Anyone who’s been married for a few years understands that sometimes you have to pick your battles. I recently heard tell of a friend who goes to great lengths to enjoy a cigar without his wife finding out. 

In my marital household, there were beautiful handmade heirloom quilts all neatly folded and stored away in sturdy plastic tubs. Which to me seemed an illogical waste. Those quilts had been hand stitched by my late husband’s Grandmother circa 1930 or 1940. I honestly don’t believe she put in all those stitches without expecting the quilts to be used and admired.

Guess what’s on full display on my bed right now?

These quilts are part of my husband’s family heirlooms. When I breathe my last they will be returned to his relatives. But in the meantime, I can’t abide by the ‘don’t use, don’t risk any damage’ rule.

Admittedly, I feel a few pangs of guilt.

The quilts are really just a concrete example of the many ‘rules’ I have bent, broken, or totally disregarded since I’ve been on my own. My car is definitely not the example of spotless maintenance it would be if he were he still with us. And I’m sure he’d be shocked that I sold the house… or I’m trying out online dating, or any number of things, ranging from nit-picky to large scale importance.

My point is  — while my husband was alive, I chose other battles and other compromises. The quilts were in his domain so to speak, but I’m thinking of choices I would forgo because they were not ‘worth’ the battle. Now that I live alone, I miss the mutual lifestyle but the tradeoff is that all the rules and compromises are my own. Even the battles I have with myself. (More chocolate? Another crossword? No… yes, …no… ad nauseam.)

It is entirely his choice but I’m secretly hoping my cigar smoking friend will choose to battle with his wife and find a compromise… like ‘Once/twice a year I will enjoy a cigar’. 

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger, unless it’s a holiday weekend. Or summertime. Facebook or email.