When I’m in a funk, I don’t write, in fact I don’t do much of anything at all. I plod through the motions of taking care of Brett and do the bare minimum to keep the house in some semblance of order. Sometimes I don’t shower for days at a time (poor Bob).

But I decided today I WOULD write, because I find writing therapeutic. The only question remains: what to write ABOUT.

I thought about the different gifts God’s given us, or our “strong suits” as my mom used to say. A few years ago a man was doing some painting for her; he was there several days. He wasn’t inclined to engage in conversation, but she felt obligated to at least try. “So, how is your day going?" she asked him with a smile.

“It’s going the same as it was the last time you asked me!”

Exchanging pleasantries obviously wasn’t one of his strong suits. My mom had a difficult time not laughing out loud because not being easily offended and having a great sense of humor were some of her strong suits.

I thought about Bob, what an awesome salesman he is—he could sell sand at the beach. I learned long ago I’d be destitute if I had to rely on selling anything to anyone.

Years ago I ridiculously decided to partake in our subdivision-wide garage sale. I hauled out tables and things to hang clothes on and painstakingly put a price tag on every item. 

I felt a little anxious as the “shoppers” strolled around, picked up items and snorted at the price. I tried not to feel insulted. I surmised exchanging pleasantries (or even making eye contact) are not strong suits for garage sale shoppers. I think they think if they make any connection at all they won’t feel emboldened to offer a penny for an item I put a two dollar sticker on. 

Just as I think another rude shopper is leaving empty handed, she holds up an item I’d priced at five dollars. “Will you take ten cents for this?” 

“Sure!” I act like I think it’s a generous offer and decide to close up shop and call the Salvation Army.

I tally up the all the hours I spent preparing for the garage sale and figured I made about two cents an hour. I counted up my “haul”--a whopping two dollars! But hey, that’s almost enough to buy two large Diet Cokes at McDonalds. Cha-Ching!!