Culture Club

I'm really good at puttering. I can kill an entire weekend (okay, I usually DO kill an entire weekend) puttering around the yard. Dealing with firewood, mowing, shoveling, raking, whatever. I can pretty much tool around from sun-up to sun-down. We're locked into The Winter That Killed The Spirits Of the Northeast, and I'm ready to just roll with the punches. More snow? Guess I'll shovel the roof.

My Wife has slightly higher expectations for how to spend the weekend.

Thank goodness.

So here's the rundown of how My Wife brought a little culture into our lives this weekend.

Friday night, we watched Sling Blade. In my defense, I brought it home from the library. But I also brought Con Air and Men in Black 2, either of which I would have gladly zoned out to. My Wife chose the Oscar winner. Good choice.

(A side note: as an avid movie buff, I must say that you NEVER go wrong choosing a 'great' movie [say, Shawshank Redemption or American Beauty] over an easy-to-watch movie [like Wedding Crashers or Armeggedon].)

So I hadn't seen Sling Blade in about eight years, but it was even better than I remembered. Of course, we were both crying by the end and thinking about how we, as a society, measure the value of each other. Those are the kind of thoughts that a great movie should stir. And to think I was quietly hoping she'd pick Con Air. That's exactly the reason why it's better that she chooses the flick.

On Saturday, we met up with one of My Wife's students and had a double-shot of enrichment. First we traveled to the art theater in Portland to see the French film, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. (Please note what I wrote above about seeing 'great' films.) It was truly thought-provoking and inspiring. So much so, that the next day I bought the book that the movie was based on. Then, we spent two hours at the Portland Flower Show. In addition to seeing lots of pretty flowers, I got some tips on improving my lawn, gathered some ideas about building the perfect birdhouse, and realized that I need to get a birdbath. Good times. Most interesting about the whole day was talking to an incredibly bright 18-year-old student. I learned more from her in an afternoon of casual conversation than she could ever hope to learn from me. As we worry about the state of education in America, we need to remember that there are still students like this in schools all across our country.

And, to top it off, we returned to Portland on Sunday with two of My Wife's friends to visit the Portland Museum of Art. Yes, that's right: the Museum of Art. Now, forget that fact that my mom is an art teacher. I just don't go to art museums. Not that I don't THINK of going. It's just that in the end... well, I'm usually too busy doing something with firewood or snow. So, after five years of talking about going to the Portland Museum of Art with not much belief that it would ever happen, all of a sudden I found myself there. And it was fantastic. Among many other exhibits, there was an amazing installation by a Maine sculptor who creates unbelievable art out of nails and spikes. Nails and spikes. Now that's my kind of art. It was very cool. And, I might venture to bet that we'll go again. In less than 5 years.

It was certainly an enriching weekend, all thanks to My Wife. (Although, in my defense, in the middle of all this high-brow action, I did manage to climb up on the roof and clean of the two feet of snow and ice that were about to collapse into our bedroom.)

If you haven't seen The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, you need to. Right after you re-watch Sling Blade.

And go to a museum: art is cooler than you remember.

Medical Miracles

I just got over the Cold of the Decade. I survived only because of My Wife.

I had been up in Orono for most of the week at Literacy Coach training, and began to feel sick on Thursday. I returned home Thursday night with symptoms intensifying. Headache, chills, feverish. The usual junk. I dragged myself through school on Friday, knowing that I only had to make it until 3PM. We had no major plans for February vacation, which was fortunate.

I'd planned a post-Valentines (and "sorry we don't have better vacation plans") 1-night get-away to the Inn at Long Lake in Naples for Saturday evening. My Wife graciously expressed excitement about this adventure, although it involved only a 10-minute drive and my health was deteriorating by the moment. We picked up cold medicine on the way.

We did have a delightful evening, dinner, and breakfast at the Inn. My Wife pretended not to notice as I blew my nose every five minutes. Very romantic.

And then we returned home for the most unexciting vacation in history. My Wife, for the next eight days, fully devoted herself to two tasks: nursing me and completing a huge data project (her second job). I would occasionally move from the coach to put a mug in the dishwasher, only to collapse again in an exhausted malaise. My Wife made my every meal, kept the tea flowing, and absorbed my every complaint. At night, I moved into the spare bed, so my coughing and sweating wouldn't keep us both up all night.

By the second weekend, she had logged over 60 hours of data-entry time. We canceled our trip to watch the University of Maine hockey team and, instead, spent over five hours in the Bridgton Hospital Emergency Room trying to find out if I needed antibiotics. I'm not sure if I did, but they didn't give them to me. They did give me a nasal spray that caused my eyes to crust over and I woke up blind at 3AM. I gave up on the nasal spray.

My Wife loves vacations. And, with the snow-bound winter we've had, she desperately needed some sort of change of scenery and a little bit of fun during her week away from school. She didn't get it. Instead she got a helpless, sniveling complainer, who needed 24-hour attention and care. And a major work project that had to get done.

Did she protest? Did she walk out? Did she drink herself into a stupor?

No.

She did was she always does: she took care of us both.

Thanks.