My cousin Perry, whom we sometimes insult by calling him the sixth Rush boy, sent this to me with the comment “For Robin.”
Señora and I were on a camping trip a few years ago. I did not think my Tacoma was going to make it back home due to all the rocks she loaded on to it. Her many flower beds are bordered with rocks she has collected from various places, a couple of which are almost big enough to be classified as boulders.
Since I “borrowed” their cartoon for my blog, let me add a link to their online store: Luna’s Spiritual Shop
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
It is a beautiful autumnal morning here in the St. Louis metropolitan area. I had a routine dental appointment at 0900 for a cleaning and x-rays. Teeth are great, thanks for asking.
As I was checking out the administrative person behind the desk asked what was I going to do with the rest of this beautiful day.
“Well,” I replied, “I am retired and I am going to do whatever my muse moves me to do.”
I went on to add, “Of course my muse’s name is Robin and I am married to her.”
For once I got a real laugh, not the pity laugh I am used to with my chronic, groan-worthy jokes that tend to cause people’s eyes to roll backwards in their heads.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
Señora and I typically stay very busy with our various activities. She has her choirs, her huge circle of friends, her pottery, her gardens, and, of course, keeping me out of trouble. Plus she has become a little more active at her synagogue. I have my various fields of study, like Spanish, various courses on Wondrium, etc. I sometimes think I have way too many hobbies, golf, fishing, photography, etc, but I like to be busy. Add in the stack of books that I am anticipating reading – someday, and I frequently go to bed feeling like I did not get done all I wanted to do.
However, occasionally we find ourselves with a quiet day. Such was the case the other morning. We both were laying in bed, sipping coffee. I was flipping through the news on my phone while Señora was solving her various daily puzzles on hers.
As is our wont, she asked me what my day looked liked.
“Well,” I responded, “After I am done with the news I will probably work out. Then if I am hungry I will have some lunch. The yard needs mowing so I will take care of that. Hopefully I will complete all that in time to take a nap before dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Señora said, I will meet you back here this afternoon then.”
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
Every year Señora and I do the same little dance around Christmas time. We start asking the other what they want for Christmas/Hanukah. The thing is at this stage of our life we really do not need much except those things necessary for daily living. Both of us have the habit of if we “want” something we tend to buy it for ourselves. Plus we will frequently surprise the other by buying them little presents as the muse hits us, a nice, silly, loving, little gesture to do for the other.
I had been down in the Valley the other day. When I returned home, wanting to get a jump on the season, I told Señora I saw what she could buy me for Christmas.
“Oh,” she attentively replied.
“Yup,” I answered, “I saw a brand new Porsche 911 GTS almost the exact same color of my Mazda MX-5 Miata.”
Juanita Rush goes for a ride in Little Blue
The Miata, my mid life crisis automobile that I bought 17 years ago, is a bright blue the sticker called Winning Blue. The vehicle still looks good, runs good, and I continue to get compliments on it.
This particular Porsche starts at $186, 250. Add another $4,220 for the specialty color they are calling Shark Blue and you have a starting point of $190, 470 good American dollars. Gawd only knows where it ends at.
“Well,” she said, “you had better start buying lottery tickets.”
I can still hear her laughter ringing in my ears 30 minutes after she went in pursuit of more fulfilling activities than conversation with her beloved.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
There are certain reoccurring household chores that I prefer that I do rather than Señora. I tell Señora that I want to do these tasks as I have a system. Sometimes she even listens.
I will be doing some task around the abode and Señora will ask if I would like some help. Sometimes I accept her aid, but, not infrequently, I will say thanks, but no thanks, I have a system.
Obviously my system is no more than the OCD part of me needing to do something a particular way. Whether it is better or not is debatable, but do not tell that to the little monkey riding my back.
Being, ahem, seniors, Señora and I both have regular medicine that we take. We keep our personal stashes in different places. In both stashes are to be found bottles of acetaminophen. I emptied my bottle of the last two pills the other day. Since I was running down to the valley to do some shopping I asked Señora if we had any more acetaminophen. If not I would purchase some. At first she thought we were out, but then she discovered a brand new container in her stash.
She brought the new bottle into my man cave as I was sitting in front of my computer. I very gently suggested that she pull the empty pill bottle out of my recycling can that sits next to my desk. She sat both bottles down in front of me.
I said, “you could have poured some from your bottle into my bottle.”
“Oh no,” she replied, “I thought you might have a system and need to count them.”
One feature of long term relationships is that sometimes the other person knows you much, much too well.
And for the record, I did not count them… thank you very much.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
Señora has a common female habit of removing her brassiere when she comes home. She lays this unique feminine article of apparel in various places: on the sofa; on the coffee table; the kitchen table; occasionally casually tossing them in the direction of a chair in the family room. By spells her knocker lockers actually land on the chair rather than the floor. Not infrequently she forgets that they are there, or perhaps thinks she will take them upstairs in a bit. A bit sometimes being in a day or two.
A while back I started taking her over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders and hanging then in various places: one of the light fixtures over either the dining room table or kitchen table; the track lighting behind the couch; one of the decorative arms of the clock in the family room; etc.
Not uncommonly her double-barreled slingshot will stay there for a day or two. Occasionally they have been there for several days. Señora suddenly discovers her booby holster and becomes quite agitated with yours truly… much to my perverted delight. She always asks how long her keeper-of-heavenly delights has been there. So far no one has been in our house and asked why a bra is hanging from the chandler over the dining room table, or perhaps they were polite enough to ignore it.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
We were scheduled to have a serviceman come out and look at Señor Abuelo Reloj early Friday afternoon. Like a lot of grandfathers, he has a few aches and pains, and occasionally just stops in mid task wondering what the heck he is doing standing in the entryway of our house.
The office of the horologist called wanting to reschedule to this afternoon as he had something come up.
“Well,” I said, “I am not going to be here this afternoon and I am not sure when my wife will return home.”
“Truth is,” I went on, “she out running around with a friend of hers, and in all likelihood I will not hear from either one of them until they need bail money. ”
“Oh really!” said the scheduler, “perhaps then we better do it next Tuesday at 1?”
“Works for me,” I confirmed.
In point of fact, Thelma and Louise were amateurs compared to the duet of Señora and La Guapa. I am just glad neither of them drives a convertible.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
I was walking from the bedroom to the bathroom when I belched with much enthusiasm and expressiveness. Growing up in a household with four brothers and a gaseous father, belching was considered an art form, a source of competition amongst us five boys.
Señora said to me, “You just burped.”
“No,” I said, “I just eructated. I have more class than to burp.”
Her reply was not family friendly, but it definitely let me know in no uncertain terms that she was not in accordance with my well considered evaluation of my behavior.
And so it goes within the confines of our matrimonial walls.
Okay, this is an observation that Señora has grown quite tired of, but I still find immensely entertaining…at least until I get her chancla upside my head.
It works like this. Señora was married 28 years her first go around. I was technically married 22 years, but the number of years living together were somewhat less than that figure. However, the paperwork says 22. Nuff said.
If you add those two numbers, 28 and 22, you arrive at 50 years of matrimony between the two of us.
“Matrimony… the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Casamiento Segundo, its until-death-do-us-part mission… to explore a strange new relationship… to seek out a new life and new adventures… to boldly go where no sane couple has gone before.”
It is tough being married to a Yankee.
I have what I suppose is a bad habit. At least I have been told it is a bad habit. I see it as a way of releasing stress. When I get upset with other drivers for whatever reasons I have a tendency to call them a**holes. Of course, I am in my vehicle and they are in theirs so they cannot hear me, but if Señora is in the vehicle with me it upsets her that I do this.
A while back I discovered an older Canadian sitcom, Corner Gas that I fell in love with and binge watched every episode. I strongly identified with one of the characters, Oscar Leroy, played by Eric Peterson. He called everyone he was upset with jackass. I’ve adopted this habit a bit, and use Oscar’s word in place of a**hole at times. Señora finds it only marginally better.
Señora is not much on name calling, but she has certain Yiddish words that she applies to me when she is upset with me. Yeah I know, hard to believe. One such word is schmaltz, others are putzand shlemiel. She has another pejorative that I find immensely humorous, that she uses very rarely but with great effect. She has even used it in reference to me on occasion… pubic hair. In the scales of name calling it probably weighs in around the same as a**hole or jackass, but it has the mitigating trait of being comical.
We were driving back from Tulsa Sunday and I had used my pejoratives a couple times in reference to bad drivers. At some point Señora, mainly to pick at me, called one of these freeway fanatics an a**hole. I quickly informed her that she could not do that as that was my word. “But,” said I, “let me give you a word. You can call them meadow muffins.”
Yankees… I spent the next five minutes explaining to her what a meadow muffin was. Just in case you do not know, alternative terms might be cow piles, cow patties, dung cakes or from western literature, buffalo chips… to keep it somewhat clean.
