“I’m okay,” I said in my most cheerful upbeat voice. “The heater stopped working during the night, and when I tried to open the door this morning it was frozen shut so I got back in bed to stay warm.”
“Don’t be a martyr,” Yvonne said through the door. “I’ll get you out and you can come in the house.”
Her words were music to my ears, and I was elated about the prospect of moving back into the house. As much as I love camping, two weeks of exile in the travel trailer in the middle of winter had worn me down, and had definitely cured me of any desire to ever try organizing the kitchen cabinets again.
Yvonne’s footsteps made a crunching noise on the frozen grass as she turned and walked back toward the house. For a second I thought she had abruptly changed her mind about freeing me from my icy tomb, but then it occurred to me she was going to get something to break the ice loose from around the trailer door.
My breath fogged the inside of the glass as I peered out the little window of the trailer watching for her return. Finally, I saw her coming down the back steps with a small hammer in one hand and a screwdriver in the other – perfect tools for tapping the ice loose along the edges of the trailer door.
I had learned my lesson about leaving the kitchen cabinets alone and was humbled by Yvonne’s kindness, as she began to chip the ice loose from the door. I decided to declare my commitment to cabinet-abstinence with deep sincerity and in a manner that would make a lasting impression.
Yvonne worked quickly and my excitement grew with each tap of the hammer. When she opened the door and peered in her face glowed like an angel. She paused on the step and looked at me like a mother about to release her little boy from a long timeout, and give him a warm hug to reassure him of her love.
I stood up, took a step toward her. “Honey…” (I always call her honey when I’m in trouble and am about to apologize), “…with the same sacredness and sanctity of our wedding vows, I plight thee my troth, and pledge to you that I will never touch the kitchen cabinets again so long as we both shall live.”
A sweet smile came across Yvonne’s face. It was the same sweet smile I had fallen in love with nearly 50 years ago when we were only 16. I smiled back and we melted into each other’s arms.
“Will you be my travel trailer sweetheart?” I whispered. Yvonne squeezed me a little tighter and answered, “Yes.” Then she took my hand and with an air of excitement she said, “Come on, I want to show you something.”
We walked back to the house hand-in-hand and she led me into the kitchen. Without saying a word she reached up and opened the cabinet doors. “Look” she said proudly. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The canned goods, pastas, cake mixes, and everything else was arranged neatly and in alphabetical order.
Then Yvonne turned to me and said, “I too plight thee my troth, and pledge that I will help you keep the cabinets neatly organized so long as we both shall live.”
She had a tear on her cheek as she spoke and I leaned over and kissed it away. “I think we just renewed our wedding vows,” I said. “I think so too,” she answered.
George Brown is a freelance writer. He lives in Jackson Township.