For 30 plus years I have been married to the most lovable, kind, intelligent, logical, compassionate man--at least for 3/4 of the year. At summer's end, I count my blessings and wonder how I got so lucky.
As the leaves barely start to turn, as the cold sneakily creeps into the mornings, a dark, sinister obsession sneaks into my husband's soul: the spirit of football fanaticism.
For many years, I have rolled with the season and wait for an intelligent, undistracted, conversation until after the Rose, the Fiesta, the CFP, and the Orange Bowls are wrapped up for the year.
But this year,....I saw things a little different. As I was leaving for the weekend, I noticed how my husband tried to subdue his happiness. Really it was elation because one cannot easily suppress elation. I could see it in his eyes: endless hours of pure and blissful game watching, a trip to Harmon's for a quart of Haagen Dazs Vanilla, chastisement-free moments while yelling at the ref and wanting to throw chairs; peace in his worn out glider, and most of all, peace from the wife who clucks in disappointment as she judges her husband's enjoyment, who views her husband's obsession as ridiculous.
Maybe I haven't been as tolerable as I've wanted to believe.
All the years of trying his patience, trying to compete against the massive college football machine, my chagrin at his passion--it all passed through my mind, and this is the result I want? For my husband to be excited at my departure?
Shame on me.
The beauty of an epiphany.
But I don't think I'll tell him just yet...maybe when football season ends.
As the leaves barely start to turn, as the cold sneakily creeps into the mornings, a dark, sinister obsession sneaks into my husband's soul: the spirit of football fanaticism.
For many years, I have rolled with the season and wait for an intelligent, undistracted, conversation until after the Rose, the Fiesta, the CFP, and the Orange Bowls are wrapped up for the year.
But this year,....I saw things a little different. As I was leaving for the weekend, I noticed how my husband tried to subdue his happiness. Really it was elation because one cannot easily suppress elation. I could see it in his eyes: endless hours of pure and blissful game watching, a trip to Harmon's for a quart of Haagen Dazs Vanilla, chastisement-free moments while yelling at the ref and wanting to throw chairs; peace in his worn out glider, and most of all, peace from the wife who clucks in disappointment as she judges her husband's enjoyment, who views her husband's obsession as ridiculous.
Maybe I haven't been as tolerable as I've wanted to believe.
All the years of trying his patience, trying to compete against the massive college football machine, my chagrin at his passion--it all passed through my mind, and this is the result I want? For my husband to be excited at my departure?
Shame on me.
The beauty of an epiphany.
But I don't think I'll tell him just yet...maybe when football season ends.