LETTERS FROM HOME: WINTERING IN THE LIMBO OF MODERATION, WHISPERS IN THE DARK

Jan. 14, 1999

Dear Leslie,

These winterbound days and nights in Missouri make for a passive life, for time spent watching instead of playing.

We don't see enough snow for cross country skiing or sustain cold enough temperatures to cause us to chainsaw holes in lakes so we can get at fish. We winter in the limbo of moderation.

Some people bowl, some play bingo, some dance at the country music clubs. The noon group at the Jaycee Municipal Golf Course play their daily tournament unless snow or ice cover the winter greens but they're hardier than I. I like my fingers to be able to feel the club.

DC spends time at the kitchen window with Hank and Lucy, sipping coffee and watching the birds do-si-do at the feeder. She's especially fond of the bright red cardinals. Hank and Lucy have expressed no preference as wildlife goes aside from speeding out the back door when let out in hopes of catching a squirrel unawares.

I roam the Internet, the TV channels, the book store and the movie theaters these gray, brooding mornings and frosty nights, awaiting a day I can swing a club again without breaking furniture.

One thing that becomes evident in a marriage is which activities the two of you do well together and which go better solo. We have established that DC won't ever be a golfer and I don't seem to have a scuba diving future.

Turns out, just plain watching is something DC and I are better at apart.

I seldom watch football games on TV but usually manage some interest when the playoffs begin. Though I can't imagine why, DC decided to join me one afternoon last weekend. It's an untrue cliche that women don't understand football. But DC's misunderstanding of football extends beyond the rules to its spirit.

Time was running out in the game and the score was still close when a kickoff returner broke a long run and almost scored a touchdown before he was roughly shoved out of bounds. "That guy pushed him," DC protested. "That's not fair."

Attempting to explain that shoving a ball carrier out of bounds not only is very fair but a good defensive play only heightened her pique and her sense of injustice.

"I think it shows poor sportsmanship," she said and sprang off the couch to watch more cardinals.

Movies are an exception, maybe because we both observe the silence-is-golden rule. But when the rule is broken, our differences as viewers appear.

When I nudge her and whisper, it's to inform her that the fellow playing Mercutio in "Shakespeare in Love" is the same guy in "Chasing Amy" and Matt Damon's friend in "Good Will Hunting."

When she whispers, it's usually to tell me to look at a painting or some curtains in the background or somebody's teeth. I have surmised that the two of us don't see the same movie, but then who does?

None of us sees the same birds at the feeder, same play, same concert, same world. They are filtered through the lenses of our experience, our beliefs, our expectations and our obsessions. Accept that and misunderstandings about football and broken furniture are trifles.

As gleaming swords clash onscreen and the future of the make-believe real-life Romeo and Juliet hangs by a parry, I ask, "What curtains?"

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.