I take great pleasure in organization. I can hear you now. "Are you a freak?" I like things in my life ordered and in their place. You can imagine my shock when those around me don't always play into my view of life. Don't get me wrong. I like the occasional spur-of-the-moment, fly by the seat of your pants plan changes. But it isn't my number one thing to do. I find things happier when they are written on a pad before hand.
My life, especially now, seldom falls into my ordered view. Since my mother's death in November, my dad, now a widower after 43 years, finds himself alone most days. He lives 30 miles away, so not terribly far, but with a full time job, I can't be there every minute. Winter was hard for him. I was told by my pastor that my father was the quentissential Indiana man. Hard working, tough on the outside, wry sense of folksie humor, loves to work with his hands and work outside. After working nearly 60 of his 75 years in one factory or another, hobbies were a luxury he didn't enjoy or pursue. So sitting alone in a house still heavy with my mom's presence, her smell, her sense of decor, has been difficult. Spring is blooming, so life is looking up for him as he has things to occupy his time. But the grief is still there, the pain just under the surface, ready to break through like a plant bursting through the ground to grow into the spring air.
Hardly an organized situation, is it?
I daily rethink my organization theory of life.
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