I glanced out the kitchen window and saw a school bus crossing the bridge near our house. Its red lights began to flash as it slowed down to stop at our driveway. Looking into the dining room, where my two grade-school-aged daughters sat eating breakfast, I informed them, “Your bus is here.”

Niki and Tammie popped the last of their toast into their mouths, picked up their school bags and rushed out the back door, yelling, “Bye, Mom!”

From our bedroom above the kitchen, I could hear my husband, Arnie, moving around. He liked it when I made breakfast for him on my days off from the hospital. I gathered what I needed from the refrigerator, set the table for us in the dining room, and began frying bacon.

Arnie walked into the kitchen just as I broke the last egg into the skillet. He gave me a peck on the cheek and asked, “What do you plan to do today?”

Turning away from the stove, I said, “Our garden gets planted today. I’m happy with the nice weather this morning. All week I’ve been worrying that it would be rainy on my day off. What are you planning to do today?”

While buttering his toast, Arnie listed the customers he needed to see after working his day shift at the plant, adding, “I need to pick up supplies, so I’ll see you when I swing by to pick them up this afternoon.”

It was ten in the morning by the time I was finally ready to begin working in the garden. I stepped out of the back door and felt a lovely breeze and the warm sun caressing my skin. Looking down at the old shirt and long pants I was wearing, I decided it would be cooler to garden in my swimsuit. Moments later, after changing into my swim wear, I headed out the back door again. This time I was halfway to the garden before I thought, “I want to put on that nice-smelling sun lotion Arnie bought.”

I’ve never had a big problem with my skin getting sunburned despite playing outside a lot as a child. As a teenager, when my friends sunbathed, they rubbed baby oil on their skin, so I did, too. My point of view was that sunscreen lotion was just greasy stuff that pharmaceutical companies invented to make more money. It did nothing other than moisturize the skin and smell nice.

Arnie’s skin tended to burn more readily than mine, so he’d bought sunscreen lotion for himself the last time he’d gone fishing in Canada. I found his half empty bottle and spread it on my arms and legs. I rubbed more on my face, neck, and shoulders. I was able to rub lotion on the top of my back and spread some on my lower back. There was no way I could spread any of it properly on the middle of my back, where my skin happened to be the whitest.

 Arnie had tilled the garden a few days earlier. When I returned to the garden, I marked out the rows, planted beans, peas, corn, and potatoes. I lovingly slipped the tomato plants into the worked soil. I worked steadily for the next several hours, stopping occasionally for something to eat and to drink.

Just as I was planting the last of the seeds, Arnie arrived home to pick up supplies. As he approached the garden from behind me, I glanced over my shoulder while sprinkling a handful of carrot seeds onto their prepared bed, and asked, “How does it look? I’m almost done.”

My husband asked, “What’s wrong with your back?”

Flexing my shoulders and straightening up, I answered, “Nothing is wrong with my back. It feels fine.”

Insisting there was a problem, Arnie described, “You have a patch of red skin on the middle of your back. The edge of the red area looks swirled.”  

Mystified, I went into the house to use a mirror to look at my back. He was right! My back looked exactly as he described. Suddenly it dawned on me. I hadn’t been able to reach my entire back while applying suntan lotion. The swirled areas were where my fingers managed to spread the lotion partially.  

Having to wear regular clothing at work the next day was very painful. With the fervor of a new convert, I informed my coworkers, “Who knew? Sunscreen lotion really works. It’s more than just grease!”