My husband, Mr. Crowe, is a noble character at heart, albeit somewhat of a word snob. At the Netflix homepage, I remind him to pick a movie we may both like. He continues to scroll and I prompt him to a search under dramas. Minutes pass and I strongly suggest he just select a title new to both of us. After all the choices and comments, he doesn’t call me a nag. There is much more to his character than meets the ears. Rather, Richie’s retort is that he doesn’t need my continued blandishments. In the end, he streams a dramatic National Geographic documentary that we can discover together. He is a proud man and I conclude that without prejudice. After 33 years of marriage, we chatter no more and sit in wonder to watch ‘The Planet’, where we too have bred, migrated and hibernated.
Tag Archives: love
No where to go but up
Just a quiet night in the living room near the cozy wood stove with my husband. Until…
I sneeze gently, as I reach for a tissue.
I sneeze again, no longer holding back.
My husband remains quiet, turning the next page in his book.
“How come you never say ‘God bless you’ when it’s just the two of us?”
“Don’t worry. I am sure He heard you.”
Stone Cold Game Play
My adult daughter recently went to a children’s museum in New Hampshire. After viewing their stone garden, and learning visitors could add to the display, she returned with this contribution. Rock and I think she and paper are hysterical.
Comes and goes – Memorial weekend edition
Our family spent a long weekend in Maine before the big Memorial holiday. Planned also for just before the crowds and just before the rates go up. We flew kites, enjoyed fine dining and relaxed on the beach. Life the way it should be.
With our daughters back in New Hampshire and my husband back to work, I found myself alone on Saturday afternoon. What to do but run some practical errands. I like to shop when the fever hits, I just don’t like to spend money. Some days I find the balance.
As I get older, I try to declutter our house in some way each week. A drawer gets cleaned out, immaterial items get tossed and the better clothes and houseware get donated. I started my afternoon dropping off a few bags at the local parish thrift shop. While there, frugal me had to look around for any potential bargains. I love Calvin Klein, so when I saw one of his t-shirts with the tag still on, in my size, I decided I needed to own it. They retail between $35-50 so I didn’t hesitate to pay $2. Also, it’s still decluttering if I bring more into the thrift shop than I take out. Mission accomplished.
I headed to another store for a return but more about that later. Along the way, I found a yard sale. An older, by that I respectfully mean older than me, man was sitting outside his garage of records, books and tools with a few other items spewing into the driveway. Of course I stopped to say hello and to see what the earlier dealers may have left behind. I went through the vintage albums but anything of consequence was long gone. Rifling through them made me notice rolled posters in the corner.
“Is this a collection your selling?”, I asked, knowing there was value to some.
“Oh, those. That lot is from a store I bought years ago.”, he sighed and continued, “They’re $1 each, if you see anything.”
“Years ago” usually translates to at least 10 or more years. I’d already seen the poster of interest; one poster in the tall barrel wasn’t rolled to a white backing; there was an image. It was either rolled incorrectly or printed on both sides. I unrolled the pristine thick paper and confirmed I’d spotted a double-sided Matrix Reloaded poster. As I paid, I also spotted some vintage woman’s Gitano jeans with the tags and labels still attached. Garage sale man said they’d been his sister’s. I’ve learned not to ask where the relative is or why she never wore them. I told myself his sister wouldn’t mind me flipping her 80’s denim either.
A piece of silver I wanted to sell was also in my car; I had planned to check the going rate at a nearby shop. The storefront was disappointingly closed for the holiday weekend. Instead, I walked around the corner to an antique shop. I wander through once in awhile to view the inventory and benchmark local price points. In the window of bottles, she was staring back at me. A cut glass spice shaker in the shape of a little girl with braided hair. I turned her upside down to validate my find. Not having a price tag, I walked to the front of the store to ask her price, in a very uniformed sort of way.
“This is cute; how much?”
“That? I think it’s a newer syrup bottle. $5.”
I slapped down a $5 Lincoln, walked quickly back to my car and slapped my knee. I was head over heels for my new Goebel gal.
I continued on to a bargain chain store that still accepts returns with no receipt, if the store tag is still adhered. They only give store credit but I can always find something to use. I brought four previously acquired yard sale items to the return counter and was handed a store credit of $25.97. I quickly shopped off the food shelves and got back in line to “pay”. The cashier said, “$25.96”. “Looks like I owe you a penny.” With one affirming cent in my pocket, I skipped out of the store.
One of the other items I had in my car was a $5 Staples coupon, if I used their new app. They already have my purchase history and personal information, so I bit. I bought my on sale ink for $5 less than advertised.
The last item I had was an unopened container of Greek vanilla yogurt with a May 21 ‘use by’ date that we’d not eaten before vacation. Since it was now May 27, and there was a grocery store along the way home, I inquired within. They honored an exchange for a new non-expired container of the same brand. We now have until July 21 to eat our yogurt. The cultures certainly weren’t going to be thrown away. Not by me anyway.
I still had yogurt for our family breakfast, got a bargain for my printer ink, had nearly $26 of new food for our pantry and invested $9 to flip items in my designer T-shirt this summer. Many have little appreciation for my frugality. That’s just who I am. To me, that’s how life should be.
Hearth Attack
When daybreak comes through the bedroom windows and you add a smile to your face anticipating a walk in the new fresh snow but then you get outside and want the first four inches to be removed from the ground especially since the snowblower belt broke with the last storm so you pick up a shovel and start the grand task before you because there is an extensive driveway and you want to make a first pass but after about twenty minutes you realize exactly how long this is going to take although you enjoy being outside so you are attentive to your thoughts that include your grandfather who was physically healthy in his old age just like your father who always took great care of his own yard and the edges of his property so the memories of them spur you on as you get lost in more thoughts about the money you are saving on a plow and a gym membership but this is not just about the dollars and cents but whether it makes sense to start shoveling at 6 o’clock in the morning when it is supposed to snow for the rest of the day and then your thoughts drift away with the snow looking for additional motivation but you start thinking about The Handmaid’s Tale maybe because it seems you are in the snow colonies but admit it is not bad at all here in the US of A and you are grateful for warm clothes and the hot shower you know you can take later in the morning and then you realize it must be well past six by now and your Saturday alarm is set for 6:30 but the iPhone is not in your coat but in the house where your nightshift husband is sleeping so you put down your shovel to go rescue your cell and take some wintry pictures but when you walk in the back door and reach for the phone on the kitchen table the cat is meowing in distress so you turn to the right and see your husband on the hardwood floor in front of the stone hearth and your heart drops as you pull off your hat and mittens and bend down to see if he is okay and he looks up at you and slowly responds that he got up to shut off the iPhone alarm and tripped on his way to put more wood in the stove and while you feel badly that the one thing you tried to prevent actually caused the fall you are grateful that he did not hit his head on the corner of the hearth and as he gets up you wonder what broke his fall and if he fell on his head or arm but he seems fine so you ask out loud if he caught himself falling and how did he manage to not get hurt and Richie says that it was because of his stellar athleticism which breaks the tension and you both laugh out loud and you for longer than him but hubby appreciates his own humor and starts to make coffee and since you don’t drink black poison you head back outside with your phone in your pocket so you can finish moving the now wet snow in front of the second garage bay and then you hear a faint noise through your hat and the wind and realize it is your husband calling to come back inside before you have a heart attack and although you want to finish you smile for the second time because he is concerned about your old lady body even though the air and exercise makes you feel great but regardless you abandon the homestead cleanup and go back into your rustic home instead.
REALLY!
Puttanesca sauce
Ever since our girls were little, on the nights it’s quickly past dinner time and there are barely any groceries in the house, my husband has managed to get dinner on the table in minutes. He inspires me. In the time it takes to cook pasta, an Alfredo sauce awaits. Once a salad is tossed, a raspberry vinaigrette is ready to drizzle.
His culinary skills, before he ever worked in the industry, have always been handy. I remember one night when I said that we just had the pineapple on the table, a few pieces of luncheon meat and whatever was in the canisters. I beat myself up as a mom, went in to change my clothes and came out to a pizza in the oven. I saw bare bones in our kitchen and my husband had seen a Hawaiian pizza (as evidenced in this writing prompt).
Tonight was no exception. I left work early and came home feeling low, not depressed, just low energy. I had crashed around 3:00. When I got home, my husband was cleaning out the woodstove pipe on his day off. After that, he checked the air in my car tires. I cleaned the cat bins and changed into my pajamas. It was 5:00 in the evening.
I came back into the kitchen and a pasta dish was on the stove. Richie told me to grab a bowl and we sat on the couch to have our dinner. The sauce was absolutely delicious. I asked him what the ingredients were and how he made it so quickly? As usual, he didn’t share his recipe and just grinned. I knew there were capers in it but asked what else?
That’s when he told me it was Puttanesca; he said everyone at his new job likes his puttanesca sauce. My husband never gives me a cooking reference, so I looked it up to understand what I was eating. Capers, yes. As well as anchovies, garlic, tomatoes, olives, chili flakes and some other seasonings, including “s/p to taste”. For pasta and sauce it was fragrant, very robust and more than hit the spot!
After looking up the ingredients on the intranet, I also saw the question “ why is the sauce called puttanesca?” The name derives from the Italian word puttana…which means whore! Adding to that, puttana derives from the Latin word putida, which means stinking. My husband was inspired to make me a quick stinking pasta sauce. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d whore it up, and thank him for making dinner.
<Here’s a Recipe for the enticing dish!>
I did but do I?!
Even when the weekend arrives, I rarely stay up very late. I have a train ride and 8-5 office routine and my now hospitality husband works nights and weekends. Opposite schedules is a dynamic our 30-year marriage is currently figuring out. My husband sometimes has Sundays off and we covet that time together.
On Friday night, I went for a hike in the woods with a neighbor after work. We ended in her yard, sat in the Adirondack chairs and her husband started a fire. Another neighbor couple joined us and we wined and dined until midnight.
On Saturday night, I worked on a couple small projects, wrapped a birthday gift and then decided to go to bed; it was just before 10. After brushing my teeth, I had a new text from my husband. Their work kitchen had finished up early and he was already on his way home. I climbed into bed with a book and decided to wait up.
On Sunday morning, I woke with a stir when an extra pillow landed on my belly as my husband climbed noisily from our marital bed.
“What are you doing? Thanks for waking me up!”
“You were snoring your head off!”
“When I am soundly sleeping, you wake me up? Who does that?”
“Actually, you sounded like an old woman snoring.”
“Oh really?” I gave his spice right back. “And you know what an old woman snoring sounds like?”
“Yes. I do.” he vowed. “Now, I do.”
I solemnly promise that I won’t wait up for my 30-year groom next weekend.
Present
Jesus walks only in the present.
– Leave the past behind; its purpose was served.
– Await the future; it’s not ready to be fulfilled.
Ms Toy Whisperer 