I find that maintaining a never-ending list of things to do, just here on my laptop desktop, is one way to achieve some sort of peace of mind. It’s good to see that I’ve accomplished something, whereupon I copy, cut and paste that job into the SORTED section along with a little tick. I don’t have time, anymore, to make a hand-written list, since my fingers dance faster over the keys than they ever did with a single stylus/nib/pencil point.
Some jobs, however, are so small they don’t even make the To-Do list! Take chicken grit, for example. We made a trip to Hexham, the nearest market town to Sparty Lea (at 15 miles one way a significant trek) for a dental appointment, and added on other errands to maximise the errand to petrol ratio. One of those errands was to pick up some chicken grit, to help keep our bounteous layers in fine fettle with strong-shelled eggs. Yesterday I filled the grit feeders, but when I sat back at the kitchen table to cross that job off the list, I discovered I hadn’t even itemised that task!
We spent most of the morning yesterday getting ready to embark again to our tiny ‘holiday home,’ AKA our future down-sized residence. It’ll be one or the other for the foreseeable future. Although some tasks were on the list, many others weren’t: replenishing the wild bird feeders; collecting the eggs; cleaning the upstairs bedrooms for beloved guests; packing up the toiletries; bagging the garbage and recyclables. And yet, even without the delight of crossing these little jobs off the list, it was very satisfying to get them sorted.
Okay, sure, a list can be a tyrannical task-master. But it feels better on the screen, or even printed off and affixed to the fridge door, tangible, than when the tasks are insinuating themselves into one’s worry neurones. And then the littler tasks, the ones that didn’t even make it onto the list, are like unexpected nuggets of joy dropping into one’s lap.
Err, when they’re done, of course. A kind of spontaneous feeling of accomplishment.
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