Happy Day

What a day, what a day, what a day!

Today is the first day of spring; the beginning of a new season full of regrowth and new births.

Today Steve and I celebrate our twenty-first anniversary. It’s hard to believe that we have been spouses for that long.

Today my blog hit 100,000 views from 130 different countries around the world.

I am humbled.

After a restless and mostly sleepless night, I found that I feel much better today than I had anticipated I would. I woke up to the fantastic smell of coffee at 5:30 this morning, an hour and a half later than I usually wake up. Steve had put a fresh pot on, and as I entered the kitchen, he handed me a card. The sentiments were beautiful, and his smile beamed brightly, lighting up our home.

It’s going to be a hap, hap, happy day!

I realized some time ago that my day is exactly what I choose it to be. I have been accused of being overly optimistic. I am not offended by that judgment. In fact, I like to wear it proudly.

Yesterday is over, which is good as it was hailing and snowing to beat the band here. Perfect for the last day of winter.

Tomorrow may or may not come. I can’t predict the future. Today I choose to not waste my time worrying about it. I have been reasonably good at sticking to the here and now. Of course, having my beloved Seahawks win the Super Bowl this year helps my sunny outlook, lol.

I recently saw a video of some cyclists riding along a narrow pathway half way down the side of a cliff that dropped hundreds of feet to a roaring river below. It seemed that the camera recording the event was on the cyclist’s helmet. The was focus upon the path immediately in front of the bicycle’s front tire. I doubt very much that the cyclist was enjoying the stunning views of sunshine, snowy mountains, rushing waters, soaring birds, and the vegetation growing from cracks and crevices that defy all odds

How often do we focus on a minuscule patch of ‘land’ and miss the expanded vista around us? How often do we choose to dwell on the negative, on hurt feelings, on misunderstandings? Of course it’s easy to do. But if we take a step or two back from a gigantic issue in front of our eyes, we will begin to see the ‘view’ around it. Step back even more and that issue shrinks in size. When we turn our backs on it, it vanishes from sight.

Regardless of what has happened before, I have been presented with a clean sheet of day on which to pen my personal story.

Being the awesome cook that I am, I shall whip up a happy day for myself, and anyone willing to share it with me. The recipe is simple and the ingredients are free.

Today is a new day, and I choose to be happy.

And laugh – a lot!

Why?

This is a never ending discussion in our home. Inquiring minds what to know, but I often grow weary of trying to explain things on a continuous basis.

 “Why do I have to put things back where you want them?”

“Why are you always criticizing me?”

“Why are you always putting me down?”

“Why do you always have to control everything?”

“Why can’t I ask questions?”

“Why does Hawaii have interstate highways?”

Yes, it becomes tiresome.

Tomorrow is our twenty-first anniversary. I am not feeling well, so I told my hubby that we aren’t going to ‘celebrate’ tomorrow as I probably won’t enjoy it. I have shingles, am lethargic, ache all over, itch in many areas, am nauseous and have no appetite.

I wonder if I can continue this final symptom on a regular basis.

Over the last twenty some years Steve seems incapable of remembering where things go in our home. He will take an item out, and then return it to a totally different place, if not a totally different room. The reason I ask him to put it back where it had been is so the rest of us can find it.

According to Steve, it shouldn’t matter. "My god, who cares, what does it matter?"

As far as ‘criticizing’, I simply ask that he not wear a red plaid shirt with green slacks. I try to form my ‘opinion’ as a suggestion, and offer an different shirt if possible. “Sweetie, you might want to wear this with those slacks. The total effect of your outfit would be more pleasing overall.”

To which I will receive a reply along the lines of “But EVERYBODY puts red and green together for Christmas!” This spoken by The Hubster on the third of March.

As to the putting down of said spouse, I merely ask him to stop trying to guess whether or not I want action on his behalf. If I wonder out loud about the weather for our son’s baseball game, Steve will jump up and ask if I want him to put raincoat / umbrella / sunscreen / sunglasses / parka /gloves / cap / blankets / binoculars / coffee thermos / ice chest into my car for me.

“Ummm, no Sweetie. I was just going to check my weather app for projected conditions over the next few hours. I was just thinking out loud. I wasn’t asking you to do anything.”

Responds He, “Well, I can’t tell if you were hinting something or not. You said that I am supposed to ask if I don’t understand!”

“But Steve, ever since I realized that you had Asperger’s Syndrome, I’ve told you that I would NOT hint anything. I said that I would just ask you straight out. I’ve said this almost every day to you for the last ten years!”

“Well, I don’t understand! I've read that women always hint and that men don’t understand!” His vocalized frustration is apparent.

“Sweetheart, I promise you that I will not hint to you. Scout’s honor.”

Now Steve is truly agitated. “You aren’t a Scout!” he thunders. “Why are you lying? You are trying to control me! You won’t let me ask questions!”

*Sigh*

The interstate question is actually mine. I have wondered how a state that is completely isolated by water from every other state in the union can have ‘interstate’ highways. Wouldn’t they be ‘intra-state’?

And why is Honolulu misspelled on the Hawaiian Interstate Highway map?

Now THAT is a good question, lol.

Thou Shalt NOT Get Sick

I have committed the unpardonable sin.

I've come down with a terrible case of shingles.

Besides feeling like crap, I am now housebound until I am no longer contagious.

My husband is behaving as if I have set out to destroy him; socially, physically, mentally, professionally.

I just want to crawl off to some dark corner for a few weeks.

I spent last Friday at the doctor's office and the hospital next door having tests run and diagnoses made. After a mind numbing four and a half hours I was sent home to rest for 2-6 weeks with a bottle of antiviral medication and a bottle of pain killers.

I'm thinking I should have Steve take the pain killers.

Our only remaining child at home is 15. He is totally sympathetic, and very helpful around the house. He has his driving permit so he can operate the car. The only driving I have to do is from his school to our house when he has to go to baseball practice.

My hubby, on the other hand, has never come up with more chores for me to do than he has over the last three days.

"Why CAN'T you do an extra load of laundry? You are just laying around reading and watching TV," says he.

"Sweetie, my head is splitting, my rashes itch like heck, my left side feels like someone bayonetted me, and I feel woozy and sick!" I weakly reply.

"Well, how long would it take you to go downstairs and start the washer? Three point seven two minutes at the most!" declares The Hubster.

I lie there wondering why he can't do it himself if it's so easy.

"I have to go outside to see if any of the tarps on my cars might have blown about in the wind just now," states His Royal Highness.

I close my eyes and try not to groan.

*Sigh* I think that I feel too awful to even be annoyed.

Once the front door bangs shut our son pops his head around the doorway from the kitchen, where he is once again trying to prove that the lightbulb in the fridge is for tanning.

"I can do it Mom," says Manlet. At 6'3" he is no longer my Kidlet.

"Would you Sweetheart?" I ask. "That would be so awesome!"

"Yah, I can throw my baseball clothes in with Dad's stuff." We have one smart kiddo here.

Hopefully I will be back to laughing soon. Until then, do you think Steve would notice if I hide under the bed and sleep?

Plastic Glasses & Other Oxymorons

“Hey Sweetie, do you have the original copy of your will handy?”

I am searching for items that should be in our safety deposit box. I need to meet one of our older kids at our bank to have them added as a signed and keyed boxholder with Steve and I in case of an emergency. As I dig through strangely filed paperwork in our office, I hear rustling from the livingroom, but no answer from my spouse.

I descend the stairs and whip around the corner to see The Hubster sitting in his recliner, magazines in hand and a quizzical look on his face.

“How can you have an original copy of something?” asks He.

I sense a circuitous debate in the offing, so I switch subjects.

“Dinner will be ready in about a half hour. Can you set the table for me, please? I’m running down to the bank, picking Manlet up from baseball practice and will be home in twenty minutes or so,” I respond, now half way out the door. I can always take his will down to the bank on a different day. I don’t think our house will burn to the ground in the next week or so before Steve’s permanent demise occurs.

Unless he does sets the house on fire, in which case I probably would kill him.

As I pull the door shut I can hear some sort of mumblings from Hubby, but I am on a mission and don’t have time to decipher. I will most likely find out when I return, as he tends to take a while in his ramblings.

Sure enough, when I return to the kitchen, Steve is still setting the table.

“What do you want to drink with dinner,” asks He, “And what size glass do you want?”

“Ice water, please, and the biggest glass,” I say as I start dishing up dinner onto platters and into serving bowls, then dashing them into the diningroom.

On my second trip back into the kitchen I see Steve finish filling two medium sized glasses with ice and water. Since I had just heard Manlet ask for orange juice, I questioned who the extra glass of ice water was for.

“You!” says He.

“But I wanted the really big glass, Dear!” I respond.

“This is the biggest glass we have!” proclaims The Hubster.

I walk over to the cabinet and pull out a monster glass that holds about twentytwo ounces. I hand it to Steve, telling him that I meant one of these.

“BUT THAT’S PLASTIC!” he erupts. “YOU SAID GLASS!”

Oh Lordy. Here we go again.

“Sweetie, when I say ‘glass’ I don’t necessarily mean the material. Glasses can be made out of many different things. I would like to drink out of this for dinner tonight.”  

“So we can always use plastic at dinner time? So I can put these exact plastic drinkware items out when we have people over for Easter or Christmas dinner? You are saying that II can use whatever items I want to set the table with whenever I want?”

He’s on a roll now. It’s been a long day and I’m not up to his debates. I try to explain that it’s situational, like when he wears slacks and dress shirts to work, except occasionally on Fridays when he can wear jeans and tee shirts. He just doesn’t get it.

Then I try a simple, “How about I set the items that I want on the table right here on the counter for you? Would that help?”

Now very angry, and probably frustrated with the misunderstanding, The Hubster roars his disapproval, accusing me of trying to ‘control’ everything all the time. He stomps out of the room.

I sigh as I sit down with Manlet to eat. I am weary. Perhaps I can laugh later.