In my wildest dreams I would have never imagined that retirement would mean a shed for me and a shed for Lemonade Man. Yet here we are, less than a year after my official departure from 9 to 5 routines, divorcing his tools and lawn equipment from my garden seeds and outdoor entertainment paraphernalia. He has his shed in the back yard and now I have my own little plastic storage unit close to the house.
Admittedly, moving from 15 acres with a large barn and two sheds to our city home required significant downsizing, with the aid of one moving sale and two subsequent garage sales in the new place. Still, we have an excess of stuff, much of which would qualify my spouse for an appearance on an episode of Hoarders. He cannot part with stuff he may need in a few years.
But how many screwdrivers does one person need anyway?
Recognizing my Virgo penchant for organizing and compartmentalizing, he made the recent mistake of seeking my help in the garage. Not knowing the specific uses for all the items that landed there in our move from country to city, I merely grouped the 29 screwdrivers together in one drawer of one of his massive tool chests. Likewise, all the concrete tools went in the bottom of another chest, the power tools in a cabinet . . . you get the picture. Unfortunately, He now needs a navigation app to find his stuff.
My reward for making the garage a neater, cleaner place was to finally have a cabinet of my own out there for kitchen excess, like my large roaster that only gets hauled out at Thanksgiving.
The Her shed was touted as another reward for being such an organization freak. Truth be told, he was tired of skinning his shins trying to get around all the junk in his shed. So the last time we made a trip to the local discount club, the season closeout shed sale caught his eye. In two days we had a shed assembled and ready for my stuff.
His shed towers over mine in solid wood and air tight superiority, complete with gutters and an access ramp. My little thing looks like a doll playhouse that threatens to collapse in a 50 mph wind. But it sure is cute and I don’t have to hike up a hill to get to mine.
It could soon take on an unexpected role as an adult timeout room. We are learning in retirement that a husband and wife are not meant to occupy the same space 24/7. Many of our friends who have gone down this road warned us about the dangers and pitfalls of a new familiarity breeding a certain degree of discontent.
So, the next time Lemonade Man complains about not being able to find something in the garage, I can leave him fuming and go organize my new shed. It may soon boast a rocking chair and a reading lamp, perfect for a long pout.