Sometimes It's Okay to be Corny!

How is it possible that I have now lived with a person who is my complete opposite for longer than I was alive as a single person?! And don’t get me wrong, I’m not being critical. Jack and I ask ourselves this question on a regular basis. What do we have in common? He is a morning person, full of vim and vigor and get up and go, who accomplishes more than ten men in a day within an hour. I am a night person, roaming about the house throughout the wee hours, reading, sometimes writing, peering out the windows, lurking outside and looking at toads and lizards (sometimes talking to them), while ruminating on the meaning of life.

Jack greets me cheerily in the morning as I amble out (disappointed, yet somehow grateful that I’m still here) with his agonizing question, “What are your plans for today?” In my mind, I’m planning to survive, but only if I mainline some caffeine first.

On one of our first major arguments, we both left the house in our cars and veered off in opposite directions at the end of the street while shooting the finger at one another. I don't know what we were thinking, because we both had to sheepishly return to the same house. As corny as it may seem, we were too responsible and dedicated to each other to do anything else.

How many times have we argued, wanted to throw things, actually thrown things, and wanted to simultaneously strangle each other during these almost three decades? How many arguments or, worse yet, silences have we foolishly prolonged over conflicting opinions on raising a child or the perceived insensitivity of one over another? (Actually, usually those sensitivity arguments were mine, because he just doesn’t talk about those things, unless forced. How insensitive is that?!!)

On the other hand, how many times have we laughed uncontrollably at something that finally hit us both as ridiculous, or said the exact same thing at the same time, or brought home identical groceries? How much joy have we experienced from a son that somehow manages to understand that we’re strange, yet brings his friends over to display us without embarrassment (well, maybe some embarrassment) and tells us he loves us even in front of his macho amigos and girlfriends?

Incredibly, Jack has put up with my annoying ability to sing a song phrase, Tourette’s style, which fits any occasion, and let me tell you, I remember all the verses to ditties like “A Good Breakfast Starts My Day.” I, on the other hand, have learned to translate his alien-speak to Earth language. For example, when he tells me that he put the hat in the microwave, I intuitively know that he put the mayonnaise in the refrigerator. Jack once reprimanded my son, “Young man, get in here and put your kitchen in the chicken!”

“What, exactly does he want me do?” my son asked.

“He wants you to put your dishes in the dishwasher,” I whispered, and we both laughed, but David complied.

My husband is often in another world of high-tech thinking; the house is littered with bits of paper, doodled with reminders and numbers; the dryer and washing machine filled with drill bits and odd little tubes, our garage (never again to house a car) is filled with God only knows what. It drives me crazy, but I can live with it, obviously. Just before he left on another long business trip recently he frantically informed me that he had torn the house apart looking for a charger for another of his technical doo-higgy whatevers. "Did you look under your recliner?" I asked.

"Here it is! How did you know?" he asked.

After this long, I know.

His is a beautiful mind and underneath all of the sternness, a beautiful soul. On the rare occasion of getting one Martini into him, he’s hilarious. And believe me; I know that I am no piece of cake. After all, I must unfortunately, live inside my own head—for me, that makes 27 years with a great guy like Jack seem a cake walk. I can’t imagine what it must be like for someone on the outside who can’t envision my convoluted reasoning to stick with it over the years.

For the first twenty years, we never spent so much as a night apart. Then for the last seven we have spent many weeks apart due to his changed travel schedule and economic necessity. Once again, on this anniversary, he is all the way across the country. Maybe certain people are meant to get together even if they have to cut the jigsaw parts to fit, or like Jack hide the last pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in his pockets so that he can put in the final pieces. What a control freak!

Somehow we managed to raise a wonderful son who has profited from our odd quirks rather than suffered from them. Thank God. It could easily have gone the other way. Now we have to figure out how to live together again, just me and Jack, and two old dogs that think I’m THEIR wife.

In any case, we all have lessons to learn in this life and I sincerely believe that’s how and why we find each other.

I’m very, very glad that we did.

Happy 27th, Jack-a-roon!