The Labyrinth

There’s a house I’ve walked by for years. It’s a comfortable house, a little ramshackle, it could use a fresh coat of paint. I’ve been inside and the same is true there, too.

Years ago when I pushed a double-wide stroller for hours on end, I would get annoyed at the owner’s lack of yard work. In the spring and fall weeds from the yard spilled over into the sidewalk, making it hard to pass. In later winters, when the dog and I walked the kids to school I would get annoyed at the owners’ half-hearted, or sometimes no-hearted, attempts at shoveling. The puddles and icy patches were dangerous to small legs scurrying to school.

There were days when I wrote nasty notes in my head, but I know the owners a little, and I know the type a lot. I know they mean well. I know that trimming the weeds or shoveling the walk is always just there on the to-do list, just below the current all consuming project they’re working on. A nasty note might be satisfying in the moment, might even make them feel bad enough to get out a shovel in the moment, but ultimately would do nothing.

For years the backyard was over-taken by not just an old playset, but old toys. A toddler’s shopping cart, a small chair. Everything left right where it was, most likely on the day the child decided she was too old to play grocery store. The “child” who once owned the cart is in her 20s, she probably left the cart in the back corner of the yard around the same time we moved here. It sat there, waiting for her, for years. Sometimes I would see a small, white dog, half-blind limping through the relics.

My own parents’ house still has a set of climbing bars in the yard. First used for play, then for smoking. Sometimes when we visit my own kids use them for a complicated basketball/bouncy ball type game, but at 13 and 15, that’s fairly rare. There are currently two scooters and a skateboard, as well as several sizes of baseball bats, taking up room in my living room. I understand.

A couple of years ago, the old white dog died. Then, about a year ago the neighbors took down the playset and removed the old toys. Then, much to my surprise the husband began carefully laying a labyrinth in the yard. Grass was removed, stones and bricks were laid. I watched the daily progress as I walked my own dog. I imagine this is something the owner has always thought about. Creating a calm, centering space he could walk in or view from his porch. I imagine he said “Well, when we don’t need the yard for the dog …”

At the beginning of this summer I noticed there were weeds popping up between the stones. Today, between droppings from the trees and weeds the labyrinth is almost completely covered. In the same way the playset once looked like a forgotten relic, frozen in time, now it’s the labyrinth covered in neglect.

There are people who start projects and finish projects and clean those projects up before moving on to the next project. There are people who redecorate their house for the season. There are people who have not had the same curtains they hate hanging in their living room for 15 years. There are people who mow the lawn and paint the shutters and weed the labyrinth.

Then there are the rest of us, who despite our best intentions find ourselves slowly, inevitably descending into chaos.

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