Where will this day take me?

Coffee is something I look forward to each morning. There’s something—dare I say, almost erotic-- about the fragrance of brewing coffee as I slowly wake up. I poured a hot cup and lazily considered my options for the day: the Zoo, SeaWorld, the beach. I recalled the time when I woke to the sound of an alarm, only to rush through a shower and then fly off to teach “the future of America” ... was that so bad? On this particular morning, my husband had started the pot prior to leaving for work. After taking my second sip, I decided to get my daily chores started before the girls joined me for the day.  The dishes had been washed, but needed to be put away. Laundry was dry, but there was a wet load that needed to be moved to the dryer; another load was ready to follow.  The cycle never ends!

Opening the door to the garage, which doubles as my laundry room, I planned to change the first load of laundry.  It was still early in the morning and the light of day was just seeping through the windows of the garage door. With two little girls and a hard working husband, it seemed like I never got caught up.  It will only get worse, I thought, as visions of teenagers entered my still hazy mind. 

Pain stabbed the front of my leg and jerked my attention to a stack of debris in my pathway.  “What the ... ?”  I stopped abruptly to first survey the damage to my shin and then to peruse the pile.  Damn! I thought.  More shit left here for me to sort through.  As I rubbed the pain from my leg, I stooped down take a closer look: bar stools, framed prints, a box of pots and pans, and a tool box so crammed that the lid remained open. This will all be going to the Goodwill today! 

I stood, leaned against one of the bar stools and sipped my coffee.  The other part of hauling that was beginning to haunt me was the growing frequency of being called to clean out abandoned or foreclosed homes.  The recession came through our communities like a ravaged storm leaving behind a trail of lost dreams.  I sighed as my foot nudged the lid of the overfilled tool box to an open position.  Sarcastically, I asked myself, “What valuable treasures could be so important to justify ruining my morning?” My eye settled on a faded photograph taped to the inside of the lid.  Two beautiful little girls swinging, faces filled with the joy as a slimly built woman smiled and readied herself for the next push.  I knelt to look closer at the picture and began to finger through the odds and ends.  There, placed perfectly in the corner on the top shelf of the rusted tool chest was a small Raggedy Ann doll. Her head tilted to the side, her smile with cheer and her arms wide, almost asking for me to rescue her from the saddened misfortune of being left behind.  Around the little doll's neck was a necklace with a small shiny locket.  Gently I opened the locket to see the face of a handsome young man smiling back-- eyes wide and filled with love.  I breathed in deeply and stared back at the man.  Who are you? I asked silently.  And, where are you now?