Remembering Why I Married This Man

We've been having "little skirmishes" in this house for the past month or so.  Mainly they are about the cleaning up process -- and moving "his things" without asking permission.  Of course, if I asked permission, I assumed he would NOT graciously grant it -- so I move the "crap" and live with the consequences. 

Three weeks ago we had a really bad Sunday dinner  when I told Hubby he was blaming me for everything wrong that happened in the house.  And I claimed that NONE OF IT WAS MY FAULT.  We were dining out and at that point I refused to eat and he refused to talk.  We brought my dinner home in a doggie bag and the pups were delighted.  Then I checked on the item that "wasn't my fault" -- and darned if it didn't turn out that it was my fault.  But I never admitted it -- because that was just one item in the hundreds I claimed Hubby was blaming on me. 

We've limped along since then, Hubby giving me the dirty look but wisely keeping his yap shut.  Me mostly not talking, but why talk to a scowled up face?  When we did talk, it was over very elementary things -- like the weather.

Friday I got the lecture on how crowded the computer desk was becoming.  Hubby said I'd better figure out some place to put things other than on the desktop.  Instead of saying what I really wanted to ("You figure it out yourself, damn it, I'm off to go swimming), I said I'd work on the problem as I kept cleaning up in the room. I asked him to give me some time.  

Saturday I worked on the problem, cleared off two shelves across from the desk and moved out the "offending items."  

Today we went out to dinner at our favorite chicken restaurant - neither of us ever eats the fried chicken, though I do eat the chicken livers while Hubby always has pork chops.  Wanting a little validation, I asked Hubby if he was pleased with the new condition of the desk. 

"If you start filling it up, I'm going to empty out the desk and you won't have to worry about it again," was the response I got. 

"You are becoming impossible to get along with," was my reply. "We share that desk.  If you want to empty it out then go ahead and do it.  You can clean it up yourself.  I don't even had a tray top for my side of the desk -- and you fill the one we have with all your junk which I have to maneuver around every day."

"You really want me to take care of this?" Hubby threatened.  "I only have two drawers in that desk .. . " and at that point I put up three fingers -- which he saw.  His face became a thunder cloud.

Once upon a time I would have been cowed.  But my mother, who could pull these I'll-make-you-sorry stunts with regularity, is no longer around -- and I just don't have to take it.  "Absolutely, clean it all out and make sure we share it equally.  Hey, you have one half of the desk -- it's got four drawers.  I have the right half and it has three drawers because one is the big deep file drawer.  We share the middle drawer."" 

"I only have two drawers!" snarled Hubby.

Luckily our food came right then and for some reason, maybe because I've been on the "you are impossible to live with" kick, Hubby shut up.  We had a nice dinner together, equally sharing the mashed potatoes and gravy.  We talked inconsequential things, like politics, on which we both agree completely this time around. The desk remained a lingering problem.

Back home I went back into the computer room and scrubbed that desk -- a task I had promised to do because it was covered with soda rings and sticky hand prints.  And I looked into the four drawer vs three drawer situation -- and both of us had been wrong.  Hubby only had three drawers (not the two he claimed) because I had one of his drawers partially filled with stationary.  Tons and tons of stationary.  Clearly I had forgotten about it -- because who uses stationary any longer?

So after I washed down the desk and replaced the mouse pad and filled up the pencil and pen jars with all the pens, markers, and mechanical pencils we had stored in the desk, I removed all the stationary from his side drawer and re-purposed it into  my greeting card files (if you get Easter or retirement cards from us now and there is no sentiment inside, you will know why).

Hubby had taken himself out to exercise while I puttered.  On returning home, he found me reading the newspaper so he trundled into the desk and I could hear drawers opening and things being moved all around.  "Oh, lordy," I though.  "He's actually emptying out the desk, probably dumping everything on the floor, just to prove his point."

I waited a good two hours but I eventually wandered into the computer room to ask if he wanted the remains of his pork chop in a sandwich.  By then I had calmed myself down and decided whatever he had done to the desk I'd just ignore.

Proudly, he opened the drawer I had removed the stationary from -- and there was all the junk he had been keeping on the tray side of the desk.  All neatly filed.  His drawers had all been sorted and cleaned, which he opened and showed me, grinning like the Cheshire cat.  He had even taken the slide top off his side and rearranged it on mine -- so I now had the self all to myself.

Marriages are ying and yang propositions.  If you're lucky, you marry a smart man, one who can be prickly and domineering, but has the good sense to know when it's time to compromise and make his wife happy.  "You want a sandwich?" I asked.  "Yeah, and a kiss, too," was the reply.   

You're Only as Old as You Feel

On March 13th, 2010 Hubby turns 75. How the years have flown! How grateful we are that he is healthy and happy and here to celebrate with us.

No big party, of course. Hubby would hate that. Dear, caring friends are throwing him a special dinner party -- not at a restaurant but in their home with food made by loving hands.

His present from me was a truck-load of books from Amazon, things he couldn't find at the discount bookstores around the city.

I look at the pictures of him from our 37 years together. We have been a couple since 1973 -- and I'm amazed to see that he has suffered only a few alterations. On a day-to-day basis, I just don't notice it. He seems exactly the same to me as he was when he was only -- my stars! 38 years old. I think, inside, he feels exactly the same, too. It's just the knees that have gone bad, the hair that is much sparser and grayer, and some of the stamina is no longer there.

Here's looking for at least another 37 years, my love.

Happy, happy birthday!

Memorial Day is for Remembering

In the United States on the last Monday in May we celebrate Memorial Day. This is a time to honor American men and women who died in military service to their country. It was started to honor Union soldiers who died during the Civil War, but now includes all who died in any war or military action.

We have spread out the memorial now to include remembering past family members and friends. Cemeteries are full of people during this time bringing crosses, flags, and flowers to place on graves. It almost feels like a huge celebration of a family reunion.

Memorial Day also signals the start of summer. Pools open, schools close, barbecue contests are held, folks grill in the parks. It's picnic, shorts, and vacation time.

This year I got my memorial bouquets early and they have been riding around in the trunk of the car for at least a month. If you take them to the cemetery before the actual Memorial Day weekend, the ground folks will remove them as trash as they prepare to make the place all spiffy for the onslaught of family members during the three day weekend.

My grandfather was very proud of his naval duty served during World War I. He even sported a Naval tattoo on forearm. My father, who was drafted at the ripe old age of 38, not so much. He served during the end of World War II. Since then, no family member has been in the military.

Grandfather joined the Navy sometime around 1916 - 17. He was stationed at the Waukegan, Illinois naval base at the Great Lakes. He never saw duty overseas. My grandmother joined him there in a rented room and tried to earn a meager living doing sewing. I gather they were very poor. They were stationed there during the the Influenza Pandemic of 1918 which killed more people than died during World War I. Grandmother wrote letters back home, telling of the scope of the scourge at the naval base. With so many clustered together, this flu proved horribly deadly. Both grandparents had some flu symptoms which affected most horribly those between the ages of 20 and 40. This was unusual, as the flu usually attacks the very young and very old.

Dad was drafted at the end of World War II and spend his tour of duty in Enid, Oklahoma. He never much talked about his army life; Mother, however, complained about how much she missed him though they were not married at the time. I've never seen any letters from that time. I do have Dad's Bible that was presented to him as he left to join the Army.

Grandfather wanted a military presence at his funeral with a flag draped coffin. He left specific orders that his service in the Navy was to be remembered. I think Dad left no funeral instructions at all; Mother handled all the details and there was no funeral. She held a touching Memorial Service for him at the church he had attended in his later years and Hubby and I were invited to attend, which we did.

This afternoon I'll drive out to the cemetery and place red, white, and blue vases of carnations and flags on the graves of both Grandfather and Dad. I'll clean off the grass which will have grown around the edges of the graves and wipe away the rain spots. I'll talk a moment with my grandmother who was the first to be buried in the family plot. I'll tell her how much I miss her calming presence in my life. I'll remind Grandfather that he always promised to take me dog sledding in the Klondike -- and I'm still waiting for that trip. I'll tell Dad that Mother is still kicking around in the mountains, living life and standing strong for what she thinks is right and proper. I'll remember the happy times with my family.

Then I'll jump in the car with my sweet hubby and my beautiful fur children and we will start our summer -- by going off to see Indiana Jones at the movie theater. Grandfather would approve!