Then one day I arrived home. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In the backyard, the kids clamored for my services as trampoline safety monitor and hurried me over there, while their Dad shoveled away, transplanting rosebushes. I called a greeting his way. On the trampoline, my little girl told me about her day. She kept trying to convey some occurrence, and I thought I picked up the words “shaved” and “face,” as she gestured in the general direction of the rosebushes. My oh-so-very-slow brain (doubtless still occupied by benefits summaries and disability claims) transmuted this into some communication about the yard, the plants, her rich imaginary life peopled with all manner of creations who do amazing things.
Finally the man shoveling rosebushes turned to reveal his profile, and I beheld . . . my Summer Husband!
Goodbye, Brillo, until first snowfall!
Hello, Smooth Operator!
Ahhhhhh, Springtime in the Rockies!
2 comments:
That is great. Your husband could be a lumberjack, a mechanic or a gardener...Oh wait. It sounds like he already is!
I love the way you change seasons. Once you told me of the tradition, I eagerly awaited the revelation of the face! Bearded, he looks like the man you can count on to scare away grizzly bears, to keep the campfire going when the summer night turns cold, and to dig your car out of an errant drift. Clean shaven he looks like the one who would tenderly care for his children, who would attend parent-teacher conferences, who would sing a song of praise to his Creator. You are really blessed.
Post a Comment