Tink’s Heart: She Said… He Said Part Two | The life
(This is the second in a two-part series.)
In all my days, I have never seen anyone who eats like John Tinker.
Once in a while, he has breakfast. Sometimes he has lunch. But, ALWAYS, he starts eating towards the end of the afternoon and doesn’t stop until he brushes his teeth before bed.
He never eats a bite after brushing his teeth. I understand because he spends a good 15 minutes flossing and brushing his teeth.
This is one of the annoying factors in our marriage. His metabolism is so fast that within half an hour after a hearty meal and dessert, he will say, “I’m hungry.”
When we settle down in the evening to watch a film noir on Turner Classic Movies, he gets up from his chair and goes in front of the TV, for three or four round trips to the kitchen. He returns, clutching cookies, peanuts and, often, with a noisy bag of pretzels.
He eats like an 8-year-old child whose mother allows him to feed on junk food.
I was a chubby-cheeked child and teenager until finally I decided to lose the long lasting baby fat. The majority of my days since I was 16 have been spent dieting or silently counting calories. Also, I’ve exercised more days in my life than I haven’t. This is a prison in which I am serving a life sentence.
Given my druthers, I would live on Cheetos and ginger ale. And, I would never climb another hill or hang around on an elliptical trainer for a set half hour. I also ate until I was almost sick like I was when I was 12 and ate three big bowls of Mama’s hearty homemade potato soup with two pieces of cornbread. Lying miserably in my bed that night, I promised myself and God that I would never eat so much again.
So aside from the chewable bags and TV interruptions, I’m crazy that Tink can eat like a teenage linebacker and never put on an ounce of fat.
He never leaves the comfortable chair at his desk except for the occasional quick hop into the bathroom or, more likely, a trip to the kitchen where he studies the refrigerator like a chess player about to make a key move.
A few times a day, I stop by his desk and say, “Move your legs so you don’t get a blood clot.” Several years ago, a cardiovascular surgeon friend of ours warned us that we should “restrain” our feet on our frequent five-hour plane trips from home to Los Angeles.
I don’t believe he thought the technique should be implemented at home where we are free to walk around the house or roam the acres of the Rondarosa.
“One of these days….” I keep saying to Tink, who quickly learned the mountain way of “not paying, too bad”.
I thought “one of these days” had finally arrived. Both of Tink’s brothers had suffered from heart problems and when the healthiest, who trains vigorously and eats healthy, needed surgery, Tink said, “Maybe I should get checked out.”
He made the appointments. The night before the litany of test results were explained, he was restless. Worry. Same fear.
I felt compassion and tried to comfort him. “So we’ll thank the Lord for catching him before he catches you.”
Head bowed and frowning, he went to the doctor for the big news. Forty-five minutes later, he called.
“Oh! His voice rang with joy. “I am in perfect health. All my arteries are clean!
“Whore.” A wave of annoyance came over me. I won’t lie. “Are you serious??”
He howled with laughter. “That really grabs you, doesn’t it?”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I replied calmly. “Jesus is awfully nice to you.” I took a break. “Because one of these days…”
Ronda Rich is the bestselling author of There’s A Better Day A-Comin’. To visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for their weekly newsletter.