The Closet

Nazy, sensing that the week appeared to be focused on things that I do badly, suggested a construction project – after I carried her rock to the house.

“I need new shelves in the closet,” she said (ominously).

“Why?”

“My shoes are in boxes and I can’t see everything..”

“Your problem, my dear, is quite simple.”

“So you’ll install the shelves?”

“No. You have too much stuff. Too many pairs of shoes, too many dresses – simply too much stuff.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Just throw things away. No human being needs more than 4 pairs of shoes. In fact, if you follow my advice, you’ll become more efficient. You won’t have to waste time trying things on before making a clothing decision. Reducing the potential combinations to 4 outfits will improve efficiency by..”

Nazy was aghast. “I hope you’re trying to be funny, Dan.”

“Where do we get those new shelves?”

I hoped that we wouldn’t visit Ikea. Entering, I always try to find a quick way to the exit. During our last visit, I stepped off the beaten path – directly into a worm-hole held open by exotic matter. Certain that I’d discovered a shortcut, I emerged both somewhere and somewhen else. I believe that the wormhole spit me out in the past – at the entrance to the store. Suffering from Groundhog Day syndrome, I was destined to repeat my path through the kitchen and bedroom portions of the facility. I finally realized that I could escape perpetual entrapment only by moving through the checkout counter. It was impossible to escape with my life and my money.

In the end, we purchased five new shelves from Interio. Four new shelves came with the requisite hardware – i.e. the bolts needed to complete installation. I explained the shortfall to Nazy. She was understanding:

“How could you possibly lose those? Did you look in the trashcan?”

We subsequently returned to Interio to collect the six screws needed to complete installation. Four of those screws were the correct size. A follow-up visit was required to get the final two screws. Because the clerk couldn’t find the right size in his open stock, he opened a box containing an identical shelf and gave me the hardware.

“I understand how the shelves I purchased came sans hardware,” I thought.

The New Year

After the kids departed, Nazy and I faced New Years Eve alone – for the first time in many, many years. We booked a dinner cruise on Lake Zürich on the Pente Rey, a relatively new boat with a somewhat chequered history. Although it was designed specifically for Lake Zürich, when it was delivered, someone discovered that the engines were not powerful enough to move against the formidable current. This problem had been, we were assured, corrected – although not inexpensively.

Clouds turned to snow and slush as we made our way to the Lake. The dinner was great and although the snow was falling heavily, the cruise was smooth and trouble-free. At 12:15 AM on January 1, 2009, we were perfectly positioned to see the spectacular fireworks. Unfortunately, low clouds were perfected positioned to obscure the fireworks. The most spectacular airbursts took place in the fog of cloud with semi-circles of red, blue, green and gold peaking out at the bottom. Some, in fact, looked like lightening bursts in distant clouds – light, but no color or definition.

We returned home by tram – luckily the snow had stopped. (And, true to Swiss form, the street cleanup had already begun.

We spent the next few days dismantling the holiday decorations - the easy part of the job. Putting things back in boxes and getting the boxes back the narrow spiral staircase was far more complicated. (I wisely delegated that task to Nazy who is the family master of organization.) While she was working her magic, I chopped the gargantuan tree into pieces and carried it down to the kerb. My efforts were, naturally, unappreciated.

“You’ve dropped every single evergreen needle on the carpet, Dan.” Nazy observed.

“Don’t be absurd, my dear,” I replied. “There’s a bunch of needles stuck to me. My hair is a mess.”

“What hair?”

It’s nice to be appreciated.