I write this sitting in my kitchen sink. All of the counter space was being used by one of Nancy’s many new hobbies that last for only a handful of weeks. This week it was baking. Let’s just say she’s still trying to figure the activity out. So far, she’s made cookies, pies, cakes, cupcakes, breads, and more. Ask me how many have actually come out viable to eat. None. She either burns everything or doesn’t leave it in nearly long enough so basically you’re either eating soup or rock. I have never understood why Nancy tries all of these different hobbies that she epically fails at yet still tries new activities and never stops finding new things to try. Last week it was knitting, the week before was painting, but we don’t talk about the painting. We still have red-stained carpets in the living room. For those who don’t know, our carpets are tan.
Don’t take my complaining the wrong way, I love Nancy. We have been together for 7 years. Since I met her she’s been attempting these crazy hobbies, failing at everything she tries. I’ve tried asking her what her reasoning behind these bizarre things she was taking part in. She did the same thing every time I asked. She looked up at me, all five foot two of her, and would say “Never mind me, how about you? What new things have you been up to?” and then continued to work on her current interest.
However, one day it all became crystal clear to me. I was coming home from work, I had gotten everything done early so I decided to come home and surprise Nancy. I came home and hollered up to her that I was home. When she didn’t answer after several minutes, I began to worry. So, I searched my way through the house and stopped short in my tracks when I passed by the back yard. She sits there on the little bench we put in the yard when we planted the garden several years back. I snuck out, making sure the porch door didn’t slam behind me. I tip toed my way over closer so I could hear if she was talking. I could hear her mumbling, so I tried to get closer. I stood quietly next to a tree that was but two feet from the bench. She was talking to someone. Someone I hadn’t spoken to her about in years. She was having a conversation with her mom. That woman was one of the most well rounded people I knew. She could do everything. Cook, clean, care, garden, knit, paint, draw, write. As these thoughts flew through my head, that’s when I realized the madness to her constant pursuing of “random” hobbies. I had finally put two and two together. Nancy’s mother passed away only several months after I had first met Nancy. Nancy took her mother’s death very hard and it took her about 9 months to finally be able to talk about her mom without hysterically crying. Since then she has been taking part in these now not so crazy pastimes. She was trying to finish her mother’s story. She grew up with her mom being able to do anything and everything. All she wanted was to feel like her mom was still there. In that moment, I made a promise to myself that I would never complain about another one of her interests again.