Fiercely Dependent

I was walking with my friend Sherri yesterday morning, and a topic of conversation was the age difference between me and Steve (8 years). We commented on the arc of such a relationship: (ages 18

Us (ahem) several years ago

and 26? Issue! Ages 35 and 43? Non-issue! Ages 58 and 66? Issue again!) Although I will do my very best to die the same day he does (thus ensuring us a heartwarming feature on Action News), I have to face the fact that I will probably have some years alone down the road. And it got me thinking. What does Steve do for me that, someday, I will have to learn to do for myself?

Where do I begin?

Steve is the resident handyman, laying kitchen floors and installing light fixtures with aplomb. Sherri told me yesterday of a woman she knows who hires someone to hang pictures on her wall. I pretended to be shocked at this, while at the same time saying to myself, “So? What’s the problem?” Steve resurfaces the driveway in spring, shovels it in winter, and does any gardening (admittedly not much) that is done on the Seyfried property. 

Steve is the long (and even short) distance driver. When we were on the road on our children’s theatre tour of the Northeast (1979-80) he literally drove every mile. I was charged with being the (abysmally inept) navigator. But he didn’t really need me to give him directions as he ALWAYS knew how to get where we were going, even if we’d never been there before. Nowadays, I blame my (abysmal) eyesight as I lean on my sweet hubby to drive Julie or Rose to their NYC-bound trains in Trenton, to go out for groceries when there is ice and snow. What will become of me when I have to ferry myself around? Not ready to find out!

Steve pays the bills and balances the checkbook. Steve battles with Blue Cross on the phone when they won’t cover our college kids’ doctor visits away from home. Steve goes up into our scary attic to find this or that box of whatever that I suddenly decide I need to go through. Years ago I was able to navigate the rickety pull-down stairs myself, but one day as I climbed I was met by a squirrel, its mouth full of Sheridan’s kindergarten drawings, and I was so shocked I nearly fell backward. That was the end of my attic exploring. Haven’t had squirrels up there in a decade, but you never know!!!  Better safe than sorry!! Better depend on Steve!!

Us, a couple of years ago

We none of us know our last day on earth, so it behooves us to be prepared, and to be as independent as possible for as long as possible.  Clearly, I have a looong ways to go to be ready to be out on my own, and I fervently hope it will never happen. But just in case it does…

I wonder if Sherri knows the phone number of the picture hanger?