The garbage bag goo ~~ you know, that runny stuff that somehow seeps out of the bottom of the sack and onto the floor, or into the bottom of the bin ~~ has been washed out of my shoe. An innocent tug on the top of the overflowing Glad bag found my right foot swimming in days-old muck; my Croc (that hole-pocked fashion abomination) ably absorbing the thick, runny stuff through its' many accommodating holes.
It's all better now. An eyesore those rubber shoes may be, but they're a dream to clean.
Today I'm wishing that my thoughts were so easily given a wash.
February is "Heart Month," "Black History Month," "Friendship Month," and, so my email inbox tells me, a month honoring several other recognition-worthy endeavors.
In my house, February is "Oooh, look. Mom's Freaking Out About Every Little Thing," month. My rankle over too-brown lawns and filth covered streets presses on my beauty-starved mind. The task of schooling children at home is very task-like and lacks all charm, vision, and purpose. Faith is elusive. Friendships are taxed as people everywhere feel the strain of winter.
I do all sorts of mental exercises to redirect my downward-spiral thinking. I pray. I thank. I thank some more, hoping that if I pummel my bitter mind with gratitude that it will pull itself up by it's taken-for-granted boot straps and cheer up already. I consider and contrast my oh-so-easy life with the lives of those in Kosovo and Afghanistan and the unforgiving streets of my own city.
Beauty can be found, too. A walk in a cared for part of town. A quick drive into the country. Striking photographs taken by keen-eyed artists. Hours spent with boys discovering the hilarity of "Whose Line is it Anyway?" for the first time. Laughing at their laughter ~ no sound compares to that of your own child's uninhibited joy!
It's not all garbage bag goo, after all. While a long winter can feel a little heavy on the trash side and little light on the awe inspiring beauty side of things, the lovely stuff is there for the finding.