Narnia's granola bars
A while ago my wife bought a big box of crunchy granola bars. I have been eating them in my lunch and, even though there are three different varieties in the box, I have taken a liking to the peanut butter ones. Well, I noticed yesterday morning that she extracted the remaining 4 or 5 from the box and put them back into the pantry removing the box to the recycling bin in the garage. Due to the marked difference between our personalities I found this act a tad strange as, if I were in charge of the dispensing of the granola bars, the box would only have been removed when the last package was removed. I resisted the urge to say anything yesterday and carried on with my day.
This morning, in the course of assembling (not making mind you...that is just too much work) my lunch I went back into the pantry in search of the granola bars that were extricated from the box and fully expected to find them thrown into a pile at or around the same place where the box had been. They weren't there. Thinking like my wife for a brief and extraordinarily painful moment my gaze happened upon a nice, neat stack behind the vanilla pudding cups to the left-hand side of the pantry. There they were! They were even leaning up against the wall of the cabinet so that they would not fall and, I think, were arranged according to variety. I have a splitting headache even now contemplating the implications of the granola bar pile upon the relationship we have built these many years.
All this to say that I am more convinced than ever that I am mentally incapable of thinking like my wife. The things that I expect and the way I handle situations are, sometimes, so far removed from the way she goes about it that it is almost like I am living in an alternate reality. Like the Pevensie children happening upon the magical wardrobe or Alice's descent through the looking glass the pantry in our kitchen will always remind me that there is so much more to this life than what I make of it.