Today is trash pick-up and recycling day for our neighborhood. When my captain of recycling is home, he usually drags the cans to the curb. He’s out-of-town on business, so Private Rogero gets to do the deed. Lately, the truck has been coming way early in the morning, so I slipped on something as public worthy as 6:45 am calls for and made my rounds through the house, emptying and collecting. Noticing that the magazine rack in la toilette (the one mostly used by hubby) was overflowing with newspapers, I grabbed the thickness of them and headed to the garage. A few steps into my circuit, a little voice spoke in my head. Stop! This mass of papers bothers you, but what about him? You know how he enjoys reading “All the news that’s fit to print,” (that highly arguable maxim for the NY Times ). You may think he doesn’t need to read this, especially considering the fact that another stack just as large will arrive prior to his return. But-there just may be some little something in there that he intended to get back to reading during his next reign on the throne. And then my little voice, my harbinger of sanity, said these words: “Consider that this man, this one that you adore, is the most wonderful husband you’ve ever had (or ever will have, since 4 would really get people talking). These newspapers are in part, a reason he is the way he is. Educated and informed about current events, the state of world politics, and all things culturally relevant and historically important, this NCAA/Monet loving renaissance man who manages your family finances with the savvy needed for you to retire before age 99, this man who knows to “just listen” when you’re at your worst, inconsolable, ranting self, this man who compliments your body, your mind and your cooking, (no matter what state they happen to appear in), this man who provides you with incontinence risking laughter, this man who IS what makes your house your home- this man deserves to read these papers!
Well said little voice! I returned those newspapers back to their accorded place. And the moral of the story? The inspiration for my blogging is usually right under my Roman/Cherokee nose. It’s when I struggle to find the words, that the words struggle to find me. I’m certain it’s like that for all of us. Inspiration is there. It will envelope us, if we just stop grappling.
Look and listen. Think before we act. Consider other’s desires. Remember what’s important, love.
Peace and Love