Sporks, Forceps and Shovels

He is exactly the personality type that one should want for a doctor. Deliberate and systematic by nature, it is John’s attention to detail that renders him a thorough and gifted diagnostician.

(I say this with complete bias and without a hint of objectivity.)

However, these very same traits, as demonstrated in various arenas outside of my husband's profession, bring me endless joy. Whether it is his concentrated efforts when cutting the grass, or engineer-like approach when building a tree house, the methodology used in all endeavors makes me chuckle in delight. While some (my husband) might say that these anal retentive quirks cause me to laugh AT him, there are others(me) that claim I am totally laughing WITH him.

I’m just waiting for his participation.

In preparation for an upcoming fishing trip, my husband carefully prepared a type written list of those items necessary for a weekend with a few of his buddies. On Friday morning, I watched as he packed those supplies as determined by the inventory created the previous night. Consulting his list with pencil behind ear, the backpack slowly reached its capacity as John checked off the items intended for his fly-fishing excursion.

What he didn’t intend, however, was for said list to find its way into my blogging hands. A rare misstep on the part of my husband, the piece of paper evidently dropped haphazardly to the floor upon his departure, only to be discovered by yours truly.

Let it be known that for a few quick seconds, I considered throwing the list into the trash can.

Until I noticed the check boxes.



And remembered how he ignored the snake that could possibly eat me alive in his absence.

I instantly felt justified.

Perusing my husband’s weekend list, it struck me how different we are from one another. For starters, the word “tent” at the top of the list had me at goodbye. I don’t enjoy setting up camp and sleeping in the outdoors. My idea of camping includes a lounge chair by the beach, camp songs sung by a Mariachi Band, followed by slumber on a pillow-topped bed. In my humble opinion, when one is “roughing it” they are referring to resting on sheets with a thread count of less than 400.



And then, there is the issue of the bathroom. Or lack thereof. Packing a shovel for toiletry needs is barely something I can even write about, much like expounding on the hair found on my upper lip by an esthetician with bionic-like eyesight is a subject still untouched. Certain things really are best left unmentioned.



There were also items on John’s list that proved we speak different languages.I haven't the foggiest notion of the meaning of "hydros" and the words "Tippett and leaders" could only be referencing characters from the Muppet Show. And who knew that "forceps" were necessary when fishing? I know he used them during medical residency, when delivering a few babies, but can't possibly think how they could be beneficial in the streams.

(Speaking of baby deliveries, and of streams, it is very important to wear booties over brand new shoes when in the vicinity of a woman in labor.I'm not saying that this happened to my husband, or that his shoes squeaked for days from all of the fluid. I'm merely offering it as a hypothetical warning.)

Clearly, all of John's planning and orderly packing resulted in a successful fishing trip.



Good times were had with his friends, Jon and Chas, as all worries and responsibilities were temporarily left behind.



But there was still this little matter to address when he arrived back home.



Surely, the forceps will be of help. If not, I hear the spork can be quite lethal.