Jackie Wells-Fauth
It had to happen. My peaceful, lazy existence over the past few months had to end sometime and this weekend was apparently the start of a new era at our house.
Between some health issues and a busy work time, Roy has left household projects pretty much up to me for the last few months. And I will admit that those “projects” have consisted only of the things I had to do. I like to call my attitude laid-back, but in reality, you’d probably label me lazy. Knowing that about myself, perhaps I should have searched for a lazy partner, but I like my choice—except when he decides to do a project. And even worse, when he decides I need to help.
That is how this weekend went. I have stacked, piled and otherwise mis-located the materials from three rooms of the basement. I had to do that in order for some work to be done in the laundry room and the two bedrooms. However, now the disorder is clogging up the family room and even worse, the weight room. Roy’s sensibilities are offended by this disorder, but up until now, he really wasn’t up to doing anything about it.
I believe the expression “Goliath awakens” had new meaning in our house. Roy had put up with the mess in the basement as long as he was willing to. He appeared in the bedroom doorway where I was contemplating the quiet and considering how many hours I could spend doing nothing.
“I want to do some work on the basement and I need your help,” he announced.
“Oh sure. I have a million things to do, and you think I should just drop everything and help you,” I snarled.
He looked at my prone position on the bed and my empty hands and replied, “I think I can live with myself.”
So down to the basement I stomped. And he was clearly determined to start a fight. His first question was, “What do we have down here that we can throw away?”
In my house, those are fighting words. Obviously, everything I have down there…for instance the three boxes of papers that came from my father, aunt and grandmother (all deceased for some years) is very important. Perhaps, among the old receipts, empty bank books and long-paid bills, there could be the deed to a forgotten gold mine. I can’t throw those things away!
He gritted his teeth and put them on the storage shelves. Then he picked up two garbage bags. “Are these both just garbage?”
One bag contained the remnants of the quilt my grandmother made me as a girl. Someday, I’m going to reconstruct it. I snatched that bag away and made a grab for the other one.
“You said this dehydrator hadn’t been used in years and might not even work anymore,” he said, holding onto it. “Or did this belong to your great uncle Harry and can’t be touched.” Sometimes he can be so ridiculous. I don’t even have a great uncle Harry!
It was a long afternoon. Instead of relaxing and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere, I was in a death battle with a man determined to throw away things like the crumpled remains of a Halloween decoration I haven’t put out for Halloween in 20 years. When it was over, the storage shelves could once again hold everything we were saving and he could use his weight room without having to squeeze past the Christmas decorations.
He was in a much better mood, but I wasn’t. He interrupted my favorite activity—doing nothing—for my least favorite activity—throwing away junk I have accumulated over the years. Goliath had truly awakened, but that in turn had awakened Hera—the most vengeful wife in mythology!
“I’m going to walk the dog,” he said, “you want to join us?”
“No!” I snapped. “I’m very busy right now. I have a column to write.”
He didn’t ask what it would be about!
dropsinthewell 