Kevin found a tooth on our living room rug this morning on our way out to Lowe's (ironically, to buy a new living room rug).  We immediately realized that, since this tooth did not belong to either of us, it belonged to one of our feline family members.  Upon close (and fearful) examination of both of our cats, we confirmed the that tooth in question once belonged to Sophie.  We have no idea when it came out because she wasn't acting funny at all.  She looked happy to have her belly rubbed and lay in the pool of sunshine collecting on our bed.  I immediately tried to recall the last time she had a vet trip--some time last year? I remember Kevin's report that the vet mentioned gum or teeth problems.  Was it gums?  Was it teeth?  Had it really been that long since we'd taken her in?  I felt like a complete and utter failure.  How could we have let this happen?

Teeth are a big anxiety thing for me in both a literal and figurative sense.  Thanks to the awesomness of genes, I have inherited bad teeth from my father.  I've had plenty of fillings and a few more brushes with potential root canals than I'd care to admit.  In fact, I think it's a special kind of uncanny that I have a dental appointment of my own this week to fix 3 cavaties and put a crown on a tooth that was improperly "saved" from a root canal about 5 years ago.  My blood pressure rises just thinking about it.

Teeth also play a pretty important role in my subconcious.  When I'm feeling stressed or anxious in my waking hours, it is not at all uncommon for me to have horrible dreams where my jaw locks and my teeth suddenly turn to dust or worse yet--they actually crumble in my mouth so I end up literally grinding my broken crushed teeth and choking on them.  Most unpleasant, I know. I know you can imagine my horror and complete disgust to realize something so utterly dream like had actually taken place.  It was as if we'd found my own tooth on the rug.  I held back tears as we stood in line at the store with a case of soft, canned, cat food to offer until we get her to the vet this week.

The thing is this:  stuff happens.  If anything, this is an all too vivid reminder not to take things for granted, that life works best when you work at it.  There are lots of parts of my life that would be better if I paid better and constant attention and care to them.  But the thing to remember here too, is that there are no guarantees.  All we can be expected to do in this life is try the hardest we can,  learn from the consequences, and hold strong in the face of whatever negative comes our way.   In the end, the truth (and the tooth) will set you free.

What is it about rearranging furniture that makes us feel so much more in control of our lives, better about our living space, and just more...revived?  Today, during a grocery list-making pow-wow, Kevin decided to rearrange the furniture in our living room.This kind of behaviour can be overwhelming and, if I'm being honest, quite maddening.  I mean, I just want to decide what groceries we need for dinner!  Still, Kevin  charmed me against my will and before I knew it, I had cast the grocery list aside and was agonizing over the exact position of the loveseat, couch, and house plants.  I don't know why we attempt to rearrange things.  One of us usually ends up beyond frustrated and the other one of us usually ends up saying such things like "Ok.  Clearly you are crazy so I'm going to get away from you." 

Thing is, rearranging is important.  It's necessary.  It's healthy to take a critical eye to the day-to-day in our lives and make sure things still...work.  But by God, is it frustrating!  I get easily frustrated and overwhelmed by change.  I get frustrated because, while all the right elements are in play, I'm reminded that they could be better.  Our couches could be in better condition.  Our rug is too small for our living room. Nothing we have really matches.  I get upset that we don't do more housekeeping, that almost everything we own is dusty, or covered in cat hair.   I feel inadequate, lazy, and ashamed.  I'm not proud of feeling this way, which makes things worse.  Leave it up to me to feel bad for feeling bad, right?  But I digress.

I guess the whole point of this is that change isn't always pleasant or easy, but it's still good.  It's what forces us forward.  It reminds us where we've been and how far we've come.  It's what makes us start saving for that new {insert thing you want here}, gives us new perspective, and helps us realize we deserve to give ourselves a break every now and again. 

As for me, the living room certainly won't be the only change that is headed my way in the coming months.  I've got new projects ahead of me and new landscapes to explore. The ol' twenty-ten won't be a dull year, that's for sure and that usually means change.  Some of it I know I will love, and some of it I know I won't.  Regardless, change will still keep on keepin' on.  So, while I'm not exactly going to offer it a tall glass of milk and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies I can't necessarily lock all the doors and pretend I'm not home either. I just have to shift my perspective from time to time and have faith that it will all be ok in the end.