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Yesterday, my suffering began when I asked my husband to move my cedar chest from the living room to the front porch. He is the descendent of the Pennsylvania Dutch; and, even at 60, is as strong as a team of bison. I left the matter in his hands, something I should have known better than to do. He mumbled something about carrying it out to the curb; I was busy giving our dogs a bath, and didn't really take the time to listen.
Later, the chest that I had lamented over getting rid of was gone, and I was none the worse for it, until I found a note by a guy from the Good Will which asked, "Where is the chest you promised us?" Although there was a sign taped to the front of it that said, "Good Will, please take," a greedy cedar chest thief had come along and scooped it up, causing the charitable oraganization to make a trip out to our mobile home park for nothing.
I had wrestled with the idea of getting rid of the $500 Lane cedar chest for over a month. My mother bought it as a high school graduation gift for me over two decades ago. It was bulky and in the way, but had great sentimental value. Finally, as a woman with an "idealist" personality type, I had decided that it could be better used to help others raise some cash during these tough economic times. Reluctantly, I had placed the call to have it picked up, only to have it snatched away by someone for whom it was not intended; and, who did not deserve it. Its replacement value was at least several hundred dollars.
I am angry at myself for trusting my husband to perform even the most remedial task on his own. Over the years, he has proven that he is nothing more than a little boy in a man's body, and is incapable of doing what I ask; in this case, to simply put the damned thing on the porch!
My counselor asked me if he has early-onset Alzheimer's to which I answered, "No, he's always been mindless." Then she asked a very thought provoking question: "What do you need him for?" After careful consideration, I realized there is only one good reason -- because my gray-haired baby boy is as strong as a team of bison. Unfortunately for me, he's about as smart as one too.
Yesterday, my suffering began when I asked my husband to move my cedar chest from the living room to the front porch. He is the descendent of the Pennsylvania Dutch; and, even at 60, is as strong as a team of bison. I left the matter in his hands, something I should have known better than to do. He mumbled something about carrying it out to the curb; I was busy giving our dogs a bath, and didn't really take the time to listen.
Later, the chest that I had lamented over getting rid of was gone, and I was none the worse for it, until I found a note by a guy from the Good Will which asked, "Where is the chest you promised us?" Although there was a sign taped to the front of it that said, "Good Will, please take," a greedy cedar chest thief had come along and scooped it up, causing the charitable oraganization to make a trip out to our mobile home park for nothing.
I had wrestled with the idea of getting rid of the $500 Lane cedar chest for over a month. My mother bought it as a high school graduation gift for me over two decades ago. It was bulky and in the way, but had great sentimental value. Finally, as a woman with an "idealist" personality type, I had decided that it could be better used to help others raise some cash during these tough economic times. Reluctantly, I had placed the call to have it picked up, only to have it snatched away by someone for whom it was not intended; and, who did not deserve it. Its replacement value was at least several hundred dollars.
I am angry at myself for trusting my husband to perform even the most remedial task on his own. Over the years, he has proven that he is nothing more than a little boy in a man's body, and is incapable of doing what I ask; in this case, to simply put the damned thing on the porch!
My counselor asked me if he has early-onset Alzheimer's to which I answered, "No, he's always been mindless." Then she asked a very thought provoking question: "What do you need him for?" After careful consideration, I realized there is only one good reason -- because my gray-haired baby boy is as strong as a team of bison. Unfortunately for me, he's about as smart as one too.