It's interesting to observe our own selves and others with respect to the very daily chore of putting things away. Like so many things in our lives, it's a habit that may be developed over a long period, or it may be something inborn, and a bit hard to explain.
I'm an example of habit-driven discipline, where you pick things up because you know the consequences of too much indolence.
My grandson Noah, on the other hand, it appears to be part of his young constitution. Don't get me wrong - the living room can at times look like a toy storm had just passed through, and I think sometimes that he would be content to leave it if he were distracted by something else. And I think that's about right for someone his age.
But when he's reminded to pick up his toys, he becomes purposeful and goes about it fairly efficiently.
And it's amusing to see this neatness in others. It differs by degree, and it's always interesting to compare, and to wonder about the motivation. As I washed my hands in my bathroom this morning, there were on the shelf were the Stridex pads that I keep there, and atop them were three tiny containers: two of wetting drops to lubricate contact lenses, the other a little sample of skin lotion for my poison ivy.
The three of them were neatly arranged on the top of the jar as if they belonged there. They were in their place. And I thought, it's our cleaning lady, someone who has just the right touch around the house, taking these stray things lying around and arranging them in a sensible way.
It's a little like Stonehenge - you come upon it, and you wonder very briefly how it happened. And you think, ah Diane. There are many good things that she does around our place, but among my favorites is her creativity with taking LaVaute household detritus and making sometimes-artful sense of it. Thanks, Diane.
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