Medford mail tribune., October 13, 1957, Image 39

i
she says: "OVDsiPPDSigje Ds a
Omo-Wsisf Comnipij'omSs"
by (Catherine Orcate
'hen i became a bride, like most young wives I
was given something old, something new, a
cookbook, and a headful of romantic platitudes.
My mother insisted that "the way to a man's heart
is through his stomach." My aunt winked knowingly
and suggested that both the Lord and she loved big
families. And my mother-in-law told me to stop
working at once, for "two can live as cheaply as one."
No one, not even our forthright clergyman, bur
dened this innocent bride with the real facts of life.
I'm not talking about the birds and bees, but rather
the first rule of matrimony that marriage is a one
sided compromise.
Fortunately or perhaps unfortunately it doesn't
take a bride long to learn this little lesson. One friend
told me she discovered it as she climbed into the car
after her wedding. Happily anticipating the honey
moon trip her groom had secretly planned, she begged
him to reveal their destination.
"You guess!" he teased.
"Florida?" she asked hopefully. "Bermuda? New
York? California?"
To each the young groom shook his head.
"Then whore?"
"Fishing!"
For most of us, the awakening is not so rude. We
do get to Bermuda or Florida or Coney Island any
how, but sooner or later all of us learn that marriage
rests 80 percent on the wife's adjustability.
One of my relations, a woman now in her sixties,
often tells the story of her early married life and her
hopes for a house. She knew what she wanted; she'd
even seen tlx compact little home of her drrama. But
each time Jw pressed her husband about a house,
6 Family Wrkty. CVlolM 13. 1)V
he said, "Wait! Our bank account is still too low."
She waited. Finally one day they went for a drive.
"I've a surprise for you," the husband said, parking
his car in front of a large, barn-like structure. "I
bought this house for you last week, and to simplify
things, I got the rugs and furniture, too."
As the young wife walked through the sunless
rooms packed with ugly furniture, her eyes filled
with tears. Troubled, the husband said, "Look, if
you're still unhappy after we've tried living in it a
while, why we'll move."
She was "unhappy" about that house through three
children, five grandchildren, and 35 years. But like
Mrs. Calvin Coolidge, whose first home was "bought
for her," she lived in it.
Most wives these days are allowed some say in
buying and furnishing a home. But after the last
flourish has been added, how often is an oversized
footstool or a shabby easy chair rolled back into the
living room to ruin the decor? And what does a con
scientious spouse say when her husband growls, "It's
my house, isn't it? Don't I deserve a little comfort?"
-it-hen there's a simple thing like food! Simple, that
' is, if you serve what he likes, the way he
likes it. (Generally this means the way his
mother used to make it.) If you don't, then it's even
simpler, for as all brides quickly learn, you eat the
stew alone in tears.
My mother talked about a man's heart and stomach,
but she neglected to mention a man's taste. She had
illusions of pheasant under glass and shrimp de
jonghe. Little did she realize that her daughter would
one day keep romance alive on frankfurters.
Looking around, though, I consider myself lucky.
I may have aid a permanent farewell to poultry,
rare meat, mushrooms, and a long list of other deli
cacies, but at least my husband eats leftovers. I
know plenty of wives who haven't served their favor
ite food for years and who've never served the same
dish two days running, yet are criticized for straining
the family budget.
Budgets? How weary I get of the old saws about
the little wife breaking the family bank and depriv
ing her young of "greens," all for the sake of a gor
geous new hat. Most of my friends go hatless and
furless, and they stay that way because their hus
bands would rather drive a new car.
Lots of women are long-range planners and savers
who work hard to boost their family's standard of
living but fail because their husbands can't resist
monogrammed shirts, fishing tackle, or outboard mo
tors. Men believe in budgets until they want some
thing badly, then everything is forgotten.
There is no better example of a man's way in a
man's world than hobbies. This is true of camera ad
dicts, do-it-yourselfers, and amateur artists, but golf
ers lead the field. If a wife is lucky, she likes the
game. About 10 percent of our five million golfers are
women, largely wives who limp about the links on
the theory that "if you can't fight 'em, join 'em." The
"widows" stay home and wait for supper, for social
lives, and, hopefully, for Winter.
In our house the budget and the balmy days are
spent on the "blue" rather than on the "green." For
the head of our house is head over heels in love with
a small boat. Ipso facto, we go boating every free mo
ment of the Summer.
Do I like making sandwiches? Would I prefer base
ball or tennis? Do I even like boats? Frankly, I can't
remember ever being asked! Either I keep the family
afloat, or I sink into a long Summer alone.
(Co?ifiiued on page IS)