Carla was sworn in as a councilwoman today. I am proud. I only wish I wasn’t in a sprint toward completion of the State College Choral Society website so I could celebrate with her more appropriately. As it was, she walked in from the (very) cold night, all smiles and beautiful, thinking she did great (because she did). And I was tracking with her and happy for her for about five minutes before I begged off so I could get back to website work. Sigh.
After another Christmas morning, an afternoon wave of sleepiness, and a delicious, heartfelt Christmas feast courtesy mostly of Mom, the Stilson siblings, Felix, and Carla went to see the above movie as our gift to one another. It was a good one, and I hope it’s a small beginning in a new tradition: My siblings and I purposely spending time with one another when we’re around. Carla is much better at that than I.
I feel a certain loneliness today, a longing for fellowship. It’s probably because Carla is sick and spent most of the day in bed, although it feels like I’ve been missing something for a while now, a need for a best friend with whom I share not only interests, proximity, and mutual affection, but also approach to God, approach to self-conduct, and way of thinking. No friend of mine thinks like I do. Ethan is the closest I can think of. Perhaps I need to drop him a line.
Nonetheless, Carla and I did finally finish Greed (1924) this evening together. It was an excellent film that prompted me to pray, “Lord, please keep us from being deceived by money.”
Above is a drawing of a cardinal Carla did for the front of a Christmas card for the Wendles. She is so good.
She is also pretty sick. Ibuprofen allowed her to enjoy the party at the Wendles’ house this evening while the I and the sick or recovering kids stayed home, ate homemade pizza, read books, and listened to tunes. But boy, did it wear off when she returned home. Lord, may I be a sympathetic, brotherly, kindhearted husband tomorrow.
Carla insisted the four of us go outside in the 6–8 inches of snow after dinner this evening, and I’m glad she did. We pulled the kids around on their sleds, enjoyed the scenery and relative silence, sledded down the steps of the new footbridge and down the hill near Meadow Lane. O Lord, You’re beautiful.
“this morning is prime to send you a rhyme which speaks to your heart to say yours, I’m.”
— Carla, in one of two verses she emailed me this morning
The most significant thing to happen to me today was that (at my insistence — the only sign of real kick I’ve put into Carla’s campaign in recent weeks) we did our last day of canvassing for Carla’s campaign for College Township Council. It happened to be at a time when the Nittany Lions and the Illini were tied, 17-17, at the end of the Penn State football game. So we didn’t knock; we just left flyers in doors. And we got to meet the triceratops that lives at Michelle’s house behind the Peters’ house.
Carla: Oh my God, living with you is like living in a legal document!
Scott: Oh my god, living with you is like living in oatmeal!
Éa [from the other end of the house]: Mama! Watch this!
Carla: Honey, I’m cooking!
Éa: Mama watch this!
Carla: I can’t! I’m cooking right now!
Éa: Mama! Watch this! I can jump from the TOP!
Carla [walking quickly to the other end of the house]: Okay! You’ve got my interest!
Carla: It’s 7:57.
Scott: What!? Already?
Carla: I know. Like, what the fUuuuuuUuuck? [moment of silence] Sometimes I say that just to assert my adulthood.
If I were married to myself, I’d be divorced.
— Carla
Carla: I’ve gotta get in shape for the wedding.
Scott: Whoa. Weird. Normal woman-talk just came out of my wife’s mouth.
Don’t forget to felt your scroll saw.
— Carla, pretending to be Scott prompting her to keep up with making a Christmas present
Carla [from the other room]: OK, it’s decided.
Scott: What’s that?
Carla: I don’t know.
“Man, it was dry in there.”
— Carla, on the The National Aquarium
“Well, I think he can get a pretty intense look on his face when he’s playing something like this, but I don’t think he ever looks like a pirate getting an enema.”
— Scott describing Carla’s imitation of Itzhak Perlman playing the finale of Erich Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D. (Go ahead. Picture it.)
“You’re so understanding it’s driving me crazy!”
— Scott, of Carla
Scott: What did you say? I’m sure it was something very important and full of insight.
Carla: I think I just ate some soapy paint-water.
Hey, no meta-chuckles.
— Scott to Carla
Carla: How do you always know what I’m going to say? Am I predictable?
Scott: No, you’re my wife. You’re only predictable to me. To everyone else, you’re a complete mystery.
Scott: Wow, so we’ve started our seventh year married.
Carla: Uh oh. We’re gonna get the seven-year itch!
Scott: Not me. I’m not itchy.
Carla: Ya, I’m starting to kinda get attracted to you, actually.