S.L.O.B.

Tom and I have been married a whole lotta years. More than 40 and just barely less than 50. We've had ample opportunities to be exposed to each others foibles. But let me say at the outset, I do believe I have fewer foibles than Tom. Just sayin' (although I could be lying about this to preserve whatever stature I have with folks who know us).

So, one of the things that just drives me crazy is that Tom uses his hand to wipe surfaces. Rather than use a dish rag, sponge, paper towel or any other medium that might leave anything less than a nasty streak on whatever surface he wipes, Tom uses his hand. For whatever reason, he somehow thinks running his hand across a wet surface is an adequate clean up method. You and I know it's not.

Not to completely diss him, the man does the dishes regularly. If I cook, he cleans up. He also cooks...and cooks amazingly delicious stuff. He empties the dishwasher and fills it. He does his own laundry most of the time. He's not opposed to making our bed. He's also been known to vacuum, sweep and dust. All of that in addition to mowing the lawns and general yard cleanup. Oh yeah, and running his business and working his ass off to make a living. He really is a great guy. I shouldn't complain.

But, this hand wiping thing drives me nuts. Whatever food residue happens to be mixed in with the water on the wet surface is merely spread around and the surface winds up being streaky, sticky, grainy, disgusting!

Today he made Ricotta Gnudi to serve with a Fennel Cream I was making. They were beautiful little pillows of puffed up flour and ricotta. Delicious.

After dinner, we both cleaned up, but he was at the sink before me, putting dishes in the dishwasher, washing pots and.... yes, wiping wet surfaces.

I have a stainless steel farmers sink. It has a deep 4-inch ledge at the front. When I walked over to put a couple of dishes in the dishwasher, I noticed that he had wiped... with his hand... the sink ledge. It was streaked with water mixed with flour, fennel cream and who knows what else. Arrrggghhh!

I grabbed the dish rag, ran it under the hot water and wrung it out until it was no longer dripping and wiped up the ledge of the sink, but not without comment.

"God, Tom, you wiped this up with your hand! Dude, you are such a slob!" I know. Not very appreciative of a guy who's already loaded most of the dishes in the dishwasher and washed all the pots and pans.

But, in his ever so positive spin, he replied, "Slob? Slightly Likable Old Bastard?"

Yeah, babe. Although, quite a bit more than "slightly likable."

Anniversary (noun): Yearly observance, celebration

I know it may sound strange, but Tom and I have never considered the anniversary date of our wedding an event for which a party is warranted. We don't invite people over. We often don't even go out to celebrate. We've even stopped buying gifts for each other. Our relationship and marriage is deeply personal to us. We don't really celebrate as much as reflect on the years behind us, entertain the future and appreciate the moment.

Yes, today is our anniversary. Forty four years together. I've spent two-thirds of my entire life with Tom.

When I look at those 44 years, just 6 years short of 50, it blows my mind. It seems to have flown by, but casually reminiscing what has transpired, I realize we've packed a lot of stuff into those years.

We've lived in Sunnyvale, San Jose, Santa Cruz, Kings Beach, Oceanside, Carlsbad and Vista, California; Gardnerville and Incline Village, Nevada; and Vilonia and Conway, Arkansas. Next stop, Florida.

Tom's been an Air Force sergeant, computer programmer, truck driver, postal worker, police officer, sheriff's deputy, carpenter, contractor and business owner.

I've been a receptionist, secretary, registrar of voters clerk, volunteer consultant, vocational school registrar and director, non-profit business manager, paralegal, university financial aid office assistant and associate director, college executive director for student fiscal affairs (now, that's a mouthful) and college and university financial aid consultant.

We raised two wonderful boys who have become extraordinary men, husbands and fathers; outstanding musicians; and exemplary cooks.

Together, we are husband and wife, father and mother, grandpa and grandma and above all best friends.

We've made this journey together a wonderful life....OUR life. And I'm incredibly grateful for it.

I'm so depressed

Did you hear that Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore are divorcing? My faith is shaken. I may not survive this. Proof positive that nothing lasts forever.

Tom, upon hearing the news, immediately thought he'd take a trip to California to console Demi, but then thought better of it after he read about Demi's dumps....the human kind, not the human excrement kind. Tom was fearful he might just become another Demi dump.

And I'm thinkin', good choice Dude.

As Good As It Gets

He's strong...physically. He has big biceps even though he doesn't work on it.

He'll wear a pink shirt to a construction jobsite.

His fluffy white mostly Maltese follows him where ever he goes. We should have named the dog Shadow.

He has a tender heart and generous spirit.

He is, without a doubt, the best snuggler in the world.

He kisses me good-bye every single time he leaves the house.

He cooks when the spirit moves him, which is often, and when I don't care if I ever see another frying pan for the rest of my life.

He makes awesome Creme Brulee from a recipe he knows by heart.

He does laundry, washes dishes, shops for groceries, vacuums, most of the time without ever being asked.

He peels the broccoli before cooking it!

And he makes me laugh every single day.

Today Is Our Anniversary.

What should I write about after 42 years? There's so much to cover. Considering that most of it is boring to everyone else but us, I'll keep it brief.

Let me say at the outset that I have not been the easiest person to live with. Oh, you already guess that?

So what attracted me to Tom in the first place? Well, I thought he was handsome, obviously. But he was also soft-spoken, kind, funny and a real grown-up, very unlike my first husband.

Yes, I was married when I was nineteen and pregnant. To be honest, I only married him to get out from under my parents' thumb and I did for a short time. But, given that he was an immature buffoon who lost his job when he decided to skip work without even calling in and spent the day at his friend's house to help him work on a car for the drag races. He was really the last in a string of very poor choices. We lived together maybe 6 months max and our divorce was final 2 years to the day we married. Talk about universal closure.

When I met Tom, I was a mess. What he saw in me I will never know. I had a baby, I lived with my parents, I was immature and an emotional wreck. By contrast, Tom was independent, self-assured, mature, in the military stationed in Sunnyvale, California, and sharing an apartment with friends. We met through mutual friends.

When he called me for a date, I nearly fell off the arm of the chair where I was sitting. I thought he liked my younger sister.

During the time we dated, my parents tried very hard to dissuade Tom from getting involved with me. After all, I had a kid and was divorced and, therefore, not very worthy goods. They took every opportunity to remind Tom of the history I brought to the relationship. They often refused to babysit when Tom planned a day or evening out just to make sure he would be constantly reminded that I had a child. Tom was not easily dissuaded. When my parents wouldn't babysit, Tom would plan outings for the three of us. He loves kids and sincerely enjoyed the time he spent with Mike. Every single time we went somewhere...the drive-in movies, the park, the mountains, the beach, the lake...I would just marvel at how lucky I was, but deep down I was confident it wouldn't last long. I had adopted my parents' assessment of my worth.

Long story shortened, I got pregnant (yes, again) and was prepared to lose Tom at that point, certain he would walk away with a thanks-but-no-thanks attitude. Not so fast. He said he loved me and wanted to marry me. How about that? We married 42 years ago.

In the beginning, it was hard work. We both brought emotional baggage: my half a dozen steamer trunks worth to his duffel bag. Each year our marriage survived we celebrated with dinner out. It was a big deal. The ups and downs we overcame deserved celebratory high-fives and chest bumps.

Together, we've created a loving, respectful, supportive and fun relationship. Tom built a business. I built a career. We've raised two loving and talented sons and they have each married women who love them as much as I love their father and we have 6 beautiful grandchildren.

We no longer feel like giving each other high fives and chest bumps. It's gentler and quieter now. Easier, too. Tonight we'll have dinner at home. Tom is cooking my favorite pasta carbonara; I'm baking dessert. Later, we will probably watch a little tv then go to bed, cuddle up in our sleeping position and get ready for tomorrow.

We don't feel the need to celebrate, but rather pause and reflect on how fortunate we are to have spent almost a lifetime together and emerge more in love than when we first married.

It Started When He Said He Wanted to Watch Curling...

Friday night is the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics. I always like watching it - the big ceremony before the games begin.

At lunch today I mentioned to Tom that the ceremony was Friday night and we ought to Tivo it if we weren't going to watch it live. Tom said he also wanted to make sure to Tivo some of the events.

ME: Really? Which ones? And I'm think he will say downhill skiing, snowboarding, speed skating, luging ~ stuff like that.
TOM: Curling is one

I just looked at him without expression, but I was thinking You've got to be kidding. Pushing a little black thing around the ice with a broom???? booorrriiinnnggg!

TOM: Do you know what curling is?
ME: Yes

As if he didn't hear me say yes, he said by way of explanation, "Do you remember that movie "Men With Brooms?"

ME: Yes. Boring.
TOM: Oh, really? I thought it was great.
ME: Well, of course you did. Because it is rare indeed that he doesn't think any movie is great.
TOM: It's sort of the same principle as that old school yard game, carrom.
ME: What's that?
TOM: You don't know what carrom is?
ME: No. I've never even heard of it.

With that, he threw his head back, rolled his eyes, opened his mouth and groaned, Oh my God.. He's such a freakin' drama queen.

TOM: You've never heard of the game of carrom?. It has a board with little cups at each corner. It's played sort of like shuffleboard. You've played shuffleboard, right?
ME: No. I've seen it, but I've never played it.
TOM: You've never played shuffledboard?? Oh my God! More throwing of the head and rolling of the eyes.
ME: Look, dude, I come from a game challenged family. My grandmother was the person who taught me to play solitaire and how to work cross word puzzles. The only card games my parents ever played was poker and pinochle and they did that with their friends until we were old enough to put our money on the table along with theirs. You taught me how to play gin rummy. The first time I played Scrabble was with my grandmother. I think the only game my sisters and I ever played was Monopoly, and I think my Aunt Sally & Uncle Don gave us that game for Christmas one year. We didn't play games in my house ~ at least not those kind of games anyway.
TOM: Jeez. We played all sorts of games when I was growing up.

He just loves to rub stuff in, but I just consider the source. After all, this is a guy who thinks curling is an exciting sport.