Life is nothing if not inconsistent.
In the morning, always the sun. Whether barely beaming through the gray or brightly illuminating blue skies, it rises all the same. I take comfort in this, and in spite of the ever-present tiredness, am happy for another day with Georg. We rarely see him during the week, so these days are precious.
We went to church, and yes, I was on the verge of tears, because I had to chase Sophie the whole time, who was screaming phenomenally (and the acoustics in a cathedral!) But afterwards, we agreed to take turns going to church while the other takes her to a park nearby. There are ways around these things. Creative alchemy: making good from the gray, working around tantrums.
But the best was yet to come, when Georg made a feast- mushrooms over polenta, and a creative re-making of a Georgian cheese boat, his signature dough stuffed with cheddar and tomatoes and caramelized onions, all spilling from large dumplings. It was all mind- blowingly good, enjoyed with my brother and sister-in-law, and followed by herbal tea and vegan pecan cookies (to balance all that cheddar, perhaps- we are always vegetarian and mostly vegan). The company was incredible and it was a wonderful evening.
When they left, I put Sophie to bed and Georg and I talked on the couch as I laid my head against his chest, content. And I think, I must let myself feel this contentment deeply. The psyche craves consistency, and doesn't like getting worked up about happiness if it will be deflated the next day. But who can survive the gray without these flashes of sunlight? I must be brave enough to let them sink, so that I can wade through the darkness of another winter day, illumined by the undeniable evidence that happiness can be had unexpectedly.