By Janice Six

I’m not one who’s prone to procrastination, but right now I’m stuck. Maybe it has something to do with the pile of snow outside my door that hasn’t budged since it moved in late Friday night. This is day six. It’s still here, hiding in the corner where the sun doesn’t shine. This means there’s a good chance it’ll still be here several days from now. I welcomed its arrival last week, but now that the rest of the snow is disappearing, it’s time for it to go. I could shovel it out into the sunlight, but that would require more effort than I’m willing to exert. 

Yes, I admit that I’m procrastinating, but to my credit, I did wipe the dust from the ceiling fan blades yesterday, which means I had to get the step ladder and climb up all three steps. Of course, anyone who’s ever cleaned ceiling fan blades knows that climbing the step ladder is the easy part. The true challenge is raking the dust off the top of the blade before it moves out of reach. (Yes, the fan is off, but it still turns no matter how gently you try to dust it.) I estimate it took three revolutions to knock enough of the dust from all four blades so that I no longer notice it as I sit in at my desk. Sitting at my desk isn’t always a sign of procrastination, but today it is. 

A pile of books begs to be read or reshelved. A stack of papers that need to be filed or tossed sits at the edge of the desk, proving to be as resistant to moving as the snow outside my door. They too, are reminders that procrastination has set in. There is much I could be doing—however, like the snow, I just want to linger a little longer, doing nothing until the sun melts the melancholy that has blanketed my spirit. 

I glance up and on the wall is a line-drawing my daughter did for me a few years ago. It’s of a small sewing cabinet, piled with books and atop the books is balanced a relic of the past: a portable TV with “rabbit ears.” The stack gets more absurd as it grows. On top of the TV are symbols of things that represent me: a church pew, a vase of flowers, a bird’s nest, an old-fashioned alarm clock, and to top it off, a teetering house. Musing over the drawing calls to mind the song “My Favorite Things,” from “The Sound of Music.”  When I was a child, I enjoyed playing it on the piano. I still have the piano and the bench—literally less than a few feet from where I’m sitting. I wonder if I still have the music book. If so, it would be in the bench. My curiosity is stirred, so I get up and go to the piano. 

I move another stack of books and swipe away more dust—both having gathered on the bench—evidence that it’s been a while since I’ve sat at the piano. Raising the bench seat to look inside, I see it!  Not only do I find the book, but it’s opened to “My Favorite Things. ” I smile as I spot the colorful kitty sticker on the corner of the page. My piano teacher had written, “June 23,”  indicating that’s when I successfully played it–sometime back in the ’60s. “Play it,” a small voice sounds in my head. I take my seat at the piano. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to play. I position my hands on the keyboard and slowly play the first few notes. The sound sparks a warm sensation inside of me. When I near the end of the song, I realize that the lyrics are speaking directly to me: “…when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel so bad.”  

I had forgotten how it feels to make music—even as simple as this. It didn’t even matter when I hit wrong notes or that I was playing at half the tempo. It was exhilarating and relaxing at the same time! Why did I ever stop playing?  I continued playing until I had played every song in the book. My spirit was revived! I had rediscovered the solace and inspiration that comes from making music. Ironically, procrastination proved to be productive! Had I not been procrastinating I might have missed the moment. Maybe snow that sticks around too long isn’t so bad after all.

Janice Six is a retired minister at First Central Presbyterian Church. She has written two books, Confessions of a Female Pastor and Other Prayers of the People, and Life Lessons for Littles .