The short bit is married to the love of my life, two grown kids, grand-kids and a marvelous, joyous life full of exploration/realization, comfort/stress. Wild expectations and quiet realizations. I could talk forever about LSH (Long Suffering Husband) and sometimes do. But restraining myself so readers don’t stop reading right here.
Pick a subject, Take a side, Defend your position. If you can’t win, switch sides. Still can’t win? Attack your opponent personally. But be prepared for a counter attack. Verbal football with emotional/mental goals.
And no, none of us were attorneys, none still to this day. Much too formal a platform. All our discussions free wheeled to vast arenas beyond jurisprudence. If you were old enough to debate, you were old enough to listen.
Fun in a way that amusement parks cannot duplicate. The intense pleasure of thinking and sharing the thinking with people who listen or at least pretend to listen. Ah. Grateful sigh.
Mom and Dad, voracious readers of all sorts of topics. Organic gardening before Euell Gibbons was cool, philosophy, comics including Rocky and Bullwinkle, mysteries and suspense, science fiction/fantasy. The difference between history and gossip. And do victors really rewrite history or do they fall victim to older retributions of simple social structures? Dad’s latest venture into building, repairing, imagining tools. Mom’s newest adventure in yarn work, history, creating stuff and how to stretch any available resource. Conversations seldom followed a discernible path.
No dumb questions. Only dumb answers. Which were fodder for more discussion.
We watched television and talked about it. Read books and talked about them. A normal question at dinner: what did you read today? Did you like it? Why or why not? The only unacceptable answer: What I read was stupid. We had to tell why we thought that book, that story, that T.V. show was stupid. Then the answer was accepted. And discussed.
My parents were Depression babies, raised during tough times in Oklahoma. They taught us how to make do, use resources and have fun in the process. Once a week, we got to enter the Public Library, ferret out our allotment of books and devour every word. Any misbehavior meant you could not check out any books that week. Torment. Wails of distress.
From my mom. Books were the baby sitter, the quiet time she treasured. She wanted her kids reading, thinking, applying. The result is, I can talk a blue streak, say a lot of things while never really going deeper than Who’s on First. As I’m looking for the practical outcome of a stated abstract.
And shock of shocks, married to a man who listens to me, appreciates me and doesn’t leave the room when I start blathering on. But I suspect, he turns his hearing aid off. Sometimes.
He is so good at the things I am terrible at, like machines, technical stuff. Me, I love words, concepts, how people use them and sue them. See how those two words look alike? Love that kind of stuff. Fun.