As many of you
may have guessed, I usually pen these essays a few days in advance of Wednesday.
That's because I don't always know what I want to say, or what I'm going
to say and it sometimes takes me a while to come up with just the right topic.
But sometimes, writing them ahead is a good thing in and of itself. Sometimes
writing the essay allows my mind to go to a happy, happy place. Well, for
a little while, at least.
Such is
certainly the case with this particular essay which I wrote last Saturday.
If all has gone
according to plan then, as you read these words, my beloved will be at his place
of joyful employment. Please don't misunderstand, or worry: There is no doubt of
his having a job—thankfully he still has the same job as he's had these
past 35 or 36 years.
This is just me,
writing while he is still HERE and not THERE and counting down the days that are
left.
To his credit,
during these past two weeks while he has been home with me every single day, he
did not hang over my shoulder and pounce back and forth like an Odie dog
on drugs (as he has in the past), asking, "Whatcha doin'? Wanna do something?
Wanna go somewhere? Do ya? Do ya?"
In fact he
hasn't really done much of anything at all, unless you count keeping his chair
from defying gravity as "something".
My husband has
many fine qualities and y'all know he's the love of my life. I suppose there
really is only one person to be blamed, here, for the situation in which I find
myself, and that is me.
I have spoiled
my husband instead of kicking his ashes and making him do stuff around the
house, all these years. Now, he told me before he began this two week time off
that he intended to help out and "do stuff". In fact, he told me I need only
focus on my writing and making dinners, and he would do the
rest.
So you see, the
problem isn't that he's unwilling to "do stuff". The larger problem is he
doesn't see the stuff that needs to be done.
He doesn't see
the clutter on the coffee table, the scatter of clothes (his, of course) around
the living room, the empty coffee cup from the day before (also his) sitting in
the humongous flower pot belonging to the yucca, or the high density of lint and
fluff and debris on the living room carpet.
He doesn't see
that the bed is askew, with the sheet and duvet half on the floor. He doesn't
see his pile of laundry on the floor on his side the bed that is blocking the
heat vent.
He doesn't see
the clutter on the bathroom counter, or that the bathroom mat needs shaking out
or the fact that the sink could use a good cleaning.
He doesn't see
the dishes piling up all over the damn place, or that the kitchen garbage needs
to be emptied. In fact, he can jam stuff in there, be unable to close the lid,
and still not see that!
He doesn't see
any of the dozens of things needing to be done, at all. And he knows he
doesn't see any of them.
His first day
off from work, (December 14th!) he promised me that he would
be the "house bitch". That is to say, he promised that all I would have to do
was cook (he hates that and I would never dream of asking it of him). Come to
think of it, my daughter also promised to have him over to her house for a day
or two so he could do things for her as well—and she didn't follow through,
either.
But I've learned
something important these past two weeks. I now know exactly what Mr. Ashbury
thinks of what's involved in being the "house bitch", my traditional role: he
thinks I do only one task a day!
It's true!
Following his directives to "tell me what needs to be done because I can't see
it," he dutifully does whatever I point out to him—vacuuming, dishes, whatever.
[I must here admit that he has on about three occasions actually vacuumed or
swept a floor without my urging. A miracle!]
Then, after that
first task is done, I say to him: would you please do this (fill in the blank).
He looks at me, his eyes wide and filled with shock, and though he does not say
it aloud I know he is thinking, "But I already vacuumed!"
I've not yet
tried to suggest a third task to him, as clearly, this might prove to be too
much for the old dear.
Yes, Mr. Ashbury
is a very spoiled man, and if all has gone as I have prayed, then he is at this
moment, as you read these very words, THERE and not HERE.
And I'm spoiled
too, because I like having my house to myself. I like my routine of multitasking
each day [performing a combination of writing and numerous housekeeping chores
around the house] in a rhythm that is peaceful, solitary and
mine.
But friends? The
experience of these past two weeks does not bode well for Mr. Ashbury's eventual
retirement from the work-a-day world. No, it doesn't bode well at
all.
Love,
Morgan
Oh, hilarious. I wish the best for you and Mr. Ashbury's new employment. Mr. Flaherty WILL do things, he SEES the things that need to be done, and he does them BETTER than I do (I'm slapdash; he's meticulous). However, he thinks that once they are done, they miraculously STAY done!
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