Story of the Day 10/17/2011

Last night, before going to bed, my husband told me that Cindie was right.
Cindie is a friend of mine who several years ago described me as “ your husband’s one act of rebellion.”

I probably should explain that when people know one of us and then meet the other, the typical response is, “That is your husband/wife?” with a voice filled with..disbelief.
In fact, sometimes a person actually knows both of us, but doesn’t’ realize that we are a couple . This isn’t all that odd. After all, when we married I allowed Larry to retain his maiden name, so the fact that he has kept his last name, despite being marred to me, means that there is no reason anyone would assume he is my husband.
At any rate it is even more fascinating, sometimes, to see the reactions of people who have know each of us, individually, and ten finds out that we are married. Happily, even.

Many years ago, when we were dating. Dating as in not even engaged. We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant in New York, and as part of the experience, there was the requisite fortune cookie. Larry opened up his cookie, read the fortune and then tucked it into his wallet, where it stayed for many years. It said “ your mate will be your balance wheel.”

Of course, I am several inches shorter than he is, but I do weigh about the same, so that could be what it meant.
Of course, it could also mean that he would have characteristics that I don’t’ have and vice versa.
For example, he has a memory.
He is organized.
He has will power.
He reads directions.
He knows his right hand from his left.

Please note that you can say all of the above about me as well, but only if you insert the words “ does not” into each sentence.

There is more.

Larry knows where his keys are.
He knows what today’s date is.
He knows what the year is.
He probably remembers where we put the children.

Hey, they get up and move!

He doesn’t walk into doorways.
He wears matching socks.
He remembers to brush his hair in the morning.
He does not use crude and rude language.
He has social skills.
He does not leave piles of papers, clean clothes, unopened mail, books, hairbrushes and shoes all over and then have no idea where anything has gotten to.
He knows how to use silverware.

Now, we can start a list of what I bring to the marriage.

I can wash dishes.
Of course, we have a dishwasher.
I can clean toilets.
Of course we have Aaron.
I can cook.
Not well.
But I can if it came precooked and frozen, or in a can. Although, I do sometimes burn things.
Maybe every other day.
Or a little more often than that.


I suppose this looks a might uneven.
But, I have one great and wonderful advantage.
I got him out of New York.

Of course, at the time, he didn’t think it was an advantage.

When we got married, we had a hard time.
The hard time was caused by his parents.
Actually, they were giving him a hard time.
They didn’t give me a hard time because they didn’t talk to me.

It started a few days after we got married.


We were married on a Thursday.
The 4th of July.
That is also a story, but I will save it for another day.

On Sunday, Larry called his parents.

He used to do this on a pretty much daily basis, but he had seen them on Thursday. At the wedding.
And Friday, I think we were busy. And Saturday was Shabbat , so no phone calls. So he called them on Sunday.

Their first question for him was “ Have you come to your senses, yet?” They wanted to know if he was ready for an annulment.

They eventually got used to the fact that we were married.

Not that year, though.

After the 4th of July, the next big holiday was Rosh Hashanah.

They invited him.

They also invited him for Thanksgiving.
Not me.

They didn’t invite him for Passover, but that was because they don’t keep kosher so they knew he couldn’t come.

As time went by, things not only didn’t improve, they went south. So far south they became arctic.

As a result, we moved.
To Cincinnati.
Cincinnati had a conveniently located ( far from New York) fellowship program.

So… Larry ended up outside of New York.

It was quite an adjustment.
Three months after leaving the Big Apple, we were driving home from the grocery store in our small car and Larry turns to me and says, “I could never go back to living in New York.”


And his comment had nothing to do with his parents, either.
I think it had something to do with people being polite, drivers that actively were trying to avoid hitting pedestrians, and maybe, just maybe, the fact that not all of the stairwells at work smelled like urine.
It was also rather nice not being awoken to the sounds of teenagers torching cars on the street below our apartment, but maybe that was just me enjoying that little detail.

Years early, his sister had predicted this, even though I am not sure she understood what she was predicting.
She had told him that he wasn’t made for New York, that he just didn’t move quickly or aggressively enough and he was some sort of closet Midwesterner.

Now, I am not crazy enough to think that we have managed to stay married for over 26 years based on the fact that I got him out of New York.
Yes, he owes me something for that, but, at this point, he would be perfectly capable of finding a different abode, outside of New York, sans annoying wife.

We have managed to stay married because of the children.

You see, for years, ever since Ely was old enough to scream, which was at birth- in fact we were repeatedly told that he was the loudest baby in the nursery of the very large and busy metropolitan hospital- I have repeated the following phrase, “If you ever leave me, you have to take the children!”

Oh, I do have two things I do well. I can draw naked people and I can paint Xmas balls.