Ah yes,
summertime!
The time
of humidity indices, kids out of school, and perhaps, to some, that most feared
of all occurrences: the husband's week off of work.
Now
mostly that's nothing to be concerned about for us, as in the Ashbury household,
the husband in question nearly always insists on going somewhere and doing
something.
Did you
notice the qualifier, `nearly always'?
We booked
this week originally to be the week we would head to Hazleton, Pennsylvania.
Aside from visiting our good friends, this trip for me is a week of research and
discovery. I have a couple of novels—romantic suspense, not erotic
romance—planned that are to be set in this area. So I use my trips wisely,
getting to know the flora, the fauna, where not to step because of occasional
subsidence [it's coal country], and of course, the people.
However,
our good friend, instead of retiring from his position with the Pennsylvania
Capitol Police Force on June 30th, discovered he qualified to do so
mid-May, and so he did. He's now begun a part time position as a cop on a local
force, and wanted to get his first three months in before taking any time off.
So we'll
head down to Pennsylvania in September, which is going to make a busy autumn for
me, as I will also be going to Texas in October.
In the
mean time, yep, you got it. One week. Just the two of us. Right here at home.
The dreaded family staycation.
I would
like to take this opportunity to point out that I am not on vacation.
I have work to do. I have a manuscript to finish polishing and then turn
in and another to start.
My
beloved on the other hand has...a project planned.
Fresh
from the success of his replacement of the kitchen floor, he came up with
several things he wanted to do this week, including building himself a storage
shed for the back yard.
He
reminded me of a kid with Christmas Cash from Auntie May as his week off neared.
Surely one week was long enough to do more than that one project? He'd be
walking around the house saying, "I want to do this, and I want to fix
that."
I—being
me—had to say, "Well whatever the heck you do don't forget the other
thing!"
My
beloved surprised me by nodding his head and then he asked me to make him a
"honey-do" list.
Friends,
I have never—not once, ever—in our soon to be 41 years together dared to create
such a document.
Why not?
A lot of reasons, I suppose but the chief one may surprise you.
I had a
good friend, now with the Lord, who was a teacher, which meant he would have
some time off every summer. He wasn't a young man, really, in his forties at the
time that we became friends. Yet every end of June saw him receive a
comprehensive list from his wife, such as (in my mind) one might give a teenager
to assure they stay busy and out of trouble all summer.
One of
the tenets to which I attribute having achieved 41 years together is: thou shalt
not command thy spouse to do anything.
I was
appalled at my friend's list and would never presume to create one on my own for
my own husband.
But I
wanted to be congenial and I was amenable to the concept, as long as it was
something my husband wanted me to do.
So, being
a smart wife, I opened a new word document and asked, "What do you want me to
put on this list for you?"
He
dictated, and then asked me if I could think of anything he'd forgotten. This
was as safe a way as I ever could have imagined of reminding my beloved that he
had yet to buy and install the tracks, thus finishing the kitchen floor at the
doorways.
Our
second daughter stopped by this past Saturday, and said to Mr. Ashbury, "you're
on vacation! That's great, good for you. Any plans?"
He
immediately held up the document I had created, at his request, and said,
"Look! Look what she did! She gave me a `honey-do' list!"
I knew
the truth right then and there. It was going to be a very long week.
Love,
Morgan
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