Much Ado About Nothing

Moving is always a fun discovery process. You unpack the important things first then slowly get around to a box here and a box there. I have a general idea of what is in the remaining boxes and there's no real rush in getting to them, but one of my children needed a box for a school project so I grabbed one that I knew would be easy to reassign the resting place for its contents. It was a box of books. Unlike other boxes of books, this was a combination of a variety of genres, uses, and owners. The kids books I shoved onto a bookshelf that had just enough room. The Tai Chi manual went in my headboard with other self-improvement manuals. The books I picked up from the church bookstore were stored with other prospective Christmas presents. And the remaining books were journals. One was still empty. Another was the one I used to write talks I had given in church. The third was actually complete, covering my college years. The last was a gratitude journal I started in 2005. ...

I really need to carry around a tape recorder to capture these moments. Yesterday afternoon Rachel and I were leaving to pick up the kids from school. While I fought with my front door, she waited by the car and watched as our across-the-street neighbor came home and two small dogs exited the car. As we got into our car, she explained to me how she needed a small dog who could ride in the suburban with her. I just nodded and tried to focus on driving. As I drove, I realized that she was very intent on getting this puppy wish. She was singing. The song was being made up as she went along but focused completely on her desire for a small dog who would do what she told it to. I was rather impressed by her ability to perform an impromptu aria and she has very good tone quality as well. Of course she is now embarrassed when I tell other people about her song and quickly hushes me up with the explanation that "It's a secret."