Another tactic is for me to get started on
a job of my own. Yesterday, for example,
I decided to clean out my closet. Now
you have to understand, my closet is not all that big. And a large portion of the floor is reserved
for the plastic tubs housing my baseball card collection. I start there and everything else has to find
its spot around it. I did make some
semi-significant archaeological / anthropological discoveries while in
there. I found the four pair of blue
jeans, size 36/34, that were donated to us right after Hurricane Ike. I rolled them up four inches or so, cinched
up the waist, and wore one of them every day for untold months while we worked
on the house. They will find a new home through the Salvation Army. Cailyn was over, so she helped as well, and
she found a beret that you might see me sporting on occasion. She forced me to wear it while watching her brush
her teeth. Don’t understand that last sentence? You will when you become a grandparent. Another find was one of the failed attempts
to help me hear the TV. It is a set of
earphones that are supposed to pick up the TV signal so you can turn it as loud
as you want and not disturb others in the room … or house … or
neighborhood. I never could get them to
work for me. Of course all that was pre-hearing
aids. The rearrangement process also made
it possible to insert a closet organizer set of three drawers. They were quickly filled with excess t-shirts
and the like. Hidden under the rubble
were two pairs of houseshoes. Guess I’ll
have to rotate them.
The final evasive maneuver that almost
always works is to ask where in her closet something is supposed to be
stored. Now to be fair, it is not just a
place for her clothes and shoes. We have
all sorts of things stored back there, from Christmas ornaments to photo albums
to some of MY stuffed animals that I have accumulated over the years for one
reason or another. Yep. I’m an old softie. The thing is, I’m kind of scared to put
anything in there, especially without Chris’ knowledge. It might slip into oblivion and I will never
see it again, so I am much more comfortable with her knowing where things
are. Then when I forget what I did with
it, I can just ask her. Not that I ever
do that.
We did get one other fairly major move
completed. If you have been to our house
you will recall meeting the dolls we have entrapped in glass enclosures. Chris’ Mom made them, heads and hands and
feet and all. I am fine with their
presence because they are trapped in the case and cannot escape and wreak havoc,
terrorizing certain unsuspecting household members in the middle of the
night. Even little Luke, when they were
over here last week, did his best to free them from their prison, banging on
the protective glass with anything his little hands could wrap themselves
around. But alas for the prisoners, he
was unsuccessful. It’s a good thing I’m
OK with these particular dolls, too. In
an effort to clear space for completing our wall of bookcases in the front room
leading into the den, the Victorian beauty and her two Eskimo cohorts have now
been consigned to our bedroom, the ultimate of-limits sight for grandkids. It is still a bit spooky in there at night,
knowing that the wardrobe cabinet in there is full of dolls, there is one on
the top shelf of my closet missing an appendage or two, one in a basket next to
my closet, and now three more that I have to pass right by on my way to the
bathroom. Pray for me. That late-night bathroom journey gets more
and more frequent with each passing year.
Psalms 51:7 says, “Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be
whiter than snow.”
Father, thank you that your major Spring cleaning
of us only has to happen once. Help us
to stay current with our “pick up and straighten up” confession of sins so we
can stay clean in your sight. Amen.
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