One day last week while we were cleaning up after lunch, Rob surprised me with “You look radiant.” And followed it up with, “I hope you’re not pregnant.” He was teasing about the being pregnant thing, but he wasn’t wrong about the radiance. All last week I felt this inner fire and joy. Sometimes all the stars align and everything seems to be in its place and you can’t remember the last time life was so perfect. Of course life isn’t perfect, ever. Even the best of times have their moments when life’s little details aren’t so little, and everything plus the kitchen sink mounts up with such an unrelenting steadiness of pace that you can almost predict the exact moment the tipping point will be reached. Almost. 

This week Rob noted that the radiance in my eyes and demeanor was on the retreat. For no reason and too many reasons all at once. None of them worth burdening my blog with, though my dear husband patiently listened to each one and offered arms and shoulders and many kisses in his campaign to restore radiance. Mindless radiance though is for brides, pregnant women, and very small children. Categories I don’t fall into.

Tonight as I was starting the pancakes for supper, Rob arrived home with an armful of roses. He’s a Virgo. They don’t give up easily. Actually, they don’t give up at all. As the pancakes burned to the griddle, Rob and I smooched in blissful ignorance, but later I pondered the question of radiance, wondered  what I look like radiant as opposed to not, and thought back to just a bit earlier in the day as I navigated the Avalanche around Sherwood Park (with a tiny assist from OnStar) and how wonderful that felt, and I decided that radiance should be mindful, a purpose even. It shouldn’t be the emotional equivalent of your Sunday best but worn everyday for no reason at all but to elicit queries and compliments.