My husband has had the flu for a few days. He will be home in the morning sometime so I’ve deconstructed flights to find out when to pick him up.
I didn’t want to call him as he must awaken well before the sun. Sent an email with what I surmise is his flight schedule and will carry on from there, hoping he calls to correct if needed. Work backwards. Think Ginger Rogers in high heels dancing with Fred Astaire.
When I was young I’d look at married people and ask, how did they learn that? The husband lends his arm to the wife over a patch of ice. Takes a hand crossing the street or just to connect. Husband takes the dog’s leash while wife picks up the poop. Yep, that’s me, religious about picking up the poop.
After years you don’t ask, just know what the other is thinking. When the priest or minister or Navy Captain marries you, there is a sense that you become one. Then there is that strange clank in the sink when your wedding ring hits a dish you’re washing and you realize you’re really married.
Then you adopt a shelter dog because you think your husband will spoil a child rotten, so he does for the dog. He would not argue with that. We were unable to have children but love our cousins, nieces and nephew.
So we are a deconstructed family. We have a dog. For St. Patrick’s day only, Zoe (Greek for life) will be Colleen, Irish for lass. She will wear her new emerald green collar, hand made silk with cherry blossoms sewn in to the pattern. Cheers! Dee