Have You Seen My Keys?
This may seem a touch blasphemous, but there are a few things I really don’t like about this time of year. Chief among them being the “March Mudness”. Good Lord, you can’t walk anywhere without picking up some mud. The grass is brown & dormant, there are little mole volcanoes all over the yard, and the season’s color palette seems limited to grays, black and a few tans. Blah.
What gets me this morning though is the lack of pockets. Or changing pockets. Usually, I keep my car keys in the front left pocket of what ever coat I’m wearing. For the past 4 months, that’s been pretty steady. I switched to a slightly lighter coat a few weeks ago, but that’s been pretty consistent, until this weekend. We headed down to Jill’s hometown to take care of some wedding details (9 weeks to go!). The weather Saturday was gorgeous. Upper 50’s – lower 60’s for temps, light breeze, nice sunny sky. Rather than wear even a lightly insulated jacket, I opted for a fleece. Served me well all day. Even had a pocket for my keys.
I got to messing with the dogs down there (Black and Chocolate labs) and got just a wee bit of dog slobber on my fleece. A wee bit like “Holy crap, I can’t believe those dogs drool so much! But they’re good pups so won’t hold it against them.
When we got home Saturday evening, I emptied my pockets, left my keys on the kitchen counter and tossed the fleece in the laundry.
Sunday was a tense day here. Lack of communication on both our parts. I don’t understand why. It basically took all day to get to a point where we could even have a simple conversation. On the surface there didn’t seem to be anything really wrong, but one got the sense that things just weren’t quite right deep down.
Our new couples therapist is a proponent of “date night”. In an effort to provide a different kind of date, I dug up some information on a place called “Bisque & Brush”. They maintain a wide selection of fired ceramics (the ‘bisque’). You select a piece, paint it how you like and they re-fire it for you, taking care of the entire glazing process. A week later you show up to pick up your pieces. I figured that with the porch needing some decorating and all the other changes we’ve made it would be a good opportunity to create a little original art work to use. Flower pots, a vase, a big honkin’ bowl for fruit, that kind of stuff.
I ‘splained the concept to Cindy, inquired as to her interest in trying something like that. Know what I got? Naahh, I don’t think so. It’s not like this was a surprise to her either. I had mentioned last week that this was something I wanted to do for a date night thingy, I just hadn’t had time to look up the details last week. We ended up going out to dinner instead. Woo-hoo.
Part of the communication problem lies in my not telling Cindy that I was hurt that she rejected my idea for an activity we could do together. I didn’t pick bowling or golf or fishing – I thought it was a nice middle of the road option and something really different from our normal weekend fare. Know what I ended up doing? Cleaning the garage, some, and re-hanging the screen door between the garage and the room formerly known as the family room. Exciting.
But! Opportunity raises it’s head again. We have another therapy session tonight. Can you guess what will be brought up? Think I’ll invest some time today in deciding how best to phrase things. Couch everything in terms of how I feel and not be accusatory. Might still get something productive out of this.
Oh. The keys. It’s sort of why I’m here now, typing. Could not find my keys this morning. Took the keys out of my pocket, fleece into the laundry, keys on the kitchen counter. We have 67.3 miles of counter space, I didn’t think they’d be much in the way. This morning, as I was gathering up my stuff, I didn’t see my keys where I had left them. I had my gym bag packed & ready, laptop & work docs ready, lunch packed. I was brushing my teeth, running around looking for my damn keys. Checked coat pockets, end tables, dresser (again), kitchen junk drawers, even the key shaped key hanging doodad hanging by the garage door. No keys. After nearly suffocating from running around with my toothbrush jammed in my mouth (running the whole time), I made a pit stop in the powder room to finish with the tooth brushing. Now way too late to get to the gym and show up for spin (even for me), I settled down and intensified my search.
It’s funny how once you’re resigned to your fate everything becomes so easy. Found my keys in a big ceramic bowl that is perched on top of a bookcase in the den. The rim of the bowl is only 3.5 or so feet off the floor, but unless you’re standing right over it, you don’t see inside. That’s where you-know-who relocated the keys (hers too) when she cleaned up the kitchen counters yesterday.
I miss a trip to the gym, you got to suffer through a disjointed entry. Pretty sweet deal all around, eh?
This will be an interesting therapy session tonight.