Legend has it that three days passed between when my mother’s father hung this trivet on the kitchen wall, next to the sink used multiple times each day, before my grandmother noticed it.
When my grandmother passed, this was my request from their household, my grandparents’ earthly goods in Greensburg, Indiana. I felt much solidarity with my grandmother, she of the cast iron support.
The collection of forty trivets – which began when my grandmother inherited her mother’s trivets and buttressed by souvenirs collected during their retirement trip out West – has adorned our kitchen walls every since: three houses only, not bad for a move-many-times person like me. I felt like a nomad for a time, led by circumstances beyond my control and desire.
No, I wasn’t an Army brat. I wasn’t a brat at all.
I think that my compatibility is proven by this fact: Larry and I have been together 41 1/2 years, married 38, as of last week.
The opinions expressed by the husband in this house are considered necessary: we co-manage in all things, neither having to be right, a need of which I cured him with accepting positivity. He loves me and is an awesome side kick, occasionally giving me the kick in the pants that I need. I spark and spur him, too. Congratulations all around.
Cherished love and mutual respect: not a trivial thing.
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