The cardboard box was heavy, almost 40 pounds in total weight. It was reluctantly dragged out of the garage and into the office for the unveiling. The brand new synthetic, pre-strung Christmas tree inside was bound by string and tape. A few snips here and there and its branches began to spread out on their own.
Harry Belafonte was crooning in the background, and we laughed out loud as we sipped our wine. Childhood stories were shared back and forth, and the cats were purring in tandem as they stretched out in front of the fire.
"Let's move the couch so the tree doesn't touch the sheers," I suggest.
"OK," he replied. "I'll move the furniture, you sit there. Do you want that light on the table over there behind the couch?"
I sat back with a smile on my face as the room began to come together.
He commented on how good everything looked. The Christmas lights, the fire, the decorations on the mantel. I was nodding in agreement when there was a sudden, loud crash.
The lamp had been carried by the top of the shade only, and it fell down onto the antique side table. I jumped up and ran over...only to find three large gnashes scarring the venerable 19th century walnut tabletop.
It was if someone had dunked me into an Alaskan fishing hole.
The festivities came to a screeching halt, and the warm, charming moment in time was o-v-e-r.
Now, here I sit typing and there he sits watching television.
And the Yin/Yang Dance of Marriage continues on.