There’s a little hole in my backyard where Buddy Rivers, many years ago, attempted to bury a bone from the other German Shepherds in his pack. This little hole is between my front door and places I wish to go. If I’m headed to the garage or the tool shed or to lock the front gate, this tiny hole is right in my path. I guess, maybe half of the time, I trip over it and either stumble or fall, often in the darkness.
Now this is all pretty dumb on my part, because all it would take for me to fix it is to, in daylight, take a couple buckets of loose dirt and fill the dang hole. Problem is, when it’s the ideal time to get this little chore done, my mind is on other things and, after all, it’s just a little hole.
Last night, walking out to close the front gate, I tripped and fell once again. I’m sitting there on the ground, rubbing my sore elbow and cussing at myself. I’m thinking how often in my long life I’m guilty of not doing the little things to make my life safer and simpler, things like renewing my license plate on time, changing the oil in my car, balancing my checking account and on and on.
As soon as I finish this blog, I’m going to fill in that hole. But, first, I might fix myself a cheese sandwich and check out the football scores.