Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

Sometimes when my husband, John Tinker, finishes writing a television script, he will skip down the stairs to find me.

It’s funny but I can tell his mood or what kind of news he is going to deliver by the gait he uses as he tumbles down the stairs. If it’s bad or unexpectedly good news, he comes fast and hard. If he has had a good call or the script is going well, his steps are hard and deliberate. If all is normal, he descends gently and light of foot.

Sometimes, between the former and the latter, he will come down at the end of the day and find me in the kitchen. He’ll lean against the island, saying, “I finished the script.”

This is happy news because he labors hard for hours on end. Then, he’ll saunter over to the table, the one that belonged to his father and the piece of furniture that he cherishes most, sit down and talk about the script.

Rarely, he will say, “I really like this script. It’s really good.”

He’s not one to brag or be prideful. But I love to see him pleased. Night will pass into a day with the shine of a new dawn. When he goes back to work and reads over the script, he will decide, “it’s not as good as I thought. I need to rewrite it.”

It happens every time. In speaking engagements, I often joke about Tink’s OCD. He’s a good sport and laughs along. For example, if a vet is attending an ailing animal and Tink returns where I am there worrying mightily.

“What did she say?” I ask anxiously.

He walks past the door and says “I’ll be right there.” I hear him in the kitchen scrubbing his hands even though he has only touched the barn door. Then, he returns with the update.

Maddening. Then this happened: We bought a cabin that was furnished. It is completely Tink’s domain but he allows me in – as long as I know the secret code – when I’m on deadline and need to be in my beloved mountains. A few months after the purchase, he decided he didn’t like the furniture because it was too big for the small space. I heard this for months. When Tink gets on something, he sticks to it. Finally, I acquiesced so we gave the sofa, coffee table and little kitchen table to my nephew, which left us with nowhere to sit.

I brought a citrus green sofa and love seat a while back. The love seat is in the foyer of our house and it is wonderful. Tink protested but I insisted on taking the matching sofa to the mountains. Then, he had a bright idea: He’d take a big club chair and ottoman that he had brought from Los Angeles up there. I’m fairly sure there is an Appalachian law against furniture from L.A. residing on pure mountain land. There has to be. But, so far, the law hasn’t knocked on the door.

A few years ago, I had the chair and ottoman re-covered in a English cottage rose pattern in red, yellow, orange and green. Cheerfully becoming. I put it in Tink’s office. From practically day one, he complained of his back hurting. A new cushion inside was no help. Finally, I re-covered a recliner and he loved it. The other went into my office.

When he suggested moving it to the cabin, I said, “Tink, you hated sitting in it to work. You complained constantly.” “It’ll be just fine,” he replied confidently.

I spent six months searching for fabric to match that chair and re-recoverd a little swivel chair with an ottoman for me.

As soon as it was in place, Tink said, “Now, my chair doesn’t look right. Besides, It’s uncomfortable.”

So, the search for the right chair in the appropriate colors begins all over.

Please pray for me. 

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of The Stella Bankwell Mystery series. Visit www.rondarich.com for her free newsletter.