There was a series of irritations, like a slap stick act where the klutz trips over a bucket, and into a puddle, and crashes into a dog, who bites him. Except that there were no teeth marks, or soggy pants. John and I were trailing a few steps behind the demands of a summer day that involved car repairs that cost more than we expected, and the weird weather tossing branches in the road, and those no win decisions about home renovations. 

 

It was easy to be brusque with each other, since the air pressure paid us no mind, and the invoice was non-negotiable. It did not escalate to an argument, but the wind between my ears spun like the gales outside the car. 

 

Mid August is when many people are lolling in a canoe, with a sparkling water at the ready, and loons calling across the lake. I tried to picture us in one, which we have not been since I was pregnant with our third son in Florida, at Blue Springs State Park and gentle manatees floated below the hull. Then it occurred to me that being at odds with the person at the other end of a flotation device does not bode well for balance. My annoyance at him, at the expense, at the wind, at the humidity, made me restless. But such emotions are precarious in a tippy canoe. 

 

I took a long breath. The music was soothing, and I listened. I silently said goodbye to  the numbers in our account, the ones that satisfied the mechanic who has given us safe transportation for another six months. 

 

I chose to keep paddling.