…clean your desk.
This is advice I learned from a genealogical magazine years ago–in that wonderful public library in Rutherford, New Jersey.
When stuck, tidy up.
It’s magic, every time.
This little “back office”–a third bedroom when we bought the place, reeking of decomposing mammals and blessed with a stained mattress, plastic antlers, and gun racks–is now a genteel office with bookcases, WiFi, drywall (and INSULATION!), and diplomas on the wall.
No reeking mammals, as long as one showers on occasion.
Thanksgiving preparations were a little last-minute, so a lot of stuff came out of the living room and was dumped with little ceremony on the office floor. Monday, after hours of writing and practicing (but no wood chopping, alas) I decided to comb through the piles.
I ended up making a big donation to the recycle bin, and you can now see the floor again.
I also found half a dozen letters that needed responses. Those are in today’s mail.
‘Tis the season.
The stereo right now is playing a combination of my old favorite Christmas songs–from the blessed first decade of my life–and Irish Christmas songs, in classic ceili style.
The Trappistine chocolates have arrived. They are the best. They are my Christmas gifts this year.
Carmelite coffee, Trappistine chocolate, Bruderhof sausages…there’s an ecumenism here, soft and deep, below the irreconcilable. Pax nobiscum.