Anniversary eighteen

Now, how I drive HER crazy is for her blog, which she doesn’t have. Sidebar on that: I’ve been in relationships where I had to argue both my side AND my significant other’s, which is REALLY exhausting, and thank goodness my wife does NOT do that.

The stairs to the attic: they are steep and narrow and have a 180 degree turn, so a real pain to traverse. Our modus operandi was that we put stuff inside the door to the attic, so that it would be carried up the stairs next time we have to go up. Instead, the bottom landing and the first two or three steps have become a fire hazard, the new home of boxes, but I don’t know what they are.

I hate that they are located there because, while I can see them OK going up, if I’m carrying something DOWN, I may not be able to view the obstruction at all, and am likely to literally kill myself. She carried some suitcases that had been in our bedroom up the stairs just fine, but I insist on dealing with this other issue.

“What’s in this box?” I ask. It turns out it’s knickknacks that had been found by the Daughter in the Wife’s closet.

“What do want to DO with this stuff?” “I don’t even know if I want it.” So up the stairs I take it. As I work on this project, she apparently doesn’t see my issue as a problem. And I’m doing this in lieu of dealing with the clutter in our bedroom – the ORIGINAL project, which we both acknowledge IS an issue.

The difference between this conversation and ones I’ve had in previous relations is that I see this as just one of life’s little irritations, rather than bemoaning, “Why doesn’t she understand me?” or some such drama. Even in the midst of a temporary difficulty, we know that, somehow, we will work it out.

Somehow, my parents made it to 50 years, before my dad died in 2000, so I’m looking forward to 2049.

In case you wondered, garnet is the traditional gift for anniversary, and porcelain the modern one. (No, I’m not angling for gifts.)