Derailed Intentions

In an attempt at loving tenderness, I am rebuked. It is often the case these days. In the moments where I feel I am being good and thoughtful, I am lambasted for my carelessness. Today, it is the boot to the car seat. It is no where to be found. "Is it at your parents' house? We had dinner there last night." Grumblings as to my inability to focus, to process the menial tasks that are necessary to collecting all the little things that accompany a small child.

I have never been good at this. Tracking objects through the their migrations. I lose books, movies, jackets, sunglasses, car keys, cell phones. You name it I have lost it. Well, that "endearing" trait is getting me nowhere. The sad truth of the matter is that since I have been a married man, I am trying. HARD! I just don't have the overall sense of where things belong, of how many cds we had when we arrived at the party.

My wife is a beautiful, intelligent woman but the "things" drive her insane. She is a collector. She has knives that are older than her. She has camping gear from her pre-teens and all of it is precious to her. An item that I would think expendable has a history, a story that she can recite from the items birthday where she bought the trinket shiny and new. She will recount the store from which she bought it, how old she was, how many times she has used it. All of this attachment to things don't mean a thing to me.

I have a decent sofa, a computer on which to write, some clothes, some food, etc and I'm content. I do not care if the glasses are a complete set, let alone that one is used for white and one for red. I don't care if it is crystal or silver. I don't care if it leather or lace. These are just things and they are infiltrating my life like Tribbles from Star Trek (mostly harmless, infinitely multiplying and, eventually, entirely inconvenient).

So, I have been trying for years now and we have the same fucking argument over and over again to no avail. I cannot win and neither can she, so where do we go from here? Does she just turn the other way as I forget to bring in her antique garden hoe bought from Ace Hardware during the summer of 1987 for $15.00 and it rusts in the rain? Or, do I make lists, tie string around my finger, keep a pocket organizer (which I'll lose) to keep up with the ever-increasing inventory of shit?

I don't see either one of us coming out ahead on this one. We hung up with a click, me hanging up on her mostly because I was so pissed that my call, which was pure in intention, got so completely turned around on me that I didn't even have a chance to say "I love you" and "I hope you are having a good day". Which was my original intent.

Well, good thing I have a lifetime to try and get it right.