Last night Ed and I got out of the house. It is not the type of activity that should merit much attention. We have a regular group of couples that get together every 6 weeks or so for Canasta and dinner. Calendars are set at the beginning of the year, you are expected to hostess when it is your turn, trade for conflicts, and try to be there if your travel and grandchildren will allow, or at least let everyone know well in advance. When this time's reminder came, I knew that it was only 4.5 days after my first chemo treatment, so, I said yes. It was a goal. Mind you, not a lofty goal, but a small goal...reclaim normalcy in our lives as quickly as possible. I have read of people that have their treatment on Friday and return to work on Monday, so going to Dinner and Canasta should be easy. It was great to get in the car and not be headed to a Doctor's office. The men of the group all gave me a fist bump and a kiss---they are afraid to hug---not sure if I might wince in pain or bite them. Their question--"You good?" Yeah, I'm good. So much for chit-chat. Drinks (yes, red marker, I had ice water) and munchies, lots of chit chat, then dinner. With this group, the men are in one room eating dinner, the ladies in another. The girls always want the down and dirty, and their own bowl of chocolate snacks. They want to know all the 411, just in case the need the information or experience for themselves or other friends. It is what women do, we gather input, we empathize, we care, we feel. But their question of the night was simple - "How's Eddie doing with all of this?" Without hesitation, I answered, "He is a quail". After all, these people know us well. I am the care-or and Ed is the care-ee. Bad training on my part, but after 36 years he is use to being the one cared for.
A Quail you ask...specifically a Gambel Quail. It is a quail that lives mainly in the Arizona Desert. The male has a round body, short neck and tail and a top knot that kinda bobs as he scurries around the desert floor, yeah, that would be our Eddie. However, his knees have kept his scurrying down to a shuffle. I was introduced to the bird some years back by my sister, Kathy, who lives in Tucson. She always brakes for quail, because this quail is a monogamous/mates for life kind of bird. If there is one, their mate is not far behind. If one is struck by a car, the other will come and stand over the wounded bird, as if to say, "I will stay with you to the end"...or until the next car comes and takes me too. Not like the randy bunch of Mallards that inhabit our yard and dock --they are more of a "love the one you are with (today)", "is it my turn yet" group of birds. More times than I can count in the past weeks, Ed has been there, with his top knot bobbing, with eyes that speak shared pain and fear, but also, the promise to stay to this whole cancer thing is done. There are nights he just holds my hand as we sleep, hoping that he can make it all better. We have arrived after 35 plus years of marriage, to the quail years. (Can't take credit for that expression--it is Kathy's) It is the part of your marriage vows that start, "for richer or poorer",...through "the sickness and health" and end with the "until death do we part". Not everyone these days is lucky enough to get a quail. I looked around the canasta table last night, quails must be a pack bird, because everyone there is a quail..and what is the old saying about birds of a feather. Everyone has been married at least 35 years, with one couple for 50. We accept our mates for what they are and aren't and realized that we are lucky to be mated for life. Yeah, the quail years.....life is good.
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