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Friday, Mar. 7, 2014
Home AlonePosted Sunday, July 18, 2010, at 4:51 PM
SOMETIMES IN THE MORNING WHEN SHADOWS ARE DEEP,
I LIE HERE BESIDE YOU, JUST WATCHING YOU SLEEP,
AND SOMETIMES I WHISPER WHAT I'M THINKING OF,
MY CUP RUNNETH OVER WITH LOVE,
From the musical "I Do! I Do!" (1966)
Kay went to St. Louis for a couple of days on some vital business matters. She is to confer with our attorney-in-fact about said important business stuff. For those of you who may have some connection with the Infernal Revenue it should be pointed out that it is just a coincidence that said attorney is also our only daughter. It is coincidence, also, that she is having her first baby shower the same weekend Kay had to make this important business sojourn, coincidentally.
This leaves me in the most dreaded circumstances a helpless husband can endure: Home Alone.
This is not good.
In our five-room house it is not at all clear which room holds the washer and dryer. No problem, I'll just wear the same clothes for three days.
Before she left I did make her tell me which room contains the refrigerator. This won't actually help a whole lot as my culinary skills consist of knowing you really should put some milk on dry cereal and that Microwaves cover a multitude of sins.
She doesn't leave me alone that much these days -- some nonsensical myth about an erratic heart. But, it's OK, before going she helped me memorize the phone number for 911.
Last week she asked one of those questions such mean spirited women are likely to ask: "Why do you love me?"
This is a question to which an immediate response springs forth only from poets, newly weds and other fools. Writers of prose and husbands of 45 years need time to formulate answers to what is obviously a leading question.
We met on a Friday evening and had our first date the following Sunday afternoon. I went home and told my best friend I had met the girl I was going to marry. I was in love with her then, still am. I have never wanted to have another love in my life and don't suppose I've ever completely understood those who do.
There is a kind of right of passage, though, between being in love and loving a woman. It is a hard place to pass through and many fall by the roadside. It is a poor excuse when a man defends himself with, "We're not in love anymore". All such declaration means is that he hadn't the courage or manhood to go through the dark, hard places with her.
When does being in love become love 'til death does us part? Maybe it was birth of our first born, or the night a doctor said they had 15 minutes to save her life. Perhaps it was one of the 10,000 times I failed and a lesser mate would have taken their leave.
Every morning, every morning of the world, I wake wanting to hear some sound from her. Just to know she is there. Daily it occurs to me again that I am helpless without her and would not want to face that day without Kay.
Why do I love you? Sorry, this inadequate writer of prose cannot find the words. Hope that doesn't mean she will leave me home alone very often.
David L. Lewis is an observer of and sometimes commentator on life who may be reached via e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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