Dear George,
Oh no, I did it again. Every time I set out to write the word “marital” I wind up spelling it “martial”. Why is that? I never spell “partial” “partail” or “capital” “captial”. One of my college roommates told me it’s a Freudian slip, but that’s hard to believe. Why would anyone confuse marriage and martial? In any case, Katja’s and my marriage has always been extremely idyllic. Here are a few anecdotes from my daily journal which prove this.
Love,
Dave
Male Cleanliness Standards
Katja had been out of town about five days when Frya, our
cleaning lady, called. She asked if Katja were back and said she had
us scheduled for the coming Wednesday. Though I almost never play a
role in such decisions, I said to Frya, “It’s really strange but whenever Katja goes out of town our house doesn’t seem to get dirty. I think we should postpone. How about if you call Katja back early in the week?” Frya said o.k. Afterwards I wasn’t positive my opinion was correct. Maybe the house just seemed less dirty to me. Actually it never seems dirty enough to me to warrant a visit from the cleaning
lady. Probably Frya will be relieved when Katja gets back so she can
deal directly with the woman of the house.
Distressed by Non-Disasters
Katja noticed that the auto insurance card in her wallet listed an
expiration date of several months ago. She called the company, and
they explained that we haven’t had any auto insurance for the last
seven months. Apparently we didn’t pay the bill, and the insurance
company never contacted us again. That put both of us in a state of
shock. It’s crazy and hazardous to have been driving around for seven
months with no insurance. I keep thinking of all the terrible things
that could have happened. Happily, none of them did.
Sleep Is Scary
Katja learned a while back that Frank M., one of her long-term
colleagues from her social service agency, had died in his sleep that
week, even though he was only in his early fifties. She was very sad
about it. At midnight she said that she didn’t want to go to sleep.
I’d begun to nod off myself, and, puzzled, I asked why. Katja said
she just didn’t want to. Waking up a bit more, I asked, “Is it
because of Frank?” Katja didn’t answer directly, saying, “I have too
much left to do.” Lacking empathy at the moment, I said, “Dying in
your sleep is probably the very best way to die.” Katja repeated that
she has too much to do, and I repeated my opinion about good ways to
die. Then I fell back asleep. I guess Katja did too because she was
sound asleep when I woke up in the morning.
Quite a Big House
When Katja went out shopping, I said I might go to the office but I
stayed at home instead to work on my blog in our upstairs den. A few
hours later I got a call on my cell phone. It was Katja. She said
she’d tried my office phone number, but then she realized that it might have been the wrong number. I said no, that I was home. She sounded sort of confused, and I asked her where she was. She said she’d been home for half an hour. I asked whose home she was at, and she said she was at our home. She wondered whose home was at. I was upstairs; she was downstairs. We both started laughing. Apparently we have difficulty keeping track of who’s where.
Incriminating Evidence
I was working at the computer when Katja came up to the door, held out
her hand, and said she’d found two women’s earrings in the TV room.
Her facial expression was sort of intimidating, like ‘what sort of unknown women have you been cavorting with in our house?’ Our friend Royce had visited two nights before to watch an episode of “Homeland” with us, and I suggested they were probably hers. Katja gave me a suspicious look and said that Royce doesn’t wear earrings. A little later I speculated that they might belong to one of the women who helped clean our house last week. Katja gave me an even worse look. Apparently she considered that idea was preposterous. She gave the earrings to me as if I knew what to do with them. I put them on the railing at the top of the stairs. Later I was able to reach Royce by phone. She’d left the earring here. I told this to Katja, but I don’t knew if she believed me. I personally think we’ve been married too long to get jealous, but you never know.
Fashion Frenzy
When I volunteered to type up Katja’s minutes for the Opera Guild board
meeting (for which she is the secretary) I ran across the following
statement: “At the ball women will be expected to wear formal ball
gowns, and white ties and gloves will be expected for men.” I rushed
into the next room, and our conversation proceeded as follows:
D: Who in the world made this decision?
K: Everybody thought it was a good idea. It will be nice.
D: I’m not going to any ball like this.
K: The arrangements are already made. Beside you agreed to go to one
ball during the year.
D: What does this mean about the rest of my clothes.
K; The men will be wearing dark suits.
D: You mean tuxedos. I don’t have a tuxedo.
K; You have your black felt sport coat. That will look nice.
D: With white gloves.
K (laughing): You can wear your fur-lined gloves. Or even your
gardening gloves.
D: Stop laughing. This isn’t funny. I’m serious.
K: I know you’re serious. We’ll have a really good time.
D (grits his teeth and scowls): I’m not going to go! I’m not going to
go! (Though, in his inner self, he knew he had no choice.)
Night burglar
The other night I went to sleep at midnight. As is often the case, I
woke at two a.m., took half an Ambien, and worked at the computer for
a while so the pill could take effect. After about ten minutes I
thought I heard a noise in the dark from downstairs, perhaps
a footstep on the landing. I stopped typing and listened intently, but
there was nothing. Minutes later I heard something again, perhaps the
sound of a drawer being opened. I held my breath, exceedingly
nervous. We aren’t one hundred percent reliable about
locking the kitchen door at night, and I’ve always feared that a
prowler might test the handle and come in. I turned on the radio, then clapped my hands loudly to let any intruder know that someone was awake upstairs. Then I heard a voice call out my name. It was Katja. She was down in the kitchen doing dishes. She wondered what I was clapping about. I explained and went back to bed.
Candle Dangers
For some time Katja has kept a candle burning in a glass jar in the
living room because she likes the fragrance. Recently she added a
second burning candle to the table in our sunroom where we eat most of
our meals. On Tuesday morning we were reading the newspaper there
when Katja shrieked. She had been holding the New York Times just above the
candle, and it caught fire in her hands. Then on Wednesday morning
her newspaper caught fire again. It occurred to me that we could set
the paper down some day, leave the room, and our house would soon be on
fire. I did move the sun room candle to a safer location, but it still leaves me nervous.
