Date night

George commutes between home and the university. He stays at my sister’s house several nights a week, because it’s only blocks from his lab and allows him to start early and work late.

We’ve been married for more than twenty-six years. After that much time a relationship can become like a favorite pair of jeans. A little worn around the edges, perhaps, but comfortable. Maybe too comfortable–to the point where you almost forget you have them on.

I read a great quote on Katy P.’s blog recently:

“If the Stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sometimes we forget what we’ve been given, simply because it becomes too familiar. So, even though George’s temporary arrangement has definite drawbacks, it has also served a lovely purpose in our marriage.

Date night. Wednesday evenings belong to us. He makes the long drive home for one purpose. To be with me.

It’s not always a fancy occasion. Sometimes we just stay home and watch a movie. But last night was one of those times when the stars come out and light the evening with their admonishing smile. A smile that recalls many of the reasons you first fell in love.

George e-mailed me in the morning stating his intention to try to get away early enough to take me somewhere nice for dinner. In anticipation I changed from my “work clothes” (I write at home, so this can be anything from PJs to gym shorts to those favorite faded jeans.) When he showed up I was wearing a long, tiered, cocoa-colored gypsy skirt. An airy white blouse revealed glimpses of an ice-blue tank. And just for fun I’d added an orange, sequined sash and dangly spangly earrings.

We headed to Jefferson. The Stillwater Inn is an elegant restaurant in a historic, two-storied house. Pressed white table cloths and napkins. Tea lights winking through jewel-toned, beaded lamp shades. He had the spinach leek soup as appetizer, while I savored every bite of a luscious lump-crab salad. We both ordered grilled Soho salmon with a light balsamic-vinagrette sauce. The bread was fresh and warm. The wine was cold and sweet. We swapped funny stories and the current status of our individual projects. We looked each other in the eye. We smiled a lot. The casual observer would have most likely pegged us as new lovers. Which, in some ways, we were.

After dinner we returned home. George plugged Michael Buble’s “It’s Time” CD in the stereo and we danced. Slow. Swing. Salsa. This is all my native soil. He was doing it for me. But the little-boy delight in his eyes said he loved it as much as I did.

A single lamp provided our spotlight as we twirled, wrapped in the swirling chocolate of my skirt. It was wonderful. Heavenly. Divine.

Do I think it’s necessary to go out for expensive dinners to keep love alive? No. Popcorn and a DVD works, too. Or just sitting side-by-side on a bench, watching the stars come out. The point, after all, is the stars. And remembering to believe and adore.

I’ve found the one my soul loves. I hope I never become so familiar that I forget.