No Slack
It has been more than a week since I’ve had a cigarette. Will miracles never cease?
Jeff has been particularly helpful because he’s cutting me no slack. He’s so tender-hearted that being adamant with me about quitting smoking–or anything–is extremely alien to him.
Is He Way Back There In the Garden?
Cutting a spouse no slack reminds me of a visit my grandparents made to my home in the Chicago area a number of years ago.
Both of my grandparents had been heavy smokers, but heart disease finally convinced my grandfather to quit. To his frustration, Mam-ma just kept puffing away, even as her emphysema worsened.
Now, Pap-pa still enjoyed a small nip of bourbon several times a year. Mam-ma, however, was a diehard teetotaler who wouldn’t abide by any alcohol grazing my grandfather’s lips.
Because they hadn’t been to our house, we’d given my grandparents the grand tour, ending proudly with our extensive garden. Then we headed inside for iced tea.
After a few minutes, my grandfather asked my husband if they might go back out to take another look at the garden. Once there, Pap-pa asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a little whiskey, would you?” We did and he was pleased to be offered a small nip.
In the meantime, Mam-ma inquired nonchalantly if I might look out the window and make sure the men were far back in the garden. I said they were and she said, “Susan, would you bring me a cigarette?”
As I’ve said before, Pap-pa was a junior high history teacher. Time spent with them was always the best.
