Black and brown
Kevin surprised me with tickets to see Springsteen. It was one of those last minute moments that only he can pull off and that I relish. I am a planner. He is not. I may have hinted that it was a show I was wanting to see but not in a way that would suggest we would actually go. Just in one of those, passing a bilboard on the way to work, kind of mentions. It was the most wonderful concert. I was in awe of the talent on stage and of the loving generosity of the man at my side.
The evening of the concert I had to dress quickly so we could get out the door. I wore black. And brown. Black jeggings, brown boots, black sweater, brown belt. I looked, I realize now, a lot like my living room. Our living room which is slowly taking shape. The walls are finally painted but we have yet to hang anything. There is a new turntable on a mid-century credenza that I haven't done a thing with. Unless, of course, you count finding a place for my hat. The red, orange and yellow trees outside our front window are our temporary artwork but soon enough they will be gone and I'll need to find other ways to warm up the room. There will be fires in the fireplace and hopefully a new couch with some pillows, perhaps a rug. In time.
Until then we will celebrate our son, who turns 7 this weekend, and the final days of this most beautiful month.