We’ve been married six months and Christmas is coming. What to get him for a gift? I search and search and then I spot what I believe will be perfect.
It’s a painting of horses running through a stream. He’s owned horses. He loves horses. He rode with his dog Cleo, who is now living with his parents as dogs aren’t allowed in our apartment building. I know he misses his horses and his dog, so this will be a great gift.
Bought and wrapped, the picture sits hidden in the closet. I know better than to put it under the tree for he won’t be able to resist poking at it, or ripping open a little corner.
Christmas morning, gifts are opened and admired. A spot is chosen for the picture in our bedroom. We hang it, stand back and admire it mighty pleased with ourselves for it’s one of our first non-utilitarian purchases.
A few nights later I’m startled awake by my husband who bolts upright, stares at the painting and says, “Cleo, what are you doing in there. You’ll get hurt. You come back right now.” He flops back on the pillow sound asleep.
The next morning he remembers nothing of incident and I’m convinced he thinks I’ve made it up. I haven’t and over the years I learn to sleep through his mutterings of which there are many. Perhaps sleeping through them isn’t such a good idea. I may be missing fodder for blogs.