Albo P Fossa—August 12, 2020
Whatever you were gonna get done it’s time to quit puttin’ off.
It seems more important with age.
Like the laundry. I ran the dryer yesterday. I was gonna get all the clothes out and stowed. Dry clothes—out of sight, out of mind—I’ve been puttin’ it off. It’s not like the clothes will jump out of the dryer—and empty the lint trap—and scamper down the hall, have a self-folding party, and leap into their designated storage spots. It’s about time.
Next? It’s bedtime and we know the TV weather. Press the “Power” button as usual on the remote: nada. Dang! Several tries, no luck. It must be the batteries. Open the remote. AAs: who buys AAs anymore? All our battery toys use AAAs. Uh-oh: look in the battery drawer. Luck! Two AAs left. I replace the remote’s batteries, silence the TV, and off to bed. The next day I bought a few more AAs for whatever other AA toys lurk in the hearts and minds of home. It was time.
What else? We’ve been puttin’ off regular door maintenance. The locks like to know you care. So one day, not gradually but all of a sudden, the house key gets stuck in the front door. With some effort, the key turns to lock and unlock. But dang if the lock’ll let loose and free the key. Graphite! Jill stands on the outside, I cover the key and the surrounding area inside with tissue, and she aims the graphite nozzle and poofs. Magic: the key is free. (Another poof for good measure.) It was time.
Yeah. And there’s this. We know we’ll get through these challenging times. But pride lets us put off admitting it’s sometimes damned hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s time.
Before too long it’ll be time for another laundry.