In which a stick becomes a root

Sandra has been in California for a few days, celebrating her friend-since-childhood Janet's birthday. She returns this evening.

On Saturday, I took care of my errands early with a trip to the dump and then the grocery store. I settled in for a couple of days of being alone.

The productivity folks suggest that you add a time estimate to the items on your to-do list. That way, it's easy to pick off short tasks and feel productive, even if you're a bit unfocused. My list was a mix of big and little things - paperwork for a couple of nonprofits, cut down a small tree that is growing too close to the utility pole, pay the bills, split firewood, and on like that.

Most of the things I was able to dispatch with ease. The firewood is like that. Some of the wood has been lying on the ground for a couple of years. (I thought I would be getting to it that summer, but those plans were overcome by other events.) Surprisingly, the bark protected most of the wood, leaving it damp but still solid. It split easily. In 20 minutes, I had enough for a day's burning.

Other chores went walkabout. I had some forms that were worth about 15 minutes. They took two hours and are still not done. They are state forms. Something happens to arithmetic when it enters that world. Numbers that should add up nicely produce random results.

It's easy to get discouraged and weary when you spent a long time on a simple task. You can walk away and do something else, which I did plenty of times. At day's end, though, in spite of many tasks crossed off the list, that remaining undone lump stands proud and defiant.

While walking around the yard, I bent down to pick up a stick. It was a root. I tugged on it, tearing up the ground for a couple of feet. The first set of clippers that I found was dull and couldn't cut the sinew. The next set was sharp enough. I cut it cleanly, repacked the tear in the ground, and went about my day. The root will grown back next year.