It is hard to realize that it has been so long since I have written. I don’t know what is wrong with me that I can’t get organized.
I have been thinking a lot about my life with my husband and the various stories he shared with me about his growing up. His father was a colonel in the Army and he was on Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He remembered things about that day even though he was only four.
One of my favorite stories let me know that he was not an angel when young. One day he waws playing alone and was bored. He decided that it would be fun to make paper airplanes and throw them out of the upstairs bedroom window. That was fun and he watched them as they drifted down to the lawn below. However, after a while just watching them float down began to pale and he thought of how he could make it better. Finding matches elsewhere in the house (being careful to not get caught) he sneaked back upstairs with lots of paper and matches. Lighting the paper planes he watched happily as they drifted down in flames. Having been a very dry season the grass was quite parched.
He watched with joy as one of the planes caught the grass on fire and the fire began to spread. Realizing that this might be a problem took his attention away from the next plane he had lit that was still in his hand. In panic he dropped the plane catching the drapes on fire. He stood dumbfounded trying to decide what to do. A glass of water from the bathroom put out the drape but there was still the fire growing on the lawn. Racing downstairs and outside he found his visibly upset mother putting out the lawn fire with the garden hose.
Reluctantly he shared the problem with the drapes and faced the wrath of a woman whose husband was currently in Arabia. He had plenty of time to reflect on this incident in the time he spent restricted to his room.
Since my husband was a rule follower, careful and meticulous it was fun to learn that he had a streak of choosing danger in his make up.