Confessions of the Divine Miss K

Sunday, August 26, 2007

And then things change...

Somehow he turned out to be perfect. More shockingly he turned out to be perfect for me. Driving home from the lake this afternoon, he did everything he could to distract me from the onslaught of Sunday blues. He even pretended he knew the words to "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" (he doesn't, by the way. I'm not even sure he knows who Simon & Garfunkel are).

He gets really excited every time he sees a buck, mule or white-tailed deer, it doesn't matter. He somehow has convinced my brother to take up fishing. He scoffs at bear spray and vows only to rely on his rifle. He's read two books this summer, both about grizzlies. I endured a three hour drive today just so he could spot for bighorn sheep. These are his interests, his passions. They are not even remotely the same as mine.

And yet he listens. And listens. And listens. And he only scowls moderately when I come home from shopping. When I'm sitting there bawling, the look of helplessness on his face makes my heart break in two all over again.

His Mom once told me that his laugh still sounds the exact same way as it did when he was three. I believe her.

He's hurt me, but never maliciously. Can I say the same?

This house, this furniture, my rings, my happiness - all are because of him, his hardwork, his endurance and patience.

When he laughs at any sitcom, he always turns to look at me to see if I'm laughing along (I never am and this frustrates him to no end). It's funny to now know all of his quirks and yet for so long he was a closed book to me. The reason, my father said, that I fell in love so quickly. Perhaps. Now I know that his frown at any hockey game doesn't have anything to do with the score or even his mood - it is instead disapproval that I am staring down at my hands or searching the crowd rather than keeping my eyes on the puck, just as he's doing.

Around my family, he's docile. It surprises me. I think it surprises him. But she was right - as much as he claims that he's a stubborn man, he actually has a forgiving heart.

His eyes crinkle when he smiles, just as his brothers and sister's do the same. And when I see his sister's do that, it makes me miss him.

Perhaps though I give him too much credit for being sensitive. He is, but not in an effeminate way. He still needs things explained, emotions articulated, situations pointed out and I'm forever cleaning up after him.

Of course he's not what I had in mind. But therein lies the beauty of it.

He's my version of perfection. He's silly and brave and diligent and lazy and sexy and obedient and the most forgetful person I know.

And lying at the cabin in our new bed, still in a bit of awe that we're allowed to share such intimacy, we huddle together, whispering about our families and who annoyed us throughout the day and who didn't, who's family's funnier and why. Soon our legs entwine, him naked, me too cold for that, and I can't help but think at last it's arrived - contentment.

I was depressed today, driving home. A cold day - September is on its way. And he looked over at me, his eyes twinkling but concerned that I'd fallen into this once-familiar funk. And so he recites the litany of things we have to look forward to (if all else fails, he brings out the trusty old promise of a head rub). Soon I'm smiling and singing along to the music once again.

And so we pull into our driveway and I look at our house and feel so blessed, if not downright amazed. This house that I used to drive by when I was eight, nine, ten, this house is now mine. Bought for me by my husband. Renovated for me by my husband. Presented to me by my husband who is as proud of this house as I am of the rings around my finger. My new husband, who loves this house because this house is his heart.

And now I sit in this house, whose floors I have just scrubbed clean, and I stare out at him from the guest room, my oh-so-perfect-for-me husband, as he makes his way around the yard with the lawnmower and I once again feel content. No, not even content. Joyful. And then the phone rings. And it's my mom, just calling to chat. And I want to cry with gratitude. Because I have finally gotten here.

And at last I know that love takes time, forgiveness takes time, life takes time, but with time contentment is at last achieved.


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