John got home Sunday night too late for supper. I walked into the kitchen to see him smearing peanut butter on a few crackers I had bought at a fancy food shop. “What are you doing?” I said. “I just wanted a snack," he said. “But I was saving those.” “Oh, sorry. For what?” “To eat,” I said. “I AM eating them.” “Later.” I turned my head toward a misshapen bowl on the counter. “When I serve them in this cute piece of pottery I bought.”  He shoved a cracker in his mouth and walked out of the room.  I knew it sounded silly even before I breathed the words. There were enough crackers to have now and later. Even if he ate them all, who cares? There are other crackers. Anyone else do this? We tuck away the decorative napkins, the best-fitting bra, the good beer, and move the homemade pound cake to the back of the freezer because we have in our minds that this thing is too valuable to be enjoyed now. We must wait until the right time that never comes. The next thing we know, the poun...

When I worked in adult literacy, I realized quickly that a variety of reasons brought these students to our door. They changed schools one time too many, had no support at home, worked to support the family, had an undiagnosed learning disability...the list goes on. As children they often endured a combination of challenges, but I never heard "I just didn't want to learn."  As part of our intake process, we asked about their experience with traditional education, which would help us help them learn as adults. Even though most of our students had left school before graduating, they could be successful by building on any positive past experience. They also needed help managing feelings of fear and apprehension, which tugged at most of them. A common question was, "Did you have a favorite teacher?" None of the students I ever talked to could name one.  Although school wasn't always wonderful and I had my share of teachers I didn’t care for, school was still a p...

Last August we moved to a cute little ranch with a pretty yard. We had to cram twenty years of house into one with much less storage space. Although I have been interested in the concept of minimalism for a few years, I seriously scaled down my junk footprint last summer. (I said I reduced it; I did not eliminate it. I’m not an animal.)  That meant getting rid of lots of stuff, whether or not it held an emotional connection or was of practical use. “You can’t keep it all,” I reminded myself. I separated items into boxes and trash bags bound for a charity or the dumpster. I tossed in books, kitchen tools, and clothes and—with a self-righteous turn of my head—did not look back. A decluttered house contributes to a decluttered life, and I desperately need that.  But as proud as I was to chunk, fling, and heave, I wrestled with my attachment to things even though I know they break, take up space, and lose their shine over time. And what about when you realize you discarded somethi...