In my case the empty nest is without a live-in daddy bird (or for that matter another mommy bird). My soon-to-be ex daddy bird (we've been separated for 11 years because neither one of us is good at paperwork) was/is excellent at many things including picture hanging. When I say excellent I mean I didn't have to do it. And that is what is disturbing me lately.
When I married daddy bird back in 1983 -- Good Lord, that's 25 years ago -- I stopped doing a lot of things that I'd always done, like fixing toilets, painting rooms, tiling floors, gardening, and making a pretty damn good spaghetti sauce, if I do say so myself. I stopped because somehow in our married division of labor he "did those things better" or liked doing them more than I did.
In case you worry that I did nothing, rest assured that I wasn't without things to do. I kept the wheels of civilization going by raising healthy, well-adjusted children, managing our money, doing our taxes, keeping my thumb on local politics and home owner association doings, fundraising for good causes, serving on various PTAs, running cookie sales for Girl Scout Troops and even leading a scout troop once (much to my daughter's dismay and my own) and working outside the home from time to time. I finally returned to full-time work and a steady career path a year or two before we separated since the writing was on the wall. Daddy bird was leaving our nest to set up his own.
He still came by to help me with my nest over the years -- even bringing some of his spaghetti sauce from time to time. And I could always count on him to do things like major landscaping, picture hanging, etc. But now I'm three hours away. He still comes out to visit, but not as frequently.
So now I find myself not doing some things not because I can't do them (I keep telling myself) but because I got used to him doing them. And, I'm out of practice. Case in point:
I've had stacks of pictures leaning against walls for weeks now. Today I decided to hang some. I couldn't find a hammer, so I used a meat tenderizer. Really. I had a hammer. I just can't find it.
Then there's the whole perspective thing. I mean, there is no way I can hold the picture up and stand back to say, "Move it up... now down... a little to the right...there, that's perfect" all at the same time. Cricket, my dog, is absolutely no help and my cat, Devon, doesn't give a damn.
Right now I am looking at one wall where the pictures are fine except they look like they were hung for giants. My daughter, the art historian major/curator minor, said the pictures should be hung five feet from the floor. I don't know how it happened, but I think they are seven feet from the ground. If I'd been standing back I'd have said, "Lower, lower..."
On another wall they are obviously too low, though my granddaughter who is not walking yet, should appreciate the vantage point. I think they're about four feet off the floor. On the third wall, I went a little crazy with the meat tenderizer, but I think I'll switch to a picture large enough to cover up the hole in the wall. I don't plan on moving for a while.
I tell you, it looks like a crazy house at a carnival.
I did drive to Home Depot this evening and bought a hammer. I also bought a kit of about 10,000 picture hangers of various sizes. Tomorrow is another day. I'm determined.
