Stuff dreams are made of

I had a dream last night that all the men in my house sailed on a cruise ship with a send-off not unlike the opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics. Parades of thousands. Dancing and song. Explosions even. I'm thinking about this on this quiet, early spring morning, as the washing machine begins its slow hum.

In real life, the men in my house have gone off to work, and honestly, I feel like having a parade, maybe even launching a few fireworks. Lately I don't often have the house to myself, and I miss it. Work and winter and a hundred other tugs have kept me from my kitchen window in the mornings, where I can watch my birds, see the blue, yellow-eyed pansies open their faces to the sun, check on my peonies just popping through that hard, cold earth. When I am home on weekends, that's where the boys are — a Saturday husband housebound by rain or snow or frigid temperatures, and a grown son watching Lost, drinking his beer, sleeping late.

But today, let the parade begin. In the past week, Graham has come downstairs before 8 a.m., dressed in his Joe Banks best, on his way to the job — in his career field no less — he landed two weeks ago. He likes it. Though it's in the town he's known since he was 2, the job takes him to parts he's never seen before, so every day he learns a new thing. My husband, who some days dawdles over the newspaper until 8:30, was up and out today, too, leaving me only the boy dog to take my attention. Tomorrow, the beautiful spring day will lure them all I hope to the boat that has been woefully neglected all these winter months.

And so dare to climb the stairs to the 'bat cave' where Graham has been spending his evenings. I throw open the windows, get out the ammonia, try to wipe away the winter blue that has consumed this house.
 

I love the men in my house, I do. But sometimes, I do tire of testosterone. Of endless political talk. Of my sometimes monosyllabic meals. What I need most today I will get later on, as a smiling dose of daughter, absent for some months, emerges from baggage claim at RDU.  There will be parading and dancing and song. And my whole blue world will turn dramatically — and wonderfully — pink. sbr