I’m annoyed: I feel ill/wretched again-still. Saturday I got rid of much of the oak pollen that had drifted around our yard, and Thursday’s worrisome sore throat never returned in force, but I’m still mentally vague and have a dust-cough…that is, a cough that starts when the back of my throat feels as if powder is scraping across it. It’s raining, people. There’s no dust, …and yet. Therefore, annoyed.
And vague enough that, as I was driving home from class, I decided I would either skip writing OR (to honor the streak) share another interesting poem.
But FIRST, I reminded self, I needed to turn on the dryer. (We have entered the season of No Wet Cloth Without Mildew. It’s a Thing.) AND I needed to pull the china and crystal out of the dishwasher…perhaps even put it away in the china cupboard. AND it would be good to walk the house to confirm all is ready for Housekeepers tomorrow. Yes, yes, self nodded. We will do these things. Then self read Facebook in the closed garage for…some amount of time. Ah, right! Yes. Unlock the house. Etc.
Did I mention that my sinuses feel funny? And that it’s raining? I wish I understood why, when it rains, my sinuses feel funny and I desperately want to nap.
I carried my accoutrements into the house, set them down, and turned on the dryer. I considered bed, but the car door was still open, illuminating the Starbucks tea. Right. Also, there’s the dishes.
As I pulled out the dishes, I reminisced about doing that very thing umpty-kabillion times while My Sweetie was in China last week. (Yes, yes, it’s ridiculous, reminiscing about something four days ago. Welcome to me.) Which led me to feeling nostalgic and proud about how I might could be becoming responsible for feeding myself, with actual (home-cooked) food.
At those times, as I also was at this dozy, butt-dragging moment, I prod myself along by thinking, “What would My Sweetie do?”
Those of you above a certain age will catch the “WWJD” reference, from that turn-of-the-century time when teen persons wore bracelets designed to cause them to pause and insert a little thinking before action, along the lines of “What would Jesus do at this juncture?” As someone who has worn a circlet of specifically-colored pony beads in order to remind herself of the Girl Scout Law, I have tried to never stand above the WWJD silicone band craze. See: sin, first stone, slinking away, etc.
Besides, now I have my invisible “WWSD?” wristlet.
I am not (AM NOT) trying to set My Sweetie up as the second incarnation, or even a saint. That would embarrass him very much, and besides, there are plenty of things he does that I really don’t do. Wear Keens to worship, for example–me, I like dressing up.
What I’m trying to channel into myself is twofold. One, he has a sense of duty that propels him well beyond the point I would drop my hands to my sides and say, “Enough. I’m going to bed.” And while there are many times I try to bring him around to my point of view, there are afternoons, like this afternoon, where a little more duty-drive on my part will pay good dividends for the whole household.
Two, he cares for me–has always cared for me–in practical and profound ways that I forget to pay attention to. When we were merely friends, he changed my car’s oil and checked the belts. (Oh, right. Check fluids and pressure. Right, right… later.) When we became closer, he fed me. Including by phoning me from across the building to find out whether I’d gotten up from my work to (a) get and (b) eat some lunch.
I think it was when he started traveling for Fruitco a couple of years ago that it dawned on my pretty little head that one of the ways I could take good care of him was to take good care of me…and the foremost worry he has about me is that I’ll forget to eat and/or eat non-food. It’s a reasonable concern, given the data.
So even at 7pm, when my hunger and my tiredness normally combine to convince me, “Breakfast cereal! That’s all you need,” I would pull out ingredients, wash and de-stem leaves, apply heat…and sit down to a lovely meal. The way I would were he home.
If he can trust me to take care of his bride while he’s away, he can reserve his focus and duty for the paid-work at hand. And come home tranquil.
“Wait, why do you have leftover broccoli? Wasn’t that for dinner with the scallopine?”