I’m staring at the shelves next to our dining table.
The shelves that are built into the wall, one of the charms of the 1940’s box we call home.
The shelves with my son’s school picture, the sterio, and the hand-painted cookie jar from my bridal shower.
The shelves that accumulate all the random things that don’t have a proper place or we don’t have time to put in its proper place: coupons, preschool art projects, playing cards, crayons, books, letters, army men, scratch paper, the camera, various Christmas items found after the Christmas box went to storage, and BMX trophies to name a few.
The shelves that everyday I tell myself I need to clean off.
The shelves that I actually did clean off tonight before dinner!
The shelves that, just a few hours later, already have random stuff stacked up…
Why do I even bother?