I’ve not had such a good week. Well, Wednesday was a good day, if you don’t count wearing one black shoe and one brown shoe to work. It became more tragic when the shop opened at ten. As the sun shone brightly, the shoes glowed in contrast. No longer was it apparent that I had arrived to work in the dark hours of the early morning – a peaceful time for me to paint.
I shrugged off the non-perfect wardrobe using The Realistic Meter: How important would this “tragedy” be in five years?
My appeasing answer to myself was “not so much,” so I marched through the day.
Then my not-so-good week kicked into high gear.
Upon arriving home on Thursday, there was a chill in the house … 55 degrees. The furnace failed to kick on. After bundling in a two sweaters, I went to empty the dishwasher and discovered water pooled in the bottom. I pushed the start button. Nothing. It was dead.
“Should we cancel the birthday celebration?” I asked my husband, Larry, referring to the party planned for three days later. My stomach tightened at the thought of missing the games and good times.
“No, we can probably get the furnace repairman here tomorrow,” he offered.
Then he gave a raised eyebrow to the dishwasher.
I knew it was cheaper to replace the ten-year-old appliance than repair it. So on Sunday I would be hand-washing dishes when the gang of ten came over. But my attitude didn't falter unlike many years ago when I wanted perfection in my first home. Now, I am okay with things not always perfect and presentable as my home will always be a work-in-progress. I’ve learned to embrace the rain spattered dirty windows and a crusty oven.
The echoes of laughter are what I love most about my home … and my life.
Even my photographs aren’t perfect. Who can get everyone to sit still at the same time, anyways?