The trees do TO talk to each other!

Good evening all!

When you are in a long relationship with someone, you find yourself returning to certain things over and over.  It might be an inside joke.  It might be a movie line that you quote to each other.  Maybe it's a song lyric.  It's some little, generally verbal, thing that is one of the million tiny bricks in the wall that is your relationship.

Hubby and I do all of those things, often to the embarrassment of our children.  But the thing we come back to, like a sportscaster bringing up whether or not Pete Rose should be allowed into the Baseball Hall of Fame  (see...I speak MAN), is this question:

Do trees communicate with each other?

I know, I know.  It seems like a completely stupid question because of COURSE trees communicate with each other.

Wait...what?

You don't agree with me?

ARE YOU COMPLETELY WITHOUT A SOUL?

Okay, let me back up.  When we were dating, you know, before movie rentals and the Internet and cable TV took up our time,  Hubby and I went for long walks.  In the interest of not revealing too much because the children might be listening, I will say that we walked...and walked...and WALKED for miles.  Walking and talking and that's ALL WE DID ON THOSE WALKS EVER.

And when all you do on a date is walk and talk, sometimes, even the most pretentious college students can run out of things to debate.  And Hubby and I were hardly what you'd call pretentious.  So we'd resort to just saying words until something sounded like a topic of discussion.  Such was the case of the trees. 

We were in my hometown of Manitowoc, WI...and for those of you who have read or are about to read Dream in Color, yes, Cobia is patterned after Manitowoc...(and for those of you who haven't read the book...what is WRONG with you?  Romantic comedies make AWESOME mother's Day gifts!)...and we were walking along New York Avenue, where my parents had their house.  (Take a self guided tour of Sarah J. Bradley's old home town!)

Since it was late and I was really tired of walking and talking I looked up at the trees, because that's what people in love do sometimes when you are in a town where pretty much everyone knows either you or your dad, so getting caught making out in your boyfriend's car while parked in the cemetery is just not an option.  (Oh...wait...I mean, when you've been WALKING AND TALKING FOR HOURS because your parents won't go to bed so you can make out in the living room...oh this is not getting better, is it?)  And looking at the trees, I spouted out these words:

Do you think that trees, like really old trees, maybe trees that have grown up in front of a house and been there when the kids grow up and move away and the grand kids come and stuff...do you think those trees sort of communicate with each other?

Oh I can hear you all scratching your heads right now.  Believe me, Hubby, in the foolishness of his youth, howled out loud with laughter.  Well, he did until he realized I was being serious.  Which I didn't realize I was being until he laughed at me.

And thus a debate was born.

He's the sensible, grounded one who says no, of course trees don't communicate.  "Trees are plants.  They don't talk."

I'm the  flighty one who says, "Who said anything about talking?  I mean communicate, like a whisper among themselves."

Believe it or not, this debate has withstood the test of time.  In twenty plus years of marriage, we've come to agreement on the topics of religion, parenting, politics, and whose relatives to invite to Christmas Eve dinner.  (Answer...invite everyone and let them decide if they're coming.)

But the tree thing...that rages on.

I had a major victory a number of years ago when "Lord of the Rings" introduced those of us who hadn't gotten past "The Hobbit" to the magical creatures called "Ents."  These Ents, as you might have guessed were TREES!  Tolkien agrees with ME!  Score one for ME!

Well, until Hubby points out that Tolkien wrote FICTION...

Whatever dude.  The trees communicate with each other.  Don't believe me?  Then tell me it's not a conspiracy that every single tree in our yard doesn't drop leaf ONE until AFTER the final city leaf pick up in the fall.  That's the trees getting even with Hubby for not BE  wait for it  LEAVING.

And now, my friends, I bid you farewell, and good night.  I'm off to watch Mr. Rick Springfield in Hawaii 5-0.  YEEE  and HAAAA!

In search of "the Precious"

Let me just open this morning by saying I have always had chunky fingers.  The idea that piano players have long slim fingers just goes to prove that I should never have taken up the piano.  I have always had very small hands, but large fingers.  At my thinnest my ring size was an 8.  Which, unfortunately was also when I got my wedding ring.

Now, 20 years, two kids, and countless pizza nights later, my ring size has shot up a bit.  Not as big as my dress size, of course, but still, my finger is no longer an 8.  I did get it resized to a 9 after Peaches was born because, well, I still wanted to wear it.

Since then I've put on a bit more weight.  (Okay, I pretty much look like I ate my thin self.  Sort of like that dream the Pharaoh had in the Bible where the skinny cows ate the fat cows...only you know, I'm the fat cow in the dream and I'm eating the skinny cow.  That reminds me...I need to stop at the store and get more Skinny Cow ice cream treats.) 

Oh, what?  Yes, back to the point.

So with the heat and humidity of the summer months I've found that my fingers puff up even bigger.  Basically, I just stop wearing my wedding rings from May to October.

A couple of years ago, Hubby picked up this super cool stainless steal ring at one of those Christian Music festivals.  (I think it was something called "Godstock" but you know, don't quote me...)  It's a spinner ring with Jesus fish all the way around.  This summer, since he's also put on a couple of pounds, he's started wearing that ring instead of his wedding ring. 

I envied that.  So I asked him if he could find me one of those.  He said, "Well, they only make them in a size 12 and they're like $95."

Well, since this is a TEMPORARY fix until I lose enough weight to get back into my wedding ring  (you've heard of skinny jeans?  I have skinny jewelry.)  I didn't want a size 12  (I'm about an 11) and I didn't want to pay that much money.

I have a sterling silver ring and I wore that...until it turned my finger green.  I did some checking.  Apparently that only happens when you have really acidic sweat.

Oh good.  Not only am I puffy. bloated, and FAT...I also have acidic sweat.

Shoot me now!

After a couple of months of searching for the right ring, we happened to be in a mall, Hubby and I and I decided to get sized for a ring.  Went into a jewelry store, asked to be sized.  The lady sized my finger...yep, and 11.  And then she waved good bye.

Wait, isn't there a recession on?  Wouldn't having someone ask to be sized mean there might be a sale in the making?

So, after being dismissed for the crime of having fat fingers  (An assumption on my part, of course)  I started shopping in earnest. And here's what I found out:

1)  I was going to have to buy a man's ring because a size 11 in a women's ring....well...sweetie...we just don't have access to anything that, you know, BIG.

Not a problem.  I like men's rings.  They don't get snagged on stuff.

2)  The only sample size they offer, indeed, the only size anyone keeps in jewelry stores is a 10 in men's because, well, an 11 is so, you know  BIG.

Okay, now I'm starting to get a little insulted.

3)  Oh, you can't wear sterling silver? You have acidic sweat?  Are you some kind of freak?  I mean, you must be because you need a size 11 ring and that's...you know...BIG!

Hey, no need to start calling names.  I know it's unusual, but certainly I'm not a freak!

 4) Well, stainless steal is nice.  Of course we don't actually HAVE any rings in stainless steal, but we can order them...can you wait 6-8 weeks?  Because, you know, getting enough stainless steal together for a size 11 is sort of hard since it's so...you know, BIG.

Okay, screw this my friends.  If I want to be reminded over and over again that I'm sort of chunky, I'll go over to my mom's.  Thanks.

So, nearly in tears (I only cry when I'm furious) and about ready to give up, I let Hubby convince me to go into one more shop.  A fairly round gent met us at the door.  I told him my story and what I was looking for.  He looked at my stubby round fingers and nodded sagely, showing me his own stubby, chubby digits.  "I wear a 13 myself."  says he.

I was overjoyed!

So we went right to the case of simple men's rings.  I told him about my acidic sweat.  He nodded and said that wasn't a problem.  They had lots of stainless steal and titanium.

We got to the case and I picked out three rings. 

And then it happened...

"Oh, we only have size 10 samples..."

AAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah, but see this jewelry store understood what the other stores did not.  See, you have to actually sell merchandise to make money and stay in business.

"Wait.  I have a 12 in this ring right here."

He held it up and it was like looking at the ONE RING in "Lord of the Rings."  I'd found my precious.  I was Golum and Frodo and Bilbo Baggins all in one and I'd finally found the ring I could put on my chubby little finger and feel like a married woman again.

Okay, okay...so it's a size 12.  And yes, it cost $95.  And no, it doesn't have those cool Jesus fish on it.  But darn it all, it's nice to have something that I wear every day that makes me feel thin.

Thin and ruler of all Middle Earth, that is!