Twenty four hours late Earl walks in the door, just in time to walk out again for his usual Monday night Bible study. We are like proverbial ships passing in the night, but at least he’s home and not sitting in some airport hoping to get here.

When he returns from Bible study we take time to chat in our living room.  He tells me about the memorial service for his deceased friend and his dinner with Pat Franke, another longtime friend who attended the service.  I tell him about cooking a turkey and washing my car while he was gone.  Hmmm. What do our activities say about us?

No matter.  We’re back to pre-weekend formation, where Earl comes up with an idea and wants to implement it immediately; while I want to think about it.  We’re back to computer issues, where Earl wants them solved immediately while I still ponder the best way to resolve them.

Basically we’re back to “Do it now,” Earl’s mantra.  When something catches his attention, he focuses on it one hundred percent. For instance, he’s already interrupted three times to give me bills from his trip while I’m writing this blog.

Is this so terrible?  Not really.  I’ve adjusted to it and still get plenty of time to myself. But I will say that this past weekend, where I did what I wanted when I wanted with no interruptions, was a gift. Amen.  And now . . .

Welcome home, Earl.

At the beginning of last year I wrote a blog about my office door that doubles as a large bulletin board. Click here to read that post.  The Favorite Five are still taped there, and I’m happy to report my neighbor finally paid her share of our tulip bill from October 2011.  I’m also pleased that we found a 1903 photograph of Chief Joseph (Well, not the actual photo; you know what I mean) on our western trek last fall.  It is now framed, and I could take down the quote; but it still inspires me to follow his example regarding pacifism.

Many of the other items, however, have been replaced. I didn’t get to any book on the booklist because others raised their hands and said, “Read me, read me first.”  I didn’t make the chophouse salad, so I put the recipe in my recipe drawer and gave its space to a list of things that vodka is good for.  I’m not talking about cooking with it either.

This list includes removing a price tag or sticker that won’t peel off, restoring chrome or porcelain to its former shining beauty, and cleaning mold from a bathroom curtain. I must admit the list has been up a long time without my trying any of these household tips.  I can’t bear to waste Absolut and I keep forgetting to buy El Cheapo for these experiments, since it’s assumed one cannot drink the vodka after it has done its work.

Then there’s the brochure from my local library citing the few hours each day it is open, the names and addresses of everyone in my book club, a newspaper clipping about the benefits of tai chi, and more recent notes from my children.

Some of these newer additions are larger pieces of paper, rather than the tiny Oscar Wilde saying that started it all.  Consequently the door is crowded, and from time to time my inner neatnik chides my outer compulsion to clean up its act.

Instead, I think I’ll just begin using the back of the door and hope that the neatnik in me won’t notice.