One thing marriage is not, is static. We’re either moving one way or the other, even when it feels like we’re stuck in the murky, muddy, mirthless pit of the mundane. Otherwise known as a rut.
“Seriously, Flash, they’re going to find us dead on this couch, our butts melded to the fake leather, with your phone in your hand and the remote in mine. Who wants to be found that way?”
“Okay,” he responded. “What do you want to do? You want to play a game?”
My ears perked up as I answered, “Okay. Maybe Monopoly Deal?” Monopoly Deal is a card game my brother, Doc, told me about several months ago. The game goes much quicker than the Monopoly board game, but the same competitive nature of yours truly can still be nurtured. So, Flash and I began playing several times a week. He’d win; I’d win. I’d win; he’d win. You get the picture. Even Steven. But then I gained the upper hand. One evening, after one quick round, Flash said, “I’m getting tired.” Finally, after a month of tiredness, he spoke truth, “I don’t like that game; I never win anymore.”
Of course. Because I’m married to the World’s Worst Loser. And his losing history is a long one. We taught Liverpool Rummy to our neighbors years ago, and poor Flash began another losing streak. Then we taught several groups of friends to play the Golf card game. Again, Flash lost on a regular basis. It’s Beginners Luck to the extreme, then the whining commences.
Perhaps the only game left that Flash consistently wins is Wahoo – a game I’d never played until I met him. Our friend Boone gave Flash a handmade Wahoo board, and we still love the game. But it’s hard to play Wahoo, which involves marbles, when we’re reclining on the couch. Somewhere along the line, we quit moving to the dining room table to play games at night. It’s easier to set up a TV tray between us. And if we decide to watch a movie while we play, we’ll be closer to the TV instead of two feet further into the dining room. But when tiredness sets in, i.e., Flash starts losing another game, we default to undivided attention to the big screen. Or the little screen. Or both.
For eternity, I complained about Flash’s being on his phone every night during “our” time.
“Could you please put your extra appendage down?” I’d ask. Which, as every woman reading this knows, is not in any way a question.
“You were in the other room,” Flash often replied.
“But I’m here now.”
“Okay, but we’re still not doing anything. Let me know when you want to do something.”
Yes. Because talking is not something, I’d quip to myself.
And then the “rut” and “all we do is watch TV” and “let’s play a game/no, I’m too tired” conversation would begin again. It felt stagnant. It looked stagnant. Even the dogs were more active than we were, moving from their beds to the couch and back to their beds again. Somewhere between Flash’s Words with Friends games on his phone, and my resignation to checking emails, texts, and social media, we evolved into an Onscreen Couple. Most of our conversations revolved around what we’d read on Facebook that day. It was hardly scintillating. Then, we had an election year, and screen time ramped up by 200 percent. To say we listened to the news is an understatement, and it continues. We’ve made up for decades of living as the semi-informed, and now are regular news listeners, readers, and viewers. But often, I need a break from so much reality. Flash, on the other hand, is fully committed. Every night, he binges on information ad nauseam, until we are ready to watch Matlock – my latest binge.
But even in the midst of this evening inattention to each other, our relationship is growing and changing. Not that we don’t need to return to Designated Screen Times, and lock up our devices in Phone Jail for a while every night. We do. Perhaps a six-month sentence is in order. But how we’re spending our time together during earlier hours and on weekends is revamping our relationship. Along with my newfound passion for birding in my own backyard, my green thumb has resurfaced, after lying dormant for the last few years. But this time, Flash and I are sowing seeds together.
This return to the plant world began when I read, on Facebook of course, that people need to put out flowers for the bees; after the recent frost across Texas and beyond, those buzzy creatures are desperately seeking nectar. Once oblivious to hydrangeas, I heard one beckoning me in a local grocery store a couple of weeks ago; I bought two, then learned that bees don’t feed off them. On my next trip to the store, I picked out bluebonnets, which I assumed were a favorite among Texan bees.
Just as our drab yard is evolving into something new, so are our dates. Once upon a time, a nice dinner and movie would’ve been my choice for an evening out. Now, I’d rather go to Home Depot to look at sheds, pick out more plants, or buy mulch. Flash hasn’t said anything about this change in me, but I imagine he’s thrilled. First, he’s no longer doing yard work by himself. Second, we’re spending more Saturdays doing home improvement.
When we first married, I spent most Saturdays with my feelings hurt. I thought we’d have breakfast in bed together, watch a romantic comedy, and get up around noon or later. Flash had other things in mind.
“I need to get up and start mowing.”
“But Flash, it’s Saturday. I haven’t seen you all week.”
“I’m not going to be out there all day.”
And so it would go. He started prepping me on Friday nights, reciting his to-do list for the next morning, but it did little to appease me. Sometimes there was arguing; all the time, there was pouting. I felt ripped off in the honeymoon department, occasionally shedding tears over the fact that my beloved would rather repair our fence than repair my broken heart.
Now, if it’s a stay-at-home Saturday, and we haven’t done anything outside or haven’t been to Home Depot by noon, I get impatient. Last weekend, he spent at least two hours doing menial tasks like replacing faulty outlets, while I insisted, “Flash, I thought we were going to plant today. When are you going to be done? C’mon, it’s beautiful outside, and we have things to get in the ground.”
I planted two more bluebonnet plants, replanted the one he’d planted with the root ball partially above ground, and mulched the front bed before he came outside. Slacker. But the fun started when we uprooted a brown-from-the-freeze yucca plant and 15 dead Mexican heathers. And when I say “we” uprooted, I mean Flash; he’s the official digger-upper.
As we worked side-by-side in the front yard, I said, in my firm tone, “Flash, what are you doing?”
He gave me the clueless-husband look.
“Why aren’t you kissing me? Huh? You’re not even making a pass at me. Don’t you know this is romantic? What is the deal?”
He obliged, but I won’t divulge details. What happens in the flower bed stays in the flower bed. Never in my life, dear reader, did I think digging in the dirt next to my husband would be romantic. But it was. And is. Our evenings have changed too; we’re talking more about various topics, including more projects we want to start, and are enjoying being with each other more. And when we picked out plants together on a recent date, I fell in love with Flash all over again.
“I want a fern,” he said, as we shopped.
“A fern?” I replied, surprised that he thought about plants in his spare time or knew a fern from a fungus.
“Yeah. I always wanted a fern.”
Who knew? The news lover has a green side. I was thrilled when he picked out a Boston fern, the only fern I like. And he picked out the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I suppose it is our Love Fern, but healthier than what Kate Hudson buys for Matthew McConaughey in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Next, I found a humongous red geranium; it looked like bee paradise. I selected some lemon thyme, and Flash approved a little rosemary bush – it passed his smell test. Our basket flourished with new growth – a sign of the times. And during our most recent yardwork day, much to my delight, Cowboy pitched in and helped. I was proud of his first redneck tan at the end of the day.
I’ll be a little sad when the front yard is finished. But first, we’ll level the dirt in the front bed. Then spread three more bags of mulch. And plant more Mexican heather. And treat our little tulip tree and new crepe myrtles with hormones each week. And water the 25 sunflower seedlings we’re anticipating. Then we’ll move to the back yard. We’ll be watering the potted plants several times each week. And planting more sunflowers along the fence line. And replanting elephant ears.
Then we’ll be done. I’ll be sad then.
But then we’ll have to clean out and tear down the old shed to make room for the new one. And that new shed will need some colorful plants around it. Once we finish gardening in the back, we’ll return to cleaning out the garage and making it into a game room, like Flash has always wanted to do.
And so, it may be quite a while, after all – 50 years or so - before I’m sad about having no more projects. Because we have dreams for the inside of our house too. There will always be work to do, and more trips to Home Depot. There will be season after season of kisses in the garden, and passionate whispers amid home improvement. It’s all a labor of love.
And our home, like our marriage, is worth every ounce of work we put into it.