One Hundred Words A Day
Sunday, September 27, 2009

  All Thing Old needs Fixing

I took mental notes as I pushed the purple Dyson around. Many wall corners are chipped, the Pergo floor connector between the hallway and the living room is partly missing, its broken piece laying on the hallway bookshelf as a stark reminder for the reason of its being there, instead of being an integral part of our floor. My old elephant of a mind retains all of these unpleasant domestic incidents: the day my favorite crystal vase was shattered to pieces by a casual swipe of a careless man's shoulder, the round burning mark in the middle of the beautiful mahogany dining table, the unnecessary washing of the brand new video ipod, and more, much more. The day that the "floor incident" happened, the beloved hubby was all revved up to "rid off the clutter around this place that's been giving me the claustrophobia." Soon said, soon done. Down came all my photo frames, out from the shelves and into the carton boxes lined my books, hutches unhinged stood naked in the living room, miscellaneous knick-knacks filled the various laundry baskets. These were done energetically, feverishly, but randomly, and soon the well-kept home of a twenty years marriage was in disarray, filled with boxes of all sizes amidst keeled-over baskets, displaced furniture, sheetless mattresses.

"What in the world ..." I gasped, coming in from the yard still hot and drenched by the broken sprinklers that I had just repaired.

"Shush, don't say anything. I'll take care of this. This is something I've been wanting to do for a long time. Since we are painting Danny's room, it's best to do it all together."

"We are planning to redo only Danny's room, Shawn, not the entire house. How am I going to start the school year in this state? I have to prepare Danny's lessons, finish my memoir, the stove is working at its whimp, the Odyssey' brakes need work, you can't just tear off the house without planning. It's hard to keep up with the work as it is. Don't you at least have the courtesy to ask me, you know I'm fussy about order."

"You'll see a new order. You'll be amazed, honey, once this place is cleaned up. I'll get rid off most of these junks. You'll not even realize they are gone. Just come give me a hand, Sweet Bonnie."

I swallowed hard, and rolled my eyes at this man that I have chosen to be my life partner, "For better, for worse ... through sickness and in health .." If our marriage vow had been better worded and prepared by real couples, not by some poet, I would have been clearly warned, that I had contracted out my orderly and methodical ways of life to a reckless builder and unlicensed home planner, not to mention his artistic sense as a volunteer interior designer.

"What do you want me for, everything is already everywhere. There is nothing I can contribute to make it worse. And I'm not going to rectify the situation for you one more time."

"Did I even mention about you doing anything? All you have to do is do what I said, easy as one two three. Come push this basket with me. It's kind of flimsy, and I don't want to burst it midway. We're just going to drag it across the hall to the other room. Ready?"

I pushed hard, my hubby dragged with one hand, the other holding on to the overflowing picture frames and ceramic vases jutting out from the basket. Crack, snap, I looked back to see the Pergo transition connector ripped clean off its place.

"Oh shoot!" uttered my other half.

"Don't worry, honey. We'll paint the house, then replace the flooring. No biggie."

My sarcastic remark drove the arrow straight home to the sagging heart of my opponent. He darkened: "I shouldn't have involved you. You're full of malice."

"What do you expect, I came into the house expecting to relax in bed with my book, to see this," I gesticulated, "why don't you sympathize with me for once, once, to recognize your mistake, once, instead of retorting like that, as if I'm the one who has caused this."

The Dyson catches on to the decorative frills of the floor rugs, and shrieks. I quickly cut off the power. I'll have to put that floor transition onto my Remember The Milk's home repair list. Gosh, that list is getting long and nags at me constantly. Nothing has been checked off yet, and Christmas is approaching. Old houses, old cars... like old loves, do need fixing constantly.

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home
A commitment to write


Bookmark and Share
My Photo

Mother, Engineer, writer, manager, and more. I am a bit of everything, a creature of God. I am passionate with life. I fear death and its many forms. I love my mind, cherish my body. I express through WORDS.

Contact Me


Behind the Red Curtain: a Memoir

Sponsored By

Smart World Clock
(714) 686-6742