Linda

September 6, 2019

At 49 years and counting, it just keeps getting easier. I don’t know how I would handle a high-maintenance wife. Linda is anything but. She’s just plain easy to live with. Like anyone who’s been married for any length of time, we’ve had our ups and downs; I’ve given her more reason to be angry than she’s given me. She’s patient with my quirks. The only thing she complains about is my boxes of books, but even her complaints are only half-hearted. 

A few weeks ago when we had friends from our Dunkirk congregation over for a picnic, I repeatedly heard comments to the effect of how warm and welcoming our home is. I told them that’s because Linda takes care of it instead of me. If I were in charge of the decor, our home would look like a boy’s college dorm. It would probably smell like one, too. She amazes me with her energy. From cooking to laundry, from cleaning to mowing the lawn and taking care of the gardens, I often feel like I’m a freeloader. 

She gets almost giddy thinking of Christmas and all the decorations that go along with it. Just today, she revealed that she is pondering the possibility of three Christmas trees in the house; the usual tree for the living room, the formal tree in the entry, and, “I’m trying to decide if I’ll put one in the bedroom.” I responded, telling her that if she’s thinking it, I might as well consider it a done deal. 

On top of it all, she takes care of herself. She exercises more faithfully than I do, and takes pains to take care of her appearance when at home as well as in public. We eat healthy, stay busy. As a wife, mother, and grandmother, she is without peer, and is as faithful a friend as one could have. I can’t imagine anyone who could possibly suit me more than Linda.

She isn’t perfect; after all, she chose me, for which I am very thankful tonight.