My husband was a workaholic. This column from 1987 tells how he attempted to do everything, except sleep. During his night shirt at the canning company, he was found a time of two sleeping standing up–this is not an exageration.
For summer and fall, I lived as a single parent, which wasn’t easy either. Often I felt I was being pulled apart when I was needed on the farm knowing our children required at least one parent some of the time.
Anyway this is what I wrote about Bob during those hectic times.
Watching Bob work himself to death wasn’t easy to witness but no one could stop him from any of his work adventures.
Today, I’m missing him and wishing we had more time together. It was a good thing he did eventually slow down, finding time to enjoy more than work.
My husband was a soft-spoken guy except when it came to stubborn machinery. Then he would let the sharp words fly, but only if he was alone.
Of course, Bob forgot that sometimes others could hear his colorful words.
The kids laugh after hearing him working in our basement alone. Their dad’s words didn’t stop at the basement ceiling but floated into our living room where everyone could hear him. Bob never realized this, until he heard the kids laughing.
If Bob was really having a bad time with machinery, I’d head out and help. My hands would fit where his didn’t. Many days we were both covered with grease and oil. On a few rare occasions, I found solutions for him, that was because I didn’t know what I was doing and found interesting ways to address problems.