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Greetings and Sallytations!
Congratulations to all of us for surviving a full year of COVID and all the rules and regulations that came with it. My husband was the Fauci poster child, to say the least. He stayed in place all summer at Leech Lake and all winter in Florida.
The lockdown world was similar to serving a jail sentence, but with better bathrooms and food choices. It’s been a challenge for retired couples, parents at home with children, and those who had to battle the front lines. It’s been a stressful year for everyone. Being together 24 hours, 7 days a week can test your patience, tolerance, and nerves.
My average day in lockdown starts with coffee, “Good Morning America” and some quiet time. I confess, I am not a morning person. I need that first waking hour to enter the world, collect my thoughts, untangle my web of bed head, and just chill out.
Then, there’s my husband—Mr. Chatty Cathy, Mr. Perky, Mr. “What’s for Supper?”— ready to begin the morning with some type of conversation. I’m asking myself, “Why can’t he see these nonverbal visuals (i.e., insults)?”
I gently remind him, gently like an irate pit bull, that I’m wanting that little quiet space as the caffeine is trying to kick in. He tries. That lasts about 30 minutes, which is what I originally asked him for back when I was setting up morning rules.
I smile slightly, at least I think I do, thinking to myself that I don’t care what’s for dinner. Call it chicken or some hamburger dish. He mentions I seem a bit irritable. I quietly remind him about the coffee and quiet request. He reminds me of the 30-minute guideline I laid down. He obviously doesn’t realize that I changed it to an hour. I would think that after seven years of togetherness, he would have figured this out by now, even if I hadn’t told him outright. Some men just have to insist on a clear explanation of everything or they get their noses out of joint.
The other day he asks me, “Have you ever read the autobiography of Clarence Darrow?” Again, this was before 7:30 a.m. I reply with a quick, “No, I haven’t.” Before I could ask, “Who in the world is/ was Clarence Darrow?” he goes on to tell me he read it when he was 15 years old and it’s something I should consider reading.
He’s 67 years old now. I guess I was more impressed that he remembers what he read 52 years ago than anything about this book. My mind starts wandering trying to remember books I read at that age but, again, the coffee has not kicked in. I didn’t want to be rude and not act interested in Clarence Darrow, but asked if it could wait for a dinner conversation.
My husband remembered so much about this book. I was dazzled with his memory. I just wish he could put it to some useful purpose outside of trying to distract me from what he thinks is “Regis and Kathy Lee.” Now I know Regis has passed on and Kathie Lee hasn’t been around television for a while now, but he doesn’t realize this because he is still thinking about Clarence Darrow.
He then goes off to look at his emails, curse the ones that irritate him, mutter things about constant requests for money, and then to calm himself he starts to play games like Suduko and chess on the computer before he lapses into solitaire as a way of letting his mind wander into other things that most people describe as…boring. I then finally get time to finish my coffee before he brings up “War and Peace.”
So, this is my life for the moment. As I type this column, Mark is asking me what kind of potato I want for supper. I can’t make this up. There is no escape from menu planning no matter what. I replied, “How about tater tots?” He suggested a baked spud.
I have to go now—the spud war of 2021 has just started. At least we could agree on the steak and vegetables. Two out of three ain’t bad.
We will get through this, folks. I think it is important to find humor and also to find a good hair color that goes with gray. Over and out!
Sally Yuccas lives in Virginia and winters in Naples, Florida. She is a longtime columnist whose humor is enjoyed by many readers.