My Neighborhood: "Where the Sidewalk Ends"

Have you ever noticed how superior humans consider themselves when comparing modern life to the past? Sure, modern life offers many great options such as life-saving medical procedures, electricity, and the flush toilet. But where did this snobbery come from? Why do we tend to think ourselves so much better than the poor shmuck who had to go through life without a battery-charged, cracker-sized telephone?

Case in point: sidewalks!

When I was little we lived in a central Italian city called Perugia. The modern city still centered around the ancient part of the city, which had been built centuries before, featuring huge cobblestone streets, ancient stone building still in use as homes or shops, and flight after flight of time-worn steps around this city built on a hill. The modern blended with the ancient creating an incongruent but charming place which still bustled with the business of daily life as it had for centuries.

When modern life and ancient combine they do not always mesh perfectly. This was most apparent to my pre-school awareness when a modern city bus would rumble down the narrow cobblestone streets. The streets, of course, had no sidewalks and were not built to accommodate something as un-heard of in medieval times as a city bus. At best, the largest vehicle which would have needed to traverse those narrow by-ways would have been some sort of cart pulled by a horse or donkey or, perhaps, even a goat or two; nothing as mammoth as a large diesel contraption would have entered into the planners’ mind.

But, here we were in the 20th century, walking a street from the 12th, with a huge monster bus barreling down on us with barely enough room for a simple horse cart and no sidewalk for the pedestrian’s safety. When this happened it was necessary to plaster yourself into a doorway in order to allow the vehicle to pass by safely. As a little child this was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Would we find a doorway in time? Would we all fit in it? My heart would be racing, my skin tingling with excitement and fear! I am happy to report, we always made it safely into a doorway, no family members were lost in a tragic accident, no one was pulverized between modern metal and ancient stone and, to my knowledge, no other Perugians were lost either and life, there, now continues happily well into the 21st century. Such quirks are just to be expected when blending lifestyles from such different centuries!

As fun of a memory as this is, of course, it’s nice to now live in a city where modern city planners had enough foresight to accommodate the needs of pedestrians and motorist alike; nice wide streets, safe sidewalks, stoplights and stop signs, or…not! The other day, I had a distinct flashback to the streets of Perugia as I, unwittingly, took life in limb and tried to walk our dog to the dog park not more than a half mile from our home.

We happen to have moved into one of the local neighborhoods with NO sidewalks; none, no where; not in front of the houses, not on the streets into the neighborhood, not on the main way to the bus lines…simply no sidewalks! This is a modern neighborhood! It was built well after the advent of the motor car, city buses were well used at the time my house was designed, and children often rode bicycles. But still, Buddy and I were forced to hop into the brambles and ivy each time a car zoomed by. This was not an easy feat with a dog weighing over 85 pounds! There was no room for us on the street, and there was really no room for us off the street, there were slopes and hills on either side of the road with barely enough room to stand sideways, ankle deep in foliage, and allow the vehicles room to pass. For nearly a quarter of a mile we progressed precariously along until we reached the “safety” of a parking lot and could get off the street! What in heaven’s name possessed people to design such a neighborhood?

I believe it boiled down to this. In the mid 60’s the American family had progressed to the point that it became a status symbol to live in a neighborhood with no sidewalks! Why? I think it symbolized wealth and a “coming into the world” that a family no longer had to walk anywhere. Father could drive to work. Mother had a second car with which to drive the children to and fro and on her various errands and shopping trips. Children would be driven to the park instead of riding their bike. Without a sidewalk, they had a much larger and greener lawn in front of their home which Father would diligently mow and water every Saturday morning, a whole 5 feet wider than the old homes across the river! Wow, what progress, I say ironically!

Now, two generations later, my children cannot ride their bikes in their neighborhood, I will no longer walk the dog to the dog park, I will never walk with my little ones to the bus stop to ride into downtown. It has boiled down to being a prisoner in my car merely for personal safety. There are no ancient doorways to duck into when a vehicles rumbles by, we can only step into our neighbor’s green grass or hope for enough room to hop into the ivy and wait! I do hope that in our next neighborhood that we will be spared from all this modern “progress”. I don’t like living “where the sidewalk ends”.

Beauty in a Rock

Have you ever been stopped in your tacks by the catching beauty of something as simple as a rock? A rock, what’s beautiful about a rock? They’re annoying things. They get stuck in your tires creating a nerve-wracking “click, clack, click, clack” as you drive down the road. They shoot angrily out of the side of your lawnmower. They persistently keep you from getting a good night’s sleep on a camping trip. What’s so great about a rock? Well, they’re amazing pieces of creation.

I haven’t always been so tuned into the geological side of beauty but I had an arresting moment a few months back with a cool crisp morning and a pile of rocks, or stones, if you prefer the more decorative term. It was a Sunday morning and our family was trying to get ready for church but it was not a sweet morning. It was a morning fraught with tension, anxiety, and grumpled tempers. Mainly on my part! I needed to step out, get away and take a breath.

I had recently purchased a bag of “natural stones” for an aquarium but I had wanted to sort through them to take out the ones that weren’t part of the right color scheme. I hadn’t had time yet. I needed to do it this morning! More reasonably, I needed an excuse to be sitting outside clearing my mind; I guess I thought it would be better sitting outside sorting through a large pile of rocks rather than just sitting outside on an early Sunday morning! So there I sat, staring at a pile of rocks I had poured out in front of me. And I was stunned.

As I began sorting through them the depth and variation of colors mesmerized me. How many shades of reds, browns, yellows, and whites appeared in one pile of simple polished stones? More than I could even begin to categorize. And the patterns: striations, swirls, large and small. The textures, smooth and rough, perfect and chipped, each one different but a perfectly matched group!

I became quiet inside as I looked at the beauty in front of me. Beauty, in a pile of something that has virtually no value to our world, something meant to sit in the bottom of a fish tank. Just a pile of rocks, how many of us have thrown out such things to make way for true beauty like a rose bed or a garden of flowers when, here, something formed in the dirt could look so perfectly serene and lovely in the morning light.

I ran my hand over the pile feeling them roll under my fingers. I raised a handful of them to my face and pressed them to my cheek. They had absorbed the coolness of the morning and it virtually sparkled against my skin. It felt like a balm; soothing, comforting, quieting the angst I had formed inside. I took a breath and turned to look behind me. Two small faces stared back at me from the windows by the front door. I smiled. They smiled back. The fragrance of the day started to surround me, the grass, the dew, the slight fog. I put the rocks back in their bag and went inside to get ready to go, it was a beautiful morning.

Listen, it's starting to rain...

My lungs feel like they have had their first full breath of fresh air in four months! Fall is here and a freshness has descended and blown through me. Fall, glorious fall is here! My skin is finally comfortable! I feel like I’ve been hot, sticky, and sweaty since May but finally, the air is cool, the sky has a tinge of gray, there’s a shower hiding behind that morning sunshine, ah…summer’s finally over!

I took my boys for a walk in a nearby wooded park. It was wonderful, we got rained on, we got muddy, they stomped in puddles and the only one wearing a jacket was the little guy. I feel like my mind can think again. It was so uplifting to breathe in the moist air filled with the damp smells of autumn; the moss, the falling leaves, the mud, all of it with the promise of coolness, fresh air, and rain. Oh yes, I am an Oregonian!

We’ve been sun baked all summer. I’ve been hiding under my straw hat and stinky sun block while my friends romp and play in the berry patches and the swimming pools with their children. I’ve gotten headaches from the heat and the glare; they’ve gotten wonderfully tan and enjoyed the outdoors. But now, my hat is no longer a mainstay in the trunk. It has been relegated to a hook in the garage. I look forward to taking my boys to the park and playing on the swings and slides and romping in the damp grass. I take my dog to the dog park and adore his romping play from my perch at the top of the knoll where I can catch every breeze that blows through.

It’s my time to be out. It’s my time to love the world I’m in, to see the beauty in the mist around the trees, to listen to the sounds of the dripping park, to roll the windows down and let the breeze rush through the car. It’s beautiful, it’s magnified, it’s glistening, it’s October in Oregon!

THE GENTLENESS OF THE GIANT

There are certain things that we cling to as children and release as we enter the world of adulthood; such as sleeping with a stuffed animal or a nightlight, stopping to smell each and every dandelion and blowing them all over the neighbor’s lawn, or walking every retaining wall in the neighborhood! But, sometimes, things that we love as children carry over into our adult life. Perhaps the child that spends countless hours with the crayons and finger paints still finds meaningful quiet time with art as an adult. Or, the pots and pans and oatmeal boxes of toddler-hood are exchanged for a complete drum set, or the perpetual room or locker decorator becomes the perpetual scrap booker.

None of those has become part of my adult life, but there was one thing that I was incredibly drawn to as a child that has only intensified as I have become an adult. That is my love of animals. As a child I was constantly covered in flea bites because I couldn’t stay away from dogs on the streets, in the parks, anywhere there was a dog, I would pet it. I would even share my ice cream cones with stray dogs! I loved animals! The most memorable birthday present as a child was my first hamster. We named her Champagne because the pet store told my parents that’s what her coloring was called. When we moved back to Portland from Rome, she became a trans-Atlantic flying hamster. She was lovingly and tearfully laid to rest under the grape arbor in my grandparents back yard with a cross made out of wooden dowels marking her grave.

The pets in my life have covered almost every genre of pet; birds, fish, cats, rodents, and finally dogs. I did not have a dog in my life until Steve and I got a dog a few years after we were married. We have been blessed with 3 dogs in our married life. We have loved all of them with our whole hearts! Each has been special and wonderful in his own way. Two of them were taken from us suddenly and tragically and both of them is deserving of their own story. But what I am amazed at tonight, is our current dog, Buddy. What amazes me is how God has granted us these wonderful creatures and manages to give us the perfect fit for our family. The heart and soul of this dog is amazing and I can’t get over it. Sometimes it just takes my breath away!

Buddy was the runt of his litter, which consisted of 14 puppies! It was a surprisingly large litter and the owner of the parent dogs took time off work to ensure each and every puppy made it. Buddy was bottle fed to supplement what he may not have been able to get from mom in the large melee of the puppy pile! To be honest, when we chose him, we picked him simply because the owner pointed him out as the littlest one. It was a chaotic scramble of puppy legs, puppy ears, puppy tongues, and puppy teeth. We could barely focus for the blur of puppy-hood romping through the yard. We heard “littlest” and picked him! The owner actually teared up as we loaded his littlest bundle in the car and drove away. We took him home and Micah named him Buddy.

The next few months were not easy as I was still enthralled in the grief of losing our second dog, Rudy, and trying to adjust to a new dog personality in the home. Buddy, for his part, grieved a bit as he had to find his way in a new family without his brothers and sisters. Then came my pregnancy depression followed by trying to potty train a dog from two of the most difficult of all breeds to potty train. Puppy classes helped me begin to form my bond with him and slowly, we all started to fit together as a family.

Our little runt-of-the-litter puppy is now two and a half years old and over 85 pounds! Much larger than the expected size! He is still in the final stages of puppy-hood which, according to our vet, will probably extend past his third birthday. He’s a big bundle of fluff and curls and goofiness and I couldn’t have asked God for a more perfect fit for our family. Buddy astounds me time and time and time again with his gentleness of soul, his depth of kindness, and submissiveness. Sure, he’s a big moose of a dog and we’ve had our share of toddler tumbles and bumps but nothing worse than what they inflict on themselves!

When Kendon was about 6 months old, I would sit him on a blanket in the kitchen while I worked. If he got fussy, I would give him some crackers to snack on. Buddy would usually be sprawled right along side of him and would never once try to take any of his snacks. The rest of the family, hey if we let food fall, it’s just fair game, but the baby was free to spread his crackers far and wide and they were never in danger of being taken. As a result, Buddy is now the only family member that Kendon will willingly share his food with! Frequently Kendon will grab the fur hanging over Buddy’s eyes and lift it up to get a look into Buddy’s eyes, then laugh and pat him. I think he sees what we see, a dog with incredibly human eyes!

This spring, to further my passion for animals, I brought two hamsters into the family. Most people assume we have hamsters for our boys. But, they aren’t the boys’ hamsters, they’re mine! I take great pleasure in having them, loving them, and watching their funny little antics. When I first brought them home, I was a little apprehensive about Buddy and hamsters. After all, he’s a dog, he’s from hunting stock, and he’s well over 80 pounds! Why did I worry? My dog has the soul of a butterfly! He simply thinks I brought two tiny little puppies into the house!

He loved my hamsters from the beginning! He would stand for hours with his head on the table by their cages, his nose plastered to the bars. He even got a kink in his neck from standing like that for so long! They, in turn, are curious about him too. They are completely accustomed to him, his smell, and his presence. In fact, when I first brought them home, the youngest hamster, Millie, was hand tame but slightly aloof and she actually seemed to prefer Buddy’s presence to mine! I started calling her Buddy’s hamster! If I had her on the couch with me, she would more often crawl over to greet Buddy than me! In time she has also become very tame and accustomed to my presence, but I still like to think of her as Buddy’s hamster! I think he does too!

When I clean their cages, I will frequently block the door with some boxes and let them run loose in the bathroom while I clean out the cages. It’s more than Buddy can stand and, after several minutes, he will leap over the boxes to join them in the fun! He follows them around, sometimes playfully poking them with his nose, but mostly just curious as to where they’re going and what they’re doing. They don’t even seem to notice unless he gets in their way, then they simply stop, raise up on their back feet and wait for him to move! Buddy and his hamsters!

I really can’t describe what it does to my heart to see the loving soul of this dog! It melts my heart! I can’t thank God enough for making him and giving him to us. Dogs, in general, are amazing creatures, and to be privileged enough to have one in our home and as part of our lives is truly amazing! I can’t think of anything more amazing about creation than the animals God has given us. What a gift! What a pleasure they bring to us! I could talk for hours about my animals and the things they do and the things I love about them! Most of my friends have other interests but are kind enough to listen to me as I extol the virtues of my animals, but I do try to curb my enthusiasm in polite society!

But one moment a while back caused me to want to write about this. I had my second hamster, Maggie, out for a bit of play. I had put her on our bed to explore a bit. Of course, Buddy was right there, with his chin resting on the bed watching and watching. Finally, he had watched all he could and up onto the bed he went. Not really surprised! And, nonchalantly Maggie went about her exploration. But, it was when she casually started to meander between his front paws and he, head down within chomping distance, casually watched her as if wondering if she was going to invite him to play a game. Snapping a photo of a mammoth dog head, bent over a chubby little hamster bum between his two front paws, I realized what a treasure he is and how fortunate we are to have him in our family. He’s worth talking endlessly about, he’s fantastically cute and funny and sweet and so much less tedious for me than trying to successfully scrapbook or paint a still life. I love him and I thank God for this gentle giant He put into our lives. And I’m thankful for the quirky love of animals that God gave me, it brings me great joy and keeps me young and, if Portland had more stray dogs, I would probably still share my ice cream cones with them!

Romantic cholesterol

Romantic Cholesterol

Ladies, hold on to your hats because I’m going to write something that I think will cause many women to flip their lids…

"I think romance is bad for us!"

What?????? Didn’t I just write that we were made to yearn for romance? Well, yes. So, let me say, I think fictional romance can be bad for us. What??? Many of you are clutching your favorite book or movie to your chest right now and saying, "This lady’s cracked"! I know, I know, I love a good romantic story as well as any of you!

In fact, I well remember being little and watching the TV version of, "Little House on the Prairie", when Almanzo finally made his appearance on the show. I would giggle so hard and hide my head in a blanket! I was young enough to be completely embarrassed, but gosh darn it…I loved it! My two favorite novels of all time are "Pride and Prejudice" and "Jane Eyre", what’s more romantic than those two stories? And, I love a good romantic movie. Did any of you see, "The Lake House"? Sweet story and very romantic. There's an old black and white movie called, "The More the Merrier" that I adore and is totally romantic! Who has the Masterpiece Theatre version of P&P, starring Colin Firth and …that English girl, memorized? I do! So, yes, we love romance. I love romance! But, just like I love chocolate mousse royale ice cream, it’s not necessarily good for me!

What am I getting at? Well, fictional romance could be like romantic cholesterol for our woman’s heart just like ice cream contains real cholesterol for our real heart. Not bad in and of itself, but get too much of it and healthy pathways begin to get clogged. If those arteries are already beginning to get clogged, it doesn’t take much more to complete the job! We yearn for romance, we love it, it’s so fun to watch and read, and better yet to be a part of it. But, fiction is fiction…it’s not real! Even watching Laura Ingalls and Almanzo Wilder fall for each other, was fiction. The writers toyed with the true details to make it more fun to watch on TV. And, it was fun! But has anyone out there ever been single and trying to find a Mr. Darcy to sweep them off their feet? Or looked around for a tortured soul like Edward Rochester so they could break through and heal his heart like Jane Eyre did? There’s no such think as a Mr. Darcy; Jane Austen made him up. And, tortured souls like Edward Rochester’s don’t usually thaw well in reality. But soak yourself in fictional romance for too long, and that’s what you’ll want in true life. Only, true life isn’t fiction and real men aren’t Tarzan. (They tend to wear more clothes.)

I find that romantic novels and romantic movies appeal to me most when I’m struggling with my own self image, or when, perhaps, I’m struggling with my husband, or daily life. Their appeal is strongest when I'm feeling unappreciated, when things are a bit foggy or cloudy, not daisies and sunshine. I am drawn to their escapism. The danger in that is that the fiction presented can work in a weakened or saddened heart and we start to compare our lives to the lives of the heroines, our husbands to the heroes, our peck on the cheek to their longing gazes and wind-swept embraces. Fiction can make us highly dissatisfied with our present reality and that’s dangerous.
Feeling down about yourself? Don’t read a book about a heroine who’s the sunshine of life, lovely and perfect and perfectly appealing. In "A Tale of Two Cities" Lucie is referred to as "The Golden Thread". I’m pretty sure no one would ever refer to me in that heroic of a manner. Lovely, compassionate, the golden thread tying their lives together. Hmm, yep, probably not me! Two men in love with her and one going to the guillotine to protect her. Gaspingly romantic...thank goodness not me!!!!

Has your husband recently fought any duels to win you? Has he had to climb any tall towers, preferably fiery flaming towers, to rescue you, or forged any raging rivers with you clasped tightly in his arms? Yeah, probably not! The last time you cooked dinner together was there an orchestra playing some ravishingly beautiful music in the background that caused you to abandon the fricassee and dance lovingly across the living room in an impromptu waltz...or tango? Have you and he lately exchanged any stirring and longing glances across a crowded room only to be swept away from each other by a maddeningly large crowd? I just can’t remember the last time any of that happened to us. But, I do remember last week when I nearly cut off the tip of my little finger and my husband scoured the cabinets for the last remaining Band-Aid that hadn’t fallen prey to make-believe toddler owies. I remember he took over bedtime so I could go lay down with my aching and bleeding finger wrapped in a kitchen towel.

In chapter 49 of "Emma" Mr. Knightly tells Emma, "I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne is as no other woman in England would have borne it." What have I borne, lately, for the sake of my husband? I recently told him, very calmly on the outside but quite snappish on the inside, that he only paid attention to me lately when he was angry with me. Not exactly true. Not to mention that I'm sure there are plenty of women, in England and elsewhere, who would have found a much gentler and kinder way to simply tell their husband that they wanted to spend a little time with him. Not quite the picture of a ravishing romantic heroine. I didn’t even have a ribbon in my hair!

Yes, romance is wonderful. But, we should look hard to find the little places in true life where it sometimes hides. And if we’re having trouble wanting to be the blushing damsel for the heroic accountant, teacher, or carpenter who walks in the door every evening, we really should be careful about filling our minds too full of the fiction which we so often believe should be our daily lives. In "The Last of the Mohicans" Hawkeye tells Cora, "You be strong, you survive…No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you" and then jumps through a waterfall. My husband doesn’t have to look too hard to find me; I’m usually in the kitchen. And sometimes I’m cooking the oatmeal, which is much better for our cholesterol than the Gianduia Cheesecake that I’m actually dying to make. Maybe tonight, after he’s leapt through the waterfalls of boring meetings and rush hour traffic and after I’ve attempted and failed to scale the towers of laundry and clutter, we can sit down together and indulge in a little bit of quiet together time and chocolate ice cream. I love that time of day. Roll credits…play musical score…don’t step on the popcorn…and don’t wake the baby! Aren't we living our happily ever after? Remember, that always comes after the romance.

Women and Romance

Women and Romance

Why does the heart of a woman long for romance? I believe that God made our hearts that way. In the 5th chapter of Ephesians men are commanded to love their wives and wives are commanded to respect or revere their husbands. People sometimes question that passage, "Do women not need to love their husbands and do husbands not need to respect their wives?" I don’t think it works that way. As a friend recently pointed out to me, men need respect and women need love, yet those are not the attributes that the other gender is automatically equipped to give. Men don’t tend to automatically show love in the way a woman’s heart yearns for and women don’t tend to recognize the importance that their man regularly feels their respect and admiration. When this insight was shared with me, it was like a lantern had come on. Women are commanded to respect and men are commanded to love because that doesn’t generally come naturally to them in a relationship. Of course, how could I have missed that insight? Because, I’m just not that insightful!

It seems like a bit of a conundrum but in a Christ-centered marriage, hopefully, the proper balance can be obtained. It just doesn’t hurt for each spouse to be daily aware of their husband or wife’s heart-needs. How would my husband walk on air if I daily reminded myself that he needs to know that I respect him as a man, that I regard him as our family’s hero? How would my heart flutter and rose petals fall from the sky if daily my husband reminded me that I was the apple of his eye, that I am the sweetest and cutest woman in his world and that he longs for me? Because we are human, it doesn’t always happen. But, because Christ is in our marriage, hopefully it will happen often enough to buoy us through our life together.

When Christ is able to break through the shell of selfishness and sin that can so easily surround my heart, I will remember to pray for my husband, I will remember to care for his needs and I will remember not to worry about whether or not it’s reciprocated. If I care for my husband the way Christ wants me to, it will be reciprocated in a way I could not fathom and I will not have to nag, or cajole, or "tell" God to make sure my husband knows what I need! How can I be so short sighted as to feel the need to "tell" God what I need in the same manner that I might "tell" my children to behave and to finish their chores!

There are, of course, stumbling blocks even in the most Christ-like marriages. So often we think our marriage should be perfect. Doesn’t everyone else’s Christian marriage seem perfect? Yep, because we don’t talk about it. I’m not saying we should talk about it openly. But, if a very special close friend shared, every once in a while, that their present reality is falling short of their wedding day expectations wouldn’t it be refreshing!
Sometimes it’s good to know that we’re normal if we hit a dry spell in our marriage fantasy. Does it seem like everyone else is having a fair- tale-like union, but lately your marriage has been a collage of day to day mundane tasks and the most intimate conversation shared has been about indigestion? You know what, that’s ok! It does not mean that your marriage and your love life are doomed! If you were close enough to all those seemingly perfect couples to know the truth, you’d know they have the same thoughts and trials. All I need to know, sometimes, is that I’m ok, my husband’s ok. No details necessary, but our bad days are normal.

Sometimes daily life is boring. Sometimes we talk to our preschoolers more than we talk to our spouse. Sometimes greeting our husband at the door with a smile seems more of a feat than hiking to Timbuktu or even just taking the time to find it on a map. That’s ok, as long as you listen to Christ in your heart and realize this spouse He gave you is the most precious gift He’s given you since Calvary. And it’s ok, as long as the day comes when you remind each other of that fact. This week may be the most boring, mundane, chore filled week since your honeymoon, but Christ will lead you back to each other. The best way to begin that journey is to take the first step towards that spouse of yours and tell them first that you think the world of them. Not always easy, but it will feel so good for you and for them! And then, stand back with that vase handy, because rose petals may just start to fall from the sky!

THERE'S A FRUIT LOOP IN MY HEATING VENT

Do you ever have a day when you suddenly stop in your tracks and realize that you have become that person? That person that you told yourself you would never become? It’s a little startling when you realize it, but life does that sometimes; stops us in our tracks and holds up a mirror that shows us parts of ourselves that we haven’t yet acknowledged. Wow, it can be traumatic!
I always told myself I wouldn’t be one of those people who:

*Have enough crumbs, old french-fries, and jellybeans on the floor of their car to sustain a small rodent for several days.
*Leaves their shopping cart in the middle of the store parking lot instead of carefully returning it properly to the corral.
*Browses library book shelves and then leaves the books on a table instead of properly re-shelving them.

It’s not that I’m a terribly orderly, neat, or fastidious person at home - far from it. However, out and about, I strove hard to tow the line, follow the rules, keep things in their proper place. And now, I leave that cart by the side of the car, grit my teeth, and drive away. The residual guilt lingers, but it’s not hardy enough for me to take the time to run that cart back to the store. Why?

Because I’m a mom. I’m a mom of two young children. I’m a mom of two young children who is drowning in disorganization. I am inexorably, unreformably disorganized and scattered. And the 30 seconds that it would take me to return unwanted groceries to their proper aisle or library books to their proper shelves is just beyond me! It’s sad, it’s ridiculous, it’s true.

The other day I walked by the heating vent in my hallway, looked down and saw that a green froot loop had been carefully dropped through the opening and was precariously close to falling into the abyss of the duct. I saw this, and walked right on by. There’s a froot loop in my heating vent and I cannot take the time to stop and fish it out. Why? Because taking the few seconds to do that would mean I would have to stoop, put down the laundry basket I’m carrying, fish out the froot loop, get distracted and walk away to help someone with something else. Two weeks later that laundry basket would still be sitting there. You think I’m kidding? I’m not. And so, there’s a froot loop in my heating vent, and I walk right by.

There are worse things: but sometimes it’s hard to remember that.

Jan. ‘08