A List Maker

Other Musings

May 14

I remember my dad’s lists. He’d leave them on the kitchen counter, his daily tasks handwritten in uppercase letters. There were also legal pads of items I didn’t care enough to remember – probably something to do with hockey or the garden. Maybe it’s an inherited trait. Maybe we were born with brains that never stop talking, and lists quiet the constant noise. Or maybe lists are a way to feel in control of an otherwise chaotic world. Whatever the connection, it’s been my way since I can remember.

Ode to a list maker.