I’m not much of a perfectionist. Details slay me. I told Wes that this morning. About fifteen minutes ago, I was curled up on the couch, sipping my latte and eating my dude (cookie) when Wes walked out of the study.
‘Uh, did you know the freezer door is wide open?’
‘Hmmm. No, didn’t know that.’
Wes then walks over to the freezer, shuts the door, turns and says, ‘not much for details, eh?’
I usually do a bit better than that although I can’t tell you how many times we’ll be eating dinner and hear a click click. Wes just kinda looks at me, gets up, and turns either the oven off, or a burner. I do my best to look properly chagrined and humbly repent in dust and ashes.
But back to my father.
Today, I am grateful that when I was 14, 15, 16, etc., he made me do Quicken. I didn’t like it then, and try my best to avoid it now. Too much perfection involved. Too many details to keep track of. Just not really my personality at all. And I’m feeling that there were possibly sweat, blood, and tears attached to Quicken. I can’t remember any particular moments but I had a flashback today when I just wanted to snarl at a computer and command it to reveal all its secrets to me.
But thanks to my father for dealing with the sweat, blood and tears of Quicken, I was able to keep my head on sorta straight and not bite anyone else’s off either.
And that makes it a pretty good day.
Cheers to you and yours.