Occasionally, my pieces are published. Sometimes, I am affected by current events to such a degree that I am forced to air my opinions in a public venue; typically, our local award-winning newspaper. My husband, until recently, was not a reader of my writing. The writing is not a secret. I have offered to show it to him and to read it to him. He will tolerate listening to mentions of himself, or of us, but is largely disinterested in this minor avocation of mine.
I have been frightfully close to apoplexy over the state of the nation, not to mention the state of the planet, and the disdainful disregard, by the powerful, for the ordinary person. Human beings are not marginal, ever. I believe even the most despicable psychopath is deserving of objective human decency. The qualifier is “objective” human decency. If the psychopath in question hurt someone I loved then I wouldn’t be capable of objectivity, would I? I digress.
A couple of weeks ago, my psyche was suffering to the degree that I wrote a 500 word RANT to our local paper. I mentioned it to my husband in the most casual way. Sometimes I worry that, even though free speech is still touted as a right, I will somehow alienate all of our business associates and we will starve to death because I refused to stifle myself.
The day the paper came out, a man at a job site asked my husband if I was the me in the paper. My husband didn’t falter in his response and owned our happy alliance immediately. The man was encouraging in his reaction to the writing, prompting my husband, who hitherto had read not a single word I had written, to rhapsodize over my literary endeavors.
At the end of the day, I returned home to find him sitting on the couch with the paper opened to the editorial page. He wore a pair of my polka-dot readers and peered at me over the top of them with those big, baby blues that lured me into this entanglement in the first place and he said, “This is pretty good.” Another of the many reasons I remain married….