(If you want to hear Lori read the story click)here

 

"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time done manual labor, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else."

 

Watson was impressed. 

 

Although young children seem quite satisfied to have adults explain things regularly, we grown ups seem to have an insatiable desire to figure things out. Cross word puzzles, crime novels and game shows all depend on this appetite.

 

This morning I was chatting with a mother of young children. Her daughter interrupted at frequent intervals, because a three year old's needs are not easily put on hold. I expect this. One of the things her little girl said a few times was a run on sentence that I needed translated. 

 

"counttothreenopeeking," after which she would dash out of the room. This was her version of hide and seek, the first of life's mysteries.

 

"Will Mama find me?" she shivered as she hid inside the laundry room. Her rapture at being found could not have been greater if her mother had handed her a plate of dark chocolate truffles.

 

Marriage poses a mystery that cannot be solved in the compact time frame afforded in a short story or weekly episode of Mission Impossible, or for those of us over fifty, Perry Mason. We are tossed clues at random times, about the innate goodness of this person we have married. Yet the information is diluted by other, seemingly irrelevant details. 

 

John will answer a call from a solicitor, listening intently to his spiel, as if this person has value as a human being. I on the other hand have not a whiff of regret in hanging up on him. This is a clue about John's compassion, and respect for others. It says nothing about me. Yet the conundrum appears when I ask John to bring home labels from the office and he forgets three days in a row. Why is it that he gives every ounce of his attention to a complete stranger calling from Tulsa about a product that he has no intention of purchasing, yet cannot muster the sustained recollection of his wife's reasonable request?

 

This is a mystery. I can be annoyed at the inconvenience of all this research. Or I can tuck the fragments of the puzzle into my notebook, confer with my own Watson, and keep sleuthing. 

 

I suppose God could have saved us all the trouble of finding the hidden qualities in our spouses. He could have handed us each a manual complete with directions, trouble shooting strategies, and a warranty. But that would be about as much fun as skipping to the conclusion of the book, or fast forwarding to the last two minutes of the show. 

 

Besides, when I turn the key and hear the tumblers fall in place to find the Real John, it will be sweeter than all the truffles in France.