A Moment of Reflection

            I’m not so crazy about the outdoors.

            Or, I don’t know.  I guess I am crazy about the outdoors, just not in the good way.  It’s called agoraphobia.  I get tense and nervous outside.  Basically, the sky is too frikkin’ big.  That’s the best I know to explain it. 

The sky is big enough my whole body tenses up and my equilibrium goes funny and I sometimes get dizzy and panicky and it feels like the ground is bouncing up and down beneath me. 

It’s been getting better.  As everything has been getting slowly but surely a little better all the time over the last several months.  It’s just that, I did have a moment that I actually had to stop and indulge the other day.  Not many of those in the last few years.  Freakouts I choose to happily indulge. 

Liz was already across the street at Teresa’s.  One story apartment.  They’re kinda short.  These buildings.  The single story duplexes are.  And when you got a touch of agoraphobia and the sky is ever looming menacingly, it makes short things look even shorter.  Sometimes like an anthill when you’re only a block away. 

I had started across the street looking dutifully at the road.  We were supposed to babysit Lexie for the evening.  I was anxious.  I like Lexie a whole lot more than I do being outside.  She’s worth the walk. 

It was around seven or so, I think.  The sky was just starting to darken.  I looked up.  Liz was in the living room a few feet away from the front door holding Lexie, the two of them bathed in an almost golden light, contrasted by the deep blue above, looked like we were about the size of a tick in God’s eye, it was a little freaky for me, it was dizzying, but it was beautiful. 

I had to stop and check her out.  Hold that image as best I can.  It’s alright to admit it, every once in awhile.  You see someone, or something, looking so beautiful--my honey and that baby girl in her arms--so long as it doesn’t become a habit and your brain gets soft.