Pictures of Love and How it Should Be

Somewhere along the line, during the process of growing up, little boys and little girls get a picture in their heads of how it’s going to be. This picture is based on, and usually a reaction to what they see around them as they grow up. If they see something that they relate as being good, their little minds say, that’s how it should be. If they see something that they interpret as not so good, their little minds say it shouldn’t be like that. It should be different, and thus a contrary picture is formed as to how it should be. We all came through life with these little pictures in our heads. Many of these pictures have to do with our grown up relationships. Boys and Girls alike come to their adult relationships, including marriage, with presuppositions—pictures—based on what they grew up with. When these pictures clash or just fail to develop in reality (pun intended) is when problems start to arise. You see, the expectations that these pictures produce—and how they are met or not met—become in many cases tests of love. He opens the door for me—he loves me. She cooks me breakfast on Saturday morning—she loves me. He brings me flowers—she loves me. She irons my clothes—she loves me. He carries out the trash . . . . Wait, did I just say, “he carries out the trash?” Yes I did. Can carrying out the trash honestly be seen by anyone as a test of love? To answer that question, yes it can. I have tried to deny it, argue with it, ration with it and just plain push it aside for many years, but in the little girl mind of my wife is the picture of a man happily carrying out the trash, and that picture equals love.

Now I don’t want anyone who reads this to think that my wife is weird or petty. Of course, concerning the trash issue, I used to think she was until today. My wife is no different than any of the rest of us. We all grew up with these pictures. Some healthy, some unhealthy, and some benign, but we all grew up with them. This just happens to be one of the strongest for my wife, and like I said, I didn’t fully realize it until today. I got it after a stressful morning discussion spurred by a political ad on TV.

So, here’s the scene. I’m just a few minutes out of bed, barely working on my first cup of coffee when a political commercial comes on the television during the morning news. In this commercial, our state’s current Senator is trying to show that he is just an every day guy. His wife addresses the camera concerning her husband while he messes around in the background with a cup of coffee. At the end, she asks him to take out the trash. The bone head (who is NOT getting my vote, now) answers in a cheerful Father Knows Best voice, “I’ve got it honey!” Geeze, you can almost hear the 50’s sitcom music playing in the background. I am fighting back a gag reflex when my wife pipes up and says something to the effect of, “I wish you would do that just once.”

Of course, my response is, “I carry out the trash all the time.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

So, like I haven’t ever stepped right into an open bear trap before, I ask, “Well, what are you talking about?” SNAP!!!

It wasn’t all that bad, really. Since I have been here before, I knew what to do. After a lot of gnawing, I was able to escape with my life. What’s one less foot anyway?

Actually, it didn’t really get that far. Her point was, I “don’t ever” (in my defense translate that “seldom”) do anything she asks with a joyful Robert Young/Ward Cleaver response, “Yes dear, I’d love too.” According to her memory, I either ignore the request, argue about it, or when I do accommodate her, I give some smart alek response. Of course I argued the point to the full extent of my wakefulness, but I was finally able to convince her I was unarmed, not having had at least one full cup of coffee, yet. We did talk for a short bit later, and she tried to convince me she really wasn’t that upset. She tried to say that she was just joking based on the commercial. That’s her story, now, and she’s sticking to it, but I have learned a few things, having lived with one woman for almost 35 years. I have learned that there are looks that speak louder than words and these looks aren’t always the angry ones. She doesn’t realize it but I saw one of those looks this morning. This particular look was that of a little girl whose picture of how it should be had just faded away to be replaced by a reality that is not so picturesque. Somehow in her mind, the picture of a husband pleasantly, if not joyfully carrying out the trash is how it should be, and when he does it, it means “he loves me.”

Like I said, I have carried out the trash many countless time in our married life. I mow the lawn. I fix the cars. I cook many of our meals. I am admittedly a challenge to live with, but I do a number of things in my own way and my own time—sometimes without even being asked! But in many ways she is right.

So where does all of this lead? In the past we have argued about whose job it is to take out the trash. As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to chores, taking out the trash is at the top of the gender neutral list. Any man, woman, or even gender challenged person should take out the trash if it is in need of out taking. I finally realized today, however that it means much more to my dear wife. In some odd way, it means love. Me joyfully taking out the trash means everything is the way it should be. That’s sort of a weird concept to me. I’ve tried to show my wife that I love her ever since I met her. Being a guy, it usually meant something physical, but I’ve tried other things too. Gifts, flowers, etc., some hitting the mark, some not, but I have honestly tried. Also, being a guy, I am constantly amazed at what truly means love to her.

So, like I said, she’s no different than any of the rest of us. We all have these pictures in our heads. These pictures were taken when we were small and they slowly developed over time. These pictures aren’t always of reality, but they represent a reality to us. We have them and from them grow expectations and tests of love that we put on other people, especially those closest to us. As far as my wife’s picture concerning the trash goes, I don’t see it as too unhealthy, so I’ve made a choice. I’m going to live that picture out for her and help her fulfill her vision of how it should be. So, dear, from now on, whenever you ask me to take out the trash, my answer will be, “sure, honey, I’d love to,” or at the very least, “as you wish.”



Besides, I’m running out of feet to gnaw off.

ST

What Women Find Sexy

Men, have you ever wondered what is sexy to a real woman? By a real woman, I don't mean one that only lives in your imagination or on the pages of magazines. I mean a woman who will stay around a while—a woman who will love you and put up with your man stuff. I am speaking from some experience here. I have been married for quite a while to a very lovely, real woman, and have done some forced research on the subject.

Now you would think that wearing rugged manly clothes would really turn a woman on, but she tells me that the old worn out jeans, boots, and the flannel shirt with holes in it don’t really do it. When I am in a bit of a feisty mood, sexually, and am wearing my man clothes or my favorite college team T-shirt and hat after my team has laid waste to their opponents, I have attempted a “come on” to her only to find that the mood is not reciprocal in any way.

Being a bit of a hunter, I have come home from a kill, all manned up and full of testosterone only to hear her say I need a shower, a shave and a change. My poker-playing persona doesn’t seem to do it either. Sitting there with a pile of chips in front of me, having vanquished my foes in good order, smelling of victory (sweat, beer, and cigars) doesn’t trip any triggers of attraction with my mate. I was stumped for many years at what really was attractive to my mate. I know that I had been attractive to her at times in the past, but I had not really taken the time to figure out why. Being a man, I just took advantage of the situation and asked no questions. Becoming more comfortable in the ongoing relationship, I did as so many other people do; I eased into my more real self and come to find that my attractiveness seemed to wane or fluctuate at best. I didn’t understand it, and began to wonder why. Loving my wife and our relationship, however I decided to conduct some personal research on the subject to try and better my odds (there’s that gambling thing again).


For many years I was bewildered as I methodically tried to ascertain the key or keys to unlocking the mystery. I tried buying her things. I found that flowers did it many times, but not always. Flowers from a man dressed in hunting clothes was less effective than from a man dressed in dockers and a nice shirt. I tried fine chocolates, but found that this was at times a total mistake. If she was watching her weight, which is almost constant for most women, giving her sweets was worse than smelling of deer scent. So, OK, watching her weight. I gave her an exercise bike. I’m here to tell you that was definitely not the key to me being more attractive to her, and it seemed to effect my attractiveness for quite some time. I tried buying her fancy sleepwear. No go. I tried buying myself sexy under things, thinking that would be the ticket. Not so. In fact that only got a good laugh. Not what I was trying for at all.

I stumbled on one thing by mistake and wondered at it for quite a while. The company she worked for had an annual semi-formal gathering every year, and I was almost forced to wear a tux to the event. This happened for three years running. After the second year I began to notice a pattern. She seemed to be very lovey to me for no apparent reason. After the third year, I began to realize that it might be the tux. This point was further supported by the fact that a young gay man flirted with me a good part of that third night. Now what the hell would a young attractive (I guess) gay man be doing flirting with the likes of me, a middle aged, chubby, balding man? After scoring that night, with my wife, not the gay guy, I started to realize that I might actually be on to something. I wasn’t able to do further research, however, since I had to return the tux the next day.

I seemed to stumble onto other triggers of female attraction as my research continued. It seemed that evenings after a long day of house cleaning went far better than days of such things as watching football or any other type of sports. I did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen for some odd reason one time and the results were headline worthy. Was it a coincidence or not? I wasn’t sure until I picked up my dirty clothes and actually did a load of laundry all by myself completely by mistake one day. Another headline. To further my research, I actually cooked a meal and then cleaned up the kitchen. Stop the presses! We have a breaking story! What was going on? The subject was showing behavior that was truly contrary to what my male mind would expect. Was there a connection between my activities and her amorous responses? It couldn’t be. Or could it? I pressed on with my research.

I stumbled onto another bewildering trigger to my goal of romance purely by accident this last week. I am a man who hasn’t kept his garage in very good order for many years. As I see it, a garage is just so much storage space. I have, however spent the last couple of months cleaning it out in the attempt to turn it into a clean and well-ordered workshop. The unexpected result has been that now I am able to fit a car into the garage when needed. So, when a snowstorm hit our area this last week, I told my significant other that she could pull her car into the garage for the night. Nothing happened that night, but the next night—Wow! What was this all about? So, she didn’t have to scrape the windows and brush off the snow. Big deal. But it seemed to be a big deal to her. Now I’m faced with a quandary, deal with the familiar rejections to my manly advances or lose my workshop to her car. Tough choice.

So, this is what my research has turned up. A man is never more attractive to a woman than when he is cleaned up and wearing formal wear, doing some sort of house cleaning, or giving up his man-cave for her parking comfort. Does this make any sense at all? Not to my male mind. Women are attractive to men for a whole list of different reasons, most of which are not easily definable. A look, a smile, a special way they wear their hair, a special outfit, or especially no outfit at all. But do I want to do dishes just to reap the rewards? Do I want to keep my dirty clothes picked up or relinquish my man-cave merely for the prize that I seek? I can’t do it! At least not in an ongoing pattern. I want my garage back, and housework sucks, period. That’s one of the reasons God gave us women.

I am not willing to live totally without loving physical relations in my life, however. That’s why I went out yesterday and bought myself a tuxedo. I figure the price of a tuxedo is a lot cheaper than the price of any of the other options. Now all I have to do is come up with a good explanation of why I’m wearing the damned thing when I’m hunting, fishing, or playing poker. I wonder if a camo tuxedo would do the trick?





Oh, and one last observation. It doesn’t hurt to trim the nose hairs once in a while.


Who knew?

Meetings Are a Lot Like Enemas

As far as I’m concerned, meetings and enemas have a lot in common. They may both, at times, be necessary, but are definitely a pain in the butt.

Neither should be used more than is absolutely essential, and only to keep things moving smoothly.

When their use is unavoidable, they should be short and effective, as having to do either again would prove to be a rather uncomfortable experience.

And finally, if someone truly enjoys either one or employs their use too often, one may conclude that there is something definitely wrong with this person.

A Different Perspective

I learned a bit of a lesson, today, or at least I think so. Being a middle aged man who rides an old Harley that I built myself from a basket case and a lot of swap meet parts, you might not believe that I also ride the totally gnarly wave of audio technology, but it’s true. Well, to a point, it is true. It is a fact that I didn’t get a CD player until I was almost legally required to do so. I still have my original copy of Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida enshrined on an alter in a secured room. I had to ask my son to move out of the house, or at least into the garage to make room for the shrine, but he’s 14 and should be able to handle it. He visits now and then, and hopefully, some day he'll understand.

This wave of audio technology I talk about is summed up in two words i Pod. Yes, I own an actual Apple iPod brand MP3 player. I got it for Christmas. It’s not one of those little shuffles, either. Though it’s not the biggest one, it is a Nano with 8, yes count them, eight gigs of storage! To quote Tim Allen, “Aarrghh, Aarrghh, Aarrghh!” This is cool, because I’ve been a music head since the British tried to repackage American blues and rock and sell it back to us wholesale. I got the iPod from my dear and beautiful wife because that’s what I wanted for Christmas, and my birthday combined since they both fall in December. My wife did it up good, though. She not only bought me the iPod, but many of the cool “necessities” that go with it. Probably the coolest of these extras was the little radio wave converter that allows me to play my pre-programmed digital collection through my car’s radio. No more inane chat. No more listening to the same 5 “hit” songs over and over, whether they be new or classic hits. I am in charge of my own musical listening destiny! Or at least I was until I lost the radio converter thingy. That sucked. I had no idea where it could be. I looked and looked. I cleaned things that hadn't been cleaned in months in hopes that I would find it. I was afraid to admit it to my wife for fear of chastisement, but when I did, she couldn’t find it either. Purchasing a new one was becoming a consideration, but this particular item goes for around fifty dollars.

Finally, today, I was sitting in the back of my cubicle at work while waiting for the local computer guru to do some troubleshooting. I never sit back there, or at least in that position, a half sitting/leaning sort of pose against the credenza that is usually a catch all for junk. I seldom have reason to, but as I sat/leaned there, waiting for him to do the voodoo that he do so well, my gaze wandered to something on the floor under the edge of my desk. Yep, you guessed it. It was my radio converter! What it was doing there, I don’t know, but I never would have found it, or it would have taken much longer if I had not been looking from a totally different perspective than normal. In fact, no other perspective than that particular one would have allowed me to spot and recover the missing treasure, for I could only see a very small part of it peaking out at me. It was an exasperating problem with my computer that brought about the tech visit, but it put me in the exact position I needed to be in to find the thing I had been missing and was trying to find.

It seems like there should be a moral to this story, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on it.

Oh, well. Maybe you can figure it out. If so, let me know.

ST

Oh, by the way. Here's my bike.

Bad Harley! Bad Boy!

Don Imus Leaves a Legacy

Just for the record, I didn’t know who Don Imus was until this week. Just in case you are less informed than I, Don Imus has been a legendary “shock jock” for some years, I guess. He is a radio personality with a large listener ship, or so the story goes. Who knew? Don Imus had never crossed my personal radar in my whole life until this last week when a firestorm of controversy came down upon him for a remark which, if it were not highly racist, is still so derogatory in nature that it’s public utterance should be called into question. In an ill considered, flip remark concerning a predominantly African American college girls’ basketball team Imus took center stage in national news and controversy, and entered into my world of knowledge and consideration, as well. I don’t have a lot to say about him or his remark. The public outrage has been so great, that he has become the veritable “sacrifice” our current society demands to pay for our collective sins of racism. Does he deserve it? I'm not the one to be the judge of that. However, to be honest, I don’t think there is any real place in our world for that sort of comment. Imus lost his job over the remark. No amount of apology seemed to be sufficient to dam up the rushing waters of public opinion and reactive sponsor withdrawal. He’s in the media. He’s an entertainer. He has fallen into the Dixie Chicks trap. He opened his mouth publicly without consideration of how his audience would take it or how it would affect his income. In effect they both put their mouths where their money is. One funny thing is that in his own defense, he stated that he was not a bad person. He should have added, “but I may qualify as a complete and total moron.”
With all that said, there is only one main point I truly want to make here. Again, as I said, I didn’t know who in the world Don Imus was until this all hit the media fan this week. How wonderful it must be to have this as his only legacy in the minds of myself and so many others.

"Who is Don Imus?"

"Oh, he’s that racist DJ who is out of work, now."

"Oh. . . yeah."

How's the Weather Down There?

(To be honest and give credit where credit is due, the inspiration for this one came from a comment my wife made. The rest is mine, but she did inspire it. So there! ST)

“OK, here we go. (dialing phone) 4-1-1.”

“Hello? Information?-----What city?-----Well it’s not really a city, (under breath) though Detroit may come real close.-----What’s that?-----Oh, nothing. I’m just wanting to know the phone number for hell. -----How do you spell it? H-e-l-l. You know double toothpicks . . . Double hockey sticks? Hades? The Inferno? The Nether World?-----Yes, that hell. Do you have a listing?-----Oh, good. What is it?-----(repeating) 1-800-666-6666. I should have known. Oh, well. Thank you very much. You can connect me for no extra charge? That would be great. Thank you.”

(Ringing)

“Oh, hello. Is this Hell?-----It is? Wow! To whom am I speaking?-----Oh, so you’re not the big guy?-----No, I guess I wouldn’t be answering the phone if I were him either. Sorry.-----What do I want? Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I don’t want to waste your time. Although, as I understand it, you pretty much have eternity on your hands, there, right?-----Sorry. Forget I even said that. -----Yes, to get to the point. OK . . . well . . . I was just wondering . . . how’s the weather down there?-----Yes, the weather.-----Why would I care about the weather in hell?-----Am I planning a visit soon? Oh, no, nothing like that. Or at least I hope not. It’s just that . . . well . . . there have been some developments up here, top side that got me to thinkin' it may not be quite as hot as it usually is down there.-----What developments?

Well, for starters, my daughter, Becky . . . oh, yes, I’m sure you know of her. But listen, she’s a fantastic kid, or young woman, now. Always has been, but I"m no fool. I know she had her moments. I’ve got the gray hairs to prove it. Well, you see, she straightened up, started going to church, and went so far as to marry a minister. Well, yes I was glad.-----Of, course. -----Yes, I understand.-----I’m sure your boss wasn't. In fact, I’m sure some heads rolled for losing that one.-----Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, that’s not the worst of it.

Next, there is my son.-----Yes, Jesse. A pretty good boy, though I know he’s pulled a few shenanigans, himself.-----He what? I didn’t know that. I guess I’m going to have to have a talk with him. Anyway, I’m not real worried about him; at least I wasn’t until you started talking, but he’s one of those young people that I call “hosers”. He’s never really been a slacker, but these hosers are just different. They don’t see the need to look or act particularly normal, or even dress well, unless it’s a holiday or something then it’s a bit overboard with the outfits and hats and even colored hair and stuff. I don’t really know if he’s a gen X, Y, Z or what, but as most generations of parents before us, we’ve all wondered if the generation that follows ours is ever going to get it together.-----Yes, I know, eternity not withstanding, I’m wasting your time. Sorry. Well, here’s the deal. Jesse now works at the Target Corporate headquarters and, get this, he wears a tie to work. Can you believe that?-----Well, yes, I’m sure you know about it. Of course. You’ve got your ways. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm unbelieveably happy for him. But I'm just a bit blown away at the same time. Jesse . . . corporate office . . . shirt and tie!

Now just settle down. I'm tryin' to get to the point. There is one last thing, though.


Last week, Gayle and I . . . now don’t start telling me stuff about her. I don’t want to know.-----Good. You had me worried there for a minute.-----Oh, so now you're the comedian? I guess I deserved that one. Well, last week we were coming out of a restaurant when we ran into one of Jesse’s good friends. You know the guys he calls Tokes?-----Yeah, that’s him, the founding member of the long running Punk band, Nuke.-----Yeah, his real name is Chris. Well, the thing is, when I first met him, he was about 14 and had a long, colored, spiked Mohawk to go with his complete and utter devotion to his band and punk music in general. Later he shaved his head. Oh, yeah, he had that pet alligator for a long time. Then he got some tattoos, and you know the whole Punk bit. I’m sure you have a number of them down there. Well, this time, when we met Chris . . . Tokes, his hair was normal, he was with his young wife, and his new baby. Can you imagine this died in the wool punker with a wife and kid?-----Well, yeah, I know it happens, but I didn’t ever expect it from him. But here’s the real kicker. The band, Nuke finally broke up. I never thought it would, but that’s not the worst part. Chris, or Tokes, is now playing old school country and western music.-----Yes, he is. -----You mean you didn’t even know that? I guess your network isn’t quite as good as you thought. But it’s the truth. Country and western. You know, Johnny Cash, and Hank Williams and the like. And he swears he likes it!

My point?-----Not the time thing again?-----Well, my point is this. With all this going on up here, the wife and I were wondering how the weather was doing down there.

Really?-----Frozen over?-----No kidding. Completely?-----No thaw in the forecast? Wow! Can’t say I’m surprised, though. With all that’s been going on up here, if you know what I mean. Heck, the Eagles’ reunion . . . yeah, the first one, is nothing compared to all of this. Well, I won’t waste any more of your eternity . . . I mean time.-----Yeah, I know. I’m a funny guy. And you should learn to lighten up, hellfire and brimstone and eternity not withstanding. I’m sure things will heat up soon enough. Kind of makes you understand us Minnesotans a little better though, don’t you think?

Anyway, good-bye.

ST