"Let me ask you this..."
This is an expression, which has come to strike fear in my heart. Anyone who knows Bud knows that in a moment of creative genius, which occurs frequently with him, this is the first statement uttered from his lips. "Let me ask you this." He has a way of announcing it with a particular inflection that makes you feel as though you're being pulled into a deep intellectual conversation that has been taking place for the past hour of which none of its information you were privy to. For all intense purposes it isn't really a question as much as a, "Say something has just occurred to me and I am curious to learn if you're in agreement with my conclusions." Insert your best Homer Simpson stare here.
If you've ever watched Seinfeld you may be familiar with the episode in which Jerry informs Kramer that sometimes the other humans feel uncomfortable around each other. When Kramer protests, Jerry simply says, "That's because you're a pod." That has since become a joke between Bud and myself. He is my very own Pod-Person. He does not get embarrassed, flustered, uncomfortable, shy, or self-conscious. Being a woman, this is particularly confounding to me. I wallow in these traits and base my existence upon how the other humans react to me. To live with someone who defies these thoughts… Nay! Does not even harbor the ability to create them you must then assume that this person is one of two things: a Pod-Person, or a droid.
His ability to create things in thought while watching a Beverly Hillbillies marathon is stymieing and quite, well, Pod-like. I believe this show was specifically designed so that you do not have to employ any thought whatsoever. We sit there and laugh ourselves sick over their antics. In the midst of this simple humor he is actually in the process of designing the basis of a stone loading platform with impact resistant flooring, adjustable height settings, an interior refrigerator which pumps filtered water and a backside with a giant flat screen for watching ESPN's run of "World's Strongest Man" competitions. However, none of these thoughts are shared with you while you've been watching Granny chase Jethro around with a broom to keep him out of the vittles. It is suddenly announced to you in the form of, "Let me ask you this."
These moments of deep thought, having been marinated in Bud's own particular fervor for creativity can be unnerving to the ordinary human. Especially when you're feeling somewhat out of the loop in the thought process. He'll announce that statement as though he's been sharing each and every thought along the path. By the time you're brought in for your opinion the idea has had enough time to germinate that he already has a projected cost analysis, four separate revisions of the original model and the perfect place to house it.
"Let me ask you this," has been the superlative lead-in to some of the most life changing decisions in the history of our marriage. It was the preemptive statement for his announcement into the No-Holds Barred arena, his proposal for marriage, his conclusion as to whether I may have been pregnant or not, the decision to follow Levitican laws concerning food, all major dietary changes, the building of training equipment, where to live, training schedules and workouts, his decision to write books, as well as his calling to the ministry.
I now find myself in the position of watching the young men he has been working with growing into adults. They themselves now use the expression, "Let me ask you this." As I watch it transpire I fear for their future girlfriends and wives. I picture them, ten and 15 years from now, married, sitting on the couch with their wives, contriving some odd design and suddenly breaching the silence with, "Let me ask you this." These poor women will have no idea where this sentence will lead or more to the point, where it could lead them.
Last week while watching a show on PBS called, "Frontier House," I felt the atmosphere in the room change. The cabin pressure dropped suddenly and then… it happened:
"Let me ask you this…" My head lulled forward. I closed my eyes and furrowed my eyebrows in worry and anticipation of the inevitable. My thought process: "Okay, we're watching Frontier House. It's been on for an hour. He's had plenty of time to have thought about what they're eating and wanting to apply it to his own diet or something they built and would like to recreate it for some reason or another. Please, let that be it. Please… please… please." I hold my breath and wait as I watch his index finger and thumb form an "L", the hand gesture, which always accompanies his notion statement.
"I think we could do this. Part of the problem here is that these people have no concept of how to farm, physical fitness, endurance, strength, and they apparently don't have that good of a family relationship what with the way the speak to each other. Come on honey, what do you think? You've got that Caroline Ingalls spirit. I think it would be kind of fun! A lot of hard work, but something along these lines… how about it?" He sits, smiling at me. His eyes dance in the luminous glow of the television light gleefully awaiting my response. I can see from his facial expression that he has already laid the blueprint for the log cabin and is eager to have me join him in the imaginary kitchen for some of those vittles Granny was talking about.
Yeah. Sure. Me in pioneer days? Right. I can't go one hour without an internet connection. I flip out if the DSL goes down for any period of time. Do they still LET you make popcorn on a stove? He uses A LOT of honey. Who's going to be getting the honey from the hive? I'm allergic to bees! Milk the cow? You want me to touch the cow where and do what? Do you KNOW how many cows we'll have to have for protein shakes? You can't expect one cow to give that much milk in a day! What about chickens? My LORD, how will we ever build a coop big enough to house all those chickens? Is he aware of how many chickens he consumes in a day?! Where am I supposed to plug in my hairdryer? Will he be building a hydroelectric wheel in the pond to supply the cabin with energy for the AC? I feel these questions need to be answered before we pack up and head west.
An odd vicious smile slowly spreads across his face. He now knows what terror lies in the "Let me ask you this," statement and he is wielding it like Vlad the Impaler with a spiked mace. My brain begins to come to terms with the understanding that he was merely messing with my head. The level of cruelty perpetrated by this act could be construed as spousal abuse in some circles. He had it down. The eye twinkle, the inflection, the hand gesture. The entire scene was contrived to a point of mathematical genius. He had me convinced that within the next few months I would be heading for the great outdoors on a mule named Bubba with a kerchief full of fatback, sourdough starter and bees wax. I was livid.
Mastering the intricacies of his Pod-ness, he managed to pull off a joke that truly had me beside myself. He did it so well and used his now infamous expression to a degree that I am still wondering if he may have been serious on some level.
Some nights I am jolted from my sleep in a cold sweat, hearing those marked words. "Let me ask you this…" I am haunted by it as I wait for the next moment in time when he will utter them in sincerity. I wait, both curious and apprehensive to find out if his next great discovery will bring peril, adventure, relocation or simply another apparatus to construct.
"Let me ask you this…"
There's no telling what this wonderful, creative and challenging pod person will come up with next and if you're standing anywhere within proximity he WILL find a way to incorporate you into his diabolical and wild schemes. So one night, if the wind is carrying far and you happen to hear the notorious phrase whisper past you, I recommend you run. Run hard, run fast and don't look back, because it may be followed by a mule named Bubba pulling a wagon full of chickens.
