“But your language of love is time,” my husband teased me. “You want to have undivided attention. Instead of words, acts, touch or gifts, you just prefer to spend meaningful time together. ”
I rolled my eyes. My language of love is time. But this is ridiculous.
I’m holding my finger on the lever of the toaster while browning myself two slices of bread. I’m not sure what happened, but the lever on the toaster quit working. It still toasts bread, but it won’t latch down at the bottom. Meaning that someone has to really want toast to stand there the entire time they want their bread to continue roasting. I realize it’s only a minute or so, but in that minute, I am accustomed to getting out a plate, the butter and a knife, and whatever toppings I want to add — and now I stand, spending every morning with the toaster. And while my love language has always been time, I am beginning to hate this kitchen appliance.
Yes, I could just replace it, but I also have a little too much of my grandparents in me, whose philosophy was, “It still works!” And it does. All except for the little latch that allows it to work by itself. We have tried everything from attempting to wedge in a wooden spoon, to holding the lever down with summer squash. Nothing has worked well, and we have often found ourselves skipping the toast entirely, or making it in the oven.
I’ve always taken pride in the fact that I’m frugal. I can make do, or do without, and I’m good with that — usually. That was before my sunglasses broke too.
I was stepping from the boat to the dock, when the screw in my sunglasses decided to wiggle out. Seconds either way would have found both the screw and the arm of the sunglasses either in the boat or on the dock — but as fate would have it, it fell in the 6 inches of water between the boat and dock and the left arm had disappeared before I realized they were off my head.
My sunglasses are like my pocketknife — I never go anywhere without both — so I straightened what was left of my glasses, and kept on with life.
Of course with only one arm holding them on, I was constantly wrinkling my nose and trying to keep them straight. It was impossible to look down, which meant I picked melons squinting without glasses. Since the quarantine, I don’t stray into town for anything that isn’t 100% needed and farm related — anything else I can get online. But sunglasses are like shoes, one needs to be able to try them on, take them for a spin — see if they hide the fact that my left eyebrow is higher than my right — which makes buying online difficult. Besides, they still worked.
I’ve said before, it’s all in how you spin it. I wasn’t wearing broken sunglasses. They were the original “tan-through” glasses. No more pesky tan lines on the side of my face or raccoon eyes — at least on the left side.
At the river a few weeks later, a guy stopped to ask me where I got one-sided sunglasses to match my one-strap swim-suit. I just smiled and said they were a one-of-a-kind designer pair.
One friend suggested baler twine, another gorilla tape. Still another told me she was glad I wasn’t inhibited by social norms. I admit they look a little unusual — but hasn’t anyone seen the models on the Hollywood runway? Those outfits are much less practical than my glasses! I sported my “designer” glasses for over a month, waiting for the style to catch on.
Then one day, a package arrived in the mail with a brand new pair of glasses and a case. A gift from a girlfriend on the west side. I felt a bit disloyal as I traded my one-of-a-kind glasses for the new, sleek, tan-line, raccoon eyes model. Disloyal — but happy to be able to have full range of motion of my head again!
Of the five languages of love, words, acts, touch, time or gifts, my language is still time — but I’m starting to find the occasional gift isn’t so bad. And with the amount of time we’re all spending with that toaster, I think it may be a great time to become bilingual.