Shopping is not my forte; or my husbands. We absolutely would rather weed the garden than shop- especially during the holidays. Anyone getting this? Not only do we not shop, but - honey, we do not shop together. Last December found us outside our right minds, shopping together, in stores we never visit with each other.. like World Market.
He was rushing me to get the last of our shopping done before our get-together's got underway when I decided to bite the bullet and drag him through World Market for a few items I had in mind and couldn't find anywhere else. I had it in my head he would most likely sit in the car, circling the parking lot like he had at the last 'female-type store' we hit. He didn't. With a groan, we went in.
I am all for going to what you need and getting out the door, but he has a much more advanced condition known as 'get it and run." Meandering in a way that drives him to the nine degree of crazy found me gazing longingly at a whole section of beautiful mortar and pestles. I would surely be a real herbalist if I had a whole mess of mortar and pestles in my herbal kitchen. My mind drifted through barefoot fantasies of picking and snipping herbs; drying bunches all over the house; blending this and that in a mortar just the right size. Until he disrupted my daydream with 'are we done?'- uhg. He did offer to buy me one- but, one- how do you choose one? I declined. We left.
Much to my surprise every one of those mortar and pestles showed up in my kitchen the morning after Christmas. He had stayed later than the farm boy for their trip to the lease to sneak them onto the counter and leave me a note. Why? Because, every once in a while he just gets me.
It took me a less than a year to complete two herbal certifications, find a mentor, and start getting real about natural practices. Long before that one of our daughters built an herbal garden, which I took over after she moved to college- furthering my desire to study and practice. He was my constant reminder to study, test recipes, use them, and continue. The guy has tolerated my ramblings about what I learn and the shock that often comes from reading about modern medicine. Sometimes, he just gets me.
There in my kitchen I stood speechless- not easy to do. I later learned he went and found that market place after his gym and before work the day after our outing. Hiding them, he had not wanted to give them in front of everyone, but save them- he knew what it would mean to me and that we wouldn't want this moment lost in the jumble. He knew how long it had been since one of us just 'got it' and did something totally irrational and out of character. He knew I would get it, too.
Every time those mortars catch my gaze I am reminded of that moment alone with them in the kitchen, when I remembered what drew me to him all those years ago, what keeps me grounded to him all these years later, and what gets us through everything life has handed us. Despite it all, I get him... and sometimes he gets me, too.