First off, thank you Germany, for reading. My father’s family was from Germany and I visited years ago but we were supposed to go on a cruise for his 85th birthday that was curtailed last year because of his illness and death soon thereafter.

My husband’s secrets are in his brain. It is up to me to find them out. We are both in the same business, consulting, but in vastly different areas of expertise. As he has entered different areas and is gone much of the time I am retired, to be with him the past 15 years of marriage.

He’s been writing a book for the past few months and likes taking a break to accompany me to the grocery store. I know his secrets because over the years I know what he craves, and it changes all the time. It started out with lemonade, then yogurt, ice cream, now strange fruits and veg. When I lose him in the produce department I can find him by the pummelos, heirloom carrots or apples. For a year or so he was a fan of my homemade trail mix with dried fruits and nuts that I packed in snack bags to keep in his desk when he was hungry late-afternoon at work. He had fun with that one, the aisle of fruits and nuts and granola.

For thirteen years I packed a duffel bag for him for a weekend getaway. He’d ask me to go somewhere and I’d pack us both in 12 minutes and we’d go. Now he has new bags and a “system” and I don’t touch anything except if he asks me to do so or if I must move it out of the way, like to get into my dresser.

When we met we were extreme opposites. There was no way those phone numbers shared in the parking lot after a post-9-11 TGI Friday lunch were ever going to be used to perhaps see a movie as friends one day. I threw his number in the trash and fed the dog and cats. He saved my number, called me the next day and we saw a movie and had a Mexican meal. He opened my car door, took my hand and hasn’t let go ever since. When they still used paper maps, he used his homemade dual-brained computer to find my address about a mile away.

Today, I still have a slip in that paper map of my address from over 16 years ago. It was in the door pocket of our car. I have it now and it must be framed for our anniversary.

Like his father and brother, he has a gruff exterior but if one is brave enough to crack the shell, there’s a nice guy within. Not a marshmallow, but a good person that can be trusted and can recently be found in the produce aisle. Yes, he does help old ladies cross the street, I know because I’ve arthritis and am one. Cheers! Dee



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