So…

“What are you up to these days?”

An interesting question, one posed by a few distant friends and pretty much my entire family back home. Brings your actual goals into sharp relief, that question. It’s easier to talk about what we aren’t doing now:

We are not trying to complete college degrees (finished, praise the deities)
We are not planning a wedding (already married)
We are not planning any major trips (hoarding vacation time for Project Baby, because I am nothing if not overbearing and overprotective)
Unless the government cooperates like, NOW, we are not moving except possibly into a two-bedroom or a larger one-bedroom
My sister bought us at least two years on the whole childbearing pressure thing, bless her and her fluffy hair, so that’s not on the table now either

So, as you can see, we are doing very little. Except it feels like we are always racing around, and that’s sort of a nice thing. We went to NYC and Chicago, I feel as though I am constantly at work (either physically there or mentally preoccupied), and we have our friends. But at my core, I am a hermit, so I am more excited about a different recent development: now that I have the Macbook, I have the ability to use my computer for music, something that has been lacking in my life for the last two years. I loathe CDs, I want the entire collected works of my song collection at my fingertips and clickable. I dug into the very first version of Napster when I was a freshman in high school and by the time that got shut down, I was hooked. I bought the odd CD now and then but I was a disciple of the mp3 format.

Thanks to all of this wonderful technology in our house, we converse less and enjoy music more. Recently we’ve taken to turning the TV off when there is nothing on–we are THIS close to giving up on the cable entirely, were it not for live sports we already would have–and playing music for each other. We trade off songs from our respective laptops that we hope the other hasn’t heard, or that we already know the other would love. Tom carefully and thoughtfully makes his selections based on whatever funky indie band he’s tracking on eMusic or whatever, while I gleefully rub my hands together and force him to listen to mediocre pop music and the odd James Taylor track. I won’t apologize for my unabashed love of James Taylor. New Englanders are issued his greatest hits CD at birth with their first black peacoats and snotty attitudes. It’s as much a part of the DNA as my love for Dunkin Donuts, and I can’t help it. I love the moody, trite, depressed little baldy.

So in summary, I aurally assault my husband and he gives me more music to love and once in a while fetches me another Red Hook from the fridge. And that’s what we’re doing these days. And I have to say, it is pretty nice.