A FAVOR!

 

Tonight, my wife broke one of the cardinal rules of marriage. This is something I would not even tell my best friend and yet I find myself putting digits to keyboard to try and expel the disillusionment I feel. It began when she borrowed a bassinet from a friend for our new baby-to-be and it ended with my fragile ego shattered and lying on the asphalt.

 

The hand-me-down-bassinet arrived disassembled with no instruction manual enclosed. Honestly, no man committed this act of treachery. A guy would not loan something without instructions for fear of what might occur. It obviously came from a woman who found it tucked away in the basement and thought she was doing us a favor. Some favor! 

 

DANGER AHEAD

 

I spent one evening grudgingly trying to assemble the product, knowing full well it was futile without the step-by step directions. I grumbled and cussed my way through the project finally realizing that purchasing a new one was the only viable option. And why shouldn’t our baby sleep in a bassinet hot off the show room floor?

 

The next night my wife was poking around the disassembled pieces for maybe seven minutes tops. “Honey, I think I figured it out.” “Huh?” I shouted from the safety of our sofa, remote clutched in my hands, fragile ego fully intact.

 

WHO ORDERED THE EGGS?

 

“Come here, I think I figured out the bassinet,” she uttered again, not realizing the landmines ahead. As I approach what was once a tangle of metal, screws and piping, I can now visualize a complete unit begging to be assembled.

 

My wife had solved the Rubik’s cube and, in the process, disassembled a little of my pride. I tried to temper my elation at being totally humiliated and out-guyed by my own wife, by pouting for the next hour and a half while I constructed the damn bassinet. Never liked it anyway!

 

As I have tried to explain to my wife before, a man’s fragile ego is like an egg. Not a Faberge egg you can purchase at Neiman Marcus, but a simple egg right out of the carton. It cracks and breaks very easily and must be handled with care. In this instance it would have been better to return the godforsaken bassinet and purchase a new one. But alas, now we have one fully assembled loaner bassinet and one cracked egg.

 HAVE A SEAT!

 

They have resided in various locales over the past half century, never traveling much further than San Francisco and Pacifica. From certain angles they look every bit of their fifty plus years and then when the light hits them just right, they could be on display in a fine furniture store.

 

No one quite seems to understand why they are taking up space in this less than spacious home. They don’t go with the décor, if you could call it that. Early eclectic? Post college? But the nostalgia ingrained in the fine leather, and the stitching becoming frayed around the edges from so much usage, tell the story of two wonderful men. That is why it is inconceivable to think of parting with the ol’ leather chairs.

 

GREEN CHAIR

 

These are the men who epitomized “the Greatest Generation”. Both after having served in World War II  came home from the conflict, resumed their careers, married their true loves, and became the unlikeliest of friends. The first, the green leather chair, was a Midwesterner through and through. If he had seconds of potatoes at dinner, he also had to take a helping of meat and vegetables so it would all “balance”. He was a barber by trade, barber pole and all, taking over his father’s shop and even living upstairs with his bride for a time.

 

BURGUNDY CHAIR

 

The other, the burgundy chair, was from upstate New York, Rochester to be exact, who didn’t marry until ’52 because he was caring for his ailing mother who was suffering from dementia. A flight surgeon in the Navy, he came home to San Francisco to resume his Radiology practice, unaware that it was there he would meet the new hire and love of his life.

 

The green and burgundy chair met because their wives were sisters and, rather than focus on their different paths, they bonded over common interests. The ever-burgeoning families they had married into and their love of sports, attending countless Niner and Warrior games together. When the teams were on the road, they would sit in their respective leather chairs and enjoy the wins and struggle through the losses. On occasion the burgundy chair’s curly haired son could join them and enjoy their camaraderie as well as the game.

 

Their friendship was all too brief, as the green chair passed from lung cancer in the Fall of ’74. The burgundy chair only lasted three more years before succumbing to a massive heart attack. So, you must understand by now why it is impossible to part with burgundy and green. I can still see burgundy sitting in his chair leafing through his medical journals. And there is green, watching the Niners in his chair with a row of bowling trophy’s standing like an honor guard on the credenza behind him.

 

They are so much more than leather and stitching to me. They are symbols of an unlikely pair who became so close green chair was the best man at burgundy’s wedding, whom he affectionately called “Doc”.

ALMOST THERE…

By the fall of this year my wife and I will be empty nesters, see image for a virtual representation. You see, this year our two youngest sons will be heading off to college… or Katmandu, doesn’t matter. The important thing is there will only be two of us in this small three-bedroom two-bath that was clearly intended for a husband and wife and possibly a dog. Yes, definitely a dog!

 

After raising four sons to various heights and weights the next phase of our marriage is just beginning. Time to pull out the old tennis racket, start swinging those clubs again (9-irons, not disco. Do they still have disco clubs?), organize a weekly poker night, and travel… travel… travel.

 

TIME WILL BE ON MY SIDE

But before all that can begin, I need to dust off the to-do list that I began writing all those years ago when I thought this day would never come. Those “someday I’m going to…” chores that won’t really feel like chores anymore because they will not be crammed in between basketball practice and a parent-teacher meeting. Here it is for your reading pleasure, at least I hope it’s a pleasure. The top ten things I will do when the nest is empty:

 

  1. Find the floor in my son’s room. Hey, there are my golf clubs!
  2. Air out my son’s room… fumigate the room… oh, heck, let’s try a controlled burn!
  3. Leave the remote where I know I can find it.
  4. Find all my socks, belts, headphones, chargers, razors…
  5. Cook a meal for two, rather than seven because teens eat so much.
  6. Dry out the boy’s bathroom. Paint the boy’s bathroom. Let’s see contractors, bathroom remodel.
  7. Reclaim the family room TV.
  8. Learn to speak at a normal volume because not everyone wears headphones 24:7.
  9. Stop singlehandedly supporting the cereal industry.
  10. Try not to miss them. I’m not crying, it’s the pollen!