Photo of snow geese by Richard Bristol
Communicating is hard.
After 30 years together, couples fall into some bad habits when they’re trying to communicate. I have no idea why I wrote that last sentence in the third person. Let me start over. After 30 years together, my husband and I have fallen into some bad habits while trying to talk to each other. I’ll be the second to admit I’m wrong; I often talk to him when he’s in another room. He catches every other word. Surprise.
Here’s what I mean. Yesterday, he got out the bucket (or as he calls it, the pail) and the mop, and mopped the kitchen floor. God loves a man that mops, and so do I. As I was heading out the front door to get our mail, I said, I’m going to get the mail.”
He replied, “I didn’t leave out the pail.”
Confession: I was in the living room and he was in the kitchen.
I did some research on active listening, which said: “Active listening is the process of listening attentively while someone else speaks, paraphrasing and reflecting back what is said, and withholding judgment and advice.”
In the spirit of active listening and togetherness, I thought it best to talk to him in the same room and within a few feet of each other. While eating lunch, I asked him to paraphrase this: “What do you think of the photos my dad sent of snow geese?”
His paraphrase: “You want to know if I like that fleece you bought me for Christmas. I do.”
See a pattern?
One-sided, you say? Well, I’m the writer and I’m not going to squander an opportunity to communicate with you, dear reader, and not come out smelling like a rose. Am I not the hero of my own destiny? Maybe not while eating lunch and trying to communicate with my husband, but I am, at least at the keyboard.
My husband is chattiest in the evening, usually when I am in the bathtub washing my hair. That’s when he decided last year to tell me how much we owed in taxes. Between the suds and the water in my alimentary canal, I missed the word “thousand” that came after the number five.
The best communicator in the family is our cat, Van Gogh. He’s suffering from cabin fever in this pandemic, too. This former outdoor adventurer sleeps most of the day. We have to wake him up just to get him outside for some exercise. If he hears us walk by while he’s napping, he yowls for love. And if you don’t scratch his ear he yowls some more. Then he turns his other ear toward your hand and presses it hard to make sure you even out the love. After he’s satisfied with our symmetrical ear-rubbing, he lifts his chin like a supplicant at communion and demands a chin rub.
When we move near the cupboard where the tuna is kept, he plants himself at our feet and lets loose unrelenting cries. He doesn’t give up until the tuna appears in his bowl.
He’s trained his pet humans in record time.
I have no idea what people are talking about when they say they miss communicating and that they’re bored. They can’t get together with family and talk, go to the gym, a restaurant, you name it. They talk on Zoom, and they text and email, but it’s not the same.
Adventures in communication overflow in your own home. And they’re anything but boring.