Courage and differences.

Recently, when initially contacting Laura.
Jan called her. She saw me sad and made the call.
I could have waited for a reply email or a call.

She knew I was feeling rejected, alone, miserable.
Not about Laura, but at the same time I was searching
for paternal family, and found that my father had died.
So she called Laura, an awkward conversation ensued
which ultimately ended up great. My heroine.

I used to be the brave one.
I literally made her come here to meet me some 6 years ago.
She was shy around groups of people.
I held a gathering and made her come.
She then bravely refused to leave.

I’ve bitched for years at being the one who always calls.
Those necessary calls we all have to make.
Maybe it’s just her turn.

We are very different her and I.
I scream when mad and possibly stomp around.
She tries to yell which comes out as a funny sort of half
scream croak. She’ll walk the dogs and calm down.

She listens quietly in conversation.
I nod my head and interject comments.
Opinions fly from my mouth, even when I was never asked.

She will hurt my feelings and I’ll sulk.
I hurt hers and she cries.
I hate it when I make her cry.

She is the most intelligent person I know at work.
At home at times, I wonder where her brain went.
I have a brainless job and use my grey matter ( )
more at home.

She needs dark and quiet to sleep.
I need TV to get me there.
We learned to compromise and use the sleep timer.

I am an impatient person, she waits in line for me at walmart.
I go and find the car.
In return I am often found waiting for her at the courthouse,
on a coroners case, or when trying to leave work.
She is worth the wait.

We work weekends together, sort of.
Yards from each other in the same ER I see her only
in passing and occasionally at lunch.
I call her Fred…she calls me George.
Only we, know what it means.

She loves to fish.
I love to watch her fish.

I often have a good messy project going.
She wishes I would just rest.

She’s a wallet, pockets too full kind of woman.
I must have a purse.
Several, ok… she will say too many.

At times she has had to carry my purse.
She does this in protest, sure it will soon bite her.
In return she fills my purse with what will not fit in her pockets.
It’s a fair trade.

Alan Alda once said, his secret to a successful marriage was
that only one of them could be crazy at a time.
I find that perfectly acceptable.

While in many respects we have done a 180
on who we were when we first met.
We turned together and there we remain.