Mr. Meticulous

In the years I have been with my husband, one thing became very obvious.  He was a meticulous man.  From his bathroom shelves, to his closet, everything had its place.  He wanted things done right.  He long told the children that it would always save them time to do things right -the first time- and if not, they would end up having to do the job all over again. 

I always liked this idea, at least the part that pertained to the kids.  But, me myself, am not always so meticulous.  My home may seem clean, as long as you don't open any closets or look in any drawers!  Many times, this theory of being meticulous was something that I had to work towards and as I did, I realized that it is just a matter of slowing down.  I noticed that my husband took enjoyment from what most would perceive as small taks.  Not being in such a rush to get a task over with, and to give the task full attention. 

Still, because of my husband's skill of being meticulous, there were just some things he was better at.  I remember one time, I wanted a small button sewn onto a silk robe, so the robe would stay closed.  I decided to hurriedly sew on the button.  When I did, it looked as if the button had been tied onto the pretty robe in a messy knot.  The button hung there loosely and within a few minutes, had already fallen off.

"I can't do this."  I told my husband while handing him the robe. 

"No problem."  He said, taking the garment.

He then sewed the button on for me.  It looked and fit perfect.  From then on, he became the Official Button Sewer and Hemmer in the family.  Same goes for any present wrapping.  My presents look as though I wrapped them with my eyes closed, while standing on one foot.  His, on the other hand, looked as though they came, pre-wrapped from Macy's.  So, on every birthday or Christmas, it became his job to do all the present wrapping.  He was the Official Present Wrapper.  The only thing my hubby asked for, in return, was big kisses!  Easy!

Halloween became his task as well.  During his off hours from work, he spent weeks in advance working on the children's costumes.  He made some fantastic outfits for the children.  He created cowboy outfits, biker outfits, head-on-a-platter outfits.  All, very meticulously thought out, down to the smallest detail.  My hubby became so involved in this part of his duties, that in advance he would arrange for time away from work, so that he could go to the children's school and help them complete their costume for the school's Halloween parade.  The only thing my hubby asked for in return, was a picture of him with our kids.  And, of course,  a kiss from me.

My hubby always took the children trick-or-treating.  He would load them into the back of our 4-Runner, and put the back-hatch down.  He would drive a few blocks and let the children jump out and run to the houses.  Then, back into the truck they jumped, onward to the next few houses.  They stayed out there doing this for hours.  At the end of the night, all would have runny noses and red cheeks from the cold and wind.  When they arrived home, they would find the house glowing with candles and lights, the smell of chili and cinnamon rolls.  They would dump their pillow cases, filled with candy, onto the kitchen floor.  Where my hubby would sort through and inspect each one for them.  The only thing my hubby asked for in return, was two pieces of candy from each child, and a kiss from me.

A couple weeks ago, our youngest child and I were walking through the store, looking at all the Halloween costumes.  I asked him what he wanted to be and he shrugged.  I shrugged, too.  We were both clueless as to where to begin.  It's three days before Halloween and we still do not know yet.  For now we are just going to wing it.  They sure do miss him, and I miss those kisses.

Our Story-Chapter 2 (continued)

"Are you sure?"  I ask.

"Yes."  He said, "We might as well get it done." 

Hands shaking.

 "I'm scared.  I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You just got to get in there."  He assures me.

I dip the razor into the coffee cup filled with water, still hesitant, I ask him if I should trim it with scissors first.  He shakes his head  'No'. 

He curls his top lip tightly down and tilts his chin up towards me.

And I say, "Okay, here goes...."

I press the blade of the razor to the top his mustache and make small motions downward. 

"You can press harder if you want."

"Well, I don't want to cut you." 

My eyes shade over in a misty way, the way they do when tears are about to come.  He then changes his lips into an exaggerated kiss pout.  It looks funny with all the soap.  I lean forward and plant a big one on him, soap and all. 

He, then goes back into the shaving position.  I take a deep breath and firmly press the razor against his mustache and draw downward.  Making small motions and taking more of his mustache off.  Dipping the razor back into the coffee cup, I walk to the bathroom for a change of water.  Pouring the cup into the sink, I watch the remains of carmel-colored hair slip down the drain. 

"Oh, C'mon, you know you have been wanting this for a long time."  He teases.

His mustache had long been a source of teasing between us and there were moments that I really, really, did want to shave that thing off.  He had his mustache when I met him and it was nice and trim and grew down the sides of his mouth and stopped at his chin.  A few years into our marriage, apparently he decided (without me) that he wanted a full Sam Elliot type mustache.  The kind that grew all in one length and would cover his entire front lip. 

I would make jokes, like-  When it gets long enough are you gonna braid it?  I would complain that in order to go in for a kiss I had to go 'under and up' just to find his lips.  When he drank his chocolate milk the whole front of his mustache would become soaked and separate into two dripping points and I would say, "Ummmmm, you have a little something on your lip."  There were times I suggested he get some wax and twist his mustache upward.  It went on and on. 

Every year, on my birthday, he would walk out of the bathroom cleanly shaven and the sight would nearly cause me to faint from shock!  It was kind of like his birthday present to me.  I actually loved when he did that because he had the faintest scar on the right corner of his upper lip.  I found it so sexy.  The rest of the time, the mustache was there to stay.

As I leaned across him, removing more, I knew he was right.  The mustache was getting in the way now.  Especially since he had to wear a cannula for his Oxygen. 

We both knew we would never see him again with that mustache and we also knew that from here on -I would be the one to shave him. 

"Well, Honey, I never really meant all that and now I wish we could keep it." 

While making the last stroke, 

revealing that little scar I liked so much.

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Our Story- Connection in the Stars Chpt 2

One day I was simultaneously talking to my mom while streaking bleach through my hair, giving myself highlights.  She was on a speaker phone and was asking if I had read that book about Astrological love signs my sister had given me to read. I giggled and told her that I had and it said the sign that would be most compatible with me, a Scorpio, was a Cancer.  It was all tongue and cheek as I really wasn't looking for anyone.  But my mom, being a mom, of course pressed.  Knowing her daughter was still a young lady coming out of her first marriage with much to still offer, she asked me what qualities I was looking for in a mate?  This was an interesting question, because in my first marriage, I really hadn't considered that.  So, in light-hearted fashion, I began rattling out a list of my dream guy.

"Of course, he should be kind and good with children.  Patient with me.  I would like to meet someone that was good with his hands.  That liked to fix things around the house.  He should be good with tools so that we could work on weekend projects together.  He would have a rugged exterior, and rough hands, yet, was a big teddy bear inside"  I gleefully told her, happy to have nailed down the qualities of a person I would like to spend time with.

"Do you think that is too much to ask for, Mom?"  I asked. 

She laughed and said, "No, not at all honey".

Later, after my shower, towel wrapped around my head, I poured myself a cup of coffee and looked out of the back window to check on the kids.  Some of the neighborhood children, along with my oldest were playing as sword fighters with sticks in the backyard.  My little one, was on my hip.  I walked with him into the living room and stooped down to play some music on the stereo.  On of my favorite things to do at home on Sunday's was dance with my baby.  We swirled and danced, until out of my front window, something caught my eye.  I put Scott down and peeped outside.

"Oh, it's just that guy from the birthday party a few weeks ago" I thought to myself.  (see the story -The Invisible Man)

I couldn't remember his name, but noticed he was in front of my neighbors house, polishing his truck.  He seemed to be in his own little world, focusing on every tiny detail of the baby-blue 1988 Toyota 4-Runner.  I thought, he must take really good care of that old truck as it still looked brand new. 

I picked up my baby and to his great delight, we swirled around and danced to the music once more.

Today, I received a newsletter from our hospice company, indicating it has been 9 months since my husband passed and that they understand how difficult it has been.  Inside the newsletter was a lovely poem called....

Peace in My Soul

It was such an awesome day

And I stopped to stare at the sky.

My heart skipped a beat as I heard you speak.

When you asked the angel, "Why?"

"I wrote 'I love you' in the sky

As big and plain as can be

How can she stand down there and look up here

And still not be able to see?"

The clouds were broken and thin,

And swirled randomly through the air

I searched and strained at all that remained

Of the swirls of white still there.

The angel's voice was soft and low

As I smiled and raised a brow,

And I heard her say in the sweetest way

"She's starting to see it now."

There's a bittersweet peace in my soul

And a sense of awesome pride

Knowing you're up there writing

Words in the air,

And our love never died.

By Fern Lary Mills

Ray of Light Through Worn Wood- continued

*In remembering my husband, I have been looking at the big picture- seeing who I was before we met allows me to understand the full impact he really did have in my life....*

In my old Ford Bronco, we headed up the freeway through the Wasatch Mountains.  Destination, Strawberry Reservoir.  The views are stunning.  I glance over at Jade.  She's sitting next to me on the bucket seat and is looking out the window.  Behind her passes a stream of Quaking Aspen and Pine.  The blue sky is etched by the towering mountains that have craggy stone faces of grey with peaks still covered in snow.  Looking down at us; as they seem grow taller the closer we get.  All surrounded by bright green fields of the season's new grass and sprinkled with bursts of white, red and purple wildflowers.    

Jade looks at everything going by as though she does not want to miss a thing.  She is only about two years old although she has been on enough of these trips with me to know what to expect.  We will wind up the open highway onto a dirt trail that climbs even further into the mountains, until we see old remnants of tire marks veering off the dirt trail into an oblivion of trees.  We will pull off there and that is where, I will set up our camp.  Since we are only staying one night, we will make a comfy bed in the back of the Bronco.  But first, once we have staked out our campsite, we drive back down a bit on the dirt road and turn to see a beautiful view of Strawberry.  There we pull up to the reservoir and  look around to see a few other cars there, usually other fishermen, getting their gear in order. 

I will pull out my float tube.  Then I will try to find a inconspicuous way to squeeze myself like a sausage into my waders.  Get my boots and flippers on, I will try not to stumble as I get the float tube around my waste, grab my fly rod and walk backwards into the water.  Once I am eased into the water, I will use the flippers on my feet to paddle out into the center of the reservoir, grab my fly-rod and make my first cast out into the water.  That is when I take my first, good, deep breath, as all the stress eases from me.  That is the moment I really look around at the trees and notice the birds in the sky.  That is the moment I feel I am not just an observer of these things but part of it.  That we are all connected and one.  This is the time, my mind is allowed to wander freely. 

All the while, Jade, will lay down on the shore.  Her ears are still up and her posture is as though she is watching and waiting for me to return.  She stays there, because she knows I need her and so she is faithful and waits.  That night at the fire, we will share our grilled corn and fish together.  We will stare at the fire, as though we are talking but in silence.  I will feel very fulfilled in knowing that as a girl, I did this on my own.  At the same time, I will look up at the stars and wonder if I will remain alone.  I will wonder, for a moment if anyone was out there that was truly meant for me. 

In the morning, it will be cold.  We will drink ice-cold milk and eat powdered sugar donuts.  By then, I will feel very grubby and be looking forward to a cup of hot coffee and a shower.  The thought of heading back down the hill and to the subdivisions with identical houses, the gas stations every quarter of a mile, the shopping centers and traffic does not appeal to me.  I wished I lived in a place that I could really breath and catch my thoughts as I packed up the Bronco.  Driving back down the dirt road, I fully intend to turn left to head back to the freeway, but to the right is the reservoir.  I will look at Jade and she will look at me, and we will turn towards the reservoir for one more moment on the water before heading back home.

-Ray of Light Through Worn Wood - continued

One day, I had a chance to connect with a part of me that I had not seen in a while.  My younger sister, the only relative who lived in the same state as myself, offered to watch the kids over the weekend.  I jumped at the chance.  Soon it would be time to drop the children off at her apartment in the Avenue's, a historical and lovely area located in downtown, Salt Lake City.  I was still packing for my little jaunt into the mountains.  The 1987 Bronco, had the back seats pulled down to accommodate for everything I would need.  Which wasn't much, I was a light packer when it came to camping.  Also, I needed to save room for my fly-rod, float-tube, and waders.  So, besides a sleeping bag, I mentally went down my checklist. 

It was only an overnight trip, so I decided to bring a pair of black sweats to go beneath my waders, in addition to what I was currently wearing.  Faded blue-jeans, black socks with white tennies, black tank beneath a white T-shirt and a grey sweater tied around my waist.  My auburn hair, in a pony tail and tucked into a black baseball hat, and not a stitch of make-up on my face, was fine for me.  I'm not going to a fashion show.  If I were lucky enough, I wouldn't see another soul the whole time. 

I packed my cooler with a few simple items.  A gallon of frozen milk.  I always used this technique to help keep other items in the cooler cold.  In the morning, I could always drink the part that thawed, eaten with a package of Hostess powdered sugar donuts.  I threw in a couple limes.  They were going to be perfect to squeeze on the Rainbow Trout I was going to catch for dinner tonight.  Sweet Corn in their husk.  Tonight, I will throw them on the fire coals for dinner as well.  That reminded me.  A Duraflame log.  I consider this a luxury.  I would gather wood and make a pyramid of it in my fire pit, all on top of a chipped piece of Duraflame for easy starting.  Back in the day, when I used to camp a lot, the whole log of Duraflame would last me nearly two seasons as a fire starter.  Oh, and of course, a gallon of drinking water. 

I then, threw a red frisbee in the back of the old Bronco for my dog, Jade.  She will use this as her dog dish and share all of my food and water.  At the time, I had read that if you feed your dog from a frisbee it teaches them easier to catch the frizbee in play.  My dog, Jade, a Black-Lab and Blue-Healer mix, never did catch on to the frizbee game, so I'm not sure how well that technique actually works.  But, she was a hell of a companion, up there in the mountains.  I thought this as she stood there, big grin on her face and tail wagging....

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Chapter One -Ray of Light Through Worn Wood -

**** The passing of my husband due to Pulmonary Fibrosis has left me walking around this Earth with what feels like a heavy weight, to the very core of my being.  Since he has been gone, I still smile, I still dream, I still appreciate the small wonders that unfold within each day, but all while always aware of the weight in the center of my chest.  It is hard to describe, even for myself.  After much thought, I believe it consists of many memories of 'us' that pile on top of one another like a heavy quilt, rich in colors and fabric.  The quilt is so heavy because I carry it alone and I am not used to this, as this beautiful quilt of memories was something that he and I carried together.  ****

-Ray of Light Through Worn Wood-

From the day I handed Rick a slice of cake at my neighbor's birthday party, I hadn't thought about him at all.  I never correlated that this person would be someone who impacted my life.  I had plenty to worry about on my own.  Two small children, 7 and nearly 2, that I loved dearly.  The children's father and I split, over a year ago.  The statistics on marriages that survive a child born with a serious illness are never very good, and ours ended in divorce.  My youngest child was born with a heart problem that was serious enough that I was given the option to terminate the pregnancy when it was discovered by medical professionals.  But, I couldn't do it.  So, two open heart surgeries later, here we all were, the children and I. 

I lived in a house that looked similar to all the other houses on my street.   I picked this house, not for the house itself, but for the grand, mature trees that lined our street.  I loved driving up that street and feeling as though I was under a canopy.  My ex felt as though he needed to find himself and lived in a modern apartment across town.  At the time, he was just trying to save himself from whatever weighed down his spirit and as a result not much thought had gone into what type of support would be given to the children or myself.  I was struggling to get by.  None of the day cares would take my youngest, who at the time was on oxygen to help open his pulmonary arteries.  The children's prior Christmas, consisted of used books and stuffed animals from the local thrift store and of course an orange.  Strangely, they remember that Christmas to this day. 

Time had passed and every day a new problem arose with the house.  My neighbor used to make fun of me for hammering in wayward nails with a rock that I found in the garden.  What was I supposed to do?  The children's father never had a tool box and now it was up to me to get this nail into the wood.  Every night, I cooked the most amazing meals, things I remember my grandmother cooking when I was a child.  Of basics that could be found in even the most sparse cupboards.  I also planted my first garden.  I had always wanted one and thought that I needed help to do it.  But, I found that it was something I could do on my own.  We always had plenty of carrots, tomatoes, cabbage, and mint.  In the evenings, I sat on my porch, which stared into another neighbors back yard- divided by a chain link fence.  I sipped mint tea and gazed at the sunset with the sound of my, and the neighborhood children, playing in the yard and thought, this was about as perfect as life could get...

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