Meet Mr. OCD

There is another benefit to my students that I haven’t actually addressed here.  Some of my longer term readers may have noticed though – even if not directly.  You see, I now have so many STUDENT stories that I haven’t really had any time for DADDY stories.  Today, I plan to revert to Daddy stories.

To be fair, I am sure that I try his patience.  (To be fairer, I’ll admit to actually seeing how far I can push sometimes before the buttons blow…)  We just look at the world from different places sometimes.  I have learned, for example, not to develop hives and high blood pressure if someone folds my towels differently from my usual style.  I’ve never really needed a therapist to help me cope with anxiety brought on by items out of place in my house.

He, on the other hand, will never procrastinate on an important duty until it is too late or suffer sleepless nights & worry attacks about not having enough money.

I guess it all balances out somehow, right?

My sister is still in the midst of re-inventing herself (no really – I am going to forgo the comment about this – at 5+ years and counting – being an excrutiatingly LONG reinvention).  The current incarnation of this reinvention includes divesting herself of pretty much everything.  Consequently I have become the proud owner of many nice pieces of furniture.  Not the least among these pieces is a china cabinet.  I’ve never had one before.  Never had a “safe” place to store family treasures.  Never really had any family treasures to store.  This is sort of a chicken or egg scenario – can’t store treasures without a place – no need for a place if there are no treasures…… blech!

NOW, I have a china cabinet, so I decided I needed some family treasures.   Here is what I came up with…my Grandmother’s china. (Go ahead and click – it’s a LINK!!)  It’s been at Daddy’s house since my mother died.  It is rather unique and although I would never have chosen this pattern, I love it for its differences and for its sentimental value.  So I called up Daddy and sis and I trundled off to his house to pack up the china.

Of course, this meant getting into HIS china cabinet, which has not been opened in 20 years!  AND furthermore, some of the things in the cabinet were in need of a cleaning.  Apparently Dad had not noticed this before.  But once he did……Katie bar the door!  He went to washing with a vengence.  And the gods save my sister or I if we unwittingly got between him and the sink!  He was on a mission and would NOT stop until every single thing in that china closet was washed.

Sis and I were wrapping up dishes.  Well….Sis was wrapping dishes.  I was staying out of everyone else’s way.  She needed some bags, so I went to the kitchen and invaded the secret place where Daddy hides his paper bags.  I got one.  It wasn’t enough.  I got 3 more.  At this point Daddy-at-the-sink awoke and bellowed.  “Don’t take all my damn bags!  I need them!!!”

I checked the bag hidey hole again.  Yes, I had taken 4.  But there were still 30 in there.  Quick mental math break…..Let’s see.  He uses one per day for garbage.  7 days in a week – that means 7 bags per week.  One weekly trip to the grocery store which replenishes the bags at a rate of 7-9 per trip…yep.  He’s still ahead even if I DID take 4 bags.

So…….I put back one bag.  But 5 minutes later Sis needs just one more bag.  As soon as she mentions this Dad says (in a  jolly old elf voice) well then get another one.  I’ve got plenty!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Time for some background information here.  When I was growing up, we (and that includes everyone in the known universe) were not allowed to touch the OUTSIDE of my father’s car.  You see, your hands have oil on them.  Natural body oil.  Yep.  AND if you touch the outside of his car, you leave the oil from your hands on his paint job.  Oil on the paint job makes it nearly IMPOSSIBLE to thoroughly wash the car and buff it to a show room shine.

Daddy had a favorite radio station on the stereo in the living room.  YOU MUST NEVER CHANGE THE CHANNEL.  Even if he wasn’t home and you changed it back when you were done and before he came home…..HE KNEW.

We never sat in HIS chair.  We never touched HIS towel.  I was never taught how to use a lawn mower because I would have had to use HIS lawn mower to learn on.  Not that this was a big issue, mind you, until I turned 40 – and had to mow a lawn for the VERY FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE.  Very traumatic.

Back to present times.

Later in the day Mr. OCD (er – that would be obsessive/compulsive – got my train of thought here?) came over to my house to see what it looks like with all the additional furniture in it.  First thing he noticed was that the insertion of new furniture was necessitating the rearrangement of some of my artwork.  The molas had to be moved.  There was still an appropriately placed nail to the left….but a new nail needed to be placed to the right.  Also, one ‘old’ nail would need to be removed.  Did Mr. OCD take care of it right then?  Oh HELL no!

Today, when I cam home from work, he was there.  He had removed the old nail and patched the hole.  The mola was hung…….and there was a crew of men outside trimming the trees along the side of the house before this year’s hurrican season kicks in.  Did I mention that my new nickname for my father is Mr. OCD?

But after he did all that nice stuff for me…..I guess I’ll have to get Chickie to go ahead and put the license plate on her car.  It’s been sitting on the table for a week…….and Mr. OCD is developing a tic as he tries not to notice it.  Putting it on the car is a small thing in “our” world (me and Chickie) but it’s a small thing that can have a really big impact……  bless his heart.