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Topic: Irritated (11/08/12)
By Dawn Winston
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Everyone knows the story of the sand in the oyster. A grain of sand gets into an oyster, and the sensitive, delicate creature covers it, to ease the irritation the sand brings with the same mineral, substance that composes its shell, nacre, until it forms a stunning, valuable, iridescent orb, a pearl.
I suffer from a great, constant irritant. I married it. He leaves food and bowls and utensils out when he cooks, in a mess whose circumference reaches around the kitchen. He forgets where he puts his keys. They show up in his drawer, on the kitchen table, under some papers, basically dropped down unthinkingly wherever he puts them upon entering. Then he storms around the house asking for the rest of the family to find them, quickly, or he will need to use my keys. Can you feel my pain?
Most of all, he throws away recycling with the garbage. He hates recycling. He doesnít think it tidy. I told him it is simple. You throw the paper in the recycling bag and the garbage in the plastic garbage bag. No problem, it is not rocket science.
For all this tolerance I think myself a patient saint. I think for my endurance of this constant irritation I have a pearl growing in heaven the size of an average American bungalow.
However, it has recently occurred to me I may produce slight irritation to him, hard to imagine me being perfect and all. This revelation came when he cleaned his office, mixed garbage/recycling bags sat ripe for me to pick through and sort. I resisted, just barely, and quickly rescued an important paper from demolition. He sputtered apoplectic, wild eyed and speechless. My son said he should hide the garbage, of all the nerve. As if I could ever be wrong.
God says He endures my irritations and is also growing a pearl. Itís the size of the moon.
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