A friend of mine, when she heard the story that follows, said she would have liked my wife – my Dutch, frugal, sweetly stubborn wife.
Our house caught fire in 1993 and we lost everything. The structure was basically intact and so we rebuilt.
In the process of rebuilding there were lots of important decisions to make, like where the new downspout should go on the new gutter.
I argued that that new downspout on the new gutter should go closer to the corner of the house. My sweetly stubborn wife argued that the downspout should go closer to the window.
We both had our impromptu reasons for why we saw it one way versus the other but neither of us changed our position, or for that matter was truly listening to what the other had to say truth be told.
Consequently, the argument having grown so intense with regards this most weighty decision of downspout placement, we found ourselves out in the street still carrying on, still advocating for what clearly, in each of our minds, was without question the correct answer.
I think originally, we were out in the street so as to observe from that vantage point placement options for best curbside appeal.
The problem was the city bus had rolled to a stop given we were in its way and believe it or not, neither of us paid it any mind, each of us gesturing and pointing at the house.
I think the bus driver might have been gesturing too, but again we had other things on our mind to notice whatever his problem was.
It may have been when traffic began to back up, horns honking and all that, that we begrudgingly stepped up on the sidewalk and let traffic go about its business.
It may also have been that the contractor heard about this incident – maybe from the police report – and, wanting to save our marriage, put the downspout between – as in BETWEEN – the window and the corner of the house and so served not only as contractor but also counselor, thus illustrating the importance of compromise.
I should point out however that the other day, now these many years later, in fact the downspout is quite a bit closer to the corner of the house than closer to the window, which proves I was right – or righter than my wife was.
Upon defending my position to my friend who said, upon hearing this story, that she would have liked my Dutch, frugal, sweetly stubborn wife, my friend said, “Nope. Girlfriends stick together. Hands down your wife won. When we all get to Heaven, she can take you out on those streets of pure gold and settle this with you once and for all.
“And then we’ll all watch!”
As I approach in just a very few days what would have been our 52nd Anniversary, and I will hike into and camp in the Olympic National Park near – appropriately enough – Heart Lake, I sure miss my Dutch, frugal, sweetly stubborn wife.
