The breeze doesn't blow through shuttered windows

"I'm bored," I told my mom between reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond. There was a time she would have made me homemade Play-dough or set me up with scissors and markers in an attempt to free the artist in me.

Some years later she would have said, "Work on your scrapbook," or "Clean your room." By then her suggestions would have irked me even though I didn't know what "irked" meant.

And now we've come to this. "You'll find something to do," she told me. I've never considered myself much of an entertainer when the audience is me. For a while, I could pick on my little sister, but I think I may have exhausted that option in the late teens. It can still be worth a kick, but long-distance sibling war lacks satisfaction. It's a bit like vending machine chocolate donuts. Put the quarters in, punch in the numbers. The possibility is there, but the taste is off. It's just not as fresh as it should be.

What to do? What to do?

Then things just started happening. I don't know what changed. I was open to one possibility and then along came another. Suddenly, I'm in the midst of a good book The Handmaid's Tale, and my favorite TV show on DVD is backlogged on the coffee table. There are bikes to ride, frisbees to throw, avenues to explore, potential to consider, friends to meet, and chicken salad to eat. Maybe it was the chicken salad. Suddenly the watch is ticking (or is that the clock in the living room?) a little louder. There's so much to do. Where will I find the time?

Here. YOU take the donuts. I'll take the change.