As I have been glued to the news this week and fighting off dark thoughts (yes I know, sort of a counterproductive activity), my husband has been hopping from project to project. Keeping himself busy. Soldiering away. Three huge sacks of old clothes finally got toted to the collection center as I scoured news commentators’ words for signs of what is to come. Will the next president ditch the fascist playbook he used for his campaign once he starts governing? Hmmmm . . . not repealing Obamacare after all – good sign. Muslim ban still on the books – bad sign. Very bad sign. I went to refill my coffee and discovered my husband sewing. He has a support bandage for his thigh muscles that he wears when he goes running and it keeps slipping. He was attaching a little loop to it so he could pull a string through and tie it around his waist.
I returned to my internet forays and I forced myself to read some of words and explanations of Trump voters, now out of the closet. After declaring “I’m not a racist, I have black friends” they go on to very rationally explain their willingness to trade in their own vague frustrations and anxieties for other people’s very clear and present fear. Ahhh, so much empathy to be found there. Rationality disappears for good when it comes to his adversary. Some hotly professed to having no choice, because, you know, the emails. At some point my husband walked passed my office door. In a delayed reaction, I realized he had a watering can in his hand. And then I realized, “hey! there is only one plant in the direction he was walking” . . . I jumped up and checked the soil. It was moist.
TRAITOR!! My husband is secretly in league with the Nemesis! Suddenly it is all very clear how that weed has managed to survive this long.
Item #37 on the Grounds for Divorce list.
Today I fed on feuding political messages – calls for revolution alternating with calls for unity, the first amendment fully on display and yet in grave danger as both investigative journalists and riot police prepare to shift into a higher gear. It’s time to organize! And unfriend! My husband (the traitor) interrupted me to ask if we should invite the (refugee) boys over for dinner again tonight. He thought he would make potato pancakes for them. He then went shopping.
An hour or two later, he came home from the DIY store with a bunch of plastic pipe pieces and a Tupperware cake holder. It seems he got himself another idea. I’ve been hearing sawing and hammering and he’s been running up and down the stairs to the basement. Here’s what it looks like so far:
I’m not going to tell you what my husband is up to – I’ll let you guess. Maybe it will take your mind off the state of the world for a few minutes. But here’s a hint – eventually a propeller will be attached.
I confess, I’m starting to think I should follow his example. Maybe the way to deal with the aftermath of Election 2016 and its long string of grand distractions is to occupy myself for a while with little ones. I should find things to tinker with. There are a lot of old, nearly empty shampoo bottles that could be removed from my bathrooms. And my jewelry boxes are a mess. It might be interesting to learn how potato pancakes are made. There is also that embroidery project I never finished . . . I think I’ll start by posting this and then shutting off the laptop. First project: hide the watering can.