Time Passages

It’s after 6:30 in the evening and our beautiful fall morning has morphed into an evil dark and rainy night.  I’m sitting here at my computer, surfing the internet, and waiting for my husband to come home from work.

If I had a dollar for all the hours I’ve spent waiting for this man during the past 38 years, I know I could retire to Newport Beach and live the high life.

I’m one of those pathologically prompt people  – I arrive places way too early, just to make sure I’m not late. My dear husband, on the other hand, is not of that ilk.  He waits as long as possible before getting ready to embark on any journey.  Back in the early 1970’s when we started dating, his scheduled arrival times were always “between” two numbers, usually within a 30 minute window.

“I’ll pick you up between 7:00 and 7:30,” he’d say when he called to arrange a date to dinner. “I’ll be there between 8:00 and 8:15,” he’d promise, when I asked him to drive me to school in the morning. So there I’d sit, all clean and shiny and ready to go.

And I’d wait.

And wait.

Finally, I’d hear the distinctive purr of his 1971 Mach One Mustang turning the corner.  I’d dash to the mirror for a quick check of my hair, rush out the door, and run to the curb so I could jump in the car before he had a chance to turn into the driveway and waste more precious time.

After we were married and he started working, I waited even more.  Seventy hour work weeks were not unusual for young automotive engineers, and he was one to make sure every “i” was dotted, and every “t” was crossed before he left the job site.  I spent a lot of time peering out the window for a glimpse of his car turning down our street.  Sometimes he could call and give me an estimated time of arrival, but mostly I was left to wait and wonder.

Fast forward 35 years, and I’m still waiting. Now at least, I get text messages with updated stats on ETA and drive time progress. I pass the waiting time with Facebook conversations and blog hopping. I get dinner into various stages of preparation, so that I can assemble it quickly when he finally arrives.

And when I hear the automatic garage door start to roll open, I run to the mirror and quickly check my hair.

It’s a good thing he’s still worth waiting for.

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11 thoughts on “Time Passages

  1. I think a lot of us have the same situation! Well, sounds like you’ve learned to cope admirably — but one time, just once, wouldn’t it be nice if you didn’t have to?!

    • When he was laid off in 2009 and was home all the time, the tables were turned and he was often waiting on me. Neither one of us cared much for that arrangement!

  2. My wife and I are the opposite of you guys, I’m the early one and she was always the late one. When we first started dating 27 years ago, I quickly learned that I should always tell her a time a half hour earlier than necessary to insure we would be on time. That worked a short time, but, threw me into a state of time warp trying to keep track of the “real” event time and what I had told her.

    We finally sat down after a few months and I agreed to tell her the real pickup time and she agreed to be on time. It worked after a couple of months and here we are some time later about to celebrate our 25th anniversary next May.

    By the way, I’m still always early and she is always on the edge of being on time…but, again, it’s all good.

  3. That’s awesome. I look, typically, like crap when Shawn gets home. I take for granted he loves me, anyway. But perhaps I should tidy up. And when it comes to punctuality, I’m a bit like your husband. I try. But I’m usually going to arrive 15 minutes after I say I will.

    • When I was a little girl, my best friend’s mother used to get all dressed up and put on fresh makeup before her husband came home every day (promptly at 4:30 in the afternoon.)

      That was the 1960’s (Mad Men style!)

      That is NOT me 🙂

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