The other day, I realized that I had been walking around with a plastic taco under my arm for well over 10 minutes. Way too long. My daughter often gives me random items to hold on to for no apparent reason -- she doesn't have her hands full; she doesn't ask for them back. This item is particularly disturbing and lifelike. So why don’t I just put these things away, do something with them, or refuse to hold them in the first place?
I’m not aware of what I’m doing. The taco is just something extra to hold on to that is getting in the way. It made folding laundry even more unpleasant than usual as I unknowingly struggled to grab items out of the dryer while clamping down on the taco under my arm to ensure it wouldn’t fall.
I'm making too much of this, I'm sure, but now "holding the plastic taco" has become a metaphor in my life for all those unnecessary things I'm holding onto for no reason.
There are old grad papers that I think I’ll one day turn into brilliant works of literary criticism. I won’t. There is a big tub of crochet patterns and random bits of yarn. Spicy mustard and soy sauce packets. The dream that there really is a Cicely, Alaska complete with Holling, Maurice, Maggie, and Ed. There are more important and disturbing things too – fear, bad habits, the need to please, a nervous laugh, superstitions.
So as I sit here (distracted, unfortunately, because the greatest war movie of all time is on in the background – The Bridge on the River Kwai), I keep thinking that it’s time to either make use of the plastic taco or put it away for good. We’ll be moving to another house soon, giving us the perfect opportunity to discard the tangible junk. Now what to do with all those habits and hang-ups.
On the bookshelf this week – The Brothers Karamazov (I’m starting the venture into Russian novels here) and 8 Weeks
to Optimum Health (I know. I know.).
I’m not aware of what I’m doing. The taco is just something extra to hold on to that is getting in the way. It made folding laundry even more unpleasant than usual as I unknowingly struggled to grab items out of the dryer while clamping down on the taco under my arm to ensure it wouldn’t fall.
I'm making too much of this, I'm sure, but now "holding the plastic taco" has become a metaphor in my life for all those unnecessary things I'm holding onto for no reason.
There are old grad papers that I think I’ll one day turn into brilliant works of literary criticism. I won’t. There is a big tub of crochet patterns and random bits of yarn. Spicy mustard and soy sauce packets. The dream that there really is a Cicely, Alaska complete with Holling, Maurice, Maggie, and Ed. There are more important and disturbing things too – fear, bad habits, the need to please, a nervous laugh, superstitions.
So as I sit here (distracted, unfortunately, because the greatest war movie of all time is on in the background – The Bridge on the River Kwai), I keep thinking that it’s time to either make use of the plastic taco or put it away for good. We’ll be moving to another house soon, giving us the perfect opportunity to discard the tangible junk. Now what to do with all those habits and hang-ups.
On the bookshelf this week – The Brothers Karamazov (I’m starting the venture into Russian novels here) and 8 Weeks
to Optimum Health (I know. I know.). 
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