Another marriage vow

Everyone knows about the traditional vows the bride and groom take when they get married: to love, honor, etc. After many years of marriage, I am now convinced that grooms need to take an additional marriage vow. This vow calls for husbands to “avoid unnecessary utterances.” Basically, it means that the husband has to shut up. Too often, during conversations or arguments with his spouse, the husband will open his mouth in an attempt to get a word in edgewise. It rarely works, and only serves to upset the wife. And on the rare occasions when he succeeds in speaking, he usually says the wrong thing.

To avoid these unnecessary utterances, it’s not too late for the husband to take this vow.

My advice is really not that new. Many years ago the poet Ogden Nash wrote:

“To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you're wrong, admit it;
Whenever you're right, shut up.”

I wonder if he, too, was writing from personal experience.

Clothing with a sense of humor?

I recently saw these words printed on labels affixed to a line of apparel whose target market is young men: “Wear when clean; wash when dirty.”

I can’t decide whether the manufacturer has a sense of humor or whether we should be worried about the future of our country when these consumers take control.

I’m hoping it’s the former, but based on my observations, it might be the latter.

Home Visit

Recently I had an opportunity to visit the home of a wealthy 83 year old semi-retired professional. I’ll call him Ned. Ned lives with his wife and a dog (his grown children have long since left the nest) in a townhouse in an affluent section of suburban Westchester County, New York and had invited me to stop by on my lunch hour.

When I arrived at his home, I rang the doorbell and Ned answered. He said his wife wasn’t home, but the dog was. As he showed me around, I sensed that Ned and his dog had a lot in common. The dog slowly made his way into the foyer to greet me and I could see that he was no spring chicken. Obviously, neither was Ned. Both were closer to buying the farm than harvesting crops in the next growing season. The dog probably didn’t realize he was getting old; Ned knew it, but was acting as if the inevitable was a long way off. I’ve only known Ned for about two years and in that short time, I have noticed the aging process taking place. It seems to speed up as we get older.

Ned is proud of his professional accomplishments, if not his personal ones, and was pleased to show off his home to me. He gave me the full tour, including the unfinished cellar. Of particular note was a walk-in cedar closet in the cellar built by the previous owner. The room was immaculate and contained Ned’s clothes, neatly hung and arranged by season. Curiously, none of his wife’s clothes were in this cedar closet (and there was not a second cedar closet for her). I wasn’t sure if that was her choice or by Ned’s edict. In either event, the closet mirrored the man. Notwithstanding his advancing years, Ned was old school and took pride in dressing for the office where he worked. He always wore a jacket and tie to work, but at home, he wore his casual clothes: jeans and a shirt. I later learned that after my lunchtime visit, Ned changed back into a suit before returning to his office.

During the tour of his townhouse, Ned made it a point to show off certain items of personal property . “See that dresser?” he said while we were in the guest bedroom. “It’s a Herman Miller – an antique I picked up at a thrift store for $20. They don’t make furniture like that today.” In the living room, he proudly pointed to a large painting on one wall, which he said he got for $5 at another thrift store. Even the stationary bicycle had a story: “I got it for free. The person I bought the house from was going to remove it before the closing and when I found out she was throwing it out, I told her to leave it.”

Ned was born at the start of the depression and over the years he obviously watched his pennies.

By the end of the tour, I finally realized what was unusual about his home. There was nothing out of place, but there was also nothing in place. Sure, there was furniture: tables, chairs, beds, televisions. But something was missing. There was nothing else in the house that would indicate someone lived there. The house was as sterile as a motel room. There was no indication that anyone occupied this space on a daily basis. The kitchen counters were bare: not a dish or dish towel in sight; not a toothbrush or hairbrush on display in the bathroom; not a book, newspaper or magazine anywhere; no photographs on display, notwithstanding that several grandchildren existed. In short, the house had no personality. No possessions that would make it a home. Nothing to indicate that a living, breathing person (or two) lived there. Unless you count the spots on the rug left by the elderly dog.

It was sad.

I wondered whether there was any love in this house. After all, nothing says love like a home that looks “lived in.” At least that’s what I tell my wife when she asks why I leave things lying around. I figure if I put my clothes in the hamper or the dishes in the dishwasher, she’ll think I don’t love her.

Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Eating Birthday Cake

Ah, the joy of eating birthday cake on your second birthday.

Would you like fries with that?

This sign at a local McDonalds restaurant made me wonder if the vehicles of the violators would also be towed.