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.  After 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 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
'em up, there aren't nearly as many there as I remember hanging up the
night before."
 

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