It was a rainy morning at the beach, and I had two children, two grandparents, and My Captain stuck in the house.  There was no question of “fend for yourselves” in this particular case, unless I wanted to deal with a cacophony of whining.  I also knew, from experience, that any suggestion I made would be met with, “I don’t Waaaannnnnnnaa!”

So I got smart and simply pulled out a puzzle, knowing full well that if I started it, they would all come.

This is what it looked like an hour later:

and this:

and this:

I would draw a couple of things to your attention:

1) The women were not in this picture because they had found other things to amuse themselves with.

2) It is no longer raining outside, but the men have not noticed this.

3) The manly men are working on a 500 piece puzzle picture of sugary gumdrops and candyland.

4) The manly men are working on a taffy striped tablecloth.

5) No one is whining.

6) No one looks up when they hear a picture being taken.  Why?  Because this puzzle is THAT important!

Some challenges are too good to pass up, especially for manly men. I knew damn well what I was doing when I opened up that puzzle box.

Hey, this ain’t my first rodeo.

We live in the midst of an unHoly war.

And my garden is the innocent collateral damage.

We have aphids.

And since I don’t like to spray poison on the land that lays atop our well; and since I don’t want to threaten the sweet little critters like chipmunks and birds that count on me to keep their habitat clean; and since I don’t have a left-sided, mathematical brain capable of figuring out how many parts per tablespoon of beneficial horticultural oil I would have to spray to rid my yard of aphids,

we have employed those combat-ready but still loveable-enough-to-grace-a-nursery-room-wall, often male, dispite their names….

Ladybugs.

We bought and deployed several hundred of them, actually.

And as we sat out on the deck tonight, eating our whole wheat pasta and peppers, mushrooms, and onions sautéed in Burgundy wine, we realized we were in a war zone.

We could almost hear the crash of wings, the gnashing of teeth, the crunching of jaws.

And we shuddered.

Then we went on to finish our meal with a fresh fruit salad, which included raspberries from Grandma Jane’s orchard.

We’ve adjusted to the violence, apparently.

My Captain’s oldest friend, Ty, has cost us a lot of money recently.  One of his college-aged daughters, Kelly, is selling Cutco Knives door to door for the summer.  Initially I thought, “UGH. That would be a pain in the butt summer job!”  But I have to hand it to her, she is raking it in, buddy!

She called and asked if she could come give us her presentation, and that there was no obligation to buy anything.

$400.00 later, Kelly walked out, with a smile on her face, and an orderform with my name on it.

Here is the kicker….My Captain is the reason we spent the money.  Had he not been home, had he not been at the kitchen table when Kelly gave us her spiel, we probably would have gotten by with a $50.00 pair of kitchen shears or something.

But he was there.

He kept saying, “Honey, you need good knives.  I’ve been wanting to get you good knives.  As much as you cook, you need good knives!”

But I think what was also going on his head was, “This is a perfect opportunity to stick it to my best friend, Ty.  Whatever I spend on Kelly, he will have to top!  Bwhaaahahahahahahahahah!”  And then there would have been a giddy little boy giggle gleefully rattling around in his brain.

And as if those factors working against my cheap Scottish blood wasn’t enough, I also made the mistake of comparing the Cutco sample knives to my present KitchenAid knives.  Before Kelly had dropped in, I was content….blissfully ignorant of the crappiness of my cutlery.

But after I got a chance to fondle the Cutco Knives, I became miserable, disgusted with what I had. I began to wonder how on earth I had managed to cut anything before.

It’s the American Way, ain’t it?  To not be content with what we already have?  To constantly want more, even though what we have sustains us adequately?

I have to tell you, though, ever since Kelly delivered my order, I love ’em.  I’m chopping and dicing and slicing everything so finely that I’m making chewing redundant in our house. Yep, I sure do love my Cutco Knives.

But I am ever so grateful that Ty only has four kids.

My Captain is a horrendous pack rat.  He’s almost as bad as my mother.  I, however, have a low threshold for being surrounded by unusable stuff.  So while I laid around elevating my post-surgery knee yesterday, My Captain took the opportunity to clean out a bunch of accumulated junk…..  All of it his, and very little of it worth keeping:

The ’80’s flowered ties….gone.

Programs from events decades ago….gone.

Batteries that expired in 2005…gone.   But not until after we licked ’em to make sure they were indeed dead.

There were a few nuggets worth keeping, and reasons we were glad we didn’t just throw out the whole Kit and Kaboodle:

Pictures of My Captain and his daughter during Father/Daughter dances for many years in a row.  Pictures where his now textbook aloof teenage daughter was once clinging to his lap in white tights and velvet dresses.  The kinds of pictures that are so beautiful, they squeeze your heart.

And a banged up, old, brass trumpet.

It turns out that My Captain used to have quite “The Chops” when he was younger.  I’ve never heard him play….didn’t even know he had a trumpet in amongst all his copious amounts of stashed stuff.

That is one of the things I love about him….he has so many nooks and crannies to his personality.  There are still sides to him I don’t know; there are still parts of him I haven’t met yet.  This is not a simple man.  He’s not one who is easy to figure out.

And he still surprises me.

He was wondering what he should do with the ol’ trumpet.  I suggested he give it to his son, who used to play it.  But he said, “Nah, he doesn’t want it.”  Then I suggested he donate it to the school, and he said, “Nah, it’s not a good trumpet.  They wouldn’t want it.”  Then I suggested we sell it to an antique store.  He liked that idea.

But this morning it hit me that I want to hang it on our living room wall.  Why?  Because it is a reminder that My Captain is full of surprises.

And depth.

And lots and lots of old junk.