A Perfect Imperfect Union

Sometimes I get annoyed with my husband.

Yes, I have written of his culinary and artistic talents, of his prowess as a house husband, and of the unconventional ways in which he demonstrates his love for me. Yet, as in any marriage, there are times when he bothers the heck out of me; in turn, there are instances when I drive him to distraction. Such is the irony of marital bliss.

For instance, I naturally wake up early and love to savor a steaming cup of French roast coffee while I check my email and enjoy the predawn stillness. It is my "alone time." Wayne, on the other hand, is more of a people person and will enter my sanctuary ready for conversation. I have had to ask him not to disturb me unless the house is on fire.

Wayne gets annoyed with me when I toss his coffee (I assume he is finished) down the drain. If a cold cup of java is sitting on the kitchen counter, it is beyond my comprehension why anyone would drink it. Wayne, however, will reheat it in the microwave and finish it. After several tiffs over this, I promised to not touch his cold coffee, even if it has a skin on it.

Fortunately, Wayne never stays mad for very long. As for me, it is difficult to remain angry with a man who, in the last week alone, has surprised me with dinners of Cornish hens, tilapia with orange glaze, and last night, Weight Watcher's lasagna.

Seven months ago, when we pledged our lives to each other, I had no illusions of living happily ever after. I knew there would be difficult times as well as seasons of indescribable joy. What I did not know is that often these dichotomies occur simultaneously, that it is possible to love someone at the same time you wish he would disappear. During these past seven months we have weathered the loss of Wayne's job and the short sale of his house. I can honestly say these trying events have brought us closer, another unexpected bonus of living with The Man Behind the Apron.

Pumpkin Carving and the Art of Halloween

Yesterday I monopolized the kitchen. I peeled, cored, sliced, cooked, and canned eighteen quarts of apple pie filling from the bushel and a half of sqeaky clean apples. Wayne could not get anything to eat, or so he said. Had he asked, I would have gladly taken a break so he could make a sandwich. He said he didn't want to disturb me.

While I worked, Wayne went out to the porch to carve a Halloween pumpkin. I assumed he was carving a traditional Jack'O Lantern. I should have known better. When he finally called me to come outside and view his creation, my jaw dropped in amazement. Carved into the pumpkin rind was a silhouette of a witch on a broomstick; with a lighted candle inserted, the witch appeared to be flying past a full moon.

"Did you trace that before you carved it?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I drew it free hand and then cut out the pieces with a drill and a small saw."

My husband is artistic and I was unaware of his talent. I mistakenly pigeon holed him as an electrician who is excellent at his trade, as well as handy around the house, period; it never occured to me that he could also be an artist, yet another surprise from The Man Behind the Apron.