YOUR CHOICE

(This is long. Go read a short blog. Something with pictures of food. And besides that, this was written several days ago when I knew where I was going with it.)

Almost a week ago these two messages came in my inbox:

1st: “The Seven Major Negative Emotions: Fear, Jealousy, Hatred, Revenge, Greed, Superstition, and Anger.” - Napoleon Hill

2nd: 3rd December, 2009 Marital Satisfaction is Largely a Choice One of my all-time favorite quotes is by Irving Becker: “If you don’t like someone, the way he holds his spoon will make you furious; if you do like him, he can turn his plate over into your lap and you won’t mind” (Reader’s Digest, 1975, p. 19).

What Becker’s words suggest to me is that we all make choices to be furious or forgiving. If we choose to be furious, we find plenty of reasons to justify our judgments. After all, we all have human partners just crammed with frailties—including funny ways of holding their spoons.

In contrast, if we choose to be forgiving, we find a wealth of reasons to be pleased with our partners and happy in our relationships. A plate of food in the lab is transformed into a golden memory by loving partners. As two marriage scholars have observed: “The focus in marriage education programs on problem-solving skills is woefully inadequate because we now know that the emotional climate of marriage matters. . . . If spouses have a reservoir of good will and they show their affection regularly, they are far more likely to be able to work through their differences, to warm to each other’s point of view, and to cope effectively with stress” (p. 955, Huston & Melz, 2004).

Communication and problem-solving are not enough. But how do we develop that “reservoir of good will” that carries us past the challenges? That’s the key question. Gottman (1994) gives the answer: “In a stable marriage…the partners tend to view each other through “rose-colored” glasses. They assume that each other’s positive, admirable characteristics are an intrinsic part of their personality rather than occasional flukes. The good things about their relationship are considered stable and far-reaching while the bad patches or areas of tension are considered to be fleeting and situational. Over time, [unhappy] couples pay ever more attention to their spouse’s actions that confirm their negative assumptions. Over time you [can] become conditioned to look for and react to negatives in your spouse and your marriage. This becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy: the more you expect and search for negatives, the more likely you are to find them, and to highlight their significance in your mind” (pp. 118-120).

In other words, we find what we look for. If we look for the limits, faults, and flaws, we get dissatisfaction. If we look for the qualities, strengths, and nobility, we get admiration. Psychologists uniformly recognize that this is a bias. We do not see our spouses objectively. We filter our perceptions through our chosen lenses—either loving or judging.
All this is boiled down by God to a simple recommendation: Have charity. See as He sees. Serve as He serves. Love as He loves.

Just a footnote: I have known a handful of married persons who were so extreme in their narcissism that a fully cooperative relationship with them was not possible. For the vast majority of us, however, this is not the problem. Our judging and scorekeeping prevent us from seeing what God sees: One of His cherished children. The mortal shell does not have to prevent us from seeing the divine when we wear the glasses of charity.

References:Gottman, J. (1994). Why marriages succeed or fail and how you can make yours last. New York: Simon and Schuster.

Huston, T. L., & Melz, H. (2004). The case for (promoting) marriage: The devil is in the details. Journal of Marriage and Family, 66, 943-958.

Reader’s Digest (1975). Pocket treasury of great quotations. Pleasantville, NY: Reader’s Digest. Posted at 5:54 pm

And then this came today:

Love Should Be at the Center of All We Do Posted: 10 Dec 2009 11:00 PM PST “Because love is the great commandment, it ought to be at the center of all and everything we do in our own family, in our Church callings, and in our livelihood. Love is the healing balm that repairs rifts in personal and family relationships. It is the bond that unites families, communities, and nations. Love is the power that initiates friendship, tolerance, civility, and respect. It is the source that overcomes divisiveness and hate. Love is the fire that warms our lives with unparalleled joy and divine hope. Love should be our walk and our talk.” Dieter F. Uchtdorf, “The Love of God,” Ensign, Nov. 2009, 21

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So, today we have a choice. We can choose one of the seven negative emotions to dwell on, to make our lives happier (I know, sounds stupid doesn't it, but we do it, admit it, you've done it, duelled on anger, maybe, because it felt so good and you were so justified), or we can choose to make our lives really happier by participating in the "laughing at the plate of food in the lap" and loving, unconditionally.

I'll give you an insignificant example. Yesterday, Phil and I left the house and, as usual, I overestimated the time I had before we left and so my teeth weren't flossed. I keep floss in the glove compartment for times like that. Phil doesn't like it when I floss my teeth in the car and I don't blame him. Flossing is a private thing but if I neglect it I get a tooth ache. So I pulled out the floss and pulled a piece off. Phil started to laugh, it really was a judging laugh and I felt judged. I fumbled the lotion that came out of the glove box and tossed it all over my lap, trying to catch it and it finally fell on the floor. I was angry. He judged, I reacted. How much better it would have been without the judgement and anger.

Year's ago we had some neighbors who treated each other with total acceptance. "You know how you are," on of them would say and the other would say, "Yah, that's how I am," and they both laughed. No judgement, just acceptance and love.

I want to be like that. I probably won't be, but I want to.


And that's my words for today. I want to but I probably won't. Maybe if I do it a little and then another day a little more, and on and on then maybe in a year or two I'll be like my friends, who each had odd behaviors--annoying things--but accepted each other totally. Maybe if I do, Phil will.

(And maybe if I clean up around my computer desk, a little at a time, in a year I'll be done. Okay, two years.)

WE'D DO ANYTHING FOR OUR CHILDREN

We'd do anything for our children, go to any lengths to help. I'm thinking that if we knew other people as well as we know our children then we would go to any lengths to help them too.

I know a mother whose son is a registered pedophile. Does she hate him? No, she loves him and wants to help him in any way. I know another woman whose son is an alcoholic. He drove onto the exit ramp of the freeway and hit another car, head on, killing the driver. Does his mother hate him? No, she loves him. She grieves over him, she worries and wishes she could make him better. She grieves over the person who was killed too. Her life and the lives of others were forever altered by the behavior of her son and yet...she loves him.

In our Visiting Teaching message this month one sentence stood out for me. It said, “As you become more and more familiar with the truths of the scriptures, you will be more and more effective in keeping the second great commandment, to love your neighbor as yourself."

I think, since this is the second commandment, I should work at it a little harder. I am going to try and see others as Christ sees them.

Years ago I read a story of a school teacher who went into a tough school to teach--one where violence was a common occurrence. The first day, in each of her classes, she did not speak until she had looked in the face of each student. When she could see the face of Christ in them she would go on to the next student. She said she had NO trouble with any of her students that year. I think it is because they knew she loved them.

I want to be a person like that.

A LOVE STORY

This is a love story about a man and a woman and their daughter.

I will call him Prince Charming even though he looks nothing like the stereotype. He is short, red haired, stout and has the happiest face I've ever seen.

I will call her The Fair Maiden even though she is older now, her fair maidenish-ness has pretty much gone the way of grey hair and wrinkles, but luckily, most of the wrinkles are from smiling and laughing and loving her large family and everyone else she brushed up against in her life.

The daughter I will call The Librarian because she is the librarian for our church. She is optomistic and cheerful and knows where every picture, piece of chalk and vidoe is in the library. If you need it, she can find it.

Prince Charming and The Fair Maiden have been married a long time. The kids are grown and gone except for The Librarian, who never married--at least not yet--she stayed home and ran a preschool out of their home. In fact Her Excellency of Mousehole attended The Librarian's preschool for two years when she was a little girl.

The Fair Maiden started to forget things. Prince Charming had his own problems, he had arthritis so bad he had to wear a neck brace so he could hold his head up. The Fair Maiden became disoriented and had other problems that led them to seek medical help. She was misdiagnosed and by the time she received medication that could help slow the progress of the disease, Alzheimer's had its tenacious grip on her and it was too late.

Prince Charming and The Librarian took care of her. She got worse. Prince Charming and The Librarian needed an extra hand to take care of her needs and so another daughter came several times a day to help. The Fair Maiden forgot many things, even how to walk or to sit up in a chair without support, but she never forgot Prince Charming.

Then, one day, Prince Charming missed a step in the house and fell backwards. He was taken to the hospital. He had broken five ribs, shattered his scapula and punched a nice sized hole in his head, which led to internal bleeding. Was he concerned for himself? With every painful breath. And why? Because it meant he wasn't going to be there to take care of his Fair Maiden.

A day and a half later he was home again. His arm is was in a sling and taped to his body. A bandage was on his head. He wouldn't even talk about surgery, just grited his teeth and endued the pain. He was home to take care of His Fair Maiden.

I talked to The Librarian by phone yesterday? "Will you have to move your mom to a care facility?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she said so fast that I knew nothing would keep her and her dad from taking care of her mom. They will take care of her with their last dying breath and be happy to do it.

Will there be a happy ending for Prince Charming and The Fair Maiden? Yes, but not in this life. They have been married for time and all eternity and their eternity is going to be something to behold. They will have a glorious life together. They will walk hand and hand and dance on the grass and sing songs they learned in childhood. She will remember the names of every great-grandchild and he will hold his head up high.They will be the happiest people in God's Kingdom and the Librarian will be there too, cheering them on and laughing and dancing too, maybe with her own Prince Charming.

SIX WORDS FOR ADDICTED TO LOVE

Disclaimer or maybe it's just a "claimer": Gilmore Girl and her friend, I forget who--sorry Hillary's friend--said they don't get my "six words," but Tierney, who is smarter than a pod of dolphins, and we all know dolphins are smarter than most humans, says she does get my six words so I will continue. So here's today's six words so you don't have to read the entire post below.

Love. Hurt. Realize God loves completely.

ADDICTED TO LOVE

Today, in Sunday School, the teacher, Jeanne Inouye, said she had a friend who once said she thinks we were all born addicted to love. She said we left our Father, who loves us so much that we cannot comprehend it, and when we are born we are in withdrawal. Well, I don't think she actually said that last part but I think that's what happens.

We get here and we bond with someone, for me it's my Mom--"I miss you Mom, every dang day I miss you," and then we spend the rest of our lives trying to prove our Independence because we think loving someone that much is a sign of weakness so we do stupid things to show we will run our own lives, thankyouverymuch, and we end up hurting the one we love the most.

Sometimes it's hard to love completely because things happen:

Some rottenlittlestinker children, who do what a rottenlittlestinker children do, make fun of you in one way or another or exclude you or do some other rotten-stinker-behavior to you and you shut down a little bit.

Then a teacher belittles you because her husband said she burned the eggs and, "yes, those pants make your rear end look big, because it is big," and so she takes it out on you and you shut down a little bit more.

Then the boy you like in high school likes the cheerleader, who obviously is not up to his standards and you are, but he can't see it. He doesn't ask you out to Prom and you shut down a little more. The cheerleader won't give him the time of day, by the way, and so he shuts down a little bit too and thinks he's not worthy of a decent girl, when there you are, all decent and waiting. This actually happened to a boy I know. It took him YEARS to get the courage to even date.

And time passes and other things happen and then you fall in love and the one we love stores memory and then uses it later--not in a good way. "Well, you told me that you..." and then they tell some embarrassing PRIVATE thing you told them that they shouldn't use against you. They might say, "I didn't know that would hurt you," or "Don't be so sensitive," or some other nonsense. So, you shut down a bit more.

Then someone at work pulls a dirty trick and takes credit for your idea and if you make a stink you will be branded a trouble maker and so....

You get the idea.

And then the children come. And, wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, you love them totally and completely. And they think they are supposed to be independent and they pull away and you love them completely anyway and then you understand God a little bit and you are amazed. After all, he is God and he must love you way more than you love your child and then you can't believe the good luck you have, to be loved like that.

And then you forget it and let the world interfere and so, I am here to remind you. Don't you forget it. Don't make me come down there.

SIX WORDS FOR GRATITUDE--L

Needed like air, water, food: Love.

THE ABC'S OF GRATITUDE--L

L--I am grateful for love. Grateful I was born into a family who loved me.

My dad was killed in a plane crash before I was two and I have always missed the love he had for me. the chapter I am writing this week has all the emotion I have always had about being raised without him. It's been hard to write because I have been so angry and feel so cheated.

Mom remarried and Daddy loved me. Even when I was a dirty-rotten-stinker. I adored him. He was a marvelous man. I am a better person for being raised by him and I love him with all my heart.

The love I have for my Mom cannot be described. She loved me totally and I loved her back. I miss her so much that some days I sneak away to the bathroom and cry. She was the ideal mother, fixing tea parties for Holly and me, grinning and bearing my teenage hysterics, adoring my babies and my teenagers, loving Phil as if he were her own son, and always, always, loving me.

I had two amazing sisters. Each was different and unique. Who I am is in some part because of how they treated me when I was growing up. They loved me and I loved them but there was all that sibling stuff going on. My book is full of that sibling stuff. It may be hard for my sister to read--then again maybe she will never have to. I hope she will understand that without all that sibling stuff I would be a weak, easily wounded sissy and that she helped make me strong. My other sister died way to early and when I am crying--in the bathroom for my mom--I cry for her, too.

I have been in love maybe three times in my life. I was lucky that the man I loved the most, Phil, loved me back. He's loved me when I was grumpy, depressed, angry--I threw water on him once from the second story balcony because I was so angry--actually that time we ended up laughing. He's loved me through good times, the birth of our children, the funny, laugh out loud times. He knows me better than anyone else and loves me anyway. He is my strength. He is strong in the gospel and loves the Lord and tries to do what is right. I love him for his commitment and his goodness. I love him for a hundred different reasons.

I love the children. They come as babies and we are charmed. By the time they get interesting it's too late and we are hooked. And they were interesting in unnumbered ways. We waited them out and soon they became interesting in milder ways and now we are friends. I am madly in love with each of them. I love who they have chosen to love and spend their lives with. They have given us grandchildren and the grandchildren are charismatic and we are as hooked on them as we are about our children. Some of them just have dogs and so we love the dogs while we are being patient for the charismatic grandchildren.

And I can't talk about love without mentioning my "goodest," daily, life-changing-for-the-better friends. They know me almost as well as Phil does and maybe even better than the kids. Some are email buddies, some are "spittin' distance" ones and some are not seen often but are friends to the end.

And I've saved the best for last. I love Heavenly Father and Jesus. I am so grateful I had the chance to come to earth and receive a body and find Phil and be allowed to bear Heavenly Father's children. I am in love with the fact that Father trusts me. I let him down and what does he do? Trusts me again. He must love me a lot to let me make all these mistakes and let me decide when I am going to make things better. And he sent Jesus to atone for me and for all His children and then, if that weren't enough, he sent the Holy Ghost to warn, comfort and guide.

I am blessed to have loved and been loved.

THE ABC'S OF GRATITUDE--H THROUGH K

H--Holy Ghost. I am so grateful that I know He exists, that I know He will never fail. I have had so many "whisperings" that have been warnings, comfort, witnesses of truth, uneasiness at falseness, and even tiny little things like, "go check the soup" two minutes before it was going to boil over. His whispering once saved Gilmore Girl's life. His whispering once saved The Brown Dot from freezing cold in the middle of the night--maybe saved his life, too. He is involved in my life daily and I am grateful I have this knowledge.

I--Ice Cream. I'm grateful I don't like it much. One of the few calorie laden things I don't want to eat. Let's hear it for not wanting to eat ice cream!

J--Jesus. I don't understand how it was done but I know He atoned for my sins and the sins of every human being. As I love my parents--who are gone--how grateful I am for the knowledge that I will be reunited with them--as I love my husband and children, probably more than any of them will ever know, I know, without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus loves more than I ever can. He loves all, not just the good, the pretty, the smart, the ones with good fashion sense. He not only loves me--and everyone else--but he experienced all my fears, pains, disappointments, tragedies, sorrows, etc. He KNOWS how I feel and he is there to give me comfort and acceptance. What a great gift he offers. I'm takin' it, I can tell you.

K--Kids. Not the goat kind. The human kind. Without them this world would be so empty. I am grateful that Heavenly Father let me raise five of them. Each one was/is different. Each one is cherished by Phil and me. I love the sound of children's voices--well, except when they are screaming. Their sing-song-ing up and down voices, how unique that sound is. Some lisp and we are just a little bit sorry when they learn to speak properly. They say hilarious things, do hilarious things, love without motives, forgive almost instantly and throw themselves into life with joy. I wish I had the confidence I had when I was a little child. All children are born with confidence and then they learn fear. So, I'm grateful for kids and for their confidence and pure love and hope this world always has a plethora of them.

Also, it seem to me that when children are born with handicaps that they don't seem to feel sorry for themselves. Adults rant and rail if something happens to them to diminish their abilities but kids seem to take it in their stride. They must have special spirits to be given disabilities and to make the most of what they can do.

A friend of mine saw a child at a doctor's office that had the most debilitating handicap imaginable. He was cheerful and happy. I doubt that he will grow up to be bitter and sad. I think he will grow up to be a great human being and my friend will never forget him. She is a better person for observing his attitude and I am also, for simply hearing about him.

QUOTE FOR TODAY: LOVE

"Love is finding that the things you like best about yourself are not in you at all, but in the person who completes you" — Orson Scott Card (Sarah: Women of Genesis)

A MIRACLE OF MOTHERHOOD

Today in Relief Society we were discussing what mother's did/do with their children. One woman said something like the following.

From the first moment a mother holds her infant she pats it. As it grows, she holds it to her breast, holds it on her shoulder, always lovingly patting her child. One day a miracle happens, she feels a little hand on the back of her neck, patting her back.

THE MUSE NEEDS TO VISIT LYNNE

I can't take the time to write about what I really want to say tonight, it will have to wait for when I have more time and less tears. I will say this much: a dear man's funeral was today and I am sad. I am sad for his dear wife and his children but also sad for Lynne, who won't be able to benefit from his love...the love he shared equally with all. But to me, and others too, it was genuine and meaningful and cherished. My heart is broken.

So, instead I will share something Jane Yolen said on her web site--and no, I didn't get permission so don't rat on me:

"The Muse is an ornery creature and rarely comes when called. She wears feathers in her hair and birkenstocks on her feet and is often out in the woods when you are home at your keyboard.

"But sometimes when you are writing, and are so concentrated on what you are doing that you pay her little heed, she comes into the room, looks over your shoulder, and breathes softly in your ear. It is a tickle, like baby's breath, and could be mistaken for a shift in the internal wind in the room.

"And you won't know she's been there, not until minutes or days or weeks or months or years later. You will think that what you put down was ordinary but it turns out to be extraordinary. And that's when you understand the Muse had visited you.

"Trust me. Some things I do know." Jane Yolen

Now, I don't know if The Muse has ever visited me but I'm hoping she might, even though I live in Utah which is classified as a desert and not in the woods of Scotland, which is green and lush and has places named Faerie Glen, has castles, lochs and even mountains that are good at absorbing demons.

If you have any influence with the muse, tell her something like this, "Lynne, who lives in Utah--with no glens, castles, lochs or demon absorbing mountains--needs you to whisper lovely ideas in her ear." Then bribe her. It's the right thing to do, I'm sure of it.

Thanks so much. I owe you one,
Lynne

IT WAS A DAY FOR HUGS.

Nurse Giggleswitch's Daddy's funeral was today. I have never cried as much or laughed as much in a funeral.

Nurse Giggleswitch and her three siblings all spoke, they are all just like their dad in many ways. Quick witted for sure, and they told stories about their funny dad. He will be missed.


It was a time for hugs. Lots of hugs.


When we got home we watched them pack and get ready to leave. Then there were more hugs all around. They even hugged each other. I told them to so I could take this shot. I'm such a smart mom.

The doggies did not get hugs. Dog breath, you know.

Try not to notice the socks with the shorts on my boy, Lord Bumhampton.

I watched until their car turned the corner and was gone. Just like Mom used to do when we left after being home for a vacation or just for a week-end. She watched until we drove out of sight, wiping her eyes and waving. She did the same for my sister and her family. We were so loved and we knew it.

These kids are loved.


I even loved rubbing my boy's feet, which smell somewhat like Parmesan cheese. That's what parents do, love their kids. No matter what.

Nurse Giggleswitch's daddy loved her very much. He loved all his children. I know it was hard for him to leave them--he died of leukemia--, even though they are all grown up and don't rely on him to take care of them. They do rely on him to be their daddy, the man who they will always talk about and laugh about and sometimes cry over. He is their dad, and like all dad's everywhere he is one of the most important people in their lives. He always will be.

Every kind of dad is important. We come to planet earth with "family" stamped all over us. It's a big responsibility being a dad. But if you are a dad you know it's worth it.

A SYMBOL OF LOVE

This is a symbol of love. Phil bought this for me for Valentine's Day. I have it in the kitchen window and every time I see it I remember he loves me. Me with the insecurities, the sometimes loudness--okay, when it's spring, summer or fall and its WARM, and I'm not worried I will FREEZE TO DEATH, and the lawn swings are out, and we have friends stop by--well, then I am noisy and "Hallooo, come over and visit!" type loud person and I laugh every chance I get. I have even been known to snort on the odd occasion. I am so blessed to be loved by someone like Phil, when I snort.

And this winter, the Winter of The Endless Frozen Narnia winter, when I am blue and worried and anxious and upset and weepy and not-loud and not "Halloooing" to anyone, he still loves me. He loves me in the good and the not so good. I am so lucky to have him in my life, to be married to him in the Lord's temple and to know he will be with me through eternity. I will be better then. There will be no insecurities, no blues, and no fear. There will be joy with all the members of the earth, loving each other, remembering each and every one.

Until then, I wonder how I can show Phil I love him. There is no adequate way. I don't cook like I used to. Maybe he could remember those tasty dinners and think, she loved me because she cooked. She still loves me; she just doesn't cook. We need to eat "cleaner" anyway so we can toddle into our golden years with better health. Tonight he ate a bowl of fresh fruit. Apples, grapes and oranges. For a snack later he ate raw cashews and dates. Not a bad dinner. I didn't even cut up his fruit; he did it himself so I can claim no part of fixing his dinner.

So, how can I show him I love him? I guess I will try to be a better Lynne. A nicer Lynne. A not-so-blue Lynne. I don't know if I can be a not-so-loud Lynne--when I'm not frozen or thinking I'm going to be frozen, that is. I will try to be a better member of the church and do a better job in my calling. I will try to have faith and not fear.

Oh, and I know he would like me to do more housework, get rid of the clutter, either give away or throw away a whole lot of stuff. How am I going to do that? I'm not a tidy person. I have other talents--they have not shown up yet but I'm sure I have them--they are just waiting until my twilight years and then they will show up and he will be impressed. Of course, by then he might be too old to see them. Ha ha.

I wish they would hurry, while his eyesight is still good. Until then I hope he knows I love him. I really do.

MY MOTHER'S FIRST LOVE

This is a story I wrote about my darling mother's first marriage. This marriage ended about eight years later when her husband died in a car accident, leaving her with two little girls, my sisters. Most of this story is true. Part of it is made up--the little details--because Mom is no longer here to tell me those details and what's a story without a few interesting details?

Fred was a railroad worker but not the soot covered kind. He wore fresh clothes and dressed like a gentleman. I could hardly breathe when he came into the drug store. All the girls in the drugstore where I worked had a crush on Fred. He flirted with me—me, a little country girl.

When he asked me out I didn’t know what to say and when he kept taking me places, week after week, month after month, I was dumbfounded. Then, one night he asked me to marry him. I was over the moon. All the girls I worked with were jealous.

The justice of the Peace married us. I wore a pale pink suit and Fred brought me a corsage of fresh flowers. He gave me the most beautiful rings I had ever seen. The engagement ring was of silver with lacy filigree with a huge diamond. He gave me a wedding band that matched, silver lace with four perfect diamonds. He spent every bit of his money on those rings and payed for them for a long time afterward, too. I wore them all my life, through all the husbands after him, after he died and Reed died, too. I wore them always. I don’t think it bothered my other husbands because they could never afford rings like that.

I guess I never got over my first love, Fred . I wonder if any woman ever gets over her first love.

We were poor and it made no sense to get married when we were that poor but we did it anyway. We were so in love. Fred worked for the railroad and so he asked if we could use an abandoned railroad car that was just off the tracks. That was our first home. It was tiny but we didn’t care. The train rumbling by woke us up for the first couple of weeks but after that we slept right through. The train whistle didn’t wake us either.

I fixed the boxcar up cute. I made curtains for the windows and we had a little stove in there. We stoked the fire up good at night but by morning it was so cold that our bucket of water was frozen. We would make a fire and put the bucket on to thaw and when it was warm Fred would strip down and wash all over. I never looked at him totally naked. He laughed and tried to get me to but I just couldn’t.

I never saw a man totally naked until I was in my seventies even though I had been married to four different men by then. My daughter told me that men were funny looking and so I finally got up my courage and looked at my husband. The next time I saw my daughter I told her I had finally seen a man naked and that she was right. We laughed until we had to sit down and wipe our eyes. I think we laughed as much that it took me all those years to look at a man as about the fact that men are funny looking.

That first morning after Fred and I were married I got up and put on two pair of socks and all the petticoats I had and some pants under them and my sweater and my coat. I thawed the water and made breakfast for my brand new husband. It was the breakfast I grew up having. Biscuits and gravy. I loved biscuits and gravy. While I was fixing it Fred got ready for the day and when he was all ready I had him sit down and I proudly put the plate in front of him.

He took one look at it and said, “What in the 'blank' is this?”

I didn’t think a man should swear at his brand new bride and I tried not to show I had my feelings hurt.

“It’s biscuits and gravy.”

“Well, I’m not eating it. Good grief. Who eats this stuff? I’ll eat at the hotel.”

He got up and put the plate in the dishpan, buttoned his coat and left. He forgot to kiss me.

I stood there, with a fork in my hand. “I eat stuff like this,” I said in a tiny voice. “My dad and mom and all us kids ate stuff like this all our lives.” And then I threw myself on the bed and bawled like some kind of a baby. I reached out and pulled the covers all the way over me and burrowed down and sobbed. “You didn’t even kiss me goodbye.” I said into the emptiness of the boxcar.

I fell asleep. When I woke up I was nearly late for work and I still had the fork in my hand. I threw it as hard as I could and one of the tines bent. I bent it back but it always had a little wave it. We only had two forks and from then on I made sure I always ate with that one. I didn’t want Fred to ask what had happened to it. I didn’t want to tell him I had thrown a fork at him after he was gone, that he made me angry, that I felt stupid and like a little country girl when he was sophisticated.

I dumped the biscuits and gravy in the weeds at the side of the tracks where I knew a stray cat or dog would find it. I never made that for breakfast again, not once in my whole life. I kept the fork all these years and I still have it in my sock drawer. When I die my girls will find it and wonder if I ate secretly while choosing nylons and socks. I take it out sometimes and run my fingers up and down the wavy part where it was bent. I don’t know why I’ve kept it all these years. I just have.