Jerry and I spent the day bagging and boxing and taping and marking Tim’s computer parts–and then sweeping up insect parts. While we had stuff on the landing waiting to be taken down, two wizened men came for the old stove and fridge. I hurriedly tried to haul our stuff down the stairs so we’d be out of their way. Jerry hurriedly tried to haul our stuff back into the apartment so we’d be out of their way.
We need to work on our communication skills.
When we trudged through the door from our garage that afternoon, Tim was in the kitchen. I told him we’d gotten most of his stuff down to the basement and that the men had hauled off the old fridge and stove.
“So we can get new ones.”
“Good lord,” he said. He said it just like Dad except without the disgust. Neither of them ever saw any point in replacing even the most broken-down, decrepit, rusty, useless appliance for any reason and his words were as good as a head-shaking at our waste of time, expense, and energy.
His words made me wish I had taken “before” pictures of the pig sty he had lived in for 17 years. (I think he had a cleaning lady come in twice.) Not only is he not doing one thing to help, he doesn’t appreciate all the work we are doing because he doesn’t see any point in it. That is so frustrating.