My husband has a one-track mind.

I really like to be warm. I mean, I really, really like to be warm. This time of year, one of my favorite things is to sit in my living room by our fireplace insert and just SWEAT. Sometimes I have to put on shorts and a tank top, but I’m not truly happy until it’s about eighty-five degrees where I’m sitting.

Yesterday, while I was doing just that, I noticed Wanye (rhymes with Kanye) had been missing for awhile. He had told me earlier he had to “get some stuff straight,” which is usually code for looking busy while doing nothing. Still, I was hopeful. I had given him a list of two things to do, each of which would take about five minutes and involved lifting heavy stuff I couldn’t do myself.

Did I find him doing those things? NO, I did not.

I caught him doing it again.

He was out there with the wood.

I thought he was doing so well. I thought we had moved past this so it had become manageable for him.

All I can figure is that seeing me sitting by the fire triggered him. He must have been afraid we would run out.

After I took the above picture for proof and called his emergency therapist, I went inside and located this  “book” I made for him a few years ago. At least I thought it was just a few years ago, until I saw the picture on the cover and realized that I actually have no idea what year it is right now.

We used to do gag gifts at Christmas (Why don’t we do that any more? That was fun!) and one year I made this for him. From the quality of my photo editing, it appears to have been done somewhere in the early 1930’s, but I can’t swear to that.

This is the back:

So what does this mean? To me, there are lessons to be learned here. Clearly, after a certain point in life–and certainly in marriage–there are patterns of behavior we just shouldn’t try to fight. Maybe, after a hundred and eleven years, I need to come to terms with the fact that my husband will never do some things, and he’ll always do others.

But at least I’ll never be cold.