Life By The Slice, The column - observations on life, relationships and humanity - sometimes humorous, sometimes serious, always from the heart.

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RELEASED AUGUST 1, 2003

Where do you blur the line?

It could be said at times, and it would be completely true, that my life gets a little off-balance when I'm overdoing it in one area or another.

For example, you know you're using E-mail too much when after a prayer, instead of saying "Amen," you say "Send." My ribs are still sore from where my husband elbowed me, not to mention the remorse I still carry, for having triggered a bad case of the church giggles two pews in either direction.

As I just completed a month long data entry job, the overuse of the computer spilled into some odd places. In fact, I recently woke myself up in the middle of the night trying to double click what I believed was a mouse, when in reality, was my husband’s elbow.

Then there was that time last fall when we remodeled one room in the house. It took two and a half months. For one room. I dreamt my last name was Villa, sported black and blue fingers, and on more than one occasion, wore my nail apron while I prepared dinner.

Several years ago I worked for Amazon.com and was in week six of training, which covered the various methods, prices, and policies of shipping. I knew I was blurring the line when once again; I woke myself (and this time, my husband) because I patted his backside and stated, very matter-of-factly, "We're going to have to ship this bad boy in two boxes." I could have sworn I was packaging books.

Entertainment value aside, when I'm involved with a project, job, or task for an intense or extended period, I blur the line with other areas of my life, and it takes time to get back to normal. However, I'm encouraged to know we're quickly getting there when I’m able to field the hard-hitting questions:

Husband, “Honey, where's my caulk gun?”

Me, “In the garage, where it belongs.”

Husband (for the remainder of the afternoon), “Honey, where are those pens?” (…my cell phone case, tennis shoes, calendar, guitar, camera, and the roll of film that needs to be developed…)

Me, “Back where they used to be a month ago; except the film, which I dropped off at Wal-Mart.”

When things get back on track, it's always a relief, not just to me, but even more-so to those who share my life. The high-rise stack of papers, notebooks, and "things-I-just-never-know-where-to-put" that threatens to topple when the dog’s tail swings too close, at last finds a home. The two to three hundred pairs of the family’s shoes find their way back to their respective closets, making it possible to walk through the house without bodily injury. The flower garden perks up, the toilet paper can be found hanging on the dispenser, and we receive a card from the local pizza delivery person wondering why they’ve lost our business. We slowly gravitate back into saneness, one home-cooked meal served on real dishes, at a time.

It's during this transition though, that I find the most satisfaction. We're fresh from the high of having accomplished some great task; we enjoyed the journey, our marriage survived [read: we didn't kill each other], and the car keys can once again be easily found.

Now it's time to breathe. Time to build an outdoor fire and enjoy it instead of popping in a movie. Sit on the front porch and listen to the kids tease and taunt each other. Enjoy the instant hunger pangs from the smell of flame-broiled steak floating on the breeze, or better yet, from our own grill. Watch the neighbors meet and greet at the corner and chuckle when that mama's two-year-old child gets out of her stroller and starts pushing it up the street alone because mama is otherwise occupied with a chatty acquaintance. And last but certainly not least, to fully appreciate the fact that we're not soaked in sweat, that carpal tunnel isn't acting up, and that the bruises from an errant hammer have healed.

That's when I appreciate life the most.