MotH

When I plan ahead.

Living in the moment is good. You don’t want to miss the present because you’re lamenting the past or worrying about the future. And bitter experience has taught me that plans come unraveled all the time. If you’re not flexible, you’re miserable.

That said, I am thankful today for those times when I plan ahead for those things that can make life easier.

It’s the little things.

Getting all the good china and silver out the day before the holiday meal. Having wrapping paper on hand before the gifts even come into the house. Encouraging my sister to test the online video call software before Christmas is actually upon us and my mom wants to see her grandchildren. (Okay. That’s a big thing.)

There are lots of little habits and “be prepared” actions that make life simpler. I’m not advocating OCD-like behavior, but the MotH* really wants coffee in the mornings, and he won’t drink it without milk, and he gets kind of grumpy about it. So, checking that we have milk—to say nothing of coffee—is one way to have a quiet life. (To be fair, if we screw that up, he’s perfectly willing to get on his bicycle and go down to the 7-Eleven.)

Today, I am thankful that I planned ahead about this blog.

Can you imagine having to interrupt a video call with the nieces and nephews or, heaven forfend, your own present opening to sit down and draft a blog post? When your mother is visiting?

That’s just not a good scenario.

So, I am a little bit proud of myself that I thought ahead. These may not be the best blog posts ever, but I got them done and scheduled before company arrived.

I am issuing metaphorical gold stars to myself.

I am also wondering a little what plainly self-evident thing I have forgotten to do that will have jumped up to bite me between the time I schedule this post and the time it appears. There’s bound to be something.

Oh, well.

Maybe it will make a good post for the future!

* MotH = Man of the House

Or, at least, the sidewalk.

The miracle this Monday once again celebrates the ingenuity of the MotH.*

See, we have a concrete walkway up to our front porch. (I hesitate to dignify it with the name “porch,” since it is really just a concrete slab, but it does have 2 columns holding up a little roof, so what would you call it?)

This walkway is made out of several separately poured sections. Over time, a corner has sunk here and there, and the walkway was no longer as smooth and even as it might once have been. In fact, it was a tripping hazard.

So, the MotH announced that he was going to attempt to fix this.

Oh, ye (or me, really) of little faith!

Sounds like a recipe for disaster, right? Surely, the sidewalk would end up not only uneven but cracked and broken.

I suggested that, perhaps, this was something on which we might want to get estimates. But, no. Nothing deters the MotH once he gets a bee in his bonnet.

The next thing I knew he was out there digging holes alongside and under the walkway. Then he got the car jack. You know. That thing you use when you have to change a tire. (I cannot remember the last time I needed to change a tire. Do tires even need changing anymore?)

Anyway, he slid the carjack under the walkway—and he jacked it up!

Then, he got some wood to help hold it in place and packed dirt back into the holes. A little sealant stuff at the seams, and the walkway looks brand new. It may not hold up under heavy use—but it’s been almost two weeks—and it doesn’t get heavy use anyway.

I don’t know why I always view these projects of his with trepidation. They almost always turn out well. (It’s possible my hesitancy stems from the time he drilled a hole in the bottom of our boat three days before we were due to set out on a 19-day cruise down the Intercoastal Waterway—but that’s another story. And it happened quite a while ago, now. Maybe my inner warning system could let it go.)

Truly, I think the MotH is kind of like Archimedes. Give him a lever and a place to stand, and he could move the world.

It’s just that he probably shouldn’t mention it to me first.

* MotH = Man of the House

Elaine Smith Writes

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