Friday, June 26, 2009

A lil' romance.

How can I advertise on my blog that I'm married and then not blog about it?

I was just surfing some tunes on my iPod and came across "In My Life" by The Beatles, which was the song that my husband and I choose to open our wedding dance.  It always stops me in my tracks when I hear it, and I think about how much I love my husband and being married to him.

I love being married.  I know lots of people who don't think they'll ever get married, and well, each to their own I suppose. But here's a few reasons why I think marriage is awesome.

Food: My husband and I are both self-proclaimed foodies. We like cooking and more importantly, eating.  We love hot food, sweet food, sour food, ethnic food, and comfort food.  If it looks remotely edible, he'll eat it.  I tend to hesitate a little more.
 
But more to the point, cooking together is a challenge - especially in a small kitchen, but it's also a great lesson in communication.  If you don't pay attention to where the other person is, you might get burned, or slice your finger, and if you don't chat about what you feel like eating, a little too much Tabasco might slip into the frying pan and you end up drinking a litre of milk with your meal.  We've (thankfully) never burnt one another or sliced any body parts, and we haven't yet had a bad meal together.... even if all the milk was gone after the Tabasco incident.

The other plus: if it's one person cooking, the other person does the dishes

Fun: I think my husband is an incredibly fun person.  He actually once said to me "If it's not fun, it's not worth doing."  This doesn't mean he spends his time playing games, never does housework, and life is a vacation.  He's actually taught me that anything, including weeding the garden, doing the dishes, or house cleaning is what you make it.  His philosophy is: If you believe it's going to suck, it will, so don't believe it.  

He sees the beauty in work.  This is something I'm coming to grips with myself.  Many people work all week in order to spend their weekends having fun.  My husband combines the two.  He just loves his job.  I think if everyone loved their work, the world would be a happier place.  
This is more of a lesson I've learned through being married than a reason I love being married, but I suppose lessons learned could be the reason. This was a big one.

Fighting: I know. You're thinking "What? This is something you love about marriage? Masochist." But actually, I do see incredible value in fighting.
I must put a disclaimer on this however, and say that violence and the kind of fighting I'm talking about are two vastly different concepts.

It might help that my husband and I are both fairly confrontational.  If something bothers me, I don't mince words, and neither does he.  However, then the feelings get involved... and lets not even talk about those raging hormones that peak once a month.  His sensitivity is one of the reasons I married him, but since I'm a fairly blunt person, sometimes the combination doesn't work very well, and I have always had a temper that's like a leaking gas tank... all it takes is a spark.  My close friends and family don't enjoy being the subject of my wrath.

But one thing we've acknowledged is that feelings should be expressed, and if these feelings are so intense that a raised voice need be brought forth, so be it.  Our fights are quick, sometimes loud, but they accomplish things. Two key ingredients to a good fight: we both admit when we're being unreasonable and we bite our tongues and let each other say our piece.  Our altercations have brought forth results. For example, clothes get put in the laundry basket, not on the floor beside it (my bad), whomever has cleaned the bathroom last does not have to do it again the following time and the tea-leaves do not sit in the tea pot till they grow mould (it's gross, but my bad again).

Marriage hasn't always been easy.  My suggestion for unmarried people who are seeking to be married is that if you want your life to be easy, don't get married.  Then again, don't have any friends either.  

As for me, I really hope that when I hear "In My Life" fifty years from now, I will still close my eyes and remember more good times than bad, all the great meals we cooked together, and all the lives that became a part of ours and made our memories worth having.



Thursday, June 25, 2009

I'll just say it: I don't like cats.

They're cute, cuddly, furry little creatures unique among all others.  As kittens, they lure you in with their pathetic little meows and their tiny furry limbs and sweet little faces.  Then they become cats. Cats who rub against your legs, marking you with their scent, which is actually a tiny spray of urine. Cats, who scratch your furniture, who lurk around your house at night, sometimes crawling into your bed.  Cats, who lick themselves in order to bathe, whose litter boxes smell grotesque enough to make a grown man gag, and who, if you stopped feeding them, probably would never come back, no matter how much you loved little "Fluffy" or "Snowball".

Wow. That got a little personal. 

Lets just say that I'm not an animal person. I've never had a pet that wasn't a goldfish and don't particularly understand the "love" that "animal people" experience.  I don't begrudge my animal-loving friends their petting, cuddling, animal loving time.  I used to think I resented cats because I'm allergic to them, but upon examining this little unending chagrin with the feline species, I realize that its roots extend deeper.  

I've had terrible personal experiences with cats.  Once, I was taking a walk and noticed the creepy six clawed cat that used to hang out where I lived following me.  I turned around, bent slightly and said "Hi kitty," and it jumped up and clawed my neck.  I even bled a little.   This is the same cat that used to lurk on the roof of the porch and scare people half to death by jumping down right beside them.  Cat lovers would say this cat was just a playful trickster. To this day, I think it was one of the forms of the devil incarnate.

At the moment, there is a cat with kittens camped out on my porch.  Now, the people we're house sitting for live on a farm and they don't necessarily need to feed the cat, because there are plenty of mice around for it to eat. The abundance of farm cats seen daily lurking around trees and machinery are evidence of this.  However, they've taken a liking to this particular black and white cat with a short tail, and we feel it's our duty to keep it coming back.  And of course, since it had kittens a few weeks ago, they need to eat too.  The problem? This cat, having borne it's offspring, is now in heat, attracting a few male counterparts often late in the evenings who meow at her loudly.  This is the original catcall.  Now, I lie awake at midnight... 1 a.m.... 2 am... and pray that this feline just stops playing hard-to-get and takes one of her would-be lovers up on their offer.

I firmly believe that if cats were people, they'd be the snobs of society, perhaps the aristocracy who attend private schools and consume only the best restaurant food.  Cats do not care about their owners.  They do not comfort you when you are sick, or care that you had a terrible day.  It is human beings who project their own personalities and feelings onto what is purely instinctual for cats.  That "sympathetic meow" was really "ok, so when are you going to feed/pet me?"

Now, if you have a cat, simply enjoy cats, miss your dead cat or perhaps you are that cat-lady with 29 cats, I'm not sorry that I've expressed my feelings about cats and will not apologize for my opinions.  My guess is that if you are any of the above, you knew you wouldn't like this post when you read the title.  Continuing to read was your choice. Good day.