Front Porch Reflections
Of Mousetraps and Pens
Several years ago, I had the awe-inspiring idea of getting each of our six kids a piano for Christmas. So, I set about finding pianos we could afford. I did not, however, share this awe-inspiring idea with my husband because he had moved one too many pianos in his life to be excited about moving four or five more.
In late summer that year, I learned my cousin had a couple of pianos she wanted to re-home. One was a family heirloom, and the other was an old upright church piano. Two pianos—two Christmas gifts.
A few weeks later, we drove to Cedar City, Utah, rented a U-Haul truck, and with the help of my cousin’s husband, loaded both pianos, an organ, a chest of drawers, and a small table and chairs to take back home.
Delivering those pianos directly to each child made sense, but since it was only July and these beautiful musical instruments were Christmas gifts, we brought them home and put them in our office. The organ went in the living room with my piano. The chest of drawers went in the other spare bedroom, and the small table and chairs found a home on the back patio. We moved my desk to our bedroom.
In August, a friend casually mentioned that she was selling her piano. Another piano—hot diggity dog—I’ll take it! She asked if there was anything else I wanted. I told her I wanted to trade the fridge in her office for the one in my kitchen, since my fridge was the perfect fit for her office lunchroom and her huge white side-by-side fridge with ice and water in the door was a perfect fit for my kitchen. She agreed.
Later that evening, my husband and I drove to our daughter’s home for dinner. On the way back, I excitedly told him about my latest piano acquisition.
“I can’t believe it, Ken,” I said. “I hoped and prayed for a way to give the kids pianos, and now it’s raining pianos!”
“Charlene,” he very calmly replied, “no more pianos!”
We were quiet for a minute, and then I told him about my brilliant refrigerator trade. He deadpanned, “You’re kidding, right?”
Not to be deterred, I reassured him we could make the refrigerator trade at the same time we picked up the piano the next day in the next town over. His eyes stayed glued to the road as he said, “Pens, Charlene, pens. The next time you go manic, just buy pens. They’re so much lighter to move.”
I laughed. He didn’t.
Let me explain. When I feel a mania attack coming on, I obsess over pens. Over the years, I have stockpiled a mass of pens, stored them in bins, stashed them in coffee mugs, and cached them in my purse. My family rolls their collective eyes every single time I bring home a new pen—or ten. I’ve gotten much better over the years, but pens still get my heart pumping. In fact, I bought a brand-new pack of fourteen beautifully pigmented pens for my purse the day before writing this story. So, when my sweet husband told me to buy pens instead of pianos, well . . .
The next day, we traded refrigerators and brought the third piano home. Since there was no room in the living room or office, we put it in our spare bedroom. Four pianos and two organs (I already had one) in our house. I played each one—glorious!
On Thanksgiving Day, we rented another U-Haul and, with the help of a couple of neighbors, loaded two pianos and one organ to deliver on our way to Thanksgiving dinner in Las Vegas. (The third piano would go to Phoenix at a later date.)
Once we freed up space in our office, I took apart my desk, moved it out of our bedroom, and nestled it on the same wall as my husband’s desk. Between our two desks were two colorful drawer units. My beloved pens went in the top drawer nearest my desk, and my husband’s stuff went in the drawer unit next to his.
When my husband got home that afternoon, he complimented the look of the office, and then we both sat down at our respective desks to work. As I busily typed away, I spied him out of the corner of my eye, helping himself to one of my pens. I glared at him until he sheepishly returned it to its place.
My boss once borrowed one of my pens and took it to her office in the back of the building. I followed closely behind, and when she sat at her desk, I politely asked for my pen. She laughed and said, “You followed me all the way back here for a pen?”
To which I replied, “I would rather loan you my husband than one of my pens.” She laughed and handed it over.
The next day, I bought two boxes of cheap clicker pens for my husband’s drawer because he is incapable of appreciating the difference between a quality pen and a sharpened stick dunked in an inkwell.
I went to the hardware store the next day to buy some yarn. (Yes, some hardware stores sell yarn and fabric.) While I was there, I also bought a mousetrap. When my husband got home that evening, I asked him to set it for me. Since there are mice where we live, he didn’t question it. He just pulled back the little lever and latched it. I took it from him, opened my pen drawer, and gently laid it on top of my pens.
“You have got to be kidding me!” he said. “And you made me set the trap.”
I smiled and walked out the door.
Maybe I should wait to tell him about the two beautiful pianos I saw on the yard sale website yesterday.
— Charlene