The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished
a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his
electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I
drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet
his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small
tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door
he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles
and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he
walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me.
I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. "Oh, that's my trouble
tree," he replied." I know I can't help having troubles on the job,
but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and
the children. So I just hang them on the tree every night when I come home.
Then in the morning I pick them up again." He paused. "Funny thing
is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there
ain't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
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