
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, February 18, 1991                   TAG: 9102180228
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A/9   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

BOOKS AND DISHES

I HAVE A friend who's been trying to finish a book he's writing for more than six months now. That's how long he's been saying, "It's almost done." Every time he thinks he's got it licked, something else comes up and he has to go back over some chapter he's already "finished" and stuff in a little bit more.

It's been like putting the feathers back in a pillow, he says. Every time you think you've got them all, you move the couch or pull a book off the shelf and out floats another feather.

Ain't that just like life?

I mean, is there anything in life that you can get all fixed up and settled, and have it stay that way for any length of time?

No matter how fine the dinner you've prepared, there's always another meal to cook. No matter how long it's taken to wash up all the dishes after Thanksgiving dinner, the sink's invariably full of glasses, cups and plates dotted with pumpkin pie crumbs by the time you go to bed.

You can get every shirt you own ironed to satin perfection, but the one you're wearing will still be rumpled and soiled. Dust bunnies hide in secret places just to pop out the minute you've put the vacuum away.

And it's not just housework, either. Memos are just like dust bunnies: You can't get them all cleaned up. Return all your phone calls, answer all our letters, put neat little checks next to every item on your "To Do" list, and the next thing you know, the phone will ring or the mail will run or your boss will drop by for a chat.

My friend with his book will eventually get all those feather back in place. Or he will, at least, get in all the feathers the book will hold. A book, after all, does have a definite first page and a definite last page, and once it's all put together, it won't take any more pages.

No one who does the laundry or the dishes or memos will ever have quite that same complete brand of satisfaction.

A long time ago, I worked in this newspaper's newsroom. My job was invisible, but very important: I helped ready the stories that filled the pages, pages just like these in your hand.

Every day the stories were different. Every day there were a set number of headlines to write and a set number of columns to fill. When the day's paper came out, hot off the press (in those days, the saying still fit), that was it: The job was done; every single one of the feathers was stuffed in.

They may not have been in there exactly right every day, but they were in. Every last blessed one of them.

I like a job like that - one with a beginning, a middle, and an end. Maybe I'll write a book, too. Certainly anything in life is better than washing dishes.

by CNB