Homer Alaska - Opinion

Consider Sandy's and my first trip as a married couple. Whoever said travel is a good way to get to know someone was absolutely correct. We discovered that when the little light comes on indicating the rental car is almost out of fuel, I translate it to mean it's time to find a gas station while Sandy views it as a test to see exactly how much gas remains in the tank and a challenge to see how far the car will coast when the last drop is gone.

When it became clear we viewed the experience differently, my husband tried to tap into my sense of adventure by telling me he'd once run out of gas while traveling the West Coast on his motorcycle. His disclosure proved an opportunity for both of us to discover how tightly interwoven are my sense of adventure and my sense of humor. When one disappears, so does the other.

Another learning experience occurred when we stopped for a late dinner after a full day of driving the twists and turns of California's Highway 1. Our server advised it would be a long drive in the dark to the next community where we might or might not find lodging. He recommended we overnight at the hotel next door.

I put a lot of stock in local knowledge, but Sandy, always the adventurer, chose to make the most of the day by continuing on. That experience proved a three-fold learning opportunity: Neither of us likes to sleep in the car, one of us hates being wrong and one of us gloats when right.

Traveling hasn't been the only arena where we've had opportunities to learn what makes each other tick. Or explode, as the case may be. A very public incident at the end of our first sail together on Sandy's boat comes to mind.

I grew up commercial fishing on Cook Inlet, so Sandy's isn't the first boat I've been on. However, my days at sea are few compared to his ocean-going experience. Sandy has sailed his boat from California to Costa Rica, across the Pacific to the Galapagos, the Marquises and Tahiti, and got it safely to Homer. When we returned to Homer after overnighting in Bear Cove and my husband pointed out my role upon reaching the harbor was to jump off and secure the boat at his command, the weight of responsibility fell heavy on my shoulders. Visions of disaster took shape as I imagined failing at my task, thereby causing his floating pride and joy to plow into the float.

We were mercifully saved from that particular catastrophe when wind blew the boat sideways, putting Sandy closer to the float. He jumped off and ran around to our side of the two-boat opening so he could wrap lines around the cleats. However, the instant his feet landed on the dock and I realized I was alone on an unsecured, unfamiliar boat, a wave of panic washed over me and I startled both of us by shrieking repeatedly at the top of my lungs, "Don't leave me, Sandy."

I can only imagine what the folks in the harbormaster's office thought, or anyone within earshot, for that matter. And I can only guess how embarrassed my poor husband was.

Something as simple as eating also has proven an area ripe with discovery.

My husband has assumed responsibility for preparing our evening meals. He's a great cook who disdains fast food, choosing instead to spend the necessary time preparing a healthy meal. I know I'm a lucky woman, but there are times I long for the fast food I grabbed during my single days and ate in the solitude of my car while driving from Point A to Point B. One day last week, I found myself with the perfect block of time to do just that.

There I was, shoving a burger and fries in my mouth, enjoying the solitude and views as I drove out the Spit when whom do I see on the Spit Trail but my husband, getting in his daily exercise. Could I risk having him see me eating, much less enjoying, a fast-food lunch? Heck no.

Without honking, waving or doing anything else to attract his attention, I drove past, gulped down the last bites, found a Dumpster to dispose of the wrappers, turned around, drove back to the trailhead, parked and, with what I hoped was a not-too-greasy smile, joined him for the end of his walk. Days later, I came "clean," admitting an occasional hunger for something other than one of his homecooked meals.

So, here's what the last year has taught me: Getting married was, indeed, a laughable decision. In fact, laughter is the super glue that makes it work. Sometimes it seems like an impossible dream. Most times it comes with a time-delay. More frequently than I like, the laugh's on me.

Most of all, I thank God I married a man with a sense of humor.

McKibben Jackinsky is a reporter for the Homer News.