It was one of those slow-burning feuds that helps to keep marriage interesting. After 20-some odd years together we’ve managed to figure out how to navigate these little conflicts without physical injury or divorce.
This particular “disagreement” has been smoldering for almost a year – not a record for us, but certainly up there in the top 10. It all started last spring when we were back at our place in Maryland and cutting logs for a few new benches we were building out in the woods for our rental guests. After cutting a thick slab from a large log, Beth got the brilliant idea to use these slabs of wood as part of a pathway somewhere around the house.
Having grown up in the country and experienced first-hand my parent’s many failed attempts at just this sort of thing, all I could envision were moldy, ice-slick slabs that would need replaced every thee years, or 2 lawsuits - whichever comes first. But Beth would not let go of the idea. In fact, it grew (festered?) over the summer and culminated in a test layout last fall. Once she saw that the slabs would look pretty silly by themselves, she extended the concept into an elaborate patio structure that would also incorporate the half-dozen flagstones that she nicked from someone’s trash 10 years ago and we’ve been hauling around the country ever since. (it’s a wonder that she didn’t have these rocks shipped to Holland). This beautiful patio thing would all come together for her if she could just get some sand to set all of these stones and wood slabs on. Then it would be perfect! Her plan all centered on “the sand”.
Generally speaking, I’m not apposed to indulging her in these little endeavors - god knows that she indulges me in my own off-beat ventures. But getting the house ready for the summer rental season is stressful enough with plenty of work to keep us busy 110% of our short time back, so the last thing that I wanted to do was to create even more work for ourselves – especially work that including ripping up the front entry to the house that couldn’t be left for “later”. But she persisted and insisted that I wouldn’t have to do anything. She would do all the work. And she would get the most important bit - the sand. If she had a truck. Normally I’m not much of a person to go for a big truck (you saw the Smart car we rented in Sicily…much more my style). But it had been years since I’ve driven such a beast, so the idea of renting one actually appealed to the Y-chromosome in me.
So, we spent an extra $175 to rent a pick-up truck instead of a car. In Appalachian speak, this wasn’t just a “truck”. It was a big, honking “rig”. Then we drove that big honking rig across the state. We had to put $120 in gas into it once we reached Western Maryland (and we put another $120 into it to get it back to the airport).
So we were more than $300 into this little escapade already. Anyone want to guess how much we paid for that load of sand? $13 lousy dollars! And we only used 1/3 of it! So now I’ve got all kinds of sand “projects” around the house. Sand in the flower pots. Sand under the porch. Sand in the horse shoe pits. Sand in every little nook and cranny imaginable. You get the idea. Ok, now who wants to guess who spent all day of their last day (re)setting all of the ice-slick, moldy wood slabs and 10 year old stolen flagstones into that freaking sand? Well, let’s just say that their name didn’t start with a “B”.
Which all really sums up who usually wins these little feuds in our relationship….and their name DOES start with a “B”. But the verdict won’t be final until we see how much the first lawsuit is going to cost us. Of course the person who actually set the slabs will get the blame…ain’t marriage grand?
