Oliver: When life imitates art, it can sometimes be a little ironic

There’s a saying “Art imitates life.” While true, sometimes the opposite is also true. Sometimes we find ourselves in situations that remind us of something we’ve seen or read before.

I’ve said before that the difficult situations I face every day, from my husband’s early-onset Alzheimer’s disease to my two bouts with breast cancer, remind me of the plotline of a movie created by a sadistic screenwriter.

Every now and then, though, I find less dramatic literary references in my day-to-day happenings.

Recently, I found myself pondering a famous story by O. Henry, “The Gift of the Magi.”

Now, I’m not sure whether it’s still taught in school, but it was sometimes used back in the day to teach about the concept of irony.

In the story, a poor couple, Jim and Della, want to exchange gifts. They think about each other and decide on what they think will be perfect gifts. She decides to buy him a chain for his prized pocket watch; he wants to buy her combs for her lovely, long hair.

When neither of them has enough money to buy their gift, they figure out a way to drum up the cash. He sells his watch, and she sells her hair.

When each has the money they need, they buy those gifts. But alas, he no longer needs a chain because he doesn’t have a watch. And she doesn’t have enough hair to need the combs.

Of course, the moral of the story is that things don’t matter and it’s the thought that counts. Their selfless love triumphs.

In my own case, I was reminded of this story not so much by the selfless love (though I hope I show that every day to my beloved Tony), but by how sometimes one’s best plans are thwarted by circumstances beyond one’s control.

Many years ago, I purchased some large pillow inserts that I had planned to do something with. It’s long enough ago that I have forgotten exactly what it was. I know that we got them at IKEA, so I didn’t pay a lot, and I think I bought a couple of extras because I’m fairly certain two of them are now on the daybed.

Those unused pillow inserts spent time in the linen closet until I eventually moved them to a different closet. I’d see them every now and then and think that I really should do something with them.

Recently, I hit on the great idea of getting a couple of cheap pillow covers for those inserts. I’d put them on the couch in the living room, and I wouldn’t care in the least bit if Tony decided to move them all over the house. At least they wouldn’t be the nice pillows that make me shudder every time he moves them to the bathroom.

Despite the desire not to spend a lot of money, I’m still pretty picky about color, style, material, etc. I’m a lot less so than when Tony and I were both working, but I still have some requirements.

I finally landed on a couple of nice inserts that I was sure would do the trick.

Eagerly, I took them out of the packaging and then grabbed the pillow inserts, which were still packed in the plastic they were bought in.

When I opened the pillow insert packaging, I noticed a strange white dust. Puzzled, I examined further. The pillow had literally disintegrated in the packaging.

So much for my grand plan.

For years, I had a couple of pillow inserts and no pillow covers. I finally got pillow covers, and now I have no pillow inserts. My procrastination had finally caught up with me.

Hopefully, it’s obvious why that story from O. Henry popped into my head. In this case, life certainly did imitate art, if only for a moment.

Of course, the easiest solution is just to get over it and buy a couple of pillow inserts. Problem solved.

That would require me to stop laughing at myself first.

At least my life doesn’t resemble “Crime and Punishment.”

• Joan Oliver is the former Northwest Herald assistant news editor. She has been associated with the Northwest Herald since 1990. She can be reached at jolivercolumn@gmail.com.