I know I mentioned a couple of days ago that I lost my radical eye protection out at our friend Doug’s place. Actually, the way I put it in that post, that they had gone off for an adventure down south county was pretty accurate.
We got home after all four of us had searched and not found the eye protection. All afternoon I kept getting vibes from my darling that he was Not Pleased With Me. So finally, I asked him if the vibe I was getting was correct, and he assured me that it was. He informed me that he thought I was being particularly careless when I lost those sunglasses.
Well, pardon me. I am going off on a tangent here, but it is germane, so bear with me. There is a reason why I don’t ordinarily spend more than 5 or 10 dollars on sunglasses. As Jeri points out, the expensive sunglasses don’t float any better than the cheap ones. This is very true. What is also true is that I have a long history of seeding the Universe with sunglasses. When we lived in San Francisco I lost a very nice pair of RayBans, a gift which was quite expensive. They fell out of my pocket at a Giants game, which began in the afternoon and concluded after 13 innings way after dark (they won, by the way). Since it was full dark when I left Candlestick, no one thought it was particularly thoughtless that I did not notice that they were no longer with me at the time.
After I had lost a certain number of sunglasses, both cheap and expensive, the Universe began coughing them up at unexpected intervals. I found some next to a hiking trail where I was picking up garbage, some showed up at the beach, etc. etc. I thought I was more or less breaking even. There was a period of time when I had three or four sets hanging around in my desk drawer.
The irony is, when I went to Costa Rica I was presented with a set of sunglasses that were a brilliant pink, said “Costa Rica” on the side bars, and probably cost about 2 bucks. I was able to hang onto those glasses for over six years, even after they had a bent piece of wire replacing the lost screws holding the eyepieces on, while the RayBans managed to stay with me about four months.
So it was not a bit surprising to me that a really cool pair of sunglasses had wandered off, but I forgot these were not merely sunglasses, these were ballistic eye protection. Anyway, the way my spouse was acting made me inquire as to exactly how much this sort of eyewear actually costs, since I have never actually purchased any nor have I actually been in the actual store where they are actually sold. He informed me that they run around a hundred bucks for a set and suddenly his jaundiced attitude made sense to me.
However, we discussed my history and he allowed as how anybody who was going to spend that kind of money for eyewear for me should do so with an open and informed mind.
So, the attitudes all adjusted, we enjoyed a sumptuous repast and I went off to walk the dog. When I returned home fully exercised, we sat down to enjoy a little television and we began planning the following day. This was when my husband let me know that while I was out with Ruby he had called Doug and let him know that he was planning on coming down in the morning and looking for my sunglasses some more. Now, I was gratified that he found this so important, but I had plans for addressing the jungle behind the pond and asked him if he thought I needed to come along. No, I could stay home and work here.
I need to explain that Doug’s vegetable garden, where the missing sunglasses were no doubt amusing the rabbits and turtles, is a lot more of a jungle than you usually expect to see when thinking “vegetable garden.” Several years ago he had the misfortune to acquire straw bales for mulch that were full of Johnson grass seed, and he refers to the resulting scourge as his green manure crop. He rototills it into the garden a couple of times every summer. Interestingly enough, all this miscellaneous rampant vegetation does not seem to bother the healthy vegetables planted amidst it. The “green manure” is about thigh high right now; interspersed with it is a lot of smart weed and sundry other rampant things. Doug assured us that he never rototills before he has weed-eaten, and he promised to keep an eye out for those sunglasses when he did.
However, as Jim loaded up the truck preparatory to going out to search, it was patently obvious that he was not waiting for Doug to do anything. He was loading up his own weed-eater, and the gas can, and his gloves, boots, etc. I asked him how much of Doug’s garden he was planning to weed-eat for him, and he said “As much as I need to.” So I told him where I thought it was likely the missing glasses had slipped away, and he went off on his mission. I knew that he would not return without the sunglasses, he is pretty stubborn.
I was right. When he returned, he handed the eye protection to me like the trophy it was, and I fulsomely thanked him. Then I inquired as to where they had landed. They had been enjoying the view of the giant sunflowers. I asked him how much of the garden he had had to clear. He said about a quarter of it. Systematically, he cleared about one fourth of a garden that is every bit of half an acre just to find that errant eyewear.
Now, I do not flatter myself that he did this only out of love for me, although I am sure that is part of it. He also did it because he loves and respects our son, and did not want to disrespect the gift that had been so generously bestowed on me.
The back story of this is that not only did he do that, but Doug went out the evening before and looked for them, and spent a couple of hours out there in the morning before Jim got there with the weed eater. I know this because Cathy, Doug’s partner, told me.
She also told me that they were considering grabbing the sunglasses and throwing them back out there once they were found, just so they could get some more weed eating done. (Yeah, uh-huh. Much giggling.)
This has made me feel very loved. Jim was willing to put out quite a lot of effort to find something I lost, and so was Doug. But it isn’t just that I am loved. They are both very special guys.
Especially Jim. If I sound partial here, it is because I am.
P. S. When he started acting crippled later in the afternoon, I realized that all that concentrated weed eating had done a seriously bad number on his lower back, and so I threw him down on the massage table and worked out those kinks. I love him right back.