When I first decided to do this blog, I wanted to just back up my letter collection. Almost all of these posts are letters from the past or present that I have sent to friends and family.
When I write my letters, I kind of imagine it's a one way girl’s night. That's the night that the girls all come over, whoever’s available, (and Jean but he's an ‘honorary’) and we just chat about anything that comes into our heads, no holds barred women's talk. In fact, most of my letters are stuff I've already discussed with them.
Then Caitlin pointed out that strangers coming here might not know the characters because my Mountain Man is afraid that some of the subjects I write about might get back to his friends and he's an extremely private, (read paranoid) person. For security's sake, he's agreed I can make my blog public if I don't use anyone's last name, especially his.
Caitlin and Breyan don't have any issues with me using their names--- I asked them--- because they are grown confident people who know their Mum is overproud of them and has probably told everyone of their friends, family and every person I've met on the bus the same stories.
Point is, I was writing as if the readers had all met and known Hubby for years. So I want to give some background on the Mountain Man; my rock, my support and my best friend.
The man I married 24 years ago is not the man I married today. He had a good start with a mother who brought him up to be respectful to women, do housework and gave him a sense of worth. I have just refined those aspects.
So who is the Mountain Man and where did this name come from?
My guy has five brothers and one sister, (which, of course explains why he can cook and clean.) His family is well respected professionals in a small Ontario town that I describe as where, "Men are Men, Sheep are Nervous and Goats hide in the cupboard at night."
I won my Mountain Man on a bet. We were working in the same place and both had too much time on our hands. I would sit with the girls and play the "Do you think he's cute?" game. One night my guy walked in and I was floored. He was slim, gorgeous, blonde, tall, high cheekbones; a Mr. Roger's version of Billy Idol.
My friend said, "Bet you five bucks you won't ask him out."
I needed five bucks so I did.
This was the first time I saw the "Oh God, what do I do, what do I say now?" panic look. I've seen it many times since.
I pounced on him when he was getting some candy from the machine. "Are those Skittles, I love Skittles, can I have some?"
"Um okay," he answered nervously and proffered his hand like a little kid at the farm worried the cow is going bite their hands off.
"So I heard you guys won some tickets to a movie? Are you taking your girlfriend?"
"Um, I don't have a girlfriend."
"Great, you're taking me. Here's my number." I announced.
...and the rest is history.
Nowadays? Well there is no way you can compare him to Billy Idol. Start by imagining Grizzly Adams with a crew cut. My guy was definitely born out of his time. He loves to hunt, fish, shoot and of course he's Canadian, Hockey! One of the first pictures we have of him with his new granddaughter is of her wearing the Senators jersey he bought her and watching the game. She was 11 days old.
He is never happier than dropped in the deep woods with a knife and some fishing line, living off the land. (Mind you the knife and fishing line might be because we can't afford the high tech stuff.) He’s the kind of man that you have to explain very patiently to that clean jeans and a sweatshirt are not "dress up" clothes.
I remember early in our marriage when I wanted to recover the couch and I had to explain that cammo’ is not an option for decorating in the house! Now he interferes with every redecorating decision and even has ideas of his own. (He is still not allowed to hang any part of a dead animal in the house. They give me the willies.)
He's the kind of man who was over the moon when he found out duct tape comes in colours!
It would be easy to write him off as “just a redneck.” One day he came home from fishing and he had forgotten the sunscreen. Mountain Man was emptying his truck after Sunday fishing, when one of our neighbors, a little Jamaican boy, stopped hubby and asked, "Hey [MM], Do you know what a redneck is?" His mother was horrified.
My guy just squared his shoulders, grinned and stated very proudly, "Yep, Me!"
He refuses to use any of the cologne, styling, bath products I've given him over the years. His daily routine includes soap, shampoo, toothpaste and maybe a touch of Dippity Doo gel. Anything after that is "poufy."
But what he says and what he does are two different things.
I have mentioned he's highly homophobic---to the point that he refuses to watch Rent with me. (This may have something to do with his strict Catholic upbringing or the trip to Greece when he was 14 that he still shivers about.) Yet here is where we see the "what I say and what I do," difference.
Mountain Man's favourite cousin is in a same sex relationship. She's happier than she ever was when she was with a man. He adores her. (We just have to make sure when I mention someone is a Lesbian he doesn't come out with, "Can I watch?" ) If anyone says anything derogatory about her, they'd better duck because he will defend his cousin and her choices to his death.
A few years ago, I had a friend Gary, (name changed) who was in an abusive relationship with his partner. I made the mistake of telling my hubby I was really worried about Gary.
Hubby nodded, got his keys, walked out the door, got into the truck and drove to Gary's house. He walked in and confronted the partner, telling him Gary was coming to our house for a few days and if the guy wanted to come after Gary then he would have to go through him! The guy didn't.
We drove Gary to our house; I got him a cup of tea and gave him a chance to talk to us. (By “us” I mean “me,” Hubby can't take the details.) Hubby came up from the basement, handed Gary a baseball bat and told him, "If you even think he's going to hit you, you get this, you look him straight in the eye and you say, 'Buddy you gotta’ sleep sometime.' Find someone who appreciates you, it can't be that hard even for you guys." Then my guy told me to take it from there.
He definitely has a double standard when it comes to his daughter and his wife. He may be all hands when he's cuddling me but he made all the boys so scared of dating Caitlin that she had asked me “Don’t let Daddy start cleaning his guns,” when she wanted to bring her first prospective boyfriend home.
I don't ask him to go to the store for a bag of milk unless I know I won't need it for a few hours because he will spend so much time gossiping with the clerks and neighbours.
(Mind you this works to our advantage, since most of them have added themselves to our spy network over the years.)
He makes a point to notice if the regular cashier at the drugstore has changed her hair but I have to hit him with a baseball bat to say he's noticed mine.
Anyone who has met him for five minutes knows that Caitlin is always going to be Hubby's baby girl. It drives her nuts, makes me laugh and I really believe that underneath it all she loves him just for that. Even our daughter-in-law Sarah, simply on the grounds that she is female can wrap my guy around her little finger. He's a woman's man. He's a shameless flirt and tease but if any woman ever seriously tried to take it a step further they'd be looking at his dust trail.
Yet this same man that believes women should grow their hair long, opens doors and treats me like a princess, is the one that taught his daughter to shoot, box and play hockey.
His proudest moment came when we got a call from the school that they were going to suspend Caitlin for violence. (We were both in shock.) We jumped in the car, got to the school in three minutes, forty seconds.
The principal explained that Caitlin had turned around in class and cold-cocked the boy behind her. Then she gave the boy a wedgie! She refused to tell the teacher or the principal, both males, why she had done it.
I knew this was out of character for her so I pulled her off to the side to get the story. The reason was simple; the boy behind her was snapping her bra. She told him to stop and he didn't. So she hit him.
"Okay, but why did you give him a wedgie?" I asked baffled.
She looked up at me with those big, blue eyes and defiantly told me, "So he will be as uncomfortable as I was!"
Do you have any idea how hard it was not to laugh until I peed???
I turned around and went back to the principal and advised him of the situation. His defense was that she should have told the teacher. 'Cause a 12 year old girl is going to tell her male teacher she wears a bra? Ya right.'
I then advised him that “yes, it was serious, violence is not acceptable but if he tried to suspend Caitlin or even put it on her permanent record I would be back at the school that afternoon with my lawyers talking sexual assault.”
He just sent her home for the day.
We got in the car and I started peeing laughing, because as we were walking out, Caitlin had her head hanging down and was dragging her feet. She thought she was in trouble; until Daddy patted her on the back and said, "Good Girl, proud of you! Who wants ice cream?"
My Mountain Man has never been able to take Caitlin to the doctor. We can't trust him. Caitlin had to have hearing surgery where they put tubes in her ears. I received a frantic phone call from the dentist’ secretary one day asking, “why on earth we would sterilize a six year old????” After we woke our dentist from his faint I found out that my guy had told the doctor that Caitlin had "had a tubal ligation."
My hubby has watched a man burn to death in a trucking accident and been calm enough to try to save him. (He couldn't, it still haunts him.) But if he sees a drop of mine or the kids’ blood, he either throws up or faints.
I refused to allow him to escort me to cancer treatments because I spend more time worrying about him than me.
This man who says things like, "Women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen," just because he likes when I get fire in my eyes, is the same man who brags to his buddies that Caitlin just got her first fishing license.
He is also extremely proud of Breyan but his relationship with his son is more traditional. Over the years there have been many times when I've had to make him go verbalize to Breyan he was proud of him. He expects his son to be a man's man with all the traditional values and the same respect for women.
Breyan's Goth phase almost killed his father. Yet Breyan knows his Dad loves him and will be at his side for anything, anytime. (Hubby’s own father is the same.) Breyan didn't lack for cuddles and stories and affection.
You know how kids can be more like one parent than the other? Well people call my guy and me the Barbarian and Bohemian. It's just that Caitlin is more barbarian like her Dad and Breyan is more bohemian, like his mom. It's created many conflicts.
My guys parenting can be quite unique. When Breyan mentioned that he was thinking of getting a tongue ring a few years ago, he was informed, very calmly I might add, by his father that if he did try it before he was 18, Dad would rip it out.
When a boy would come to the house to see Catie, he would be met by my guy at the door asking very deeply, "What are your intentions with my daughter?" --scared the crap out of the boys!
Mentioning his daughter and sex in the same sentence can render my guy into the two year old boy, covering his ears and singing la, la la, yet he sneakily reads my Cosmo in the bathroom, especially the "What you want him to do in bed," kinds of articles and then wants to try things out.
I had to make him stop watching Dr. Phil ‘cause he got it into his head we should discuss every person we've ever dated. Well, I've ever dated.
When he wants visitors to go home he gets the wind up alarm clock, strolls around the house and starts yawning—subtle is not in his vocabulary.
When Breyan was disciplined for skipping, my guy offered to drive to the school, park himself outside each and every one of Breyan classes---Armed!
What’s his idea for getting the kids to clear out now that they are grown? He will walk into the room where the kids are and cheerily announce, "Well kids, you know what day it is? It's naked Tuesday!" They leave so fast the door is swinging.
He's got the same double standard with me. Every morning before he leaves for work he brings me coffee in bed. If I'm sick he has no problem picking up the housework and cooking. In fact, as I'm writing this he's just come in from work and is making dinner so I can finish. (Though he has no idea what I'm writing I hope.) This is the same man that will nudge me in the middle of the night and say, "Honey, you up for it? You don't have to wake up."
I'm not saying he's perfect. Believe you me there have been some rocky and stormy times in our marriage with the blame on both sides.
After Dee died, he stopped talking to me. He didn't want to add to my grief. It drove me out of my skull! Finally I'd had enough and told him to either start talking or leave. He wouldn't leave or talk so I threw all his clothes over the balcony. Kids were returning his underwear out of the trees for days.
And he refuses to admit when he's sick. I have to threaten to call his 80 year old father on him if he doesn't go get a strange lump checked out at the doctors. My guy knows his Dad will drive the hour and half to our house, slap him up the back of the head, lock him in the car and drive him to the doctors.
I knew that I'd had an effect on my Mountain Man when he came home agitated one day, "You know what I saw today in Montreal?" he told me all offended. "A woman was wearing all black, even a black purse with RED shoes? God woman get a clue!"
There are hundreds of more stories like this I could tell you but I would be here all day. These are just some of my favourites.
I love this man and I have no doubt that should we ever divorce; there will be a line up at my door of my women friends willing to take him. Mind you half the time I want to let them, just so I can get some sleep.
The last story I will tell you about him is this and it really sums up our marriage. Growing up the way I did, I had no faith in marriage. I didn't believe in "Happily Ever After’s," I only believed in "Happy Ever Now’s." It took a lot of work and one child for my guy to get me to make it legal. So he proudly tells his friends,
"Yeah I had to knock her up to get her to marry me and even then it wasn't a safe bet."
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