I Love the Old Songs She Brings to Me

We shopped over the week-end, my lovely girl and me.  It doesn`t amount to much, our spending time this way.  I mean, it`s just groceries, right? 

She gives me the chance to opt out.  “Stay home and write.”  she invites me.  She knows what I adore, my weakness… but I want to be with her more.  Not that you are not important to me, dear reader… we have spent some wonderful time together.  But I enjoy her company when we are alone in a crowded supermarket on our treasure hunt. 

“Buy what is on sale.”  I instruct her, but it is pointless, really.  She is a bargain hunter, she scrutinizes incessantly… she thinks I am a prize.  I get to push the cart.   I read the labels, I complain about the prices,  I remark that the Muzak is playing Jesse Winchester and now I like this store.  It has become my favorite, I announce… she scouts ahead, checking her list.  People are rude and she rolls her eyes as they cut in front of us without apology… she makes note of it and sighs.  I want to correct their bad manners, tell them that my wife is worthy of respect… but I refrain. 

It is the American in me, I want to get loud and be indignant… but I digress.  She knows I am in control and it makes her happy, I think of a song instead.

We also bought an office chair on sale last week-end,  it suits our needs here at our little table in the kitchen.  Now it is a bonafide, designated “official” place to write.  No more ripping off the dining table for a chair to sit on.   The green fabric cushioned seat rolls and goes up and down.  The back allows you to lean away in casual sublimity if you have the strength to do so, and I do… it was a strong selling point.  Now I can roll to the refrigerator, roll to the sink, roll to the stove, roll to the dining table or lean back to look out the sliding glass door into the valley below us.  It is very conducive to creativity.  Everything at my fingertips, all I need now is to be catheterized and I could stay here indefinitely. 

I believe I fall in love with Chantal every day.  It is the little things she doesn`t know she is doing.  It is listening to her describe her day, the way things effect her, the people that she moves about and interacts with… her descriptions of lives outside her office that she must invade, their privacy an open book to her.  I know they couldn`t be in better hands because sometimes she anguishes over the files she cannot speak of and it causes her to be blue.  Like she holds their fate in her hands. 

“She`s got a way of talkin`…”

I started singing that song in the supermarket and thought about Billy Joel and his life with Christie Brinkley, his uptown girl.  It was hard to imagine that he could have been so inspired by such a union as theirs and then have it fall apart like it did.  It made me sad to think of how things don`t work out in relationships.  Maybe it was their egos, his up and coming, hers already well established at the time.  We have the benefit of the song…

We pushed the shopping cart in the snow out on the parking lot.  It plows along, the wheels incapable of turning and me forcing it with my legs churning like steam pistons.

“Do you need me to help?”  she asks, “I can push on the left side.”

“No,” I reply valiantly, “I can manage.”  and to prove it I push harder, faster, weaving about the snow covered pavement.  “They should make this an Olympic event!  Snow cart pushing!  A Canadian exclusive!  Who needs hockey when we have this?”  She laughs at me as I hurry through the snow, because if I lose my momentum now I might not make it to the far end of the parking lot, where we have parked next to the cart return.  Most people just abandon their pack mules in this snow encrusted prairie of a parking lot, but not us.  We`ll walk further in order to dutifully return the cart through wind, snow, sleet and hail, dark of night, flood and high water, social uprisings, a stampede of caribou or the boogie man… it makes no difference.  OUR cart shall be returned forthwith. 

It is the simple things, really.  To make her laugh, to see her smile, to feel her eyes of approval upon me.  I could have stayed home, but where would my inspiration have come from?  When I do my little chores, she still thanks me though it is nothing compared to her sacrifice of working at a job she needs but does not want.  She collects a wage and goes home… nobody knows that she cares for them in her capacity of oversight, that she takes her job seriously, that she feels for her fellow man with great humility and open honesty. 

If people only knew what my girl goes through, how her heart is troubled by unsavory news events and the entangling, deceitful web of world politics.   How drama half a world away makes her lie awake at night, how her own countrymen may disappoint her back here in Canada.  Maybe they would curtail their actions just a little bit to witness the joy in the brilliance of her smile.  If they were ever blessed with it once, I swear they would… 

I feel powerless and inadequate, but I assure her that her efforts do not go un-noticed.  I see and feel them, sometimes I curse the un-appreciative ones beneath my breath… the ones that complain.  Occasionally,  I blame myself for not offering her more… she deserves everything.  She is goodness personified, her approval means everything to me.  

Even if I am right I am wrong if it causes her dismay… I struggle to make my intentions less abrasive, it is not to prove superiority… it is corrective thinking, the facts can be cruel and cold sometimes.  Let me warm them, it is not divisive being direct, it is not self-righteous if we are of one mind… I am searching, too, my beloved. 

We shop our souls, we put our hearts on a shelf, we clutter our minds in the bargain bin, we waste our strength combing the aisles looking for meaning in advertisement.  We search for inspiration through the lines written in the National Enquirer as we wait in line to check out… hoping our debit is approved.

She helps me push the cart, tonight I shall sing in the shower…




4 Responses to “I Love the Old Songs She Brings to Me”

  1. marge Says:

    such a romantic you are!!!!
    I am thrilled that you are with your true love and you fall more and more in love with her every day.
    She sounds like a treasure.
    I am happy for you bro.
    Love Marge

  2. msdane Says:

    I, too, very much enjoyed your blog. Especially the part about the office chair. I laughed out loud picturing you rolling around and I do that here in my office on my chair. Too funny.

  3. Marit Says:

    First blog I read after wakeup from sleep today!


  4. seamonster02 Says:

    Great post! You know, I bet if they made a sitcom or reality show of the two of you, everyone would watch it. It would be bigger than that Dugger (or whoever they are) Family. Can’t wait to spend some time with Chantal – maybe I can wisk her away from you for awhile for coffee while you guys are here. 🙂

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