Empty the Chute

Don’t we just hate cleaning and putting things away?  Most of us do.  Okay, sometimes it is a good mindless chore;  no brain power needed.  But usually it is something I put off.  Chore, bore, roar….snore.  Maybe I am sick and have to wait another day.  Maybe I will need the shiny reindeer wrapping paper again in the next few weeks, or will change my mind and put the ornaments out again.

I have to clean up the spare room.  Its called spare because nobody sleeps in it every night, but also because it represents extra space and like a spare tire gets used when needed.  Around the holidays it was really needed.  Now I have to put it all away.  Its my junky mess.  So I began.  But now I am here writing.

What happened?  This is a lesson, not on procrastination or rewards coming after chores -dessert after you eat veggies, but instead I want to explore the value of delaying an inevitable task.  (It has to be done so Ella can find the bed when she’s stays here next week.)

Remember when the gravel truck came and dumped all the pea gravel near the shop?  There was a long metal chute (the concrete truck had one too) to send the gravel directly into the trench.  Well, what if a big rock sat there in the chute and all the pea gravel spilled over the sides of the chute?  Messy.  So okay, let’s say that I had something in my chute.  So when I started going through the stuff in the spare room trying to think about where to put things, I kept dropping them back onto the bed.  Messy, too.  I had not a rock, but a problem in my chute. I think once I write it out, I’ll get back to my other chore.  This may be something that can help you out someday.  Keep an open  emotional chute.  When something is on your mind, you feel confused or worried, deal with it.  Usually right away.

This morning I called you.  I was going to tell you that I would come see you on a day called Friday.  Your daddy answered.  I was thrilled to hear his voice.  Really.  But, as we talked, I asked about the weather, what he’s learned about snow, to keep it light.  I asked about your mommy and opened a door for more conversation.  He handed the phone to you. We talked a moment about your breakfast cereal bowl on the counter then daddy was back.  I reminded him when I am coming and he said he’d forgotten.  I was hurt.

Cleaning the spare room was hard because I was mad at your daddy for not loving me enough to have a real talk.  He seems less capable of a phone conversation than you, his three-year old.  We used to talk.  I can think about how hard bridging two experiences is for some people. I can come up with all kinds of excuses for him, but when it gets down to it I am deeply hurt.  He, not your mommy, is who I am confused about, disappointed in and annoyed with.  He won’t even really talk to me, but oh, yes he can give me a list of what to bring from here to Montana for him.  What a self-serving creep your daddy is.  If he wasn’t my son, I’d never be his friend.  And besides, he’d never be invited to my birthday party.  So there!

Whew, strangely I feel better.  Sort of.  But at least my chute is somewhat unobstructed.  I can go do my chores.  But,  wrapping paper scraps are so good for collages.  Should I keep them? But I am not a teacher anymore.  And the grandkids don’t need a little school here. Recycling should help retired teachers clean the closets we’ve stuffed full of interesting collage items. Shouldn’t it? Paper, plastic, glass, cardboard, the library, goodwill, the women’s  center, the mental health center?

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