This Valentine’s Day when I stare at my husband my knees go weak. My heart beats hard and I feel a little flutter. Plus, my hands are icy cold. My arms began to shake. My mind races and I began to think crazy things.
Did I mention I’m bracing a 20-foot ladder while my husband cleans out the gutters? After 15 years of marriage we really know how to celebrate. Instead of a little black dress and heels, I’m in sweats and a puffer coat.
From downed big leaf maple branches to hemlock debris everywhere, this winter has been hard on our backyard. The constant need for gutter cleaning makes me wish we lived in a one-story house.
My husband does the hard part, up on the roof, risking paralysis, digging into trenches for needles and twigs. All I have to do is hold the ladder still and dodge my head when the occasional rogue leaf falls.
It’s hard to stay focused standing still doing nothing, and yet one wrong move would be perilous. My mind wanders to scary places.
I paid his life insurance bill, right? I tighten my grip on the ladder and scan my memory. Would I be able to mourn in Tahiti? Mental calculations ensue.
I can’t remember if we bought disability insurance or not. What would happen if my husband got hurt and I had to mow the grass? I don’t even know how to turn on the lawn mower! That’s pathetic. How can I call myself a feminist and not know how to turn on the lawn mower?
And speaking of feminism, why am I not the one up there on the ladder? Women are just as capable. Am I a coward? I inspect the rock-hard pavement. Yes, I’m definitely a coward. No way am I climbing that ladder.
Shame makes me hold on tighter.
What happens when we’re older? I don’t want my husband cleaning gutters when we’re eighty. Will we have to move? Or would we just hire somebody to clean the gutters for us?
“I’m coming down!” my husband hollers gripping a full bucket of muck. It’s time to move the ladder again. When my vice-grip returns to the bottom rails, my fingers are numb with cold. My husband’s hands are frozen too, which makes his perch on the ladder more precarious.
“Hun,” I call up. “Maybe we should get those fancy gutters like our neighbors have. The ones you never have to clean.” I glance across the back fence to the neighbor’s roof, the tricked-out gutters taunting me with their effortless existence. I don’t mention how much my friend said her gutters cost.
The ladder quakes as my husband reaches for an errant branch. “This isn’t a big deal,” he replies. But I’m not fooled by his bravado. Especially since the very next thing he asks is, “By the way, did you pay the life insurance bill?”
Jennifer Bardsley lives in Edmonds. Her book “Genesis Girl” comes out Sept. 27. Find her online on Instagram @the_ya_gal, Twitter @jennbardsley or at teachingmybabytoread.com.
Talk to us
> Give us your news tips.
> Send us a letter to the editor.
> More Herald contact information.
