Red Wine & Muffins.

Because sometimes the night just calls for it.

I was eating dinner in an outdoor courtyard tonight when the rains came.  People pulled back from their tables; the bartender jumped the ledge, and stood there in the downpour pulling down the tarps.  It was a remarkable transformation; there we were, in our sunglasses, then suddenly—same table, same dinner, but in an inside of sorts, the rain drumming a familiar melody on our convertible ceiling.   I miss this weather.

There was a brief reprieve as we left; hugs in the parking lot and a clear drive as far as the gas station.  By the time I hit the interstate, though, the water was back.  Not a drizzle, and not even a rain.  An absolute torrential outpouring; the skies purging themselves of so, so much built up.  I drove with traffic at probably 25 miles an hour; visibility was that of a snowstorm, or worse.  Hi, car in front of me; hi, truck next to me.  Now nobody move suddenly or anything. We all had our hazards on.  Sort of a communal precaution, I suppose; a we’re in this together, and please don’t smash me spirit.  I’m really glad I didn’t get my car washed this weekend.

The rains have passed, but the lightening is still scratching its claws across my sky.  I don’t know why this weather captivates me, but it does; I could sit here with my lights off, on my carpet in front of my picture window, for hours.  I won’t, though. I’ve muffins in the oven and laundry nearly ready for the dryer. I’ve washed the dishes, and things are looking a bit tidier in here; the room brightens as lights flash and the sun sets, and I’m pretty pleased.  I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live without weekends.

I have weekends, of course.  But when I’m there, then he’s here, the normalcy is lost.  Or maybe it’s found, and the life I knew before, a life where Saturdays were long and solitary, was where things were abnormal; maybe this is how it was supposed to be all along, and I’m only just now learning to adjust.  There’s something about baking on a random Thursday night that’s oddly comforting.

An amazing lot can be accomplished in the half hour it takes to go from batter to breakfast.