Content to be Content

A love letter

My husband says that I write very sad pieces and need to liven things up before my soul shriveleth in the opulence of melancholy. (I paraphrase.) This from the man who is my blessed opposite – who knows how to quote every 90s comedy ever made with eloquent dictions like “you stink.” Whereupon my mouth drops open like a fish and I begin smelling myself surreptitiously, and he gets all bug-eyed like this is fool’s play and says, “it’s a quote!” Ah, yes, that wholesome expansion of the mind, to encompass such lofty thoughts.

I told someone recently that my husband made dinner the other night, and they started laughing about how bad it must have been. I put the kibosh on that real quick. That man makes a steak that is so tender, so juicy, so flavorful, I don’t even care to think about the drivel that passes for par at the Michelin star restaurants. Give me Cody’s cooking, for I shall have no other. Give me his asparagus simmered in butter, give me his cheesy scalloped potatoes with fresh chives from the garden, and I am a happy woman.

I was thinking today how happy I am with him. He is a great husband. A wonderful father. I never question where he might be or if he is honest with me, and there are too many who can’t say the same. He loves God fiercely and together we ride the same current. He and I want many of the same things in life, which is a bonus. He wants acreage – not too much, but enough, a place for the kids to run, room for some chickens and rabbits, maybe a goat. Me too, buddy.

My husband is zany. He has what’s been deemed “the curse.” This means that strange things happen to the man. Strange, strange things. I can’t even explain it - you just won’t understand. For example, something is almost always wrong with his food order. To that you might respond, “it’s America, baby – there’s something wrong with everyone’s order.” And I really can’t contest that except to say it happens to him more often and worse than it happens to you. Sometimes the cash register is down, more recently the whole store had to close – and that’s above and beyond his regular “ten nugget instead of double cheeseburger” fiasco. (Or the cigarette butt in his ice tea bummer.) In the case of a mixed-up order, I thought it had to be the way he was ordering – maybe mumbling or being too quiet, or else his West Virginia accent came out quick and scrambled the message. But when I ordered for him, the same thing happened, and such things very rarely happen to me. So, we are consigned on that front. The food orders will be weird.

(He also broke a chair by sitting in it at a friend’s house, got himself mixed up in a two-week court case with the underground mafia of Cincinnati, and grew up in a haunted house. So there’s a spectrum of weird at work here.)

Then there’s the normal stuff. He visits his garden before and after work; he wears his straw hat with the hand-made shark teeth hat band as he farms beneath the waning sun. He keeps the windows down even on the highway. He blasts the good music, and he is always bringing me new songs. (We are on a very serious Colter Wall and Sierra Ferrell kick, and have been for some time.) He’s a toy inventor and he’s great at his job. He scrolls through pics of his kids before he sleeps and he tells me, every day, “those kids are the greatest.”

So, we’re pretty content around here. We carry on sometimes about politics and we gripe about the slugs eating our plant shoots, and quiet ol’ me has been known to raise a hullabaloo about underwear on the floor, but we are blessed.

This whole thing is a love letter if you haven’t guessed it, and I’m happy to write something happy. Sometimes contentment doesn’t feel interesting to write, but it is divinely wonderful to live. So I must confess that he is right (which he is 90 percent of the time, but don’t tell him I said that). It is good to write happy, jovial, ridiculous things and to let not only your small, personal world, but also the world at large, know that you are content. This says something very good on a spiritual front, I am sure, but we’ll let it stand at this for now.