November 17, 2021
During the overnight hours on
Sunday, we were supposed to get somewhere between ten and fifteen centimeters
of snow (which is about three to six inches). When we awoke on Monday, there
was maybe a half inch of snow on the lawns and the cars, but the roads were
only wet. Well, except for right at the curbs. Because more leaves had dropped
from the maple trees on the street, there was a slight accumulation of them
against the edge of the sidewalk, and this of course made a nice receptive bed
for the snow.
Our walnut tree is now
completely naked of leaves. It is happily in sleep mode, or whatever it is that
trees do in the cold to survive until the next spring.
When I was getting my second
coffee on Monday morning, I picked up the long-handled ice-scraper with the
brush on the end (remember that I mentioned to all y’all last week that I was
going to ask my husband again to take it to the car, and which I did). I
then took that snow and ice removal tool and put it right on my husband’s desk.
He diverted his attention from the video he was watching on his computer,
headphones firmly in place. And he grinned at me, and then went right back to
his video.
And no, there wasn’t even
anything sheepish or chagrinned in that grin at all.
It occurred to me as I headed
back to my own desk in order to begin my writing day, that I really would have
been just as far ahead to only have asked him a handful of times to take that scraper
out to the car and then made that the end of things, entirely. What do I really
care if it got out to the car or not? It probably will not ever be me who will
have to use it to clear the snow and ice off the vehicle, anyway.
I guess old habits die hard.
Or, in my case, I am suspecting that they will not die at all.
The electric fireplace in my
office has been getting a workout the last week or so. I have it on, spitting
out its warmth, for at least the first couple of hours each day. Once I feel
warm enough that I know sweat will soon follow, I turn it off, to save both electricity
and my sweat glands. But I will turn it on again if necessary. Provided that my
office doors remain closed for the morning, I don’t need to turn the heater on
for a second round.
Also on Monday, (after the ice
scraper appeared on his desk), my husband decided it was a good time to do
something else I had asked him to do a couple of times in the last few weeks.
You see, last spring, when it became clear that I would no longer need my
winter boots, he took them upstairs and put them someplace. Do I know where? No.
And neither, apparently, did he. He looked upstairs, and then he came down,
having decided that since he didn’t see them up there, they must not have been
up there at all. He searched the bedroom, both my closet, and his. He searched
in the entrance hall, where we do have a few pieces of footwear, including my
older, brown suede winter boots that I will wear if necessary. They have been my
back-up boots for several years now and I have worn them a handful of times.
They’re not in really bad shape, but they’re not in the best condition, either.
But in the case that my new boots get wet and cannot be worn for a time, they’ll
do.
My new black boots were nowhere
to be found.
My husband then informed me
that I must have done something with those new boots because he couldn’t find
them. I told him he was right; I had done something with them. I’d given them
to him in the spring to take upstairs. So up he went again to look again, and
since we’ve been married more than 49 years, I knew that at that point, he
thought he was on a fool’s errand.
I am striving to be kinder so
I will not make the obvious observation, here.
I texted my daughter and asked
her if she knew where those boots were. She was upstairs in her bed-sitting
room at the time. She replied that no, she did not. And then, unbeknownst to
me, she opened her bedroom door and looked out to where she could see the rest
of the upstairs including her father, and his version of looking for the boots.
(I later confirmed what I already knew. He was simply standing in one spot and
slowly turning in a circle, looking for them.)
Shortly after, he came down, a
big smile on his face, my boots in his hand. He told me that they had been on a
shelf and had somehow fallen behind something else and he just hadn’t
seen them the first time he looked.
Of course, I thanked him for finding
them. And I am not going to tell him that my daughter came down later and
shared with me what had really happened.
The moment she opened her door
and saw her dad standing there, “looking around” and looking befuddled, she glanced
at one of two shelving units we have up there, used for storing things and asked
him what that was, on the top shelf—in plain sight, waiting all by themselves,
behind nothing.
Daughter said he has gotten a
lot more creative in his combinations of cuss words. I guess that’s something,
at least, to celebrate. And because I am being kinder, I won’t ever tell him of
her ratting him out to me.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
No comments:
Post a Comment