Open the Window

The last few weeks the Man and I have been spending a lot of time thinking ahead to what's next: looking at different housing layouts in our next city, googling restaurants and places to go, going over his school schedule, you know what I'm talking about. It's exciting to dream about what is coming, to anticipate this next phase in our lives.

Bruiser refuses to grace you with his face.

One evening after a dinner conversation almost exclusively about housing, I was at the sink washing dishes, still thinking about floor plans and furniture placement when I realized I was missing one of my favourite parts of my day: watching the sunset out my kitchen window. I raised the blinds out of the way so I could look unimpeded and was so glad that I did. The field across from our house was green (it's been a surprisingly rainy summer). A rabbit loped along the fence line. The sky faded from a dusty pink to a worn purple.

I looked up last night and saw this real live Angry Bird
(you're welcome, Micah)
who posed for me while I clumsily zoomed in and drove as close
to the light post as I could.

This isn't profound. I know it's been said before. But I think sometimes we need the reminder to look out of our own metaphorical windows. Sometimes we get so caught up in what's next that we forget to enjoy what's now.

Books and water and toys and empty milk glasses and dog leashes
and life.

We're in temporary lodging (TLF) now. The kitchen sink here butts up against a wall. When I wash dishes, I look at the dishes (which may result in cleaner plates, who knows?). But always there is the choice to be in the now, whether that's choosing to get together with friends one last time instead of mentally checking out early or getting out and enjoying a new playground instead of hiding in TLF waiting for Saturday to come or fitting in a few more early morning runs so I can catch the pre-dawn Oklahoma star show.

This goofy dog has been keeping me company in TLF
while the Man deals with the house.
We may or may not be bonding.

I can't look out my kitchen window to see a spectacular sunset any more. But I can open my eyes in so many other ways. Sometimes I think it would be easier not to pay attention because then I wouldn't be seeing all the things that I will miss (and I could concentrate instead on all the awesome things to come), but closing my eyes doesn't make me any happier. It only flattens my current existence, cheapening it of its worth.

So, all together now, let's raise the blinds. Watch the sunset. And I do mean, of course, whatever that looks like for you.