December 8, 2016 by Ray Yanek
Outside my window, flurries are falling. Not very hard. I have to search the gray sky to find them. I have to wait until they drift in front of the dark branches of the trees. So much needs to be done today; so many things are vying for my attention, but I can’t seem to get any of them done.
My wife is at the hardware store picking out wood stain for a pallet wall we will build in the basement we are finishing. So much goes into a project like that. So many things to figure out and decide. It’s like writing a story, or creating a fictional world, in that every tiny element becomes important. The wrong color or detail, texture or nail, could throw the whole program out of whack.
We are carpeting the floor in the living area, though. We are purchasing an electric fireplace to warm the room on days like this.
My daughter took the ASVAB test, the Armed Forces Vocational Aptitude Battery, and she scored high. Very high. High enough, many people have told us that she could go in and have her pick of jobs, that she could punch her own ticket and do anything she dreams of.
I’ve always known she could do that.
My wife always thought our daughter would go and play softball and finish her Associate’s Degree at the local community college and then transfer. I always hoped that she would go directly to a four-year university.
Today, while the flurries fell outside my window, my daughter wrote me an email to her counselor asking her for information regarding what she would have to do in order to receive her Associate’s degree before graduating high school because it would ‘greatly help her military career.’
She’s only a sophomore.
I need to finish this basement, so she can have a place to hangout with her friends. I need to finish this basement soon, because really, she’ll only probably really use it for the next 2 ½ years.
Outside, flurries are still falling. I still have to search the grayness to find them, but they are there.
There is so much I need to do today; so much that needs to get accomplished, but my attention keeps going to the window and the flurried outside. To merely sit and watch seems like the right thing to do. It feels like what I should be doing, no matter what I keep saying I need to do. There is a magic in those invisible lines that pull you in ways you never imagines– a mystery that is awe inspiring and wonderful.
I’ll have to remember that when we put the stain on the pallets. I’ll have to remember that the wood will decide what stain it will take, not me, not my wife. It’s the wood that knows far, far better then we do what shade will make it the most beautiful.