We were able to spend a couple of mornings sailing last week. I love the time we spend on the boat. It’s quiet, yet active, requires concentration, but not so much that we can’t talk, or think. Sailing is something we do to be together, sometimes with friends, but usually as a couple. I spent part of one morning watching my hubby as he handled the boat and thinking about our couch-shaving escapade. I shared that story with some friends over lunch (in an attempt to brag about him) and the conversation quickly moved to husband/man bashing. I guess there are times when we all need to vent those things that drive us nuts. It’s hard not to jump in with gusto and share those things about him that make me crazy. He’s got ‘em alright and I could outline them in living color with stories that would make you shout “amen, sister!”
Then I pictured him banging into the vacuum in the hall hopping on one foot, holding the other and cursing me under his breath as he winds the cord and puts the vacuum back in the closet which I left in the middle of the hallway with the good intentions of continuing my cleaning binge. It’s probably a weekly occurrence. Twenty-five years times 52 weeks. You do the math. (Sometimes it happens more than once a day so add a few extra.) I had visions of him picking threads off his pants and his suit. Every day he attempts to evade millions of little threads that I scatter through the house in the name of creativity. And then there is the kitchen table. He would like to eat meals there without having to move. It’s quite a production to eat dinner in our house, because I tend to spread. One day it’s paint cans, the next day contact paper, the next hammers, drills and other assorted tools and on and on ad nauseum. Oh, and he can’t go to bed at night without moving something off the bed because lately the bed is an extension of my design wall. Every night he comes into my studio and turns off the light and my music, which I leave on because again, I have every intention of continuing my work late into the night. Sometimes I do return, but mostly it’s just a sound and light show to keep him from falling asleep. Needless to say, I could go on. As I watched him on the boat I thought not of the things that drive me crazy, but of all those wonderful things he does that make me love him more each day. I won’t bore you with them, except to say I appreciate that he doesn’t air all of my quirks, bad habits and idiosyncrasies to his friends or colleagues or anyone who might listen. Thanks for not sharing.