February 15, 2018
The headlights barely cut through the fog that lay in diaphanous patches across the landscape, slowing the last leg of the drive home almost to a crawl. It had been a long day, beginning with our regular 6:00 am Thursday morning prayer time followed by serving the Wrap kids a pancake breakfast. I was home just long enough to change into dress slacks, shirt and tie prior to the trip to Buffalo and Rochester to attend a wake.
It was a full thirteen hours later before the familiar twist of the road and crossing the bridge signaled that I was home. As I pulled in, I passed the trash and recyclables sitting at the end of the driveway, so it was only fitting that just before bed, I wiped down the shower. Taking out the trash is not a big deal, but of all the household tasks, it’s the one I hate the most, just as Linda hates having to wipe down the shower after she’s done. I guess everyone’s entitled to their quirks, and these are just two of ours.
That pile by the driveway was a love note written in trash, just as was my offering to wipe down the shower. When Emily Dickinson penned, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” I’ll bet taking out the trash and wiping down the shower weren’t on her list, but it’s on ours. I don’t think we’ll be writing any poetry about it, even though I am thankful for it.
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