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 pick-up 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 tips of the branches with both hands.

 When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation.  His face was
wreathed in smiles as he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss.

 Afterward, he walked me to my 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 children.  So I just hang them up on the
 tree every night when I come home.
Then in the morning, I pick them up again."

"Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick them up,
there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
 
 
 
 

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