we-solation

MJE is sick of being trapped in paradise. Trust me I love seclusion, but with the OB&C right here, right now it’s not really isolation, it’s we-solation. BIG difference.

I keep telling him to go somewhere, anywhere. Take a walk, go fishing, go canoeing, chop down something, clean the gutters, power wash the house, organize the garage, I don’t care as long as you are not right next to me. But you know what I get in response, a goddam guilt trip, why don’t you ever go canoeing with me, why don’t you want to go fishing, why do you always want to walk by yourself…hmmm, I don’t know…maybe because you are driving me insane.

And when I manage to extricate myself, tell him I have a doctor’s appointment (which is occasionally true) and am a bit late, just as I’m getting into the car he’ll stand at the front door and scream, which doctor, where’s his office, how long do you think its going to take? Can you pick up 8 bags of mulch and some swiss cheese while you’re at it. Oh and I have some scripts ready at the pharmacy could you grab those too? And we’re out of 75 watt light bulbs, and toilet paper. And, it looks like we might be getting low on coriander seed so you might want to breeze through the spice aisle and stock up. Oh and I forgot to tell you, I sat in one of those flimsy antique french dining room chairs you had to have and the damned back broke off, so grab some gorilla glue.

When he isn’t stuck to me like a limpet, he loves doing manly potentially dangerous things, like bushwacking up some mountain with absolutely no idea where he’s going (and in one case ending up on an entirely different one than he thought he was on), or digging oysters and sinking 3′ deep in pluff mud without a pole, or diving into an alligator infested pond to retrieve someone’s 8 iron. Stuff like that.

The other night a small tree fell on the house during a storm, he practically wet his pants in excitement (or an enlarged prostate). He evaluated the situation every which way from sunday and came up with what he considered to be the best possible plan; first he would put a ladder under the tree base to hold it up so it wouldn’t crush the shrubbery when it fell, then he’d climb the ladder and saw off the top part that was resting on the roof with a chainsaw and then grab that part with lightening speed (while still holding the chainsaw) before the branches  could go through the kitchen window. I listened patiently and said no, that is not what you are going to do. You are going to get on the horn to our pal manfred and see if he can come help you. He mulled that over and grudgingly conceded that it might be a marginally better idea. Later that day manfred arrived with a hand saw. And they managed to get the thing down without anyone sustaining mortal injury, breaking any windows, or crushing the shrubbery.

As manfred was going back to his truck, mission accomplished, he said that in his experience with risk assessment, not using a chain saw always seems like a smarter move. Good thought. Only thing is that the OB&C literally does not know what risk assessment is. It’s just not something he thinks he needs to waste valuable time doing when he could be going balls to the wall on some hair brain scheme.

It’s like the joke about what a redneck’s last words are. “Hey guys watch this!”