Angels and Devils

How do you say "no" to a lonely old widower? One who lives alone in a big, dark house? One who collects cars and motorcycles and bike parts? One who needs help with the maintenance of his home and garden? How about if that man is your father?

That's the problem, there is no easy way to tell your ever-helpful, ever-loving, ever-knowledgeable dad that you don't want to paint his porch, power-wash his windows, prune his trees, or fix-up his old Chevy. And you don't want your husband to have to do any of those things either. We don't own a house, after all, so why should we have to spend our free time completing such chores?

That's the little devil on my shoulder talking. Boy is she LOUD! She does NOT want to whittle away the freedom of long summer days by hauling herself from her beautiful city apartment, the one right on the riverfront, through the banal highways of suburbia to do chores. Someone else's chores, no less. Yup, this Devil Woman, the one sitting on my shoulder and shouting into my ear, she's convincing.

But then there's the angel. To her, less is more. She doesn't need to shout to get her point across. She merely gives a look, yeah, a look. The same kind a teacher or a mom can give. That's how I know I'm in t-r-o-u-b-l-e. When the angel is not just quiet, but downright silent. It's her version of a guilt trip. And boy has she had a lot of practice at this. She's good. Really good. And ultimately, I listen to her, even if I give the Devil Woman a good run for her money. After all, the angel on my shoulder is the one who reminds me that family is everything. That without people to share with - both the good times and the bad, the holidays and the housework - this life does not mean much.

So yeah, Dad. I'll help you, again, with your itemized list of projects around the house. But don't think I'll do it without a grumble or two. Or two hundred ...