Canadian Man: A Love Story
Vrooom! He rumbled into my life in July of 1975 driving his black 1973 Plymouth Road Runner with red racing stripes and dual exhaust. Girls drooled when that muscle car slid past, and their hearts were a flutter with the throb of the engine. Be still, dear heart! Most girls would date a guy just for that car.
I’m not ‘most girls.’ I wasn’t impressed.
I thought guys with muscle cars were full of themselves. Conceited or what, they’re just show-offs! I didn’t want any part of that; I respected down-to-earth and genuine without false glitz of a cool car. (What on earth? Was I crazy?! ;-D)
Canadian Man learned I was less than dazzled with his car. He traded it in for a 1975 Plymouth Sport Fury. It was a nice car, but not a heart stopper, and I was happier to ride in that. It took me 40 years to realize the sacrifice Canadian Man made. I know now how painful it must have been to give up his pride and joy. I asked now all these years later why he did such a thing. “You are important to me,” was all he said. I don’t deserve this man.
That was the unpromising beginning to a romance that has lasted over forty years! I’ve written about me and the kids, but I can’t forget the most important person in my life! Let me introduce you to my firm anchor, my calm seas, my delightful sunny day and most gratifying cup of coffee. Let me introduce you to my special guy, Canadian Man, the love of my life!
Canadian Man. He looked good in his white leather jacket and wore his blue jeans and cowboy boots well the night I first noticed him. I still melt when I see him in cowboy boots and jeans. Also, when he dresses up in a suit and tie. Or casual in a polo shirt and khakis. To me, he looks pretty amazing with anything he chooses to wear.
There was a magical attraction, a mysterious connection that happened when we met. What is it that creates the ‘zing’ between two people even across a room? “It was your beautiful eyes,” says Canadian Man, “they look so kind.” Yay for kind eyes, because the rest of the picture would likely have scared him off. It was midsummer in Minnesota, with temperatures in the 90’s and an equally high dew point. I was scraping and piling plates beside the garbage cans during the noon meal at our church summer festival. The yellow dress I carefully chose for the occasion hugged my slim body and looked, I thought in my 17-year-old mind, quite flattering. However, any positive qualities were cancelled by an unbecoming white plastic apron which covered it from top to bottom. Humidity restyled my careful curls into a ghastly flat ‘do’ plastered to my head. Sweat ran in rivulets down my back and dripped off the end of my nose. Wow, what a picture! Just the thing to bring boys panting to my teen-age feet!
Canadian Man looks beyond the surface. He finds the sterling and meaningful behind white plastic coverings. He thought the droplets of sweat on the end of my nose were “cute.” He saw kind eyes and glimpsed a tender soul. That was the beginning of an enduring love story.
I was born when my mother was forty-five. She was sixty-two years old when Canadian Man came into my life. Widowed and already hearing challenged, she seemed to my immature self to be “old.” Canadian Man listened attentively to her, anticipated her needs, brought her coffee, made her feel valued. He treated her with utmost tenderness and respect. I fell in love with him as I watched him interact with my mother. He wins my heart every day for the same respect he shows everyone in his life.
Everyone knows Canadian Man for his dry and dusty prairie humor. It twinkles in his eyes and, like a Fourth of July sparkler, lights up every conversation. Canadian Man brought a new dimension to my life that I didn’t know was missing. Belly laughs that bubble up unrestrained in our life are like a brook sparkling through my days, and it’s brightened my life beyond measure.
Canadian Man taught me the value of a relationship. I was spitting tacks and ready to blast my irritation to someone close to me. “Is this relationship important to you?” asked Canadian Man. Yes, I admitted. “Then forgive and let go,” he encouraged.
He values what is important. I was nine months pregnant, swollen and feeling like an immense cow. “You’re beautiful!” he told me earnestly, “you’re carrying our baby!” I know he believes it IS a most beautiful thing.
I’m so lucky to hear Canadian Man tell me “I love you” often. He kisses me when he leaves the house and again when he comes back. My heart skips a beat when I catch his eye across a crowded room, and he winks. He still makes me teary when he buys me flowers. I feel his love.
Canadian Man values, above all, his faith. He lives what he believes. He wants to have a relationship with God and man that is without any offense that would separate. He recognizes his faults and doesn’t justify or excuse, but humbly wants forgiveness. There’s been much to forgive me for too, but he doesn’t hold a grudge. It keeps our marriage strong, our love pure. I roll my eyes at his corny jokes, natter at him for things that irritate me, even get whoppingly upset with him at times, but I would marry him again in a heartbeat.
How fortunate that Canadian Man saw ‘kind eyes.’ He’s enriched my life beyond measure and helped me be more than I was, more than I am without him. If our children find a spouse like their father is to me, they are blessed. I would ask for nothing more. He colors my sky a serene blue, flavors my days with cinnamon and cloves, and is the engaging, colorful backdrop to my life and my blogs. I am so proud to let you get to know him too!
PS If that was too syrupy, let it be known that he has another side to him, too. He hoards his Canadian Scotch Mints and refuses to share them with me. He will eat one in church and I only get to smell the minty flavor. Can you believe it? I love him anyway, and I bring my own gum.
