Writing is getting in the way of me playing poker, which is fine, fine, fine. You made a commitment to write daily three years ago, and this is the cost. A little time won’t hurt me.
Let’s talk about worms. Back in the day, in the Mt. Saint Helens–like ashy rich soil of my old garden, I’d find those wriggly little buggers everywhere. Now, in this red clay, sand, and brown soil, it’s rare that one of those soil-enhancing crawlers crosses my path.
Well, well, well. During an investigation of the compost pile—a foot-deep, three-foot-long, two-foot-wide sludge of no-longer vegetables and fruits—I turned over some brown leaves. The goopy gunk, aka liquid gold for the garden, was a treasure for my eyes. But what really caught my attention was the discovery of a worm. Then two. Then three. And these weren’t just your average little worms, either. These were miniature snakes that moved with the muscle of a heavy-lifting fitness champion. I’d see them and then—poof—they’d be gone, just like those tremors from that old horror movie, or the sand worms from Dune. They were fast and on a mission. A mission to churn my soil, no doubt.
I did my thing again. This time in the pantry. My system for decluttering and organizing’s first step is a no-mercy one. It’s not for the faint of heart. Take everything out. You heard me—everything. I hate this step and I love it. Hate it because the piles on the kitchen island and floor are pure chaos. But love it because the pantry gets a good scrub, sweep, and miracle eraser treatment on the walls. Those onions that went bad and left black streaks on the floor? Gone. Back to new.
Anyway, step two is consolidation. Two nut containers became one. Soda cans emerged from their oversized, no-longer-needed cases and got set out. I arranged everything so I wouldn’t forget about it again. I set Dave to work organizing Hispanic and Asian foods and spices, as they always seem to get shoved wherever. I love bins, so in my consolidation, I opened up more storage in them. My super goal is to have a space where, when I walk in, my eyes can scan and my mind can create from the easily visible items, and the kids’ food is at eye level and accessible.
That might be why, as I reflect on the day, I have this slight happy buzz, like something extraordinary happened—when it really didn’t.
Another positive thing: my stye that morphed into a chalazion is unstuck. In my panic about the likelihood of having to go to an eye surgeon and having it cut out – like I did three years ago – I tuned into TikTok. An optometrist had a solution I hadn’t tried. After all my heat compresses, and instead of draining, it just got more red and swollen, the doctor explained that the oil glands were likely blocked. Her advice was to take the gadget she was selling and rub it along the narrow skin between the eyelashes and the eyeball. Not having her tool, I borrowed Evelyn’s old toothbrush, dipped it in rubbing alcohol, and jumped in the shower. Repeatedly, I did short back-and-forth scrubs, making sure I didn’t touch my eye, and then, with warm water, pressed the pea-sized hardness downward. I swear, I’ve made progress. I’ll do the drill again tomorrow. Thank goodness for that tankless water heater.
Okay, poker time.
Love,
Jaclynn
PS: I found the legs! 🦵
Going On 40 