See What I Mean?

“Close the window,” said Mike. “That racket woke me!” He rolled over, a pillow over his head muffling the “racket.”

An Eye Opener

Racket? I thought. I only heard a cheery robin celebrating spring.

In the predawn hours no neighbors mowed, no trucks collected trash, and no sirens signaled tragedy. I concluded Mike had dreamt the racket . . . a false conclusion.

To Mike’s ears the melodic birdsong chorus that nudged me from sleep to start the day with uplifted spirits was a “racket.”

Our differing views of the world didn’t end with an enthusiastic robin.

Eye Of The Beholder 

Shortly after a thunderstorm drenched our area, Mike and I ambled through the neighborhood as much for the exercise as for surveying the effects of the torrential rains. Brush piles heaped curbside testified to the debris caused by last night’s gusty winds. A fallen cottonwood had felt the brunt of the storm, neatly chain sawed logs stacked not far from where the tree had been uprooted. 

We paused before the stack.

“What a loss,” I said. “One less tree to shelter birds, cast shade, and clear carbon dioxide from the air.”

“I could use that wood,” said Mike. “That one is about the right size for a small bowl.”

Our differing views continued with gardening.

See My Point?

“Only one tray of impatiens, only one tray of impatiens,” I repeated to myself as I entered the nursery hoping to curb my impulse flower purchasing. 

And I DID only buy one tray of impatiens, but then the perennials called to me and the hanging baskets whispered and I thought about how groundcover between the flagstones would keep weeds at bay. Before I knew it, I flattened the backseat of my Forester to accommodate the trays and baskets and quart containers. (The shrub rode shotgun.) 

Once home, I realized that although my Forester accommodated the new flora that my garden wouldn’t. The logical solution was simple- create a new garden bed. After digging and raking and planting and edging, the addition added a dash of color and interest to the yard. 

“The clematis is an autumn bloom while the annuals will flower all season,” I explained to Mike.

“This part is too narrow,” he said. “It’ll be difficult to mow around.”

Our differing views extended to other projects.

See The Light

The house needed a minor facelift. Along with a fresh coat of paint I decided to replace the lights on either side of the garage. After scouring the internet, I decided on carriage lamps.

“They’re more casual and the black finish will match the wrought iron plant hooks hanging from the front porch,” I said. “The size is important so they don’t look dwarfed next to the large garage door.”

I had done my Googling.

“Carriage lamps hang down,” said Mike. “The ones you have now project up. That means relocating the house number tiles and rewiring.” 

A Fresh Pair Of Eyes

Where I saw the loss of a tree, Mike saw the gain of woodturning material. He created a stunning bowl.

Where Mike saw his mowing task made more difficult by an irregularly shaped garden, I saw an interesting focal point. I enlarged the new flower bed to a different contour that accommodated the width of the mower.

Where I saw a more suitable light, Mike saw the work and expense that my choice entailed. I found an upright fixture similar to the style I wanted and saved money.

The window still stood open. The robin still sung before dawn. Mike still pulled the covers over his head knowing the birdsong cheered me and lasted only a few months.

Everyday Epiphany

Like most, Mike and I viewed the world differently. However, striving to see through someone else’s (each other’s) eyes brought understanding. 

I don’t think I can convince the robin of that.

Check out my book, OPERATION HOPPER.