Goin' Home

I’ve made a discovery this week. I don’t take care of any of the little, terribly important items, in the house. All the paper just appeared when needed, sponges miraculously multiplied, stickers for trash materialized, and the list goes on and on.

It’s all taken for granted, smooth oiled cogs, until a kink. It is then that the things we took for granted, as if good karma kept the hummus always in the fridge—it is then we realize how many things we just didn’t think about.

The kink this week was a large snarled interruption to business as usual. Today my spouse comes home from the hospital—“one ounce heavier” the cardiologist pronounced. That’s the weight of a Pacemaker. Last Thursday we didn’t anticipate any interruption to the days of summer. We looked forward to a golf game and plans for a photography jaunt up the coast of Maine.

For the next month I’ll make certain to buy paper goods, sponges and stickers. And then as time passes along and things get back to normal I’ll probably become slack. Then one day we’ll be back on track and I won’t have to remind myself that the trash people won’t remove trash without that sticker.

Right now I’m heading to the hospital. I’m looking forward to sitting on the deck—both ensconced in reading a mystery novel and drinking a cold beverage.