For September Susan Jackson

Meandering, clutter and interruptions

It just doesn’t seem right to find so many things wrong with someone you have promised to love honor and cherish; but that doesn’t change the fact that I gripe about my husband’s approach to three things; meandering, clutter, and interruptions.  I cover my irritation with a dulcet tone and gentle words; cascading like warm maple syrup over pancakes, but he knows a complaint when he hears one.

My astrological sign is Aries, the ram, head strong, full charge straight ahead.  Dick is a Libra, the scales.  Left, right, up, down, choices, choices.  I grind my teeth when we run errands together.  Our GPS repeats “recalculating” until I want to crush it.  “What’s the hurry?” Dick asks.   Getting there is half the fun for him.

Take for example, his choice of parking spots; we can drive by as many as five suitable locations; none of them are where we end up.  Parking lots are the seventh level of Hell for me.  While we’re on the subject of driving, it is downright dangerous to listen to talk radio.  Engrossed in the story he drives slower and slower, intent on not missing the point.  Cars pass us, waving the International Salute.  If we have arrived at our destination before the end of the story, around the block we go.

“Someday I am going to call “Hoarders Anonymous”, I threaten.  Dicks perchance to take pens from every venue has amassed a vast collection of dried up writing instruments; every day he brings home more.  There is not a surface or crevice that isn’t a pen graveyard.

Although he prides himself that we have walked boldly into the future, he will not part with scratchy cassette tapes of third rate sermons and bird calls.  Recently we had professionals install a Home Theater System with a 56” 3D TV.   “Why in God’s name do you keep those buckets of coaxial cables, clickers and routers; throw them out!”  I protest.

Tonsorial parlors don’t have as many razors, scissors and tweezers as Dick.  Why then do his eyebrows resemble Walrus whiskers?

His hearing aids are a Godsend, if he’d wear them.  In social settings my conversations are often interrupted because I am zeroing in on Dick.  I am so concerned that no one is uncomfortable I assume the role of a translator at the United Nations; following him like a Seeing Eye dog, repeating every utterance in a louder voice while looking directly into his glassy eyes.

Unable to multi-task, I require complete silence while dedicated to my pursuits.   In a feigned effort to show he is interested in my life, Dick will, walk by any show I am watching, and ask interrogative questions.  Perturbed I forget the existence of a pause button and offer assorted tales to silence him.

In conclusion, I believe reclining beneath a Palm Tree is not my fantasy.  Give me a cloister; contemplative, quiet and Spartan.


About Jim Hilton

Just having a good time writing about our little adventures.
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