The laundry baskets are full. All week I told myself I would tackle it on the weekend, after all the holiday hubbub. But I did not know then that I would hurt my back. Now I am strategically walking as if I have a bowl of water on my head, slowly, unbendingly, inefficiently. The dirty clothes will have to ripen.

From my resting place on the couch I can see all manner of chores I cannot do... vacuuming, dishes, bathrooms, floors. But trapped in a body that temporarily is out of order my options are limited. Which increases the urgency I feel to do them.

There are people who deal with chronic pain for months. Years. I am thinking of them with a brighter shade of compassion today. My back will probably get its act together in forty eight hours. But for some people, no relief is around the corner.

A few weeks ago when I was ticked at John I knew I could clean it up. But I didn't want to yet. I preferred to let him sleep in the doghouse for a tad longer. But what if something had broken before I got the chance? How would I feel about procrastinating then?

A friend from high school suddenly died last spring. His family had no idea that last Christmas was his last one.

I wonder if I will remember how eager I am to be able to sweep, and to forgive. That would be a lesson worth taking to heart.