Where is it now?

                          

My husband John is a brilliant man, one of those rocket-scientist types.  We talk about asteroids and volcanoes.  He will watch a DVD on math and calculus for fun.

But, God love him, he has that selective memory many smart men have.  They know about physics and the elements table, but cannot remember where they left the car keys or how to set the sprinkler system.  

Can anyone else say this:  The Things My Husband Has Lost!

While I was gone one time, he had to call an electrician.  He ‘helped’ the electrician as they searched for the cause of the problem, which was in my writing room.  To allow access to the outlets, John had cleared away all sorts of folders, binders, and assorted works-in-process.

Consequently, I have been searching for stuff for days.  Most important among those items was the Christmas cantata music our choir is practicing.  

 Man.  I tore apart every possible spot, every logical location that he might have placed my music tote bag. 

Huzzah.  That which was lost has been found.  John had placed the tote bag in with all the other reusable totes we keep, in a dark corner in the kitchen. 

His response when I found it?  “Really?!  In that corner?  That’s really funny!”

Funny?  Not funny.  However, John lives to teach another day. 

What about your spouse or partner?  Do you struggle with the urge to scream?

This is a repost from November 2011. It is one I could post while my hand heals. Please leave a comment,  I really need them.

left hand is better, have a new fiberglass cast, will get another one in two weeks, Do O/T.  I figure summer is the goal.

We Are Who We Are

When one walks into our home, one could guess that we just moved in and lived in perpetual scattered messes. Well, it is not as bad as all that, but I look at it with dismayed eyes. We are messy, in a community where it seems that other people live organized lives.  

Oddly enough, my house was very tidy when my children were little.  Maybe it was that a toddler or crawler was wandering around, or that I was a stay-at home mom. But things morphed when they grew to be teenagers who left a trails or heaps of stuff.  Then they moved out. (see below what they became as adults) 
Now all the messes around are our own.

We both are eclectic people with our own talents and interests.

He is all math and science, a huge bridge fanatic. Around his recliner, one will find books on bridge, astronomy, science fiction, and investing. 

I am all color and art, with writing as my joy. Around my chair, there is no mess. But on the table, my computer is surrounded  by printouts, post-its, rough drafts being edited, and photos.

When one combines those two, there is and will always be a mess.

So if and when someone visits, we will close doors to our "creative" rooms, hoping that visitors will focus on art around and on the walls. Will go "ahhhh" at quilts commanding parts of their own walls.   Will smile at our collection of family photos. Will nod with appreciation at my laptop on the dining table, knowing that I am a writer, one who writes everyday.

Being as we are, I believe our messes will be understood and maybe even admired.

Well, not admired, but at least understood.

A quilt for my daughter

My sister made this for me.  She is so precious.

Anatole Krasnyansky

Are we alone in this?  Do you have a flare of your own, resulting in a mess? Oh, please say yes.