Expressway: Finding focus in loose ends and loose change

Feeling somewhat stressed a year or so ago, I decided to tackle four nagging tasks that my busy life kept putting off.

One was to shape the bush of Montauk daisies that lay overgrown and brown beneath my front porch. Like a beautician, I snipped and snapped and trimmed a mane of long stems and dead branches to create a clean, layered look.

Another was to write a letter, longhand and in Italian, to my aunt in Italy -- Zia Anna, my mother's only surviving sibling -- and tell her about her sister's deteriorating health. When my mother first became ill, I phoned Zia Anna to inform her. She made me promise to send her updates from time to time. It felt good to keep my word.

The third job was to count all the loose change around the house -- quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies -- that had accumulated over the last several years. The bagged money added up to $61.50 and weighed heavily in my hand. Depositing it in the bank would take a load off my mind as well as off the bureau.

And the last was to repair the broken zipper and torn straps on a navy-blue tote I'd bought in Port Jefferson in 2001. Once I secured the zipper inside its tracks and closed off both ends with a mound of stitches so it wouldn't slip out, I reinforced the material around the straps with more stitches. It wasn't easy to slip the zipper in, nor to thread the needle. After several unsuccessful tries I found myself stressing again. I took a deep breath and with time, concentration and patience, I succeeded.

I realized that doing all four tasks by hand was therapeutic. Each slowed down time so I was present to the moment. Each required my full attention so there was no room for error. Each needed patience, stopping worry from setting in.

What a satisfying feeling this brought! You see, I was trying to put order in my life where order wasn't, to find an inner peace and balance between my responsibilities and time constraints.

All this reminded me of a simpler time when I was 6 years old embroidering the edge of my first handkerchief and feeling totally lost in the project. And later, as a young, married woman, shopping with my mother-in-law in Jay's Fabric store in Patchogue, where we'd buy material to sew drapes, slipcovers, maternity clothes and baby clothes. We'd choose what was best suited for our project and then go home to create something that held our imprint. I recalled the joy these simple activities brought, how much they soothed my soul.

I put the letter and money inside the mended tote, now made strong enough to carry them, and drove to the Holbrook post office to buy the stamp needed to send the letter. Then I went directly to the bank to deposit the money. Since the bank was unusually empty, I shared my fulfilling morning with the teller.

"And you didn't come in talking on your cell," she said warmly. "So many people do their banking with the phone attached to their ear. It's so stressful for them and for me."

Picturing the letter now on its way to Italy and the $61.50 in change safely in my account, I flung the mended and much lighter tote over my shoulder and left the bank with a contented sigh. When I pulled up my driveway and was greeted by a clean patch of garden, I smiled.

Reader Rose Marie Dunphy of Holbrook is the author of "The Scent of Italian Cooking."

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