Different

He brushes with Crest; I use Tom’s of Maine. When the thermometer hits 70, he’s pulling on a t shirt, sweatshirt, jeans and thick socks; I speed-dress in t shirt and shorts so my knees can breathe. I look forward to the swaths of tiny bright blue scilla blooming amid our spring grass; he asks when he can get out the lawnmower and guillotine them. My favorite physical presents have involved books or wood or clocks or colored glass, while his might be the 14 cu ft freezer in which he can count resources. (“We have three packages of ground chuck which I got at 30% off, one loaf of white bread, and two sirloin steaks.”) No ice cream, I comment to myself (flavor doesn’t matter, so long as it’s ice cream).

However, last fall, he was the one with the second shovel, lifting divots of lawn so we could slip 200 scilla bulbs (25 for $6 at Jung’s Plants; plant with the pointed end up) into their earth envelope, and a few days ago I was the one saying, “If you want to get another package of meat, go ahead.”

Given the opportunity to do so, I can obscure the details in the large picture (“It’s a gorgeous day”) while he keeps the details intact (“There’s a forty per cent chance of rain this afternoon, so take along your raincoat”) that maintain sanity in our lives. Weather is a system of chaos, I tell him; there’s an enormous uncertainty factor. One shift in the wind, and everything changes. “But if you have your raincoat, you’re okay,” he will answer. He’s right. I can choose to get wet, or I can pull on the raincoat and put up the hood.

Different could have become a series of antagonisms, a point of ridicule, or a set of skirmishes. Thanks to time and the financial ability to purchase two different brands of toothpaste on the same shopping trip, different is an enriching part of our lives.