Trees

On Saturday I was neck deep in a washer dryer problem that I couldn't solve with any amount of tech support and then moved onto a clogged drain that I've since had to call a plumber for - and I was not handling it well. I'm normally good at home repair and improvisation; I felt like a squirrel that's fallen out of his own tree.

"What are you mad about Daddy," my daughter and son asked when I finally emerged from my projects.

"The bathroom drain," I said and had to bit my tongue when they both laughed.

"The drain! That's the funniest thing ever."

If restraint were anything like a cork on a bottle, I could have hit the moon if you pointed me in the right direction.

I tried what I could to calm down. I exercised. I cleaned up. I listened to music. I did some light shopping. I remained irate; couldn't shake it.

"Let's walk down here," my wife suggested later in the day. We're living in a new town now and exploring when we get the chance, "There's supposed to be a little river down this way."

There was. And some of the most lovely old oaks I've even seen. Their bowls were so wide that our whole family holding hands in a ring together couldn't have circled them.

"Look at that," I said involuntarily holding my hand against the rough bark, "look at that."

And I felt better. All the stupid energy I'd spent getting mad at the things I couldn't fix just fell away like so much junk.

"Trees," I thought, "Who knew I needed a tree."

But I'm glad I found them.