Not, yet, we haven’t!

Before I made it back to the kitchen, the phone rang, again.

Jeff grabbed that call, too. Another one-sided conversation commenced.

“Oh, hi! How are you?” he greeted, warmly.

“When’s that?”

“Oh, on the 6th? Well, that’s our anniversary. Let me check…”

“Hey, they’re takin’ pictures for the church directory,” Jeff shouted out to me. “They wanna know if we can get our photo done next Friday. We don’t have anything planned, do we?”

“Not, yet, we haven’t.” I answered. “What time is the latest appointment? Probably can’t get there before 6.”

“Didja hear that?” Jeff asked the caller. “Ok. 6 o’clock, it is. What’s that?”

His voice swelled with happiness and pride; his answer booming out of a mile-wide smile. “We’ve been married 5 years!”

“Not, yet, we haven’t!” I shouted back.

“Didja hear that?” Jeff guffawed. “She said, not yet, we haven’t.”

I wonder what the other person’s impression was of my retort. To Jeff and I, it was a silly, humorous complaint and retort. A full-swing, fast-paced verbal dance, we often threw at each other. It stemmed first from frustration, and later, my fear.

Years before, Jeff had either done something I had asked him not to, or hadn’t done something I had asked him to do. Whichever it was, my ending escalated to, “You keep that up and we’re not gonna make it to our 5th anniversary!”

I continued to use it, after that. Sometimes, joking. Sometimes, not.

I used it when he’d come back from the kitchen with a bowl of ice cream, never having asked me if I wanted some. I used it when Jeff accidentally said something that could be hilariously misconstrued as a complaint, but very much wasn’t.

I used it after philosophical discussions, when we could not find a common ground. I used it when things didn’t quite go the way I wanted. I used it when he’d joke with a waitress that I needed a whole ‘nother day to look at the menu. I used it to emphasize the damaging stupidity of chewing tobacco. I used it, creatively, in countless ways.

No matter which way it went, though, Jeff’s reply followed formula, too. It always started with, “You wouldn’t be so lucky!”

It always ended with a variation of a good-natured, extended promise. “I’m gonna live ‘til I’m 80! You’ll see.” “I’m gonna live so long, you’d wish you’d gotten rid of me.” “I’m gonna be botherin’ you for a long, long time, Wort.”

I don’t doubt the person on the other side of the phone knew we were kidding. I just wonder if  our conversation ever crossed their mind, again.

Quote for the Week: 2019 07 02 Some inside jokes are easy to explain jakorte

Coffee, in a Clutch

Friday, September 29, 2006.

Jeff was up early with me, Friday morning, and very much back to being his usual perky self. While I was in the shower, he made coffee and packed my work breakfast and lunch for me. I knew I would be short a van pool passenger this morning, which gave me a few extra minutes.

So, I sat and sipped my creative, coffee surprise of the day. Raspberry flavored coffee with vanilla creamer. Jeff and I had joined the Gevalia coffee club, convinced by the free coffee maker. The flavor assortment was a bonus, too. Back then, whole beans were considered radical. But, we had a spice grinder; specifically dedicated to coffee. Fancy.

Jeff was the brew-master, in-charge of keeping our cabinet stocked. Each new shipment was a challenge to him. I can only recall one time when I had to explain that I hadn’t been able to drink the disaster in my cup.

I’m not a fan of scalding hot coffee. I prefer cold, however cool, room temperature, and lukewarm are acceptable alternates. Yes, I’m that person – the one who uses a spoon to chase ice around a water glass to cool my coffee. Because of this, I rarely drank my freshly- brewed, morning beverage at home. Hardly ever on my commute, either.

Insulated car cups hadn’t come close to popularity, or reaching and reacting the efficient way they do now. As the van pool driver, my commute was close to an hour. So, by the time I got to work, the coffee in my up-cycled, individual soda bottle, was a pleasant room temp. In summer, it was almost properly chilled from parking in front of the air conditioned vents.

The conversation about the concoction I threw away, ended in laughter, as usual.

I started it. “Whatever you put in my coffee, this morning, please, don’t ever do that again.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“No. It was terrible!”

“Oh.” Jeff pondered. “It seemed like it would work, to me.”

“What was it?”

“Hazelnut, but there wasn’t enough. So, I added the cherry kind we got in Traverse City. Then, we were out of cream, so I added the rest of your chocolate milk.”

He was right. A chocolate-covered, cherry cordial hugging a hazelnut sounded like it should have been good, but…

Quote for the Week:2019 05 21 complex flavors dont always make the cut jakorte

 

 

 

 

a skosh over…

So, I got to thinking…

Shocking, I know.

I had already determined that I have been blogging “A Year of Memories,” for more than a year.

I was curious, though, to figure out exactly how long it’s taken me to get to the part that started it all; the reason.

Not counting previous mentions of memories in the multiple runs prior to “A Year,” I’ve discovered it’s been way longer than I thought.

Shocking, also: my first post under this categorical title, was published…

September 29, 2015. At 9:08 PM, to be exact.

 

I didn’t know I had so many stories to tell. Short ones, long ones.

Funny, sweet, philosophical, melancholic.

182, in my unofficial skim. Mathematically, a skosh over 3.5 years.

Unbelievably, I have so many more.

Believably, I’ve nicely managed to keep putting off the inevitable.

 

There are going to be tears. There will need to be hindsight – without self-blame.

There will be horrific truths and horrifically funny, sometimes inappropriate, recall.

 

There will also be love.

Between every word. Within every line.

After the laughing. After the crying.

 

Stick with me. Stick with us. Stick with it.

I promise: we’ll get back to laughing, again.

 

Quote for the Week:

2019 04 09 for every tear a joy jakorte

 

 

Dog Gone, Repeat

It was more than a little bit my fault. I was going for the mail, when our mischievous little bit darted through the door on a Saturday afternoon. She silently slipped behind me, which was amazing, as she was an unusually heavy-footed pup. Stealth really wasn’t her style.

Sadie had slyly wedged herself against me as I  turned the door knob. I looked down at her adorable face and foolishly said, “Stay.” I don’t know why I thought that would work. Never had in the past.

She took it as an invitation to tag along. Sadie pushed through the slight crack, pranced down the drive, t turned a hard right without hesitation.

By the time I got to the street edge, she was out of my sight. I forcefully bellowed her name, hoping she’d hear me. It’s safe to assume most of the neighbors heard me, because Jeff showed up at the door.

Coming out of the house, he called down to me. “Why’re you calling her? Is she with you?”

I wailed the obvious. “No! She ran away!” Then, quickly requested, “You try calling her!”

Instead, Jeff did an about-face and headed back inside. “Let me get my shoes!” he tossed back-over his shoulder.

“Ugh! You don’t need shoes to shout!” I shouted, as the door closed behind him.

Left on my own, I started scouting for Sadie. Within seconds, I spotted her sneaky spots squeaking between two houses on the other side of the street. I headed that direction, only hesitating to glance toward the house when I heard the front door slam, again.

Jeff had wandered back outside, with a firm grip on his car keys and slippers on his feet.

Sadie heard the slam, too. She took off at a sprint, again, heading around the curved corner of our street.

“Argh! I think she’s just gone around the corner!” I informed my husband, assuming he was going to track her down by circling the neighborhood.

He didn’t. Instead, he just stood there next to our old beige Buick, repeatedly hitting the lock button. I surmised he was just having some sort of bumble trouble. But, I was wrong.

The car horn beep-blasts served as a Sadie beacon. She showed up panting and smiling. Just sat her cute little butt down by the driver’s door. Ready and waiting, eagerly watching Jeff.

“Whelp….’ Jeff tossed the keys from one palm to the other. “We need to go for a ride, now.”

“Um, no, we don’t.’ I countered. “Let’s not reward her for running away.”

“Oh, no.” Jeff shook his hands and head. “We’re not rewarding her for running away! We’re rewarding her for coming back!”

When it was obvious I wasn’t immediately following his train of thought, he clarified. “It’s happened before.”

Narrowing my scowl, I put my hands on my hips preparing to ask how it was that I didn’t know of this before, even though I knew the answer.

Before I could formulate an appropriate scorn, Jeff added an addendum.

“Besides,” he reasoned. “It’s a good day for an ice cream, anyway.”

I processed his Jeff-logic and realized the rub. Sadie knew what would happen if she wandered. Jeff knew what would happen if she wandered. That explained her carving a familiar path, and matched his lack of concern. They both waited patiently.

Of course, the ice-cream tricked worked on me, as well.  I laughed at them both, then headed inside to get my purse.

Those two were made for each other, and made for me, too.

Quote for the Week: 2019 04 02 a pleasurable punishment encourages repeat jakorte

 

 

 

Chucking Chuck

Splat.

It turned out that Jeff hadn’t been expecting me, at all. “No! No! Not you!” He exclaimed. “Sadie!” Jeff shouted and pointed. “It’s Sadie!” He waved his arms as he launched another piece of meat skyward, calling, “Here, Puppy, Puppy!”.

We completed an impressive, synchronized peer-over.

Hyper-girl was ping-ponging around, running a non-direct, Jack Russell route. She was making a bee-line toward the tree line, and Jeff was chucking chuck to get her to come back.

Our only slightly attentive lassie, was only slightly interested in what he had to say, but she was starting to sniff out the meat. Each morsel delay lasted about 2 seconds, then she’d turn her back and resume her directionally impaired run for freedom.

I resituated my grease-smudged glasses, and scooped the fallen bit from my sneaker top where it had finalized its landing. Struggling to quickly (aka ungracefully) open our escape-proof gate, I wasn’t exactly able to immediately bolt down the stairs.

Sadie saw me. Her homeward-galloping greeting was perfectly interrupted by another falling fragment. She was swift. I wasn’t swifter.

I had an advantage, though. By placing her tail-end toward me, I was in prime position to scoop up the little scoundrel just as she scarfed another bite of my supposed supper.

When she was safely back up-top, I set her down, and turned to Jeff. “How the heck did that happen?”

He’d been flipping a burger and caught a blur in the corner of his eye. When he fully turned towards it, he saw Sadie happily prancing along.

“Ok.” I said. “But, how did it happen? The gate was closed. I couldn’t get it open!”

“Hmm,” he remarked. “I kinda wondered what you were doing….”

Jeff and I mirrored surprise faces, and simultaneously scanned. She’d ghosted.

Sadie Bug Lady Bug and I played a one-sided game of tag, for a 5-minute while. Jeff watched and coached, offering wrangling advice and helpful stealth tactics. I finally got her.

Carrying Her Highness of Happiness up the stairs, again, I proposed we watch her to figure out her Houdini act. I waited at the bottom of the stairs. Jeff waited atop; at the barrier.

Soon enough, a patchwork head and two frisky paws popped through to the right of the door.

She was about to make a jump for it, but Jeff snagged her wiggly butt and hauled her back.

Sadie had, somewhat smartly, squeezed between the wider, wooden railing slats, and jumped down to the steps. We remedied with additional, in-between slats.

Since, we weren’t sure she’d be able to gauge the inappropriateness of a 5-foot leap to the ground, Sadie’s future deck-scapades were seriously supervised.

There were a few other canine escapes. The first one was accidentally resolved, which might have made my latter incident easier to resolve. If I’d known about that first one….

Quote for the Week: 2019 03 26 Where there’s a will there’s way jakorte

 

 

Meet the Bus

I met The Bus on my first trip to Tecumseh. Parked next to a pole barn/garage, which later successfully served as a wedding reception venue, it wasn’t immediately visible from the road. Yet, it was certainly Jeff’s pride and joy and the perfect vehicle to gather friends and family. The bus’s main function was to provide lodging in the Michigan International Speedway infield during race weekends. Although, it did also serve as a wedding shuttle, once.

My tour initiated with an abrupt, boot-heel push- in of the rusty accordion door and a push out of a strong odorous something… a little… hmm… Dank? Rotten in Denmark? Wet dog who’d just taken a 12-hour hot beer bath? I hesitated, but Jeff barely notice the sharp tang. Not wanting to be rude, I held my breath. Then, when I had to breathe, it was with a hand over my mouth and pinching my nose until my nostrils were sealed. “Oh!” Jeff exclaimed. He wasn’t, however, moved by my predicament or by the many fragrant forgotten un-treasures.

That first, and relatively only slightly assaulting smell, turned out to be a loaf of petrified, hideously green bread hiding beneath on of the liftable storage/seat benches. Jeff amused himself by rapping his knuckles on it and scientifically wondering what he might find inside of it if he were to break it. I requested he not experiment in my presence by squealing, “Oh. My. God! Don’t you dare!”

Deeper, near the back of the bus where the trouble-makers usually sit, the real, abusive attack began when Jeff pried open the off-white lid of an insulated cooler. The reek that jumped out and slapped us turned out to be a half-dozen half-leaky or fully exploded beer cans encased in the previously well insulated blue bottom of the tub. Two six-packs of bow-lidded and likely skunked beer cans were hanging out in there, too.  Jeff just shook his head, lamented, “Well… that’s a shame.”

Adding even more moldy atmosphere were numerous sets of soggy shoes and one stray, randomly strewn clothing and a few moldy towels. “Oh. My. God!” I said, backing away as fast as possible. “Yeah,” Jeff shrugged, and followed my retreat path.

As we reached the front of the bus, Jeff suddenly smiled widely. “I’ve been wondering where that shirt went to! It’s my favorite!” He was, in my opinion, unsoundly, and deliriously happy as he grabbed at a wadded ball of crunchy fabric resting on the window ledge next to the driver’s seat.

“Um, I don’t think that can be salvaged…” I ventured.

“Nah,” he replied, still grinning. “It’ll be ok after it’s washed.”

I remember thinking, “I hope he’s not serious…” I must have not hidden my doubt well, because he laughed. “I’ve washed stuff worse than this before!” He shared, waving it at me, adding,…”at least, it’s not dried cow-pocky! That stuff’s haarrddd to get out!”

Even as a city girl unfamiliar with cow-anything, I got his drift. Somehow, I forgot to remember to not use my nose. I let go a laugh, followed by a gag. I tripped a little on the tiny, awkward half-spiral stairs that were more suited for school children sized feet. I wobbled, recovered, wobbled, got one foot on the ground, wobbled some more and saved myself from a complete side-plant by settling into a one-knee tucked under me, sitting position.

 After he stopped laughing, and wiped his eyes, Jeff looked back at the bus. “Yeah,” he scrunched up his nose, “I guess it’s gonna need some cleanin’ up before the race.”

I told him, I’d be glad to help with the cleaning, but he’d have to get rid of all the stinky stuff, first – without my help.

“Ok,” he agreed, amicably. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, and hands on his hips, Jeff chuckled a tongue-in-cheek question. “Do you always fall like a ballerina?” I rolled my eyes. “Because,” he continued, “I’d kinda like to see that again!”

Quote for the Week:

2018 07 10 One man_s trash isn_t always another man_s treasure jakorte

 

Remote Separation

Keeping to authenticity, the note was typed in all caps. The first line about gave me a heart-attack and sky-rocketed me into panic-mode. Half a sentence later, I was shaking my head, and only half grimacing.

FYI: I decided not to [SIC] everything.  😉

Jeff:

WELL, YOU ARE SOOOO WELCOME !

BUT, I WAS HAVING THE SHAKES AND PASSED OUT SEVERAL TIMES THIS MORNING. I CALLED THE DR. RIGHT AWAY AND SHE TOLD ME I HAD POST-TRAUMATIC REMOTE CONTROL SEPARATION SYNDROME.

SHE TOLD ME TO TAKE TWO ASPIRINS AND CALL THE PTRSS SOCIETY. SO, I CALLED THEM AND THEY SAID THEY WOULD BE HAPPY TO HELP ME OUT WITH MY PROBLEM FOR A SMALL DONATION OF 500 DOLLARS. AND WITH THAT, I CALLED THE CREDIT UNION TO MAKE AN ELECTRONIC FUNDS TRANSFER OF 600 TO THE FUND FOR PTRSS SOCIETY.

WHEN I FINISHED THAT I CALLED THE PTRSS SOCIETY AGAIN AND THEY SAID THEY WOULD COME OVER TONIGHT AND ASSIST ME IN THIS NON LIFE THREATENING BUT VERY BOTHERSOME DISEASE. THEY HAVE FOUND IT IS TRANSFERRED THRU A GENE FROM THE MOTHER THAT IS DORMANT IN FEMALES, BUT IS VERY ACTIVE IN A MALE.

I HAVE FOUND THIS TO BE VERY INTERESTING AND I AM LEARNING QUITE A BIT. MY GOAL FOR THE PTRSS SOCIETY IS TO START A TELETHON WITHIN TWO YEARS AND HAVE AS MUCH SUCCESS AS JERRY LEWIS AND MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY.

MAY I ADD THAT JERRY IS ALSO A SUFFERER OF PTRSS AND THAT HE DONATES A LARGE SUM TO THE PTRSS SOCIETY EVERY YEAR. HE TRIES TO KEEP IT VERY LOW KEY , AS HE IS ACTUALLY A PRETTY PRIVATE PERSON.

OH, AND DID I TELL YOU THAT JERRY LEWIS CALLED ME PERSONALLY AND TOLD ME HOW IT FEELS TO SUFFER FROM PTRSS. HE REALLY IS AS NICE ON THE PHONE AS HE IS ON TV. AND HE SANG TO ME… IT WAS SUNG TO THE TUNE OF “YOU WILL NEVER WALK ALONE.” HE CHANGED THE WORDS TO “YOU WILL NEVER CLICK ALONE.”

WELL, THAT’S ABOUT ALL THE EXCITEMENT I CAN HANDLE FOR ONE DAY. HOPE THINGS QUIET DOWN A BIT AROUND HERE.

i love youuuuuuuu

Me:

Wow! You are my hero! Can I smooch you when I get home?

Jeff:

you may smooch me anytime, anywhere

Quote for the Week:

2018 05 22 Blessed are we who know when to laugh

Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links

Well Put: The Blessing of Laughter

Seeing the Other Person’s Perspective: May Not Help

Yes, It Really is: The Best Medicine