There is nothing lovelier
than to be retrieved from work after a very long but wonderful day
filled with glitter and pigeons and, well, wonder,
by Husband,
who has filled the front seat of the Volvo with warm woolly things
and the back seat with warm woolly pooches
and snow shoes,
just before sunset,
on a Friday
Period
Friday, February 20, 2015
Saturday, February 14, 2015
The Language of Love
Husband and I have been together a long while and the reason it works is that we are similar enough in the ways that matter. We both tend to be outdoorsy, we both love dogs and tolerate cats. Neither one of us is particularly passionate about politics or preaching and there is no time in either of our days for things that beep.
We differ in important ways as well. Too much similarity is boring, after all. He is not a huge sci-fi fan, and I am not a fan of dramas, real or on the big screen. Husband is probably more trusting than I am, but my cynicism keeps our canoe from being stolen.
The biggest thing we have in common is our pragmatic approach to life. Neither one of us is particularly demonstrative when it comes to greeting card holidays or just about any other milestone, mostly because we've learned that the pager takes precedence over romantic dinner plans. Grand gestures on specific calendar days have never been that important to either of us. Instead we fill our lives, all year long, with the small things that make our hearts soar. We share this secret language, that we have grown over time, with our best good friends, who learn it and, hopefully, tolerate it as simply a part of knowing us.
For example, today, on this day of hearts and tokens and sweet gestures, it was more important I understand that when Husband asked for a small bowl of ice cream...
We differ in important ways as well. Too much similarity is boring, after all. He is not a huge sci-fi fan, and I am not a fan of dramas, real or on the big screen. Husband is probably more trusting than I am, but my cynicism keeps our canoe from being stolen.
The biggest thing we have in common is our pragmatic approach to life. Neither one of us is particularly demonstrative when it comes to greeting card holidays or just about any other milestone, mostly because we've learned that the pager takes precedence over romantic dinner plans. Grand gestures on specific calendar days have never been that important to either of us. Instead we fill our lives, all year long, with the small things that make our hearts soar. We share this secret language, that we have grown over time, with our best good friends, who learn it and, hopefully, tolerate it as simply a part of knowing us.
For example, today, on this day of hearts and tokens and sweet gestures, it was more important I understand that when Husband asked for a small bowl of ice cream...
What he meant was, he'd like a small bowl with ice cream in it.
Happy Valentine's Day, Sweetie.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
AND ANOTHER THING!
I was jolted out of my blissful morning stupor by a local radio announcer declaring to his listening audience that boy, those military wives must be happy today because it's Wednesday and that means the local military members get paid.
What? What?
I went from spooning my pillow to snarling at my radio alarm clock in far less time than it usually takes me.
I don't know what this professional journalist in question was implying but I am amateurishly inferring that this person, who's job it is to accurately journalize on news vital to the information of the general populous, feels military families live paycheck to paycheck, that it's the public's right to be made aware of this inclination, furthering the notion that military families have forgone the right to the dignity of confidentiality, and that, unaccountably, military pay cheques are issued on Wednesdays.
Let's just change some nouns and verbs, shall we? Put it into perspective? See how everyone feels about this little snippet of Pulitzer Prize winning reporting.
Breaking News:
"Boy, those oil wives must be happy today because it's Wednesday and that means their husbands get paid."
"Boy, those permanently disabled people must be happy because it's Wednesday and their pension cheques are in."
"Boy, those widows must be happy today because it's Wednesday and that's when the supplementary death benefit cheques are issued."
Tune in to K-Rock 95.3 in the mornings, Lakeland's go to radio station for poor fact checking.
For the record, although unlike our favourite announcer I can only speak for myself, I am delighted every day I wake up next to the wonderful man I married.
Even, but not especially, on payday.
Which was not today.
What? What?
I went from spooning my pillow to snarling at my radio alarm clock in far less time than it usually takes me.
I don't know what this professional journalist in question was implying but I am amateurishly inferring that this person, who's job it is to accurately journalize on news vital to the information of the general populous, feels military families live paycheck to paycheck, that it's the public's right to be made aware of this inclination, furthering the notion that military families have forgone the right to the dignity of confidentiality, and that, unaccountably, military pay cheques are issued on Wednesdays.
Let's just change some nouns and verbs, shall we? Put it into perspective? See how everyone feels about this little snippet of Pulitzer Prize winning reporting.
Breaking News:
"Boy, those oil wives must be happy today because it's Wednesday and that means their husbands get paid."
"Boy, those permanently disabled people must be happy because it's Wednesday and their pension cheques are in."
"Boy, those widows must be happy today because it's Wednesday and that's when the supplementary death benefit cheques are issued."
Tune in to K-Rock 95.3 in the mornings, Lakeland's go to radio station for poor fact checking.
For the record, although unlike our favourite announcer I can only speak for myself, I am delighted every day I wake up next to the wonderful man I married.
Even, but not especially, on payday.
Which was not today.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
101 Things A Boy Can Do
Husband can...
- cook bitchin' spaghetti
- clean anything that will fit in a dishwasher rack
- repair a dishwasher
- fix The Volvo
- disassemble a motorcycle
- reassemble the same motorcycle, with no extra parts
- install an iPhone screen...
- ...4 times
- iron a shirt perfectly
- come to think of it, the iPad screen got replaced, too
- change brakes on any vehicle, even snotty European ones
- repair a transmission while on a ferry in the middle of the Straight of Georgia
- climb mountains, so help me
- fly planes
- fall out of planes
- teach other people to fall out of planes
- edit the video he made of other people falling out of planes
- organize a whole city in such a way as to survive, nay, thrive, after a major disaster
- (probably cause the major disaster)
- make a whole pair of pants from scratch
- swear in three languages
- save lives
- SCUBA dive
- play piano
- sing
- run marathons
- kayak
- canoe
- water ski
- win triathlons
- send shivers down my spine when he holds my hand
- and many more things, besides.
But he could not fold a fitted sheet, even if the fate of the free world depended on it.
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