January 8, 2014
Day Eight of "The Great 365 Day
Purge of 2014"
Today, as the temperatures claw their
way up to the thirties, I let go of trying to keep Grey Cat inside.
While Calico Cat–the cat
who adopted us in October–has
been enjoying her indoor respite, curling up on a feather tick and
sleeping for hours, forgetting entirely about birds and squirrels,
Grey Cat is angry: Kept inside the house against his will, he runs to
the door trying to slip out between our legs whenever we take the
dogs out for a walk, sitting upon the kitchen table when denied,
intently staring at the action outside: The snow that's so cold it
squeaks underfoot...the three-foot-long icicles hanging from the
gutters...the occasional bird that flits to the suet feeder...the
Christmas trees piled curbside...the recycling bins blowing down the
street.
Yesterday morning, in a last desperate
bid to escape, Grey Cat crawled up the inside of the chimney and sat
upon the damper, peering upside down at my daughter, refusing to come
down. He emerged, some time later, sooty paws tracking across my
hardwood floors and, of course, onto the kitchen table.
Today I open the door and let the cat
run.
Today I air out the house and wipe down
the kitchen table.
Today I hang up the puzzle that we've
spent the past cold and snow-bound week assembling and gluing: a nine
hundred eighty-three piece puzzle that would've been a thousand, had
not the puppy eaten the seventeen pieces that fell to the floor.
Today I shoo Calico Cat from my
daughter's suitcase, parked in the dining room, packed for college.
Today I liberate the zoo that this
house has become.
Today I open the door and let the cat
run.
Today I also let go of my frustration
that my husband isn't handy.
I grew up with parents skilled at using
their hands: My father taught his daughters to run electric and
plumbing...how to build a fence and bale hay. My mom taught herself
how to quilt and can and refinish furniture.
Growing up, I had the expectation that
people everywhere learned these valuable skills. But my siblings and
I were lucky: Few of our peers learned to plant a garden or muck a
stall.
On Christmas Day, my mother was
teaching my daughters and me how to do The Hundred, that hellish
Pilates exercise designed to increase one's core strength. As we
panted and struggled and strained to hold our bodies in position, my
husband got down on the rug and joined us, despite the fact that my
entire family was present.
My husband won't repair a leaky toilet.
He won't touch electric. That's OK. He's willing to laugh at himself.
My husband has spent the past twenty
years working full time while I dabbled...teaching part-time here and
there, staying at home with our kids, reading...writing...gardening.
Too, he's spent the past twenty years paying repairmen to come in and
fix the repairs I make on the house: The water line I snapped
repairing the kitchen faucet...The ceramic tile I chipped after
installing a ceiling plant hanger with the toggle bolt upside
down...The sinks I tried to replace in our first home.
My husband isn't handy.
That's OK.
Today I pick up the toolbox and head to
my son's bathroom to repair the broken drain.
And sure as that cat will come back
inside when the temperatures drop, we'll need a plumber before I'm
done.
Kelly Garriott Waite on Google+
Labels: Consumption, essay, Great 365 Day Purge