Prologue: Humpty Dumpty

I didn't mean to surprise her like I did. I was somewhat irritated with Annie, but not really mad. I've always been a very direct person. By that I mean when something bothers me, I don't sit around and stew about it ... I react at once and say what I feel. Sometimes that's good. I have some buddies I talk to, and when a bump in the road comes along, they worry and worry at it—like a dog gnawing at a bone, making themselves upset over something that usually turns out to be trivial.

I like to think of the problems that arise in life and in a marriage as a storm. Forgetting to stop at the store was like a gentle spring rain. Losing a job might be like a summer thunder storm—lots of flash and noise but not an insurmountable problem. A death in the family would be like a tsunami bringing terror and disruption. What works for me in this analogy is it makes it easier to wrap my head around the "storms" that life brings.

A good example of how I am happened a few months ago. I'd noticed that the tires on Annie's Lexus weren't showing very much tread depth. I mentioned it to her, "Honey, the tires on your car are starting to wear. I'll keep my eye on them, but they're good for another six months or so." It wasn't important—she didn't really need to know about it—but I like to keep her informed. It wasn't two weeks later she came home from work with new tires on her car. Now I could have stewed about it and worked up a good mad for her wasting the money for new tires that weren't needed yet. Not me. I went to her and casually mentioned,

"I noticed your car has new tires."

"Oh, Terry. I forgot to tell you. I got a call yesterday from the dealer. They had an emergency recall notice. It was something about the tires overheating at higher speeds on a long trip on a hot day. They said that since it was a safety item they would be replaced by the tire manufacturer at no charge. I dropped the car off on the way to work and picked it up on the way home. Their shuttle bus took me right to the hospital and picked me up after work."

See. No worries. No incipient ulcer. I had a concern. I addressed it ... not a big deal.

Of course it doesn't always work that way. One day, a year or so after we got married, she spent the day at the spa. She got the works: massage, manicure, pedicure, hair fixed up, and whatever other secret things women do at these places that men don't really understand. She walked in the door, pleased with herself—and rightfully so. She had a smile on her face; she looked good and she knew it. I walked around her, doing my own admiring.

"I like, babe! You look great!" I paused; there was one little thing. So in my direct way I added, "With your hair like that it does make your face look kinda round."

Okay, that didn't work. I shoulda thought that one through a little more. Generally, over the years though, I think my being straightforward has saved me a lot of heartburn. Until today, that is.

We have this deal: for birthdays, we have agreed to a limit of a grand for each other's presents. That might sound like a lot, but we are pretty well off. Annie is an ophthalmologist with a specialty in ocular oncology, tumors of the eye and its appendages. I'm a writer, mostly adventure novels. I'm not top tier or anything like that. I do crank out two or three books a year and make enough that we could live quite comfortably, even if Annie didn't work at all. In addition I write articles for several magazines, mostly outdoor oriented, or anything involving wine. The last effort was for a well-known fishing magazine, and was about a fly-in fishing trip I'd taken to northern British Columbia. It had been a great vacation to Muncho Lake where I could fish for any mix of walleye, northern pike, lake trout, arctic grayling, rainbow trout, or Dolly Varden. The article paid quite well for the small amount of time I put into it, but it was more of a labor of love than just for the money.