside the door, and the lawn mower parked against the side of the house, evidence of just one small way in which he keeps the entire household upheld and in tiptop shape. Just the sight of those things fills me with love.
We decided we would get new dishes for an anniversary present to ourselves. So, we spent a lot of time researching dinnerware sets and patterns and cost.
We went to the mall on Saturday and looked at the dishes at Macy's and Dillard's. We saw one we really liked, and I was all set to order it on line, when we got back home.
Then I wandered into the kitchen and looked at our mismatching dish sets. Some of them were the dishes Keith's first wife picked out; thick, cream colored dishes. Some of them were cheaper, Corelle sets Keith had used from his days of singlehood. One or two were my own stuff; one shallow cobalt blue bowl in particular that now is always used for taco salads.
But their places of origin no longer defined them. They were our dishes now. They were the dishes we'd used in Colorado and in Kentucky. They were the dishes we'd slapped sauce happy, barbecued steaks on, they were the plates I'd set around the table when Keith's family came down for their chaotic, impromptu visits.
I didn't want to give them up. I didn't want to get new dishes and replace all our history, even if we'll make new memories with the dishes we'd picked out together.
Sooner or later, we'll get new dishes. Maybe I'll end up ordering those dishes we both liked. Maybe, eventually, I'll throw away the old dishes.
Maybe.
