Turgid Tuesday

Or, "Ho-hummenshanz." I've literally got nothing but a half-clever title for half a post.

Thing is, I prepared nothing. I was hoping someone was meming so I could piggyback, but today there are no outs. I don't have a standby post ready for pixels yet. The weekend was three solid days of jump, jive, and wail.

I loved it all. Proposing was the easy bit; not in the sense that it was the least work - it's true but I expected that - but in the sense that it's the most abstract. Hey honey, we can see even more of each other, permanently - whaddya say?

Well, she said yes, and so we're setting about making it happen. It's the difference between a building and a blueprint. (Wow, original metaphor there. I really do have nothing, might as well ride this all the way down.) So, we're assembling materials, pouring the foundation, and each step makes it more prosaic. A hole in the ground describes the outline of the building a lot better to the untrained eye than the blueprint, even if a skilled foreman can look at the one and turn it into the other (and beyond).

So we get the perennial farce of looking at each other every now and then and saying, we have a china pattern! A guest list! Each month and week will add some other piece, another person we've contracted to snap pictures, play music, serve cheese puffs and martinis - and eventually, hold our mortgage, join our checking, and write our single car insurance policy.

Nearly everyone gets those little jolts, I suppose - nothing to do with the time or expense or effort, but the electric tingle that lets you know that another bit of the line is laid, and soon you'll be cutting ribbon on a real thing. And then, after that, we move into the real thing and run shop out of it for the next forty or so years. We're building a pre-history for kids and grandkids: we did this together, before you were born, and this is the picture and the souvenir table card.

Yes, we did look young then, didn't we?