The Operative Phrase is “In the Future”

The Crankee Yankee and I have been married for nearly 15 years. We have known each other since we were in our 20’s. Then we met and married other people, then years later divorced those people. We started dating in the late 90’s and got married in 2002.

Now—with all that time and history behind us, wouldn’t you think we would know each other pretty well? Evidently not.

Knowing his propensity for building demolition, I made the Crankee Yankee promise me that he would NEVER make me live in a construction zone. However, at the time we didn’t take into consideration that we would move into the house he grew up in.

As I’ve said in other posts, our circa 1953 house is a darling place; small and easy to manage. However, repairing and renovating it is the Crankee Yankee’s favorite hobby. This means that there is precious little on and around our house that hasn’t been torn down, replaced, repaired, renovated and so on. Most of it now is “in progress.”

Granted, the place needed lots of repair and renovation. There were and are necessary things that really have to get done. I get that; I understand. However, I can just about manage all the ongoing work that goes on for the exterior of the house; after all, it’s not going on in the inside of the house.

The Crankee Yankee has some grand plans for the interior, though, and while I applaud his creativity, work ethic and all his carpentry knowledge and experience, I can’t visualize things as well (and as quickly) as he can.

When the repairs and renovations are inside the house; in my face as it were, it makes me, as Michael Meyers (of Saturday Night Live fame) would say, “all *verklempt.” It is messy, upsetting, and intrusive. Usually he will give me enough notice so I can get out of the house and see a movie or do some errands or something.

So, the other morning when I was wondering out loud how I could better re-arrange and organize my beading area, which is currently in our office, he went into a full (and to me, terrifying) description of how he was going to “blow out” one whole wall in there to make a bigger closet.

That lead to a short dissertation on how it would be so much better for the house and for us if we had more of an “open air” concept. This way, he said, you can walk in the front porch door (that now opens to our living room) and go right into the office. Much better design and air flow, he said, not to mention a bigger, more useable closet.

And with that, he grinned at me and walked out the door—just as if I had clapped my hands, jumped with joy and told him what a clever devil he was to think of this NEW plan.

Well—I went full-blown verklempt over that one. What I didn’t realize is that he meant this as a future plan, not an immediate one. Had I known that (read this as: if he had just said so), I would have stopped having a near-aneurysm over it.

So, if anyone reading this has the same kind of partner as I do, remind them that it is all about how you present an idea. There’s the Crankee Yankee way, which is to just unload all your ideas, possibilities and general thinky-thinks right in a rumbling heap on the floor without warning.

Or there is the luluopolis way, which is to kindly explain that your grandiose (and assuredly messy and disruptive) ideas are for future consideration, not in actual fact something you are planning to do in the next day or so.

However, I did get to go see a pretty good movie that day.

*Yiddish for a person who is too emotional to speak.


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