Spring Flurries

I expected the activity level to subside when we stopped entertaining. Nature truly does dislike a vacuum, though, and the pace has remained constant. What with normal family activities, we can be together--as the term "family" implies--Thursday and Saturday evenings. Of course, those are the available time slots for unscheduled events, so they are often filled by spontaneous opportunities. Like naps.

At work, we continue the ancient quest. Like alchemy, or the drive to discover a Northwest Passage of North America, we are convincing our customer that ten pounds of processed sustenance will fit neatly in a five-pound bag. I don't believe anybody is convinced yet. The product thus far looks as rushed as it is, is less planned than it ought to be, and shows few signs of impending improvement. The tangible results are in my reflection--a few lighter strands above my eyes and a few darker rings just below them.

When I watched the Ed Sullivan Show as a youth, I had no idea it was a living parable. One regular entertainer came out and spun plates atop tall, thin poles. It was gripping stuff. As we watched, we rooted for the guy. Look to your left! It's wobbling. You can catch it! Your right, your right! Good job. Keep 'em going. Just a touch here. Now there. That's it. The inevitable end was several loud crashing noises, a visible pile of shards on the floor, and our hero proudly clasping the few bits he was able to save to his chest and bowing to the audience. It wasn't high-tech. It wasn't even in color. But unlike video games, it was real.

Life does not have a reset switch. Maybe we would all play it a lot better if "Game Over" meant we had to go back to the store and purchase a new copy. But the point here is the plate guy, right? He had to pick which ones he would save and let the others go. By the end of his performance, we knew a couple of things. He wasn't perfect. Sometimes just a touch was enough to keep things going. Sometimes it required more attention. And even he realized he couldn't do it all. But at the end of his performance, he proudly held the things he could do well, faced the audience, and bowed.

It ain't the Widow's Mite, the Prodigal Son, or the Wicked Servant. But as parables go, it works for me.