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January 19, 2001

It took a number of years, but I finally broke my husband from giving me things like work gloves, wire cutters and flashlights as Christmas gifts. For one thing, I learned not to complain about not having the right paraphernalia for working cows because I was sure to find that item under the tree when Christmas rolled around.

Mel rarely made the same mistake when it came to birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine's Day—mostly because those events would come and go without his even realizing it. (Some years, he remembered Valentine's Day. He'd buy me a box of chocolates, and then end up helping himself to most of them.) To his credit, when Mel forgot important dates, he was most apologetic. "Doggone it hon, it plumb slipped my mind 'til late this afternoon, an' by then, the feed store had done closed."

Sometimes, however, he would make a lame excuse like: "Well, I thought about taking you to the Wooden Spoon for supper, but that Number 6 heifer I give you is due to calve any time now an' I didn't thank you'd want to venture too far from home."

The disappointment of being given so many practical "gifts" over the years was second only to the irritation I felt when Mel would turn around and borrow the stuff he got me. That would be the last time I'd see it. I tried hiding things, but my clever husband always seemed to find them. I went so far as to carve my initials into my ax handle and scratch my name on my wire stretchers, but I guess that's pretty meaningless in a community property state.

Occasionally, instead of tools or trailer hitches, Santa would surprise me with something capricious, like a canteen, a boot jack, or a heating pad. When I tried dropping hints for something more personal, he presented me with insulated underwear and thermal socks!

It became increasingly apparent that Mel was not going to respond to subtle hints, although I gave it a go. I finally broke down and bought him the book Women Are From Venus, Men Are From Mars. But he just scoffed.

"If you ask me, the fellar that wrote this is the one that's from another planet. Obviously, he ain't never come across a man an' woman like you an' me. Why, we thank so much alike it's plumb skeery," my clueless husband remarked, patting my hand.

(One good turn deserves another. After my gift of a book, Mel bought me some interesting reading as well—The Farmer's Almanac!)

It finally came to a head one day. We'd been separating bulls in 100 degree weather. I'd risked life and limb and been yelled at one time too many. On the way home in Ol' Green, I made up my mind that I was not going to be taken for granted any more. I'd had it. After all, Eric was grown and on his own. Lord knows, I had gone above and beyond the call of duty. I marched into the house, pulled out my suitcase and started packing. Still oblivious to it all, Mel walked into the bedroom just as I snapped the bag shut and said, "What's got into you woman? You know we can't take no vacation 'til we finish buildin' that fence in the west pasture."