Have you ever stepped into an elevator with a woman who’s wearing too much perfume? It’s enough to make you step out and head for the stairs. That’s the way Nate wore cologne. His preference was Aramis, a pricey scent introduced in 1965. He was wearing it in 1966 when we met as college seniors and was still wearing it on our wedding day three years later.
I liked Aramis, even lots of it. The problem came when I was expecting baby #1, in 1972. Funny things happen to normal women when they become pregnant, and my hormones birthed a hatred for Aramis. It no longer smelled good; it just smelled. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with it, which presented a major problem for our marriage.
“Pour it down the drain,” I insisted, but Nate loved his Aramis and didn’t understand my turncoat behavior. By baby #3, I’d done so much complaining, he finally surrendered, and I know why. Desperate to get my way, I’d told him, “If you keep wearing it, I can’t kiss you anymore and risk that stuff rubbing off on me.” That did it.
Trying to remain calm amidst the churning emotions of his pregnant wife, he asked, “So, what cologne can I wear?”
“Old Spice.”
I saw him turn up his nose and tip his head as if to say, “Are you kidding? That’s what our fathers wear!”
But he didn’t say it, and soon a stopper-topped, milk-glass Old Spice bottle appeared in our bathroom. The familiar ship on the front was comforting to me, and the scent was pleasing since it reminded me of… my father.
Nate saved his bottle of Aramis for years, hoping I’d eventually warm up to it again. I left it there under the sink, thinking I might enjoy it after we finished having babies, which took 17 years. In the mean time, he got plenty of kisses while wearing Old Spice. Sadly, though, my distaste for Aramis never went away.
But 2005 was a banner year, because something happened that opened the door to Aramis. Our golden retriever had a mental snap, and though she loved me, attacked me with an intent to kill. Snarling and growling, she bit me repeatedly, tore my skin open and shook me like a captured rabbit. Two days later, admitted to the hospital with a serious infection, I was given “the atomic bomb of antibiotics.” It was a last-ditch effort to save my hand from amputation.
“You’ll probably smell something terrible inside your head for several weeks,” the doctor told me. “It’ll be the medicine. And more than likely it’ll take away your sense of smell. But which would you rather have, a hand or a sense of smell?”
I picked my hand, and the doctor was right about my nose. After those antibiotics I couldn’t smell anymore, not even Nate’s Old Spice. So one day I told him, “Guess what. You can wear Aramis again, because I can’t smell you anymore.”
He immediately got rid of his Old Spice bottle, but rather than resurrect the Aramis, he experimented with other colognes. I bought him a bottle of Brut, thinking Elvis Presley’s choice would make cologne-wearing fun again, but amazingly, he settled on Mennen Aftershave, a mild scent bought at Walgreens for $1.99.
Today at the cottage I found three bottles of his bright green Mennen under the bathroom sink. I opened one to sniff deeply, wondering if I might be able to smell Nate, but nothing came. Since our boys had no interest, I simply poured it all out. As I watched his Mennen swirl down the drain, I realized in a new way what a great love Nate had for me.
It’s the refusal to give in to the whims of a spouse that can one day become the spontaneous combustion of divorce. Nate didn’t want to give up his Aramis, and he held on for three babies trying to convince me. But when he saw I wasn’t going to bend, he did the bending for both of us and put it away. At the time I didn’t appreciate the significance of what he’d done. I probably said something like, “Thank goodness!” or “Finally!”
Today I say, “Shame on me.”
My objection to Aramis was valid, but my mistake was in failing to honor my husband for his willingness to give up what he’d wanted to keep. More and more I’m realizing that much of the reason our marriage worked was because Nate acquiesced to my desires. I wish I would have looked for more ways to give in to him, and oh how I wish I could thank him now… for putting away his Aramis, way back in 1977.
“Keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaint.” (1 Peter 4:8-9)
I love Aramis. I use to tease a “father” at our church about it. When I’d hug him I’d walk away smelling like Aramis. The scent brings back dear memories.
I really appreciate (and need)these reminders! Thanks for using such simple life examples to teach important truths.
When I finally got to the pictures from friends at Christmas, I realized you had put all the past ones on a card last year. How significant was that before you knew about Nate’s illness!
And thank you for sharing the “scent” story. Bruce is 75 today and I can still thank him for ironing, cleaning up the dishes, making our beds, taking care of the snow, my car and many many more things!
I am very sure Nate knew your heart and felt your gratefulness even though you didn’t always say it in words. But thanks for the reminder for us who still have a chance to express many things.
love and prayers
Marni – Such wonderful advice for all of the ladies out there. I can’t wait for Julia to read this.
Once again, Thanks for the reminder. Those things we take for granted need to be recognized. Love you
“Thou art my Lord, I have no good besides Thee.” Psalm 16:2
When I was in my mid- thirties, I took a “Spiritual Gifts Inventory” and scored a 1 out of 15 on mercy. Since I spend part of my living grading papers, that was a jolting result. It became a running joke between myself and a friend, who scored a zero. Over the years, as I have been confronted with my own feet of clay, I hope that number has improved, but you make me want to be a fifteen out of fifteen. When I read the sort of things that you wrote today, it makes me want to shield you from such hard self-reflection. I know your widow warriors know all about this sort of regret that has no apparent earthly redemption.
I have set out on a daily basis to try and be of some encouragement to you, and I am a total late comer in my desire to join the myriad of good and faithful people that are standing by you. I apologize in advance for the length of my efforts. When I start typing into that little comment box, I am always shocked when I hit the “add” button to realize what a space hog I am due to my inability to say something more efficiently.
Thank you for such transparency and vulnerability with your readers today. In your self-effacement, you continue to honor your husband and elevate his character, as well as provide good instruction to the living.
Supposedly, our human fathers play a role in shaping our image of our heavenly father. Apparently, you had a great one, as you wanted Nate to wear his cologne. If that is true, the same principal must hold true for husbands. It appears Nate took seriously the injunction in Ephesians 5 to love his wife as Christ loved the church, and your recollection is just one of hundreds of ways I am sure he gave himself up for you. From the moment we become Christ’s bride, He is about the business of presenting us without spot or wrinkle. Most of the time, we are completely unaware of the way in which He is cleansing and sanctifying us, and years may go by, if we recollect at all, the quiet way in which He is nourishing and cherishing us. Your Nate has been a sterling model of the sort of love your heavenly husband holds for you. It seems the Lord is bringing to your remembrance ways in which Nate has loved you, not for you to have regret over your own should have’s, but to give you clearer vision of His own heart for you as your Husband.
“Lord, none of us deserve Your kind affection. Thank You for husbands and fathers, who even in their human frailty, teach us something of the way You love us and give Yourself up for us. Help us to take Margaret’s reflections to heart in expressing gratitude and in deferring our own interests. On occasions like this, when you give her new insight, new ways of thinking about her husband and her relationship to him, give her that sort of repentance that does not lead to regret. Amen.”
Much love,
Terry
I’ll go shorter since Terry was long. Just kidding, Ter. Hard to describe, but I have come to read these entries as a devotional- where I want to be quiet and alone when I “study” what you have written, Margaret. Thank you for applying real life stuff wrapped in God’s precious word. His blessings.