Many years ago, a supervisor I had, made the comment that tall people are reliant on short people, rather than the other way around. From where I stand, I have moments when I agree. My father used to say that the only difference between someone who is short and someone who is tall is merely the shin bone, and that the butcher throws that bone away. I am fairly sure that this is complete nonsense but when I was shorter than other kids, I held onto that belief. He was a giant among men, in my eyes, but was only about five foot six to other people. Point of fact, I was rarely taller than other kids, but that just got me first or second position in line and the attribute of being “cute”.
One’s stature (height not social) is something that we have no more control over than our eye color. It evolves as we do based on our genes. It is not a character flaw but merely something that we attempt to measure up to because somehow that matters. I live with my FHB (and Paka the cat) who is over a foot taller than me. The cat is much shorter than I am but has access to much higher places because she is a cat. The height disparity is more of a humorous detail in my FHB’s and my relationship. The only bone of contention that I have, which he appears oblivous to, is that he leaves doors open, both room and kitchen cabinet and the kitchen doors are just at approximately my eye level. I have to duck and cover at times so as not to make contact with the sharp corners. When we cook together, his approach to culinary organization, is to open every cabinet and look for things for a recipe. He appears to make an attempt to find various ingredients, but it seems rather mysterious to him, almost as though I rearrange things at night, just to irk him. He is hardly a guest in the house, but often, he will ask, in earnest “where do we keep the..” whatever it might be. I will move him out of my way, and point up to what he is looking for, and like Sherlock Holmes, he has solved the case. I, am, of course, Watson. I do rely on him to reach to the top shelf or cabinet which he does effortlessly and of course, he does not see that he leaves the door open. He’s a good man and so I wordlessly ( but in my head, out loud) just close it after him. It is almost comedic…almost. He will open a closet door and walk away and sit down and do what he needs to and NEVER shut the door, ever. It is as though, mid task, something else comes to mind, never to return to the matter, or door, at hand. I sense, that I may be thought of as picky. Perhaps.
I think I need to balance my “issue”, which I own completely, with a positive event that my FHB and I shared a week or so ago. We do collaborate and working on household projects, I am a loyal and helpful assistant. I can identify many tools by name and never call things “thing-ys”. I watch This Old House and all the woodworking shows and seem to have synthsized many skills, none of which I actually use, because I am the assistant.
Last week, I put on a pair of earrings that I had ordered in the mail. I had come home from work and the package was there. I have no ability to put off doing certain things that should probably wait, so I put on the earrings and admired my good taste. One of my household commitments, is to the care and feeding of Paka. This involves food preparation and cat litter box maintenance. I am a responsible adult and while I am doing the latter, I go to my happy place in my mind, and just get the job over with. Paka was quite pleased and left me with a little personally manufactured gift in her box, to thank me for recognizing that it had been time to clean. Can’t say I was grateful. As I washed my hands at the bathroom sink, I looked in the mirror only to discover, I was wearing one earring. I was quite annoyed with myself. I did a bit of chastising and then scouted around the house, retracing my steps, which all led back to the cat litter box. It seemed evident to me that the old litter, now in a trash bag, might be hiding my new earring. A quandry….what to do. Do I admit my flaw? Do I venture to go on this dig unaided? Yes, to the first, and no to the second. I called in my assistant. I explained what I had done and what needed to be done. This is where my FHB rocks my world. I put on surgical gloves (non sterile, good for when you make meatloaf). I lifted the bag up and as my FHB patiently held the bag I sifted through it and move the contents to another bag after I used the litter scoop (my FHB’s brilliant suggestion) to transfer “items” and look for the earring. He stood patiently, and did not say a word. I can’t of course know what he was thinking, but I saw that he was committed to helping me. The end of the story is that the earring never appeared despite our joint efforts at search and recovery. Luckily, I didn’t invest much, but they were pretty, and they did look good for about five minutes (give or take). He never said much about it and let me just stew in my own reckless misery. That’s the synergy we create. He’s open to helping and I just shut my mouth.