My happy place.

I posted this photo on my Facebook page a few weeks ago and it got a lot of attention.

“What was that all about?” asked my father-in-law, who hates Facebook so much he doesn’t even have an account.

I was a little thrown by the question.

It’s pretty simple. This is what Lou and I do on our weekend evenings. Usually on a Friday night.

While I chop veggies and roll the dough for our pizza, Lou uncorks one of those practical-joke-sized beers for me. I used to only drink Delirium Tremens but now I’m enjoying La Fin du Monde.

Wow, I really want one right now.

Anyway, he plucks at his guitar while I assemble the pizza and we chat. Or, more accurately, I blab like crazy and he goes into that spacey musician place as he tries to figure out the next chord to whatever song he’s writing.

Once the pizza’s in the oven, we head outside for a few rounds of Gin Rummy. I taught Lou how to play the game on our honeymoon and we’ve had a running competition since we picked the cards back up a couple months ago. Our scores are in the thousands and he’s usually in the lead.

Lou smokes a cigar and we put on the latest album we both enjoy (lately, it’s been Smile by The Beach Boys or Crazy for You by Best Coast).

I couldn’t really tell you what we talk about. Work, music, writing, family, marriage, whatever.

We’re usually having so much fun, it’s a little disappointing when the oven beeps and we have to eat the pizza.

Recently, I got a little sore at Lou for writing (what felt like) the fifth song in a row with lyrics about getting old.

I suppose he’s right. We are old.

Because playing cards with my husband over a few beers is absolutely the most fun I’ve ever had.

Especially because on those nights, I’m in bed by 11.