In last week’s article I shared that the people in the Florida subdivision where Dave and I are living aren’t very friendly. That’s not all bad. Most of the time Dave isn’t at the ballpark we are together, finding new ways in which our differences complement each other. That’s a good thing.
Actually, it’s how God designed the spousal relationship, as described in the book of Genesis. Adam and Eve’s partnership balanced independence and interdependence as they worked in tandem in the Garden of Eden. Only when the enemy enticed Eve, telling her that she could be like God, that it all went to pot. Our Creator’s best is that we are a team…which brings me back to Dave and me having fun together.
One way is crossword puzzles. I start them, get as far as I can and then hand them over to Dave because he knows a lot about categories in which I am inept: geography, history, sports, old movies and vehicles, all of which, in my opinion, require way more crossword knowledge than I care to know. As for the blanks remaining after Hubby corrects my mistakes and fills in his answers, we turn to Google.
We now have progressed from 1,000 to 2,000-piece jigsaw puzzles. Dave thought it challenging to buy ones in which nine-tenths of the pieces are the same color, and since I rely on color and Hubby relies on shape, for every 100 pieces he finds, I find two, and yes, I admit, in my frustration I have squeezed some into places in which they don’t belong. Dave does not think that brings us closer together… but it does give us something to talk about.
My husband has introduced me to TBN, the network with old movies and no commercials. We watch two or three a week. I have tried to introduce him to the fact that there are better actors than John Wayne, but sometimes we just have to “agree to disagree.” Because of me, Dave now watches America’s Got Talent, and then we discuss who should win. When there is confusion, like last night when we watched a “Transformer” movie and I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad, Dave explains what’s going on. (Seriously, you’ve seen one robot, you’ve seen them all.)
I have learned to help Dave chart (using codes) the daily activities for the pitchers he is rehabilitating. He is patient with my questions: “What is PTP?” “What is “PFP?” “What is TF?” “What is FG?” “What is sock?”
Answers, respectively, in case you are interested: pitcher’s throwing practice; pitcher’s fielding practice; touch and feel; flat ground; sock.
I press for more information. “What does S.O.C.K. stand for?”
“Sock.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The pitcher throws a sock.”
“A sock? Like a sock you wear? Well, if that isn’t the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Patty, I just need you to code, not comment.”
“Okay, but I still think it’s silly.”
When Dave is at the ballpark, I am writing my book or an article. For most (ahem!) of the things I write about him, I ask his opinion. This past week, he deleted an entire article when I tried to give him credit for saving a pitcher’s career. Daily we discuss our family, that we need to give up potato chips, how President Trump should stop Tweeting, our frustration with politics and prayer requests.
Interesting, isn’t it? All that time I spent wondering why it was so hard to make friends here in Jupiter, and the best one I ever could have was sitting right beside me!
