"What if I Just . . ."

I think it's fair to say we have established that them is dangerous words around here. Still, sometimes one just needs to keep busy. Sometimes one is just nervous and excited. Sometimes repeated losses at computer Solitaire are just not enough to keep impatience at bay. Sometimes one has a severe case of that Mr. Roger's song "Let's Think of Something to do While We're Waiting" Syndrome.

Clare has been in England the past two weeks. She is en route home and has, in fact, achieved North America at this point. She has a layover in Ottawa, though, and then has to get into O'Hare Field on a Saturday Afternoon in August. I need to keep busy. (Oh. Ahem. Yes. Full disclosure compels me to admit that, in between all those loser's hands of Solitaire, we've been logging into one of the online flight trackers since her flight left Heathrow).

Before life went haywire, Clare did two things for me. She emptied all the mystery boxes out of Fibber McGee's closet, and she replaced the completely useless (and therefore total waste of money), so-called "student desk" that has occupied space in her room since she was about 8, with a clever college-student construction involving crates from Michael's and a table top from Ikea. The original plan was to send the useless desk off to Salvation Army. Then we looked at my so-called kitchen desk.

Yes, well, and ahem again. Perhaps you can see why her desk just sat in the front hall under all the mystery boxes for lo, these many weeks. Stoically enduring getting banged into whenever the front door was opened. Suffering patiently while I found all sorts of excuses to just not get on with things.

Today, it was rewarded.

Isn't that better?

(Before I go, is this the point where I hope Cathy is still reading and admit that one of the things excavated from the kitchen desk is her baby sock kit? This week. I promise!)