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|Posted on April 8, 2015 at 8:18 PM|
When my husband read about Popular Woodworking’s invitation to readers for articles concerning wood, he challenged me to submit, suggesting I direct my focus toward “The Plight of the Woodworker’s Wife”. While I believe he was only kidding at first, and despite the fact that it sounded suspiciously like a really good country song, it also occurred to me that my continuous and plaintive cries throughout the years, for a house actually decorated with furniture, may have finally reached open ears.
While it is a joy, certainly, to have a creative and skilled semi-professional craftsman for a husband, it can also be the source of much contention. For, as hard as I try, I cannot sneak a purchase for furnishings (or napkin holders, phone caddies, or God Help Me, golf clubs), without the immovable determination of a husband who insists upon MAKING EVERYTHING.
“How lucky are you?”, exclaim the collectively envious (and rhetorically-speaking) world, when I tell them of my spouse’s “proclivity”. No one on earth would object to hand crafted furniture/accoutrements, would they? Well, no one in their right mind, at least.
Um, sure, yes, okay.
I am tired of signs in my living room that announce my entertainment center is “Coming Soon”.
I am weary of balancing my laptop on my lap, while my office desk is being custom made.
I am more than perturbed that my putting skills are left on hold, languishing, until a club that fits both my frame and personality, is spouse-designed and produced!
But, if you think it’s hard to convey that selfish, vapid, shallow and ungrateful sentiment to those near and dear, try explaining it to him.
Wood, you see, is his life. If it could, it would flow through his veins.
Who am I to still the artistic métier?
Who am I to stifle that creative flow?Who am I to destroy his raison d'être?!
And so, I resist the urge to shop Bloomingdale’s home furnishings department.
I turn a blind eye to Macy’s Biggest Furniture Sale, Ever.
I wipe a stray tear and stifle a tiny, pathetic cry when Ethan Allen has that coveted credenza for fifty, yes, fifty percent off!
Trust me, it’s not like I don’t appreciate every single, solitary piece he has ever created just for me…because I do, I do. I swear I do.
I’d just prefer a smaller window of anticipation.
I wonder if there’s a support group for other spouses similarly afflicted? If there isn’t, we can all meet at my place.
Of course, everyone will have to sit on the floor…I’m still waiting for chairs.