• The sticky spot on the floor.

    There are days when everything seems to go just great… and then there are all of the other days. There are those other days when things are not particularly bad, but certainly not good. You make progress, but it seems that it comes despite some invisible, dark force lurking around the corner.

    In a playful moment with your child, you slide in your stocking feet across the smooth living room floor. The stereo pumps energy into the air and life seems good. Then the dark force shows up. Your foot hits the half eaten, halloween gummy bear that has been laying in wait for someone in stocking feet to come sliding across the room. The coefficient of friction between your foot, the half eaten gummy bear, and the floor is much higher than you were counting on. Your foot stops as your upper body continues, nearly unabated. Your upper body changes velocity due to the change in heading – from straight ahead to arcing towards the floor.

    Sprawl, flop, crash, topple, founder, lurch, stagger, careen, totter… aren’t thesauruses great fun?

  • Not done yet.

    It is well past Beth’s bed time on Halloween night. She has spent the evening foraging for sweets. The doorbell rings. It is another costumed youngster seeking treats. Beth darts to the door, eager to be the bearer of said treats. She hands out the candy with a grin of immense satisfaction. The experience leaves her hungry for more. She peers out the door, looking for more. Finding none, she steps out on the front porch. Beth’s parents tell her it’s time to come in and get ready for bed. She protests. Her parents beseech her not to ruin the good karma of a good evening. “Didn’t you have fun tonight?”, her mother asks.

    “Yes, but I want to have more fun.”

  • Jazzed.

    Rare circumstances serve as the context for this entry. Both of my regular readers know all about the death watch at the allergist’s office. Well, for the first time in the history of this modest web site, an entry is coming to you live from home – immediately after an allergist visit. But wait, it gets even better. For the first time in the short history of Kauffman household (version 2.0) allergist visits, I return from a death watch to an empty house. The stereo is playing at “by myself” levels. I sit perched on the couch, with nothing to do. Every item on the nightly “to do” list is either done or can’t be started without “the daughter”. The tragedy in all of this is: I want to do something productive. I know myself relatively well, and I know these feelings are fleeting; not to mention relatively rare. It’s like I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. I even took the desperation lap around the house, looking for something to do. The hamper is empty, the house is clean, and the computers are in good working order.

    Ah… there it goes. I feel the need to work leeching out through my body and flowing into the soft, comfortable confines of the living room couch.

    Oh look, here comes Cheryl’s car.