The husband had clearly fallen for the stories, and the characters - liking Dobby, disliking how he was treated by the Malfoy family, getting angry at Snape and later feeling deeply for him, hating the romance between Hermione and Ron ("why do we need romance in everything?"), cheering for Harry and also for Dumbledore... And this past month, about five years or so after he first stumbled upon Nagini, and the world of Harry Potter, he bought all the books, albeit the Kindle editions.
We managed without a car for about two years here in Ireland and during this time, my husband would often complain that he missed being behind the steering wheel and I often thought I missed the man he becomes when he is behind the steering wheel. As the husband starts driving again, I am looking forward to some conversations. The kind of ones we only have when we are on the road and he's driving and has shed off his shyness and his reticence to talk, and is in a happy, meditative, reflective kind of space. I am also looking forward to the music he introduces me to when we are in a car. This past week, he introduced me to The Salmon Dance by The Chemical Brothers and even after listening to the track twice, I missed out on all the swear words that are a part of the song, and kept bobbing my head to the music until my husband laughed out so loud that I was a little startled.
Summer in India meant the terrace being taken over for pickle and papad making, of waiting for dusk to fall, of afternoons of unbearable heat made kinder by attar infused water splashed all around the house, by the curtains who fought a war against the sun, and the hour long comforting siesta as the afternoon roared and raged outside. Summer in Europe sometimes meant a Facebook wall being filled with 'We are in Malta' or 'Spain is lovely' or 'Greece - you are such a beauty.' Of photographs of cobbled streets and maddeningly blue beaches, of sunsets the colour of a rainbow, of vineyards and country roads. Of picnics and barbecues, and trips to the beach , of long queues on the M25, of longer ques at the parking, of the aroma of roasted corn on the cob, beef and chicken patties, of hot dogs being worked upon on little barbecue stoves.
I know I will never be the sort of the mountaineering girl that has several summits under her belt. But that, I have managed to get over my fear of hiking and actually enjoy a good hike is good enough for me. For my husband too, I think. He had married a bookworm. Now he has a wife who is a bookworm who happily accompanies him to most of his hikes. Not a bad deal, I say.
This is a nostalgia post celebrating Ginger - a beautiful, British tomcat that had adopted us while we lived in Reading, Berkshire. He was a stray and he came to us, seemingly out of the blue and decided we were his people and that he would come to us every day.
Today, we got the keys to the apartment we will be renting in Dublin. It has a 'proper' second bedroom - something we had wanted but never had in the last five years in the United Kingdom. My husband looks at the second bedroom and says, now when we fight we will both have a bedroom each to sulk. It makes me laugh for I had forgotten that not having one in the past meant that we always shared the bed no matter how much we had fought in the day...