He's a Travelin' Man

That husband of mine. 

He’s gone again. 

Not for good, just for another unspecified amount of time.  Five days, a week, maybe ten days . . .

Those of you who know me know that this is just another part of my life.  And though the amount of travel has varied from job to job, it’s always been a constant in our life.  Mostly, it works out all right for us.  John likes the adventure and I don’t.  The gypsy in him is appeased and I stay home to “man” the house and wait for his nightly phone calls, which often sound a lot like,

“You had what for dinner?  Hmpfff.  We had hotdogs wrapped in dough.”

This current trip?  It’s not going so well at home.  I’ve been wearing my shoulders as earrings for a few days now.

It began with a tense departure. 

Remember that tree?  It’s only halfway dismantled in the back yard.  And our front walk?  It looks like Pompeian ruins, thanks to that load of dirt the garden center delivered.  Ice that with the biblical amount of rain we’ve had this spring.  Mowing grass has become somewhat of a pipe dream.  Not that I could mow it anyway.  Max is much too mobile and Moxie—John’s dog—has hidden way too many rotten Easter eggs in the yard for me to attempt it.  (And I’m talking dog mines, mind you.)

By the time John left early in the week, we were communicating in monosyllables.  He was frustrated at the usual thought of going away (though, I still think he secretly loves it.) And I was just mad because we bought a fence and shrubs to de-uglify our yard, but between the rain and John traveling, it wasn’t going to happen.  If you think I’m over reacting, just drop by and look at my bathroom remodel that began 12 years ago.  I’m quite certain our new fence is going to be rusted out before it ever gets assembled.

Usually, as the week goes on, things get better.  Last night was even looking up.  We were at my parent’s house for dinner when Stancey called.  Frantically, she said,

“Mom, there’s something really wrong with Blue Cheese!  He’s not moving!”

Blue Cheese is our biting parakeet.  To John, he chirps and kisses.  To the rest of us, he’s less affectionate.  Blue Cheese was perfectly normal when we first got him, as most of our animals are when we first get them.  In fact, he seemed to be the smartest animal we’d ever had.  Although originally only on loan from our vacationing neighbors, he wound up staying with us when Kenny kept insisting, “Blue Cheese says he loves me!” 

It wasn’t long before Kenny quit saying that.  It was shortly after that Blue Cheese became our neurotic parakeet.

After finishing dinner, we came home to a listless parakeet.  An hour later, Blue Cheese died.

Stancey was distraught.  Madison became quiet.  Sam was brave and put Blue Cheese inside a Zumba workout video box before burying him in the back yard.  And Kenny asked for a new green parrot.

When John called that night, we didn’t talk about what he had for dinner.  We talked about Blue Cheese. 

“But that bird loved me!” was his response. 

“Please!”  I retorted.  “Besides, your dog loves you too.”

But I understood.  When John leaves town, it’s often mingled with misunderstandings.  Hostility is really just fear when I imagine how overwhelming it can be to “man” the Thompson household solo.  I love my husband, but I love to gripe about him too.  

Do I doubt that going out of town is hard on him?  No.  I’m sure it’s lonely, but what I wouldn’t give for five minutes of lonely after a week of doing it alone. 

After I hung up the phone, I was just sad.  I lost someone on my watch this week--a bird someone.  Thank goodness the kids are all right, but really, couldn’t it have been Moxie instead?  Blue Cheese smelled better and didn’t hamper my lawn endeavors.