I still envy my father’s tidiness. His desk in the office of his laboratory never looked cluttered. He might leave abruptly when summoned by a student, but his papers were neatly stacked, his pencils laid parallel, an eraser within reach at the head of the papers. A book or journal might be open, but not a helter-skelter stack of them.
I’m lucky if I can find a clear spot to work and a pen that’s not lost in the clutter.
Our packing for travel is similar. I’m trying to call daughter Louise with a question, write out directions for feeding the cats, pack a first aid kit, ask Skus if he’s checked out the camp stove, and start a shopping list all at once. Of course the phone rings in the middle of all that reminding me of something unrelated to the rest that needs to be handled before we leave.
Skus read somewhere a description of a western movie hero: “He’s charging off in four directions at once with a six-gun in each hand and a sword in the other.”