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The Fruits Of His Labor

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When I take a good long look at things, I guess I’m more of a pessimist and H is an optimist.

He procrastinates getting things done, while I want results immediately. I’m still waiting on new front and back doors and two closet doors. They aren’t as high on his agenda as they are on mine.

There are articles in this house – and outside – that do not need to be here. He doesn’t mind weaving in and out around large pieces of furniture we don’t need or use. I do.

I love to mark through things on a list. It makes me feel as though I’ve accomplished something. I make him lists of the things we need to get done around here, but he tends to ignore them and has a plan of his own that doesn’t usually include my list.

He putters around the yard and babies his plants that I see as dead or dying. Last year I laughed at the twig he called a fig tree. We had moved it from the backyard to the front yard so it could receive more sun and it lost all its leaves, making it look as though there was a dead twig in the ground. Granted it’s only about ten inches tall, but look at it now. I was wrong. I’m sorry.

Now I’m wrong again. H has carted this pineapple plant in and out of the cold weather for at least four years. It’s prickly and he always seems to put it where I get stuck when walking past it.

There is hardly enough room in this house for us, much less, plants that need to come in for the winter months like the snowbirds who show up in town every year as soon as snow starts falling in the north. I begged him to either put it in the ground or get rid of it. I had no faith this plant would ever bear fruit and when he excitedly called me outside to look at his two pineapples this morning, I had to eat my words.

There is still the matter of that fence that needs to be removed from the backyard. It’s on his list.



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We are a sorry lot – H and I. Can’t seem to get done what needs to be done anymore. We’ve been in a daze and we procrastinate – him more than me – which surprises me because I thought “Procrastination” was my middle name.

After arriving home a little before ten one night we realized H had not taken his medicine (you know how it is when you get old and your daily routine starts with meds to prolong your life) with his breakfast as he usually does.

Must be my fault because I’m the one who usually places it in front of him every morning even though – knock on wood – I so far have not gotten to the point of any pill-taking routine myself.

I can tell his mind is miles away when this was discovered because he took it in stride, chalking it up to a change in our morning routine and age of course. He could be mellowing out, but I don’t think that is the case.

We’ve done for a week things we don’t really want to do. It wasn’t part of the summer plan and not written into our equation. Of course our summer plan had already been drastically reduced by two weeks when the school start time had changed back in May.

Band camp was scheduled to start July 13th. It’s H’s last real “summer vacation” before he retires next year. After that it will be vacation every day. Procrastination was sort-of worked into the plan this summer until…

We knew we would have to face it sooner or later, and later as in next spring had been embedded into our minds for the last four years and not rush-rush to pack-up and change direction this late in the game.

So we pitched and we purged and combined almost twelve years of files and memories into three tidy plastic bins. Three “boxes” were piled in the back seat to sort through at a later date.

We dusted and arranged hard- worked-for superior plaques by date and event and shiny trophies were lined up on shelves and in cases like little soldiers marching on.

Music was filed in numbered order, their notes contained in the files only to be let loose with a melody when the season begins again.

The one-year-old cleaned uniforms were hung in the appropriate closets with hat boxes stacked neatly under each one. All are labeled and patiently waiting to be donned on proud, eager students for the first game of the season.

Color guard uniforms and accessories had been ordered earlier in the summer and will soon be ready to be shipped to their rightful owners.

Pictures were taken of plaques bearing Andrews name. Some good memories there and part of the school’s history. Who knows when we would lay our eyes on those again? There were quite a few with his name scattered amongst the others who  also excelled in the past eleven-plus years and only because he truly earned them while under the direction of his dad as the band director.

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It will be a new school and new routines for only one year, but what else can you do? You put on your blinders and push forward through the bumps and ruts in the road called life and do what is expected of you, hoping for the best. H is good at this. Me? Not so much.

Not having a say in the scheme of things, H moves through the change one day at a time putting it all in order and taking care of business. He’s been given a job and he will do it to the best of his ability and then some.

Hopefully, his legacy will live on and his students and band parents will continue to make him proud, even as he moves on to the next chapter in his life.

We wish them the best.


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