Once again, I eagerly signed up for a task. This time it snow shoveling. Once again, tired and bored, I had not fulfilled my promise. My mother, washing dishes at our sink in Fairport, New York, wears a vivid red, short-sleeved shirt, damp kitchen towel over one shoulder. Her long hair, gray strands woven through black, is smoothed back with a flowing scarf. Paraphrasing St. Bernard (the person, not the dog), she says, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
What is worse, I wonder? Having good intentions and leaving them unfulfilled? Or never having the good intention in the first place? I like to think it is the former. Having good intentions, even unmet, means that there is hope and potential. Thus I opt for the good intentions and at times, I surprise myself and follow through.
There are two good intentions I had in December. One…
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