There has to be something lurking in the dryer.
There has to be something with sharp claws lying in wait for its next prey.
There has to be some toothy thing waiting to devour its unsuspecting victim.
I’m sure of it.

Whatever it is, it is too quick to catch.
Wherever it hides, it makes itself known in sinister ways.
Wherever it lurks, it waits patiently to attack.
I’m positive.

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My daughter sent me a text.
She asked me if she could stop over to get a couple of folding chairs.
She and her husband are hosting a small group of people from church.
She is serving dinner and knew that she would need the extra chairs.

She told me an approximate time that she and her husband would be over.
It will probably be after 9:00 when our small group Bible study is over, she texted.
Perfect. I’m here, was my response.
I had a new book I wanted to begin; my book, a cup of tea and my comfy chair were my plans.

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He called me with a question.
There is funny smell in my car, he told me after a few minutes of banter.
It was back in the days of college, before law school, and before clerking in federal court.
When you come home next weekend, I can give you a Car Jar, I suggested.

I always have a Car Jar hanging from my rear view mirror.
It has to be a kitchen-y smell or a baking smell.
No floral scents or citrus scents for me.
I always have extra ones on hand so I made a mental note to give him one.

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How hard can it be to find a pair of shoes?
I am always amazed at my husband’s side of our walk-in closet.
He has a few pairs of shoes for work and dress.
He has sneakers and duck boots for winter weather.

His side of the closet is streamlined.
His side of the closet is a man’s closet.
He teases me that I have two thirds of our closet and he only has one third.
That is true; I explain that women need more clothes.

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After my scheduled hair cut, I decided to drive on my favorite road.
The road of stillness.
The road of country beauty.
The road that takes me back to another time.

I had clothes and other items with me to donate to a country thrift shop.
I was playing music from my high school days.
I was remembering where I was when I heard a particular song.
I was singing along and tapping the steering wheel at appropriate times.

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Our weather cannot make up its mind.
Instead of acting like February, it is acting more like late March or a chilly April.
One day the temperature is in the high 50s and the next day it is below freezing.
One day last week, only a light jacket was needed; the next day it snowed during the night.

One could get a crick in their neck trying to keep up with the fluctuating temperatures.
For those of us who actually enjoy winter, warm weather during these months is not appealing.
I enjoy four distinct seasons.
I appreciate their variety and look forward to each one.

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Do you ever pay attention to the signs you see on the road as you go about your day?
There are the obvious ones: Stop, Yield, Speed Limit, and Detour.
There are the occasional ones: Men Working, Lane Closed Ahead, and Sidewalk Closed.
I happened to see a sign as I was driving that I had never seen before.

It was a fairly large sign that was posted adjacent to a traffic light.
It was rectangular in shape but larger than most signs I am used to seeing.
The words were in block letters.
It simply said: Traffic light under study for removal.

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I looked out my kitchen window and stared into the woods.
Most of the leaves have fallen.
A late fall, soon-to-be winter landscape was before me.
There was something quiet about the view.

I looked at the swing set that my husband made and remembered the children climbing there.
I saw movement and thought perhaps it was a perfectly camouflaged deer.
I looked at the edge of the woods, that distinct line between the grass and the trees.
I smiled at the memory.

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I got back from my walk and entered my garage.
The door to my house was locked but one garage door was open.
My husband has just left for work.
I was hungry since I walked before having breakfast.

I had a full day ahead of me.
I am not a clock watcher.
In fact, I cannot stand being dictated by a clock.
It is necessary in this world we live in but I reject clock watching every chance I get.

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People are always surprised to learn that I never journaled.
I always loved to write but never took the time to write each day.
Until now but that is a different story.
I always wanted to write in a diary and even asked for one for Christmas.

I wanted a pink diary.
I wanted the kind with a lock and a small key on a satin ribbon.
The ribbon was always far too short.
I simply cut the satin ribbon on the one diary I ever had so I could easily open the lock.

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