Men’s obsession with fireworks; is it hereditary or merely a remnant from the “cave man” days? Every year as the Fourth of July approaches, tents appear in parking lots. Truckloads of heaping fireworks await the first customers. Maverick is usually one of the first in line, or he sends our daughters on a covert mission with his credit card. “Operation Light and Run,” had begun. I roll my eyes, hoping we have the fire department on speed dial.
This year Maverick decided that maybe we would forgo his luminary show, times being what they are. Was that a rogue tear in his eye, I saw every time we drove by the fireworks stand? He paced. He watched old war movies. He was even caught smoking an early morning stogie claiming he was on mosquito control. One morning I awoke to him building a metal lined, stone fire pit. Apparently our metal one was too small. The new one gets so hot, that I am the only one in my neighborhood who can roast a turkey in her backyard. Continue reading →
It was that time of year again. Traditional Christmas trees, have colored lights and an array of decorations…well not Maverick’s tree! Our tree is always decorated with green and gold lights that are placed with great care. Every ornament that donned the tree has to be Green Bay Packer related. When the Packers are playing, the tree is always lit; pewter ‘Cheese Head Ned’ sits proudly atop the TV, while we are all dressed in our Packer garb. Even the dogs are forced to wear team gear, from head to paw, and then submit to a formal inspection by Capt. Maverick. More than once, a member of the Fur-bulous Trio has been put on report for sporting a wrinkled bandana. Puppy Teddy received a double infraction for chewing a hole in Maggie’s tee shirt. No Wisconsin cheese flavored dog treats for him that day. Continue reading →
Fall is Maverick’s favorite time for cruising the town in my convertible. I am fortunate enough to have my mom car (SUV) as well as my hot-flash free mode of transportation. Unlike Maverick’s vehicle, I keep my car pristine. Maverick’s car on the other hand, has enough battle scars to be awarded the Medal of Honor. His back bumper still has the crease from the time he backed into the boulder at the end of our driveway.
The frozen tundra of Minnesota became our home after a corporate relocation twelve years ago. Well he couldn’t move us any further north he quipped. Not unless we wanted to become Canadian citizens.
This was after months of Maverick traveling to Minneapolis, all the while telling me that the snow they received in November was still there in May. He convinced me to move out here, knowing full well that Minnesota winters often cause nose hairs to break off, coffee turns to ice when tossed into the air and that Minnesota only has two seasons: winter and road construction.
Maverick’s Team won the Super Bowl! He wore his Green Bay Packer shirt with pride. His team flag was smugly displayed in a three-foot snow bank for the viewing pleasure of passing Viking fans. That was a few weeks ago….
By now, the nacho crumbs had been vacuumed up by the dogs. The last bottles of beer have been tossed into the recycle bin. Women are once again watching “The Bachelor,” “Desperate Housewives” and “The Good Wife.”
Still…a cloud hovers over many households.
Men across the country are still rooted in front of their blank TV’s, wearing their football team’s jersey, and clutching the remote.
Maverick is a die-hard Green Bay Packer fan. He grew up in upstate New York, yet he was born a Cheese Head. There wasn’t any Packer history in his family, so his parents blamed it on a fluke of nature. Most kids craved peanut Butter and Jelly, he wanted grilled cheese. When we met and discovered we were both fans…it was Karma.
We were relocated to Minnesota twelve years ago. As we flew over Lambeau Field, Maverick remarked that we were now flying over the Mecca. In the next breath he started rambling about how he could drive the five hours to home games, and wouldn’t it be great. What he neglected to consider was that we were moving into Minnesota Vikings Territory. Continue reading →
Maverick lives in a household of females. A wife, two daughters, and two female dogs surround him. His only salvation over the past twelve years was his male Airedale Terrier, Duncan.
The two were often seen watching war movies together, Maverick with a beer in hand, Duncan with his bone. They would have “guy night,” complete with Buffalo wings and nachos. We females would be relegated to the upstairs, as bombs exploded and gunfire erupted from the basement surround sound. Sunday football games were a weekly ritual for more “guy bonding.” The pungent aroma that wafted from the basement on those occasions, made me glad I was not included.