Tracts
I complete books much faster these days. I make the time during lunch, make it in the few minutes that I stay in my office after work, in the time between after getting home and dinner, the minutes before going to bed. It surprises me how the weight and thickness of the left side suddenly overwhelms what I hold in the right. And I wonder, did I really read all of that.
I was talking to Vivian a few days ago. My parents had gone out on a date for this year's Qingming Festival. It was raining and my mom called and asked if I could push the lawnmower back into the shed. They had left it out and were worried about the engine in that weather. So I did. And it made me think:
They bought this lawnmower in 1996, when we moved to Sacramento from San Jose. I remember that day because we all went to Sears together. We bought not only the lawnmower but also the washer and dryer. Anyway, that's nineteen years ago.
So I was telling Vivian, it's amazing to think that this mower has lasted that long. More than that, it's amazing to think how many miles my family must have walked that thing--myself, my parents, my brothers--only within the square footage of the two minuscule sections of our front lawn, plus backyard. Like drawing a rectangle on a piece of paper and shading it over and over and over, once a week, for nineteen years with a pencil that never wears out. Even more amazing, to "zoom out" and view this from an aerial view, viewing not only our yard but the yards of our entire neighborhood, neighbors and all, doing the same within these tiny tracts of land.











