The ad for freezer storage bags caught my eye.

THE AUTHOR

Rose Kent, 45, College Hill is Coordinator of Library Media Services for the Finneytown Local Schools. Her peace is sometimes disrupted by her beagle, Scout, and cat, Kirby.

        “Piece of cake,” it proclaimed, displaying a photograph of the top tier of a wedding cake. Above a subsequent photo of the same cake now secured in a zippered food storage bag lay another proclamation: “Piece of mind.”

        I almost hooted aloud, not at the pun but at the absurdity of the claim. Is that all it takes to have peace of mind? A freezer bag?

        The day I find peace of mind in my freezer is the day you-know-where will freeze over.

        The ad did bring a question to my mind, though: If I were to bag myself some peace of mind — and God knows I could use some — what would be in that bag? What ingredients would it hold? My personal recipe for peace of mind came together so quickly that my grocery list practically wrote itself.

        First on the list: Order.

        I crave order. It's what I notice when I look at decorating magazines and when I visit other people's homes. Everything has a place and — can you believe this — is actually in its place. Flat surfaces gleam as they display a few treasured items. Not so at my house. Here, flat surfaces hold mail and notes and catalogs tumbling over each other, waiting for attention, waiting for a place, waiting to be eventually discarded.

        My kitchen drawers and cupboards still hide a jumble of spices and cooking tools living in the same sad state of disarray as the day we moved in 18 years ago, still patiently waiting to be organized “after we get settled a little bit.” And my home office has become the clutter capital of my world. My soul cries out: “Order!” My house snickers: “Fat chance!”

        Second on the list: Quiet.

        A trip to the art museum without unwillingly eavesdropping on someone's personal cell phone conversation. A summer day without the growling of lawn mowers. An autumn afternoon minus the whine of leaf blowers and the grinding of chipper-shredders? I ask you, is it possible for people to lock and unlock their cars anymore without sounding the horns? As long as I'm contemplating the impossible, might I ask automobile manufacturers for just a tad more restraint when it comes to stereo system volume control. I'm not asking for silence, but the incessant din of daily living is wearing me down.

        Third on the list: Time.

        If I'm to have peace of mind, I have to find time that isn't already taken by obligations and activities. I want time to exercise, to read, to take long, luxurious bubble baths complete with wine and candles and soft music. I want that time without going to bed an hour later or waking up an hour earlier to find it. I want a clock which dictates only the essential, like the one Harry Potter's friend owned which had only three settings: “time to feed the chickens,” “time for tea,” and “you're late.”

        Of course, I'd have to know what's truly important to me before I could program that clock, and who has time to figure that out? The funny thing about this recipe is that, while I'm adding these ingredients, I'm actually subtracting. To add order, I must subtract clutter.

        This recipe means I could have my cake and eat it, too. Life would be, indeed, a piece of cake.

        Freezer bag, anyone?

        Share recent moments in your life. Fax 768-8330; e-mail: mfuqua@enquirer.com. Columns submitted to the Enquirer may be published or distributed in print, electronic or other forms.

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