Brother Chris rolled into town last night. He is just like Kevin only with a dash of rebel, a pinch of extra charm and a whole lot of trouble. He absolutely cracks me up and is the wild boy of the family. He went to the Culinary Institute here in Portland and is an incredible chef. But after a year or so in the kitchen, wander lust kicked in and he headed for Big Sky country. That’s right, he’s now a Montana man. During the winter, he works at a ski lodge, in the summer he’s employed at a dude ranch, and during the fall, he’s a bar tender. I asked if he knew all sorts of mixed drinks but he just laughed and told me everyone in Montana drinks beer. His job is to pop the tops and break up the brawls. What a character.
He’s in town with his dog, Daisy Duke. Artie, of course, immediately began harassing her. Poor thing. She had barely made it through the door when Artie when into his Big Bad Dog routine. Actually, Artie doesn’t know this but Daisy is the reason he was adopted. During the summers, Chris used to head up to Alaska for salmon fishing. He’d hop a boat and have an intense few weeks of non-stop hauling during which time we babysat Daisy. She was so sweet and gentle that when he came home and re-claimed her, there was an eerie silence that we just had to fill. Artie could be her brother they look so alike. Only Daisy is bigger looks like she’s part greyhound. Chris thinks she is a Catahoula mixed with some Great Dane or Dalmation. Artie is a little chunker and is probably Catahoula/pitbull or rottie. Stocky and tough next to Daisy’s lanky grace. Anyhow, they’ve been out rough housing in the back yard which is fun to watch via the WebCam.
And, of course, this weekend in the big wedding. Kev’s dad is getting remarried on Saturday and the relatives are beginning to slowly trickle in. Should be a nice party and, as always, the best part will be seeing all the aunts, uncles, and cousins. Got Kevin a “shark skin” suit and he thinks he is the stuff. Actually, he does look pretty good but I don’t tell him that for fear of totally swelling his head. He’s worried I’m going to hold him back. As if.
Oh yes, this reminds of a story. (Sorry Kev but I’ve got to get this one off my chest.) When my parents last visited, they dumped a bunch of my stuff from highschool in the basement. I was looking through old photos and letters one night with Kevin. When we got to my old Prom picture, Kevin remarked with surprise…”Wow, you used to be a hottie!”
Now, one thing this whole marriage deal has taught me is patience. I’ve learned that 99.9% of our fights are really just mis-communications that can be avoided by not getting offended by off-hand remarks. I find that if I give Kevin a chance to explain/back peddle, quite a bit of heartache can be avoided.
“What do you mean I used to be a hottie?” I calmly replied, giving him a change to dig his way out of the gapping hole he had dropped into.
“I never knew you could look this good,” he began sinking further into the pit of no return, “too bad I didn’t know you in high school.” He then wandered off oblivious to fact that I was mentally debating the merits of burying a body six feet under vs four feet. Of course, this is the same man who comes home, looks at me, and asks, “Where you wearing that outfit this morning?” Kevin’s level of observation is pretty low – as far as I can tell his ability to differentiate ends at clothed v. naked. Anything more subtle than that is lost on him. So I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I was once a hottie. Even if my husband doesn’t think I am anymore. Sniff.
