I've been officially blogging here for about a year now, but pre-official-blogger my ramblings took place over on our (now defunct) family myspace site. I know what you are thinking, "myspace...ew!", but it was prior to the Facebook revolution and it gave me a platform for sharing daily events, holiday pictorials, amazing kid tricks, and all forms of fodder for the kin-folk & close friends back home and beyond. It's where I discovered that I loved to blog.
In the beginning, I sorta kept my ramblings on the down low from the hubs. I am sure the question of my sanity had crossed his mind more than once, so why give him anything definitive, you know? Besides, he’s so anti-computer I figure he’d just say something special that would hurt my feelings and then I would have to pout.
He's sort of Oscar and I'm sort of Felix.
He's also sort of Oscar the Grouch and I'm sort of Zoey.
OK, so I'm more Cookie Monster, but that's beside the point.
Suprisingly, Oscar Mister Jones likes my little blog. Well, when he reads it - which isn't all that often, but often enough to wonder when I was going to talk about him.
So here it is. The thing about my husband.
The thing about my husband is that he is the oldest living 43 year old in the free world.
What I mean by that is – he makes Grumpy Old Men look like an episode of The Suite Life of Zach & Cody.
He is young in years and old in frame of mind. He does not like change. He pretends not to like computers. (But he does like VCR's, DVR's, TV's and electronics that help him to watch The Soprano's, Good Fella's and all The Godfather's - ad nauseum.)
Sure, he has learned to email and can navigate his way through Nascar and Lowes dot com, but he’s not thrilled about it.
I’d even go so far as to say that if it was up to this guy? We’d still be using rotary phones. Avocado green with a 4 foot twisted cord, no less.
What I can’t for the life of me figure out is when he decided he was 97 years old because cross my heart swear, he wasn’t like this when we met. He's a super smart guy, a total handy man, a lover of rock & roll and Levi jeans….yet he’d sooner use empty soup cans connected by a string than a carry a cell phone. (Though he always checks to see that I have mine on & charged.) The man is a study in contradiction to be sure.
The kids almost got him brought up to speed with an iPod once. They lured him in by downloading all his favorite hits, planting the earbuds in his ears, and handing him a beer. He liked it. He liked it so much that when he realized he liked it? He stopped liking it. Because, you see, he is also a man who is never happier than when he is miserable.
“The iPod has to be charged.”
This claim, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why Mr. Jones cannot continue his relationship with the tiny little music player.
“Radio’s do not need to be charged. They can be turned off and on and off and on!”
True enough Mr. Jones – but can they pause? Can they play the SAME song over and over and over until you decide to move to the next song and listen to it over and over and over as you so often do with your CD’s? (Ok, so SOME radio stations do seem to do that, but you know what I mean.) Are they commercial free??? I think not.
We also live in very close proximity to the beach (and we are about to get closer!). All summer long people are over there playing volleyball, skim-boarding, swimming, relaxing, picnicking – basically doing all things beach fun related. Mr. Jones does not want have fun at the beach. Sometimes he does by accident though. Oh yes, about once every couple of weeks we can manage to get him to tag along & he enjoys it - he even swims! The next day will bring soreness from the sun or the exercise and so he must decide he cannot go again. Until he goes again.
We find it funny how upset he will get with all the seasonal visitors to the sandy shore. The way he see's it - they are imposing on what he clearly considers is “our” property – even though it’s NOT at all and it's the kids and I who spend the most time over there. We may be "locals" but we aren't natives ~ we're transplants from California. (Where, BTW, he was raised in the Bay Area and considers the Golden Gate & Bay bridges part of his own personal territory as well.)
On the 4th of July he gets pretty dang pesky - though I must admit I'm with him on this one because it irritates me to see all the trash that people leave behind after the fireworks.
Thank heavens for the new fishing pier that opened last summer. The old one was taken out by Hurricane Isabelle some years ago (before we arrived on the VA scene) and its finally been replaced. To give Mr. Jones a little credit – he HAS been out on the new fishing pier of his own accord, and he truly enjoyed it each time. The first time he took our youngest son and strolled along – investigating it more than anything, deciding if the builders indeed did an appropriate job, and figuring out what he would have done different/better if he was, you know, a builder of fishing piers. (Ego much?)
Still, this excites me people. THIS has potential for getting Mr. Jones out into the world of fun & relaxation. THIS pier may be the answer to my “get this man out from under my feet” prayers! THIS pier may save his life, because I am one nerve ending shy of pushing him down the stairs. Ok, I hope you know I won’t really do that, but a wife can dream right? KIDDING!!!! Mostly.
