Something has triggered my thoughts again today. So here goes.
I’m going to go back a few years to start. I was talking with my brother Mike one evening and I thought during that conversation that it would be a good time to tell him I had met someone with whom I found a strong connection with. When he asked who she was the first words out of his mouth was that she was a really great person, but she was a bit quirky. Quirky, you say. . . Hummm.
All I knew at the time was this woman was changing my life forever and a day. She is intelligent, crafty (in the crafts and knickknacks sort of way), loving (unconditionally), caring to a fault and the list goes on. We are inseparable.
The thing with meeting this late in life means we have developed certain things that we do that are ingrained in us. With us, I think it’s a case of OCD (CDO, since I have to have the letters in order). We do the same functions, but we go entirely different directions from each other coming to the same results. You would think that is great. Right? No. Not when she’s watching me or I’m watching her do whatever it is that is being done.
Let me run on up to today to what triggered this post. I got into the shower and turned around to find what’s in this picture sitting on the shelf in the shower. At first I went into the “what the heck is that?” mode. It looked like a mouse. But what would a mouse be doing in my shower? Upon closer observation I found it to be something Libby had done. You see, I think it comes from being one generation away from the Depression era of our parents and grandparents that still invades our generation’s way of thinking. What she had done was taken two or three small pieces of soap she had left over and stuffed them in a small piece of nylon hose. This way she can get the most of the leftover soap bars. That my friend is smart thinking of days gone by.
I can’t get away without saying I have my quirks, too. After years of refinement in preparation for work the next day, I cannot go to bed without setting up for breakfast the next morning. There’s one thing I can’t stand. I don’t like disorganization when there’s still the fog of sleep in my head, so I put together the coffee and water in the coffee maker the night before, but then I have to abide by Libby’s rule. Don’t set the timer so it doesn’t bother her listening to the machine gurgling before we get up. Why set up the timer for after we get up. The water I put in the maker has to be hot water. Somehow the coffee doesn’t taste just right if I put cold water in the maker the night before by her thinking. Then I lay out the small frying pan, spatula and small bowl on the stove. When we get up I scramble two eggs with cheese and bacon bits for Libby and then on the other counter is my paper towel with a butter knife for toast. Once her breakfast is done I move the toast over to beside the stove and cook one or two eggs with cheese with bacon bit (real bacon, btw) for myself.
But before this process starts the coffee is brewing and my cup is filled to cool while I’m cooking. By this time Libby is coming into the kitchen and her breakfast is ready. All this time the local news is on so we can catch what the weather is like outside. If we deviate from this course, I might as well go back to bed.
Now to a place back in time. My first encounter with her ways was when I had cooked collards, more than likely. I went to get my hot pepper vinegar in the pantry and it wasn’t there. Libby had moved it, because according to her (and my Aunt Doris as well) it wasn’t were it was supposed to be. She moved the garbage bags twice on me and the second time I spent a good half hour looking for them. These are not the only things she moved, because they were not were she supposed they should be. Okay. I’m good with it, but when she’s not there to inform me I spent a good bit of time looking for stuff.
I wasn’t angry, just lost, but I do stuff that she goes behind me and “fixes”. The dishwasher is never loaded right. Now, I just put stuff in there and let her arrange it. It’s a done deal. No issues. Sometimes I just wash up what little bit that is in the sink and leave the dishwasher out of the equation.
I wash clothes, too. Doesn’t that make most women cringe? Whites and colors together kind of stuff. Delicates with jeans? No. I do wash white separate and delicates with delicates. I don’t wash towels with some things, but socks are okay with my underwear, I suppose. Libby told me one time not to wash anything. She’d do it, but I’d sneak a load in here and there. I do wash the bed sheets once a week at least. Primarily because she hates making a bed. I don’t mind.
Aside from quirkiness, this still may fall into that category. I don’t know. This gets scary some times. She can be miles away and know what I’m thinking. She’ll want something for dinner and when she gets home from work that’s what I prepared. We can go to a restaurant and without consultation order the same exact thing. This kind of thinking isn’t narrowed to just food. She will look at me sometimes and say “Tell me what I’m thinking”. I go “Oh no. Really?” I’m not going to explain that one.