Why? Why is it that I find dirty socks all throughout the house? I have receptacles set up in several areas for items like that. And it isn't just socks; jeans, belts, shirts underwear can sometimes be found in the most unusual places. Our house is tiny so it isn't as though one would have to wonder farther than a few steps to be able to toss a dirty clothes item into what is known as a dirty clothes basket. But somehow the only time a dirty item makes it into a basket is when the basket is full of clean, folded clothes waiting to be put away. It's always a treat to go back to a clean clothes basket to begin the task of putting them up and finding clothes drenched in the sweat and grass stains that occurred during the mowing of the lawn. He doesn't get my point when I yell, "Contaminated! The mission must begin all over again!" as I take the clothes to the washer. But there is solace when I am able to find the dirty clothes tainting the clean clothes while he is in the shower. Since our house is tiny if I start the washer while he is still showering it messes with the flow and temperature of the water. Sometimes for fun I start washing the dishes at that exact moment as well.
Why do all my cute flea market treasure bowls or plates turn into his holder for his pipes, pipe cleaners and pipe tobacco? At my last thrift store trip I bought him a manly container made especially for pipes. I see it on his desk empty. But all my flowery enamel bowls and Blue Ridge Mountain pottery plates that I painstakingly searched out and negotiated the price on at flea markets are overflowing with pipes and tobacco, keys, pieces of wire and cable and things that I have no idea what they are, but know that I am not allowed to move them without being asked where they are and why I touched them.
Why? Why do the snacks that I pick out specifically for me because he has said he doesn't like it still disappear without me eating them. How many tantrums does he have to see me throw before he realizes not to take the last of my anything. Especially if it's chocolate.
Why does he wait until I have just finished mopping the floors before he comes inside tracking mud and grass from the garden? Does he have some sort of radar that alerts him as to when I have just finished that task and am looking appreciatively at my shiny floor so he can come tromping all over it? Or why is it that he can sit at his computer without stirring until I start cleaning or cooking in the kitchen and he has to come in right at that moment to get a drink and get all in the way so I find myself tripping all over him? And does that same radar tell him the precise moment that I need to reach for the car's middle console so that he can place his elbow on it just as I'm lifting the lid? And how is he able to say so quickly that I am in his way before I can tell him to move.
After 16 years of marriage one would think he'd figure it out. You would think that at least I would have figured out all the answers to my long list of other questions about him.
Why? Why is it that when I wake up in the morning with puffy eyes and matted hair he looks at me as if he thinks I am the most beautiful creature he has ever seen? How can it be that on hectic summer days when he comes home for an early lunch to find me still without a shower in my ratty pajamas and unbrushed teeth with unkempt hair and face he slaps my butt as I walk by and flirts with me like he did when we were first married 16 years ago? How does he know when I'm feeling fat because a dress is fitting a little snug to tell me my curves are perfect and to come to him so he can wrap his arms around my little waist? Why does he do the other things like after me nagging him for weeks about a dripping faucet waiting until I'm gone for the day and surprising me by replacing the whole thing with one that is exactly what I would have picked. Or instead of replacing a burnt out light bulb in Abigail's room, buying a whole new light fixture that is perfect for her room and not saying a word about it until I smart off about him finally changing that bulb just as I look up to see what he has done? Without being asked, finding my lost keys within 5 minutes of searching after I had been frantically looking all day. Turning the car around in Clyde without one word of admonishment when I blurted out, "I forgot my purse!" and driving all the way back to San Angelo to retrieve it. Getting up in the middle of the night because I am still up with Abigail who's having a rough time and even though he has to work in the morning telling me to go back to bed while he sits up with her. Slowly adding more plants to our flower bed until I realize that little by little it is going to end up looking like the enchanted cottage garden I've always wanted since reading story books as a child. Then sharing with me his plans to slowly add even more mounds of flowers in the back complete with paths and sitting areas. Only pretending to be angry when I washed his pants without checking the pockets and ruined his prized pipe lighter. Accusingly teasing me of "chucking chit" when he's missing something he needs because I went on a cleaning rampage and threw anything of his into a random drawer or crevice while placing my things in a neat and orderly spot. Why, after having our one and only genuine screaming fight that erupted over him forgetting to get honey at the grocery store, he left the house and returned with the biggest damn jar of honey I've ever seen and plunked it down on the table causing me to bite my cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing? Then he just hugged me and we held each other tight with forgiveness.
I still have that jar of honey. It is crystallized inside, but it reminds me that I have someone in my life that puts up with me and my moods. I don't deserve it but I have someone who for unknown reasons loves me through my air headedness, my feeling ugly days, my sudden cleaning rampages and quick temper. Sometimes I take that old jar of honey and hold it in the light to see its crystal amber beauty refract the light and shine. When others see it they might think it has grown old and stale, the crystals too rough around the edges but I know that it will taste just as sweet. Sometimes we just sit in silence, comfortable with each others presence and knowing we don't need to say a word. I wonder if anyone ever sees us in that state and interprets it as us growing stale instead of being so at ease with one another that we can just sit still and be confident in each other without uttering a sound.
When I see his dirty socks and messy pipes I am thankful for the evidence that he is in my life and will love me through anything. Even though there are days I look in the mirror and see nothing but myself growing older and feeling rough around the edges he reminds me that I am still sweet and he sees only the reflection of beauty. I would rather have a mountain of dirty, smelly socks than one day of him not being in my life.
But I'm still going to run the washer when he's in the shower because he wouldn't expect anything less.
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