Humor, Marriage, Uncategorized

Remembering Pre-Isolation

This morning while texting back and forth with my Shipt shopper at HEB, Ken (my husband) came into my office. He said, “Look on the bright side. You have not lost me in the grocery store in two months.”
I shared the story with my shopper and told her, “Don’t bring anyone else’s husband to my door. One is enough!”
 
Times have changed. This memory has been repeated many times since we married. Ken is wandering up and down the aisles and talking to every HEB employee as he looks for his favorite brand of salsa. Meanwhile in front of checkout, with a full grocery cart and ice cream melting, I try to call him. No answer. His phone is still on do-not-disturb from the previous night.

My Typical Vegan Grocery Shopping List

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Art, Marriage, Poetry, Uncategorized

THE FARM REPORT

He enters the kitchen,
his skin glistens and
the pungent smell of movement
pushed against the early morning greets me.

I am happy to see him.
He pulls me against his sweaty clothes,
so I fuss as he tightens his embrace –
a thoroughly pleasant ritual.

He gives me our subdivision’s farm report.
“I saw six Harvey* Juniors,
three squished toads
and one lizard entering our garage.”

I pat the stomach of my walking Buda
before he moves toward the shower.
Grand gestures inside a marriage are less
about flowers and candy than acknowledgement

as bare feet stand against worn walking shoes
on kitchen tile on an ordinary day.
Great men need not lead a charge or
command a Fortune Five-Hundred business.

Great men are aware,
count Harveys, toads and lizards,
embrace family,
recognize all joy is in the present.

*Harvey: the fictional rabbit friend of Jimmy Stewart in the movie Harvey.

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Humor, Marriage

Spoons and Cold Hands on Route 66

I just walked through the living room to the background noise of a basketball game.  Beside my reclining husband on the table I drenched in polyurethane to accommodate his known, bachelor-days habits were a half dozen spoons used for sugar free puddings and yogurt.

“Collecting spoons?” I asked.  “Everyone needs a hobby.”

I took my glass to the kitchen, rinsed it and left it in the sink.  I should have retrieved his spoons.  In the existential, I made a conscious decision not to be a type-A freak and I let it go.

Bob gave me his I-may-not-put-my-spoons-in-the-sink-but-you-DO-love-me-just-as-I-am smile.  When I neared his chair, he reached out and took my hand in passing.  “Your hands are cold.”

Always with the cliché, I responded, “Cold hands, warm heart.”

Bob said, “I thought that was cold nose, warm heart.”  He loves dogs, so I guess that works, too.

Now in my office, I feel happy.  The ordinary days of our lives are so rich.

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