As glo
rious as retirement is made out to be, did you ever wonder what older folks do with their time? I find myself occupied as a senior with either trying to remember what I’ve forgotten such as that Mexican spice that starts with a “C” or attempting to find something I’ve lost like my keys that I swear I put back in my purse last night. In place of a full time job, these have become my major occupation.
I’ve recently noticed an unfortunate tendency to focus exclusively on lost items with an obsessive tenacity. I go into my Sherlock Holmes mode and begin suspecting my hapless family members and start questioning them.
When my son completed the rototilling of the garden area during a past spring, I went on a hunt for the seeds. When I didn’t find them on top of the microwave where I’d left them, I started a slow boil. It was spurred on by a history with my neat-nick husband who puts things away where I can’t find them. Furthermore, when I questioned him about it, he guessed “I think they’re in the garage somewhere.”
I felt my temperature rise, so I strutted out to the garage, muttering comments about people who can’t leave well enough alone. It was soon apparent that the seeds were nowhere to be found. I remembered them being in a bright pink bag, which would be clearly visible, and easy to find. No such color popped out at my discerning eye as I scanned all the shelves and work bench surfaces. I stomped back into the house and gave my spouse a piece of my mind. “Those seeds cost me twenty-some dollars and on my budget, I can’t afford to replace them,” I self-righteously professed.
When I’d spouted off, my poor husband, who was recuperating from cataract surgery, mildly told me that he forgot where he’d put them. He apologized, but not even that was good enough for me. I searched throughout the house, harping all the while.
After he witnessed this firestorm of bad temper, my son suggested, “Mom, why don’t you try to look a little more carefully before you blow up about it?” In that instant, I could hear my own words echoing back to previous occasions when I had similarly instructed him as he was searching for a lost item. I hate hearing my own words of advice used on me, especially by the former recipient!
“It hasn’t been too long ago that you tore through the house searching for your I-Pad,” he reminded me. I turned slightly pink with memories of that search earlier in the week. I had peered under beds and combed through piles of toys, all without success. I found the I-Pad not far from where I had lost it behind my bed (where I swear I had looked numerous times).
All of this fiasco took place without the least amount of grace on my part during my interrogation of all potential suspects (A.K.A, my beloved family members). Here I was repeating the same hypocritical behavior not even a week later. Could I not see that my relationship with these loved ones stood far more in importance than the location of a missing item? Was I incapable of learning from my mistakes?
I later discovered the missing seeds, on the buffet in a gray bag. I realized as soon as I spotted them, that I, not my husband, had placed them there. Could the situation be more humbling?
I believe that God in His infinite mercy allowed me several occasions to understand the greater importance of relationships over lost items. When I did not catch on after the first slip from grace, He gave me another opportunity. Each time, the embarrassment factor expanded. My guess is that if I don’t want to be completely shamed over my self-righteous attitude and poorly chosen priorities, I’d better learn this lesson. I will attempt a better attitude as I look for lost items and remember forgotten things, my major occupation.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
