Help, I'm surrounded by obsessive compulsives. This wouldn't be so terrible if it weren't for one unchangeable fact. I am an extremely laid back person. I am happy watching life pass by on its endless parade.
Why is it then that I fell in love with my exact opposite, and why on earth did he fall for me? The result of our love was five fantastic children four of which took after him, okay, make that all five.
There isn't one of them who sympathizes with my ideas. I sometimes feel that I have a small shadow following me around. I sit down a drinking glass and it disappears. I lay down a book I'm reading, open at my spot, and I find it placed back on my desk firmly shut.
My reference books get put back on the shelf, my shoes get put away and I can't find them, my cupboards, closets, bookshelves, oh well, you get the idea. I haven't seen my purple umbrella since 2006.
I have concluded that while I thrive on a little clutter, my extreme opposites can't stand it. I really do feel sorry for them. They have taken on an impossible task with an unobtainable goal. They all regard me as their ultimate project. I could clean better, be better organized, exercise more efficiently, look better, get healthier, make instant decisions, and above all---eat right.
No one, and this includes my grandchildren, except maybe Jake, shares my enthusiasm for "let it be". They all want to know how I can function as I am.
The answer is, "Very well, thank you." Sigh. That doesn't suffice.
From time to time I catch the spirit of their vast organizational skills and I make an effort to impress them. To my delight I've managed to do it once or twice. Most of the time, however, I just can't be bothered with the triviality of it all.
I'm not saying that my counterparts have it easy with me, I live in a daydream a great deal of the time, and my mind is elsewhere creating worlds, etc. I'm just saying that each side has a point of view. Right now I'm making a case for my side.
What's so bad about seeing the sunny side? Isn't there an interesting pattern to be found in clutter? Can't you read a person who surrounds themselves with meaningful stuff?
When you come into my special spot you can see that I love to read by all the books piled up. You can see that I love birds, rocks, and my Savior, not necessarily in that order by all the evidence I keep around me. My work window is enormous, not so that it can distract me, but so that the sights can inspire me. I babysit my daughter's geranium every winter, and right now it resides beside me on my table so it can drink in what little sunlight comes through. It is laden with huge deep red blossums. When it's warm enough it will travel to her yard to brighten her life outdoors.
Leaves drop off and leave a red stain on the table until I get out the little vaccum and suck them up. I like to see them there on the table. It makes me think of another planet where all the leaves are red, or shuffling through a forest on a fall day.
Dust is another example. Did you know that laying things down in dust leaves interesting patterns on it? Circles from pennies, dimes and quarters are easily recognized. Then when the surface is wiped clean it presents another aspect of interest and delight.
I guess I'm trying to say that I smell the roses--each and every one. I savor every moment and find likeable things like handprints in a dusting of flour, or designs in children's scribbles on my favorite writing pad. I'm glad I'm surrounded by my compulsive family. They at least keep me from total chaos, but cut me some slack, clan. I'm living for the moment.

My heart feels like it is torn to shreds. Before we were in such close correspondence with the world at large terrible events still happened, but we didn't know. Now that we know all that is taking place everywhere, on almost a daily basis, our hearts are wrenched every which way.

My prayers go out to Japan. Then there is the California coast, and all the other places in between. How about poor Australia? Further back, Haiti, and Louisiana. It seems that all over disasters keep inundating our world. The poet John Donne said that every man's death diminshes me. He didn't have nearly the death toll to absorb that we have today. When I ponder it all, I feel wraithish.

The feeling that most overwhelms me though is helplessness. If only I could go give everyone a big hug and a helping hand. My paltry dollars won't help anyone much. However, my prayers will continue to fly upward. It's the least I can do.

Whatever happened to days when you could lay down on the floor and spread out the Sunday funny papers for an hour of laughs? Who can afford all the papers? Anyway, Sundays now are filled with church, after church activities, catching up with everyone's blogs, writing your own, reading the news, writing, calling, or chating up family, and making sure you're up to date with whatever online social network you subscribed.
I'm at the time in my life when so many things have disappeared and so many other things are new, that my head whirls trying to keep up with it all. I used to think--nothing after that, just thoughts. I could report on what kind of clouds were in the sky, which way the wind was blowing, and how warm the sun was on my face. Now I consult weatherbug.
Without my consent I seemed to have given up window shopping, long walks, long reads at night, sitting out on the porch, and watching for sunsets. I used to have time to be bored. Being bored meant I had to get out the picture albums, or doodle, or invent a new recipe.
When did I stop spending time thinking about stories? The time was that I would think out an entire plot, dialog and all, before my fingers touched the keyboard.
I'm not saying that life isn't good anymore. I'm not even saying that life was so great back then. I'm simply saying that it's different, and sometimes I miss the old things I used to enjoy.
I miss stopping doing the dishes to go answer the phone. I miss the teenager who used to pump gas for me and wash my window while I watched and smiled. I miss only having five choices on TV so I could leave it and go do something else without saving what I didn't see.
I miss not feeling guilty about not exercising, eating right, or being pleasingly plump because I'm daily bombarded with the guilts for all of the above.
I miss the newspaper because I don't have time to read the well thought out stories anymore. I miss magazines, ditto.
Most of all I think I miss daydreaming. I used to spend hours thinking about someday, but not so much anymore. I miss the Sunday funnies.