Active guy compliments cerebral cat ladyI can’t get a particular song lyric out of my head today: “You for me and me for you, we’ll muddle through whatever we do, together, wherever we go.”
By: Judith Liebaert, Superior Telegram
I can’t get a particular song lyric out of my head today: “You for me and me for you, we’ll muddle through whatever we do, together, wherever we go.”
Last week, we packed up the Vagabond Wagon (travel trailer) and hit the holiday road. Before us stretched the adventure of the open road. Eight days and seven nights of trailer togetherness for hubby, myself and our furry feline Caesar, or the King, as hubby calls him.
My better half isn’t exactly what one would call a cat person. He isn’t necessarily a dog person either. Let’s just say he is a people person and prefers his companions to be the two legged kind.
Regardless, when we met I had the cats (two of them at the time) and they weren’t going anywhere. Hubby tolerated them and eventually grew to kind of, somewhat, sort of like them. I’ve promised that when Caesar meets his end and joins his brother and sister in their back yard plot, I won’t replace him.
We’ll see how that goes. I was born into a family with a cat in residence. I have never been without a cat companion in 55 years. I foresee cat lady withdrawal.
Pet preference is just one of our many differences. Hubby came from a super-jock family, I came from an artsy-fartsy clan. He is a staunch traditionalist, I’m always pushing the boundaries of convention.
I am a nature girl, he’s a city boy. He is a strategist and I am a dreamer. I lose hours in sedentary, cerebral pursuits while he likes to be moving and doing. His attention to detail and perfection sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity. My deliberate tunnel vision confounds him (what I manage to overlook cannot clamor for my attention).
He likes to watch war movies, I like psychological thrillers. My glass is half full while his is half empty. I say to-may-toe, he says to-mah-toe — let’s call the whole thing off.
Wait, let’s not. It seems we are both just quirky enough to make it work. He loves to drive and I love to travel. We enjoy our little Vagabond Wagon, close quarters and all. I buy funky “trailer-tramp” lights to string on the canopy and he gladly helps me put them up.
I like coffee and no conversation for breakfast. He hates coffee and prefers a hot morning meal. Good thing he can whip up a ham and cheese omelet with one hand tied behind his back. When he does, I don’t change my mind and ask him to share it with me — though he certainly would.
Some mornings, if I stay in bed and pretend I’m sleeping, I hear him talking to Caesar despite his claimed indifference to the resident furball. Poor guy, I guess my a.m. apathy leaves him little choice.
He’ll drive 30 miles out of our way to find the Flying Pig Gallery and Green Space, then ooh and ah with me at the contemporary folk art. I point out rusting, classic Chevy’s languishing in farm fields so we can take photos and find out if they are for sale.
Three o’clock in the afternoon is bloody Mary time. Whenever we finish dinner is time to go for a drive — regardless of how many times we’ve seen the local scenery.
We both love to play the oldies on the radio and sing along. He forgets the words a lot, but his versions entertain us both and keep the oldies from getting old.
I know when the Vagabond Wagon is not level, when the kitchen faucet is leaking, when the gas is out or the hot water heater doesn’t light ... I’m smart that way. He knows how to fix it all. Who could ask for a more perfect match?
The point is, opposites don’t just attract, they compliment. My experience of life is so much more when I make the effort to accommodate his likes; I benefit from his strengths. And I’m sure his life is ever so much more entertaining for sharing in my off beat vision of the world.
So, I guess that means I’ll be going to my first Packer’s Game at Lambeau this year ... and he’ll be sitting ringside with me at Cirque de Soliel.
It could be worse; at least I’m not signing him up for a yoga, transformational, new-age retreat — yet.
Judith Liebaert was raised in Superior and now lives in rural Douglas County. She blogs on-line as the Mad Goddess™. Send your comments or story ideas to firstname.lastname@example.org.