If You Really Knew Us…

Granddaughter, Helena, picked out Zarite (Tete) from a tank full of puppies at the Organic Valley Fair 2013

If you really knew me, you’d know that 90 percent of the follow-up emails I send say, "Whoops, here's that attachment I forgot to attach!"

You’d also know that I'm incapable of straightening out a room. If I am even inclined to do so, I empty drawers, bookshelves, or cupboards first and then go in for the deep dive. This tendency makes for a late departure whenever Dane and I have a getaway planned.

I don't like chickens. I had two chicks once and they bloodied each other with their pecking. I switched to ducks and geese and have never looked back.

Never, ever, ever will I pour a cup of hot water from my electric pot unless it has just turned off. If I get to the pot five seconds after I hear the click and see the red light go off, I turn it back on, wait for it to boil again, grab it immediately, and pour. There’s no appeal to water poured too late.

You won't catch me choosing a female dog or cat. Yes, Téte is a girl, but I didn't pick her out, my granddaughter did. Helena’s desire trumps any animal gender issues I have. On the other hand, no male ducks or geese—an all-gal flock here and proud of it.

Jane with a basket full of female ducklings and her dog, Ruben.

I can’t remember a night that I’ve gone to bed without something on my lips. Ages ago, it was a touch of Vaseline; nowadays it's avocado lip butter. 

For no apparent reason, I developed a nightly obsession with popcorn during the holiday season of 2022. It could be about my dad, who used to make me popcorn and put it in a huge yellow Pyrex bowl.

Sleeping in a tent is generally easier for me than sleeping in a bed. I enjoy sleeping outdoors, so when I’m indoors I often crack open the skylight in any weather. Vacations or any getaways are often rated by what we sleep on. If a bed, Lord, please don't let it be a mattress we sink into. I can say we because Dane and I share this sleeping preference.

If you really knew Dane, you’d surmise that my Mad Hatter cleaning habits drive him batty. Especially when the car is packed, we’re ready to roll, and he discovers me wiping out the refrigerator, with all its contents scattered on the counter.

Yesterday morning when I was running late for a class, I asked Dane if he'd make me a cup of coffee when he made his. He agreed, and when I quickly started to add, "Only hot water after the...” he shouted back, "I know."

Dane is also, of course, a chicken lover.

Dane's cats are boys, but he’s had girl cats before, and he doesn't have a dog. He also doesn’t have a granddaughter who has ever said, “That one, Grandma.”

You'll never see Dane set the volume on his car radio, or any radio, to an odd number. On the other hand, I consider my need to shut off the microwave only on a number ending in zero to be completely reasonable.

Nor does he go to bed with anything on his lips other than the whisper of thankfulness for the day and hopes of sweet dreams. He is completely wacko about moisturizer too. None has ever touched his handsome face. Only recently, after I’d watched him tape his dry, cracked, and bleeding winter fingertips, did he consent to a dab of Hempz Original cream each night. Only Hempz Original, nothing else.

Unlike me, Dane has decent appetite control. If he indulges in popcorn it’s more on the scale of twice a year, not daily. (I'll refrain from commenting on his love of donuts, which I think he hid from me the first years we dated.)

If you really knew me, you'd know that one of my superpowers is to stain my shirt, jacket, or pants within moments of putting them on. I'm either dropping an olive oil–coated roasted Brussels sprout on my shirt, breaking a duck egg I'd forgotten I'd put in my jacket pocket only minutes earlier, or wiping my filthy hands on the seat of my pants. If I’m in public and someone points out my stained clothing, I act surprised: "Oh, gosh, thanks!"

Never, ever, ever would Dane be caught dead with a stain on his clothes. He is meticulous and stain-free. Once we were driving down the road and he braked so fast I thought I had whiplash. Before I could even open my eyes, he’d hopped out the driver's door, opened the back door, and grabbed a pair of cargo shorts identical to the ones he was wearing. As I watched, now wide-eyed, he peeled off the pants he was wearing, faster than my pig Louisa could inhale a banana, slipped on the new ones, hopped back in, and resumed driving.

When I asked him what the hell had just happened, he nonchalantly said, "Had a stain." To which I quipped, "Good thing this wasn't a first date."

Lastly—and indeed I saved this for last because I could barely bring myself to type this—I’ve never used the initialism LOL in a column, an email, a conversation, or any social media post. It was hard for me even to type it here, but because I prefaced it with the word initialism, I feel better about it.

If you really knew us and we really knew you, you’d know that we all have odd behaviors. Yet here we all are, in this crazy, mixed-up, wonderful world, limping along together. Laughing out loud!

Dane with his boy, Spike.