Over supper the other day, my wife said she had noticed something while driving home from work, and I just shouldered my way into her sentence and man-splained her something fierce.
"It was still light out," I said.
"You're right. That's what I was going to say."
I'd noticed it, too. For months we have trundled back from work in the dark, staring at red taillights, the black lid of winter clamped over our heads. And now there was a faint glow in the west, as if the world were starting to renew itself — or there was a massive fire at a landfill.
She said it was nice, and I agreed. But, c'mon, let's be honest. We're grateful that it's not looking like midnight in a coal mine when we leave work? Is this what we've come to? Again?
Hey, you know what I noticed? When I open the closet door, a rabid mongoose doesn't spring out and go for my face. Things are looking up!
You know what else? When I put on my shoes, they're not full of cold oatmeal! Another sign of hope!
And here's something else: I shook out some cereal into a bowl this morning, and the bag wasn't full of thumb-sized beetles!