Dad Revisited

Women have purses. That is a near universal fact. Men don’t have purses. I have a bag in which I keep my things. I’ve heard them called a ‘man purse.’ My kids call it a ‘murse.’ Regardless, it’s where I usually keep my stuff. Well, a lot of my stuff. There are things that I keep in my pockets. My keys, for example, rarely end up in my bag. My cell phone stays on my belt. My iPod Touch, which is my notepad, calendar, and all-around digital assistant, stays in my shirt pocket.

The bag carries things like Advil, Band Aids, vitamins, toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and any other crap I have to carry around. It’s not the home for everything, but the stuff that I need sometimes. The pocket things, those I need all the time. That makes me a little touchy when I have to go looking for them.

I put my things down a few times a day. I put them down together for the most part. Often it’s on the bed, or on the counter. I know where to look for them, because there are only a few places where I keep them. So you can imagine that when I can’t find them, I get a little testy.

My wife goes through these time periods where she wants things put away. It’s not every day, but when it comes, it’s serious. Unfortunately, I am not usually of a similar mind. I am often engaged in repair, cleaning, or organizational activities at that time. While I am off fixing and organizing in the basement, my wife is in the kitchen, moving my stuff. If I’ve left the things on the bed, my wife moves them while I am in the kitchen.

There creates a conflict. Not a big one, but I get pissy. I hate having to look for my things. I go to where I am certain I left the items, and they are not there. That’s no fun for me, and I then make it no fun for everyone around me. Stomping around and raising a ruckus is the usual outcome, if not worse.

I don’t understand it. I never move my wife’s purse. Never. If it’s on the floor, I leave it. If it’s on the counter, it stays. If it’s under the table, it remains under the table. I have no reason to move it. If, for some reason, I must move it, it ends up in the middle of the counter in full view, facilitating a call to action on the part of the owner. It sits on full display saying ‘look at me, I need a new home.’

When my stuff gets moved, it always seems to be to a corner, out of the way, or under something. Would it be too hard to, say, leave it in the middle of the bed? Pile it on the counter? I would see such a pile or arrangement amidst the other otganization and know that I am being called to action. I can take a hint. I’m observant and mostly accommodating.

Further complicating matters is the fact that I live between two homes. My weekday apartment is mine. My stuff goes wherever I want it to go. Then I come home for the weekend. I am here for two days of the week, and that means that the house has it’s own rhythm. I come in and my stuff is essentially unwelcome. My things clutter up a house that’s got it’s own routines established. Where do I fit in? In essence, I don’t. It’s frustrating.

George Carlin had too many places for his stuff. I seem to have too few. Even my murse doesn’t do it.