| A Word Edgewise by Mary Joe Clendenin |
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| A Word Edgewise by Mary Joe Clendenin |
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IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO
It takes two to tango--and to do an increasing number of other things at this stage of the game in the Clendenin household. In fact, if measurement were done, in some non threatening way, I'm afraid the two heads of husband and wife would be less than one.
For example, it takes two to grocery shop. One day last week Ray went to the store go get four unsweetened gelatins, eggs, bird seed, and crushed no-sugar-added pineapple. He came home with one unsweetened gelatin, one instant vanilla pudding, one chocolate pudding, one regular gelatin. After all, they were on the same shelf. The pineapple he got was canned in heavy syrup. Since I was going that direction I offered to do an exchange and get the eggs. I did exchange for the wanted items, got a loaf of bread and forgot the eggs. He went back to get the eggs. Oh, well, what would H.E.B. do for fun if we didn't come.
It takes two to eat watermelon--him to eat it and me to caution not to drop juice on the floor. Granted, my part is minor and unheard. When my feet start sticking to the floor I've become fairly adept at mopping with my foot--getting a wet paper towel and scooting it over the spots I can see on the floor--then I only stick to the ones I couldn't see. I've given up regular mopping since I slid down the last time around. Took two to get me up, him to tell me how and me to crawl to the carpet before trying.
You see, I'm not the only one who gives instructions in this household. It takes two to drive, me behind the wheel and him to tell me how. Gets really interesting when we're in a strange town trying to find our way by reading street signs or numbers. I concentrate on driving cautiously as he tries to see the signs. Always, he sees them after I've gone too far to turn or stop. No matter. We take that in stride. We make a block or go turn around. We almost always hit it the second time around. Actually, we get where we're going without being late--nearly always. In fact, we've even gotten to parties and reunions a whole week early.
It takes two to open jars. One to hold the jar and one to turn the lid. Also to open a cracker box. My fingernails are so brittle I can't open the cardboard, and he can't open the plastic tubes at the seams so they can be reclosed more easily.
Of course, we get impatient with each other, but we're learning. In the past we didn't undertake tasks together because our methods and procedures were always different. (As in making up the bed: He pulls the top sheet completely off, tucks everything, smooths and walks around the bed about ten times. It looks great when he finishes. I'm not so particular. I spread and pull and go around once, twice at the most. It looks--oh, well.) Each wanted to do it our own way. That has had to change. Whether his way or my way, we have to compromise with our way now. We're slow learners, but gradually we've come up with methods that accomplish our goal or get us where we want to go eventually.
It takes two to find things in our house. Either one of us, acting alone, can loose many things, but it takes two to find them. An instant came up just yesterday when Ray lost his car keys. He needed to go to the grocery store, again, and reached for the usual nail where he hangs his keys. They were not there, He began mentally retracing his steps all the way to the barber shop. Obviously, he got home with them. He picked up the paper from the yard on the way in. So, while he looked in the car, on the path to the paper place, in the grass in the vicinity, I went to his recliner and found them in the side. Then he was free to help me find the book I was reading.
Surely, I found a quote that describes our marriage that "hangs in there". Corey Donaldson said, "A good marriage is simply the union of 'two awfully good forgivers'. To forgive is to put the offense away completely." I would add that it is an attitude of "this episode may be irritating today, but tomorrow we can see the amusement of it." Lord, give us the hind-sight that allows us to count such short-falls as blessings, too.