Tag: organization

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A Surprise Raccoon Encounter on Our Home Depot Errand (and a Lesson in Domestication)

Written August 24, 2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Good thing I got my run in yesterday, because this morning my wife suddenly called an audible on our Home Depot plan. Originally, we had scheduled that errand for next Friday—she even took the day off—but today she woke up inspired and decided, “Why wait?”

Of course, the universe laughed at our enthusiasm. Turns out Home Depot opens an hour later on Sundays, which left us cooling our heels in the parking lot for fifteen minutes. Luckily, we weren’t alone in our wait. Another customer had brought along… his raccoon. Yes, you read that right—a live, wriggling raccoon perched on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

My wife was thrilled. The man explained that he’d stumbled upon a litter of baby raccoons, and while most scattered, this one chose him. Apparently, the raccoon trusted him completely, climbing freely without a leash, occasionally scratching him with sharp little claws, and nibbling on his hands like a teething toddler. My wife immediately wanted to send a photo to our niece, who is endlessly curious about anything with fur, feathers, or fins. When we asked permission to snap a picture, the man agreed without hesitation—clearly proud of his unconventional companion.

He also gave us a crash course in wildlife domestication. Wolves, he said, might look like oversized huskies but forget about taming them—they’re hardwired against it. Raccoons, on the other hand, sometimes make the decision themselves. His furry friend had apparently chosen him, and from the way the man beamed, the feeling was mutual.

By the time we finished chatting with “the raccoon whisperer,” the store had finally opened. Our exchange inside went quickly, and soon we were headed home with our shiny new tool. My wife, ever the organized one, filed the receipt straight into the binder. (It came from the gift shop, so the original receipt was already in the mix—hence her earlier scavenger hunt through the house.) I, meanwhile, registered the warranty. Better safe than sorry; tools are like raccoons—sometimes they decide to stay with you, and sometimes they don’t.

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Good Morning, Cardboard Chaos and Core Pain

Written May 10, 2025

reviewed 5/24

Hello Dear Readers,

Today I woke up with my body sending out what can only be described as an RSVP to the Pain Party. Most notably, my left shoulder/back area felt like it had gone a few rounds with a grizzly bear in its off-season. Every deep breath came with a charming reminder that, yes, I am no longer 22, and yes, running with sore muscles is about as fun as assembling IKEA furniture without instructions.

My grand plan was to knock out a casual 10k before heading to my sister’s shindig this afternoon. Reality, however, had other ideas. After dragging my slightly disgruntled limbs through a 5k, I waved the white flag. Enough was enough—this wasn’t the Olympics, and I wasn’t trying to impress Zeus.

When I whined—uh, consulted—with my wife about the mystery ache, she casually mentioned it might be from my recent plank marathons. Apparently, the floor space I’ve been using is less “yoga studio” and more “cardboard jungle.” Ever since we got back from Indiana, I’ve been buried in a sorting spree of my ancient Magic: The Gathering cards. Yes, the relics of my nerdy youth have staged a comeback, occupying approximately 47.3% of my study floor. (I measured emotionally.)

Now, my wife is not a fan of clutter. She approaches “stuff” with the same energy Marie Kondo would use to evict a raccoon from a linen closet. So, naturally, I’ve been trying to downsize the collection. Thankfully, a colleague of hers wants some of these dusty treasures. Apparently, old cardboard can still spark joy—or at least a trade.

The real issue? Sorting thousands of cards takes room. A lot of room. So I’ve been planking between booster packs and binder piles like some sort of core-strengthening archaeologist. My wife suggested—read: strongly recommended—that I plank in her room instead, where there’s actually space to extend my limbs without risking a landslide of mana.

Why didn’t I take her advice earlier? Well, I’m stubborn. Also, it felt like cheating on my routine. But considering my left side now feels like it’s been betrayed by my own ribcage, I’ve rethought my loyalties. She’s probably right. (She usually is. Don’t tell her I said that.)

I cleared a bit more space today, and voila—planking is no longer a game of human Tetris. The pain has subsided after some careful stretching and a moment of self-pity. Once I finish sorting the last of the cards—hopefully by mid-May—I’ll officially reclaim my floor and return to planking with dignity (and less groaning).

Lesson learned: Sometimes it’s better to abandon your makeshift gym and just listen to your wise, clutter-hating spouse. Especially if you enjoy breathing pain-free.

Until next time, stretch wisely and store your cardboard carefully.

—Your slightly sore, slightly wiser blogger