As I sit at my computer typing this post, I am looking at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park and my backyard. The view of my backyard needs no explanation, of course. My water bottle cozy which dons a rendering of that national park explains the rest. Plus, it makes me happy. A pair of nene (Hawaiian geese) are observing the eruption and yet somehow choose not to flee the scene even though they can fly. I smile. Silly goose. Silly artist.

Two years ago, Bob and I visited that park, and we saw the nene. Now I can look at it from the cover of my sweating water bottle all the while keeping my hands dry. It’s a modern-day, neoprene convenience which is underappreciated. I mean, no more wet hands from drinking a cold drink from a disposable can or bottle, plus you know which drink is yours. It truly is the simple things that can bring happiness.

I used to collect mugs from places we visited, but that practice filled our cabinets to overflowing. Transporting the breakable and bulky souvenirs in my luggage was also problematic. I need to confess right here and now, though, that I do on occasion grab a mug from our travels. When I do, I promise myself that I will get rid of another mug to keep the mug population down to a minimum. That reminds me, I need to go throw out a couple of mugs when I finish writing this, but I digress.

Collecting can koozies® just makes sense, except for one thing. That is the great controversy surrounding their names. Koozie is a trademark. Similar products may be called a coozie or a cozy, but they are simply avoiding trademark infringement. I’m not sure how that all works, but to me it’s like calling a tissue a Kleenex or a copier a Xerox machine, or even worse since I am a former Tupperware dealer, a plastic container Tupperware. You get the picture, and there I go again.

I don’t like to bring up the past, especially if it makes me look like an out-of-control idiot, but collecting things makes me happy. Can koozies offer a great improvement over other things I’ve collected, such as the over-priced yet adorable Lizzie High dolls, or Great Era and Christmas Barbie dolls which needed to remain NRFB (never removed from box), and two of which are currently on a top closet shelf, largely forgotten and their fate undetermined since all my granddaughters have outgrown that stuff and I forgot to pass them along. Or there were the happy meal toys which I collected when my kids were young. I always got myself a meal so I could have the satisfaction of completing the collection all the while eating cheeseburgers and fries every Friday with my kids.

Now I try to limit myself to collecting koozies and friends. The koozies fit nicely in a kitchen drawer and the friends fit nicely in my life without taking up cabinet space.

My friend, Doug, knew of my cozy collection, so he added a couple of dozen freebees which he had gathered over the years. That’s why I have some random racing cozies, which I try to relegate to my car, because I don’t care if they get left somewhere. Sorry, Doug.

By now you have probably forgotten the name of this post and how it fits into this rambling story. Cozy conflict is what happens when I accidentally drink out of Bob’s koozie-covered water bottle right after he has taken his daily dose of dozens of pills, including fish oil, or worse when he accidentally uses my water bottle to take his pills.

Lightbulb moment: I have just come to the realization that while I have collected weird stuff in my life, for instance bottle caps when I was a kid, Bob collects pills – both prescription and supplements. His collection is large, but it seems to be keeping him alive, so no complaints there. But fish oil leaves an awful taste in my mouth, that is why I refuse to take it. When Bob accidentally picks up my Hawaii Volcanoes koozie instead of his Sedona, Arizona, one, which looks strikingly similar to Hawaii, I know there has been fish oil in the proximity of my water bottle.

Of course, Bob is emphatic that he doesn’t backwash, and I choose to believe him. Fish oil seems to have an overwhelming presence that defies all backwashing principles and gets its essence into Bob’s water bottle somehow. My disdain at tasting fish oil is always obvious and confusing to Bob. How can I be that sensitive? Yet, he chooses to believe me when I tell him that I sense it like a dolphin senses whatever dolphin chase down to eat. (Forgive me for not googling that.) This is why we have a strong marriage.

While we’re on the topic of water bottles, I apologize to the planet for the number of them that we use. We do recycle, but it’s dubious how effective that is. Bob, on the other hand, will use the same water bottle all day long. He refills it from the filtered water in the refrigerator. Sometimes he may use the bottle for multiple days until I see a police-like line-up of them in the refrigerator – his way of keeping them cool. Then some will mysteriously disappear with a slight-of-hand my magician father would have appreciated.

None of this is a big deal in our 49-year-old marriage. It is part of the quirks which I get to share on my blog but he does not because he doesn’t write a blog. To sum up: Bob drinks a lot of water and has no concept of can koozie etiquette. It’s his one and only fault. (Need I mention here that Bob reads my blog?)

So, if you come to my house and find or leave a water bottle around, no worries. Bob will take care of it for you unless I find it first and water the plants with it. Bob would just drink it or put it in the line-up.