Nuclear

I'm thinking on the times I had those early fights with my husband. We weren't even dating yet, but wound up next to each other at one of our College and Career Sunday school class's social events. I have a gluttony problem with popcorn...I prefer it popped the old fashioned way, with coconut oil blistering hot in the pan. Then you slather it with butter and salt. Now that I know about Amish, non-GMO popcorn, will I ever have the ability to put down the carbs? It's crunchy and delicious, irresistible. My childhood includes many memories of movie nights and popcorn. My Daddy died happy, with a bowl of it in his hands. 

So, at this social event, my hunky future-baby-Daddy came and sat beside me. We barely knew each other, but he had a giant bowl of popcorn and we were sharing it. I started fishing my way to the bottom, to pick out the half-popped kernels. That's the best part. Ken kept swatting away my hand, saying that we had to do this in the proper order: eat the fully popped first, then dig in with the "old maids" (the burnt parts). We began to wrestle with the control of the bowl, his OCD and my rebounding skills kicking in. Popcorn began flying out of the bowl as we howled with laughter. Ken's always the one with the rules. I am here to help him lighten up. Now, after 43 years of marriage, I give him his own bowl and I keep the big bowl, making me the keeper of the old maids. Whoever pops the corn gets the goody, though sometimes the Holy Spirit takes over and I'll share. 

Our first couple of years together, I was as meek as a lamb, trying to defer to his every whim. What's the old saying: "Women marry a man and expect to change him. Men marry a woman and expect her to never change." I'm from a long line of sassy women, so I don't know where my early efforts came from. Either way, our biggest epic fight was on a tennis court. I had played briefly on our college team, but I was more like the sparring buddy for the people who could really play. I knew the basics and could decently lob a tennis ball. Ken was in coach mode and started trying to correct my form. This did not go well. It ended with yelling and me throwing a well-placed tennis racket across the court in his general direction. He has superb athletic coordination and easily dodged the missile. With all the drama, I looked over at the couple playing in the next court. They stopped and stared and quickly left. 

It has been a long time, but I have been known to throw things at him in our fights. It's a good thing he's quick on his feet. If he had ever thrown things at me, I would have called the cops. See my hypocrisy there? It's pretty much a miracle that we didn't kill one another, both strong-willed first borns, with definite opinions on pretty much everything. Thank the Lord, we don't fight that way anymore. Sometimes it's needful to have the fight (no missiles allowed now). After all these years, we still have to open up and discuss difficult things. Little things become boulders in the road if you don't chip away at them. This past week, with all those years behind us, I brought up one such boulder. My husband responded with so much grace, I thought I might just marry him again. This is love.  

Hee Hawing

I hate it when the holidays are over and I feel like I got run over by the Polar Express. This year was odd and I'm still not sure I like it. With my bum Achilles tendon, there was no real decorating to speak of. My house sat quiet, with the crumbs of cardboard left over from mountains of Amazon boxes. I lit up the neighborhood with a great bonfire of them. It probably isn't nice, to burn that many containers, but at least they didn't pile up in the landfill. The plain but well-lit tree, wreath and garland laughed at me, my un-minimalistic self. Less-is-more is pretty much demon-speak in my world. When I see "Home Alone" every year, I fondly sigh and remember the 90s, where decadence and Waverly wallpaper ruled the land. It's coming back, you know. Everything does. I even read that color is "in" again, praise the Lord and pass the peas. I tired of gray-everything a long time ago and this white phase is bleaching out pretty quick too. 

I have to admit, however, that that quiet, twinkly tree with no ornaments made me feel all forest-y and serene. 

A literal blur of activities, concerts, gifting, eating and just general Christmassing left me bloated more than usual. Even with all that, we hauled our camper up to Pigeon Forge the day after Christmas. The truck broke down on the way, causing quite the traffic jam, complete with cops and sirens and everything.  We lost a day of the trip getting that sorted, only to find ourselves landed in the worst idea since they started laying down pavement. Don't hate me, but Dolly must have forgotten all about those beautiful hills surrounding that town. You sit in hours of traffic just to move a mile and then you spend piles of money to eat overpriced food and watch other people live. The mountains peek at you over the way and there's no way you're gonna ever get to actually walk on one or breathe the forest air. It just ain't fittin' (apologies to all who love that place, bless your heart).

We eventually got home, laid out like hillbillies on moonshine for two days straight. Somehow staggered into church on Sunday morning and then met up with friends that evening for pizza. Our group drove around town for an open restaurant in the cold, slushy rain. I thought maybe we should just head back to our pillows but then suddenly it all worked out. The ladies sat at one big table and the guys sat at another, laughing. I looked across and saw this big, masculine guy talking and smiling. He had a baseball cap and a pair of overalls on. I found him very attractive and he grinned back at me. I hopped back in the car with him at the end. 

Sometimes and often, it's good to remember who you fell in love with in the first place.