InStyle
Fels-Naptha

A Glass Half Full/A Glass Half Empty

Two weeks ago my glass was not just half full. It was full.  My closest family gathered in New York City to honor me and celebrate my 75th birthday.  I loved every minute.

Two weeks later, my glass was half empty. 

Nothing serious happened, but a bunch of little things added up.  Like last Sunday morning when our furnace started clanging and banging, followed by a huge hissing noise.  Our basement filled with so much steam that it was impossible to see.  We called our utility company. They told us that they would be here within the hour and that we should leave the house.  So, rather than disturb neighbors at 8:00 on a Sunday morning, we waited in our car—grabbing only a computer. (That shows what’s important these days.) 

Turns out our life was never in danger, but it took three visits from the utility company and one from a plumber before we felt we could safely leave the heat on.

The rest of the week was more or less OK, but then yesterday Peter and I were not nice to each other.  This is a rare occurrence.  Maybe it started with his parking ticket on Friday.  Not to brag, but I have never got a ticket for overstaying a meter.  Although I didn’t make a fuss, it was annoying. 

Then Saturday morning there was a to-do over the blueberry muffins I was making (while he read the paper, I might add).  When the oven timer went off, I didn’t come running—I was upstairs getting dressed. So he yelled up from the kitchen, “What should I do?”  This from a man who is a better cook than I am.  So I yelled down.  “Look!  If they are done, take them out.” And then, one sock on and one sock off, I ran downstairs and took them out myself. 

I won’t mention that he left his car keys in his jeans when he threw them into the laundry.  They went through the washer and dryer undetected.  Washing an electronic key is not recommended.  That’s all I’ll say about that.

Later in the morning, our usual walk around the Reservoir was pretty silent.  That gave me plenty of time to feel sorry for myself.  But, as I write this, my perspective is returning.  The glass is filling up. 

At our age, it’s best not to stay angry too long.

 

Comments

Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

The comments to this entry are closed.