Wendy and I spent Sunday giving our screened porch a serious spring cleaning. Somewhere under the winter accumulation of dirt and heavy layer of spring pollen lay our refuge, a private place to sit and commune with nature in a decidely suburban manner. A few hours with hose and broom had the place shipshape and inviting again. A place for everything and everything in its place: Wendy beamed with satisfaction, her smile as luminescent as the sun.
Our timing was exquisite. I don't know what we did to deserve it and I don't much care. But the weather we've enjoyed the past few days was designed for quality porch sitting: sunny, clear, cool enough for my favorite sweatshirt yet warm enough for bare feet.
I had the radio tuned to a classic rock station as I sat yesterday. On came the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want."
Does The Boy remember me singing that to him when he was younger? When he'd ask for something and I'd say "no" and he'd ask again?
"You can't always get what you want.
But if you try sometime you just might find
You get what you need."
Words to live by.
Gold back then.
Perhaps especially now.