Why fight when you can just write a blog?

James Taylor is an old man.

That’s my exact thought when I saw him take the stage at the Puyallup Fair on Saturday night.  He wore a knit cap and a pale blue shirt and blue jeans.  He walked like an old man, though,  and he looked old.  And I suppose he is old.

But, oh, that man can sing.  I’ve known some of those familiar songs since I was a child myself.  “You’ve Got a Friend” has been absorbed right into my bloodstream and is a part of me.

So, the night was lovely, neither hot nor cold.  The metal bench was hard, pain-inducing, but the view was great.  And the company, my husband of twenty-two years, was excellent.  He’s a great guy.

We could have had a nasty fight on the way to the concert because we were in the car.  That’s enough.  Just being in the car.  As a passenger I have certain expectations.  As in, I’m a passenger, not a navigator, not a co-pilot, not a traffic advisor.  And so when he says suddenly, “Is that our exit” and I glance up and say, “No,” that’s only because I wasn’t looking, I was preoccupied (with my iPhone, if you must know) and how am I supposed to know?  He’s been there many times before and how in the world does he not know which exit?

But you see, that last part I just kept to myself  because why start something?  We’ve been married for twenty-two years and for all of those twenty-two years we have been utterly incompatible in the car.  Just today we had that age-old conversation about depth perception–I say he ought to start braking when the cars in front of us brake, but he feels comfortable waiting until the last minute, after his wife has had heart failure from fright.  He says I should trust him considering the scientific fact that men and women have different depth perceptions (he heard this somewhere once) and I say he ought to be sensitive to my impaired depth perception and understand that I think we are about to DIE in a car crash, but mostly, we just keep our lips zipped.

So, we did not fight on the way to the concert.

* * *

Yesterday was Grace’s second soccer game.  She scored a goal, her first.  Her team played really well and trounced the other team.  Though it seems wrong to gloat since we are talking about six and seven year old girls.

My son had a football game later in the day, so it was about 3 p.m. before we were done with sporting events.  Then I spent my afternoon baking cookies, brownies and muffins to contribute to the funeral preparations.

Tomorrow, I’m taking the kids to the fair, just the two youngest.  The older kids don’t like to go.  (!!!)  Tuesday is the soldier’s funeral.  Every week is full of its own particular brand of crazy-busy.  Just when you think things have got to slow down and get normal, something else happens.  There is no normal.  Normal is a myth.

That’s why I’m writing this at 1:37 a.m.  Tomorrow I’ll regret staying up this late but at least I wrote a post.

You’re welcome.

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Why fight when you can just write a blog?

16 thoughts on “Why fight when you can just write a blog?

  1. James Taylor’s 61. That’s not OLD old, but it’s getting there. What freaks me is knowing he’s actually younger than my oldest brother who’ll be 62 on Nov 1st. Now, here’s something that makes me feel old. Dear Hubby and I were watching “The Andy Griffith Show” on TV Land yesterday and I said, “I wonder if Eleanore Donahue is still alive.” Your’e somewhat younger than me but she was the oldest daughter on “Father Knows Best” and one of Andy Taylor’s early love interests on AG’s show. She’s 72! But I found out she’s from Tacoma…right in your back yard practically. I love Wikipedia.

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  2. Julana says:

    I’m old, too.
    I want an Ipod Touch so I can hear this man and all his cronies, because I don’t have a chance of landing on a hard park bench in Seattle.
    I’m not even asking for an Iphone.
    Please.
    My husband and I have that fight over tailgating. It is scary to be riding without an assured clear distance for stopping all the time. Scary, I say.

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  3. Life is normal and just think when you retire and sit on the porch of your choice (front or back) you will fondly think on this old normal life and be glad for it.

    yea the car thing…that is why I go to sleep

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  4. Mrs. Damian Garcia says:

    I decided this past Saturday the way to solve all car issues is to drive every time. Seriously.

    I love James Taylor. Of course I love all music, young and old. I have been listening to New Edition, Boys II Men and Mariah Carey lately. Maybe because that is what I listened to when I first met my husband. It will be 14 years in a week. The time has flown by. I didn’t know what happiness was until I met my husband.

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  5. my husband and i are not compatible in the car either which sounds much better than saying we are just not compatible. 😉

    we are compatible on the phone which is odd, i know.

    gotta go . . . i need to make a phone call. 🙂

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  6. Yvonne says:

    I think your husband and my husband went to the same driving school-that braking at the last minute thing. I’ve taken to either leaning back and closing my eyes; reading or watching the view out the passenger window – anything to not have to experience the white knuckle gut wrenching experience.

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  7. Krys says:

    LOL! Maybe “most” men went to the same driving school. The first thing my husband & I ever argued about was his driving (other than that he was perfect!) I have learned over the years (after 27 years of marriage) to just keep my mouth closed & hang on when we get near an intersection or any slowing cars in front of us. If I so much as take in a breath he asks what’s wrong & I have told him numerous times that I hate that feeling of flying into the cars in front of us. I will however help to give directions if I have to to save us from becoming lost. My mom is a HORRIBLE back seat driver though so I usually don’t say much about anything else. I sometimes ask her how does dad drive when she’s not in the car? I strive not to be her! What is it with men & driving?

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  8. Mrs. Damian Garcia says:

    Aw Kathleen! I “met” my husband while he was in the Navy. (I was in MO and he was stationed in Virgina). His sister told me to write him so I did. We spent hours on the phone talking about different things. It was only after we married that I realized that my husband hates talking on the phone. It made me love him more!

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  9. Am I the only woman in America…the world, maybe??…who rides along peacefully with her husband at the wheel? I’d rather ride with him than drive any day. Now, how did we manage that?!

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  10. 1. I have a back-seat drivers’ license. Seriously; I do. First thing in the passenger seat, I produce it. Among other things, it says it was issued by the State of Nervousness; Bureau of Nuisances; signed by G. M. I. Nervous. Under my name and address, it says: The person herein named has been licensed to irritate, annoy, criticize, and otherwise disturb the operator of the car. You might consider getting one!

    2. There IS no normal. Period. Life is what it is. Period. and…

    3. I’m in my 60’s, and Old is NOT even close to 60-something! But, maybe older people tend to become forgetful because they have WAY too much stuff to remember, from too many years!

    It’s a thought.

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  11. Esther, do you have a blog?? Clicking on your name just takes me back to Mel’s home page. You and I think a lot alike…I’d love to visit you if you do. Mel…if she doesn’t read this and you do and she DOES have a blog, would you email me the URL?

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  12. MissKris, In response to your question, the answer is no. I’m not very computer savvy, if you know what I mean.

    I do like to talk, though, so perhaps I need to learn what to do to get started…..I enjoy Melodee’s blog, and check some of the others, often. You are all SO fun to read!

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  13. Esther, Melodee was kind enough to email me and let me know your blog-less condition, ha! OK, girl…you can’t be all that much older than me and believe me, I’m not the most computer savvy person in the world, either. But honestly, blogging is SO MUCH FUN!!! Come check mine out…pester Mel when she has an open MINUTE of time…and voila! I’ll come visit you!

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