First, we may have to eliminate people who are at a bare subsistence level. Or do they question themselves, too? I should have grabbed that cup of gruel from that old woman. She couldn't have caught me. Then I would be eating. She's probably going to be dead by tomorrow anyway.

Of course, I can think of people who to me appear to be grossly inadequate and yet I don't hear them questioning themselves. I remember the guy who was in my Ventura Publisher class when I taught at Learning Tree University in Los Angeles. He did not know the software (a thousand dollar program back in the days when virtually nothing was more than $250). I had written two volumes on it that were licensed for use by the State of Illinois for a sum that would still be a lot of money today. He planned to charge $65 an hour for his work. I, the instructor, was billing $25 an hour, and happy to get it, because people still thought print shop desk clerks were graphic designers.

Yes, I have met people whose egos seem to keep them from questioning themselves.

Being a woman, I'm more in tune with how women suffer, and, believe me, we can do it in more ways than you could itemize in a week!

• We suffer when we think we aren't good enough. And we suffer when we are so good that others feel bad they are not as good as we are.
• We suffer when we do too much and physically compromise ourselves. We suffer when we do more than those around us and are in psychic pain. We suffer when we do too little because we believe we should have done more.
• We suffer when we start something and wonder whether we should have begun it. Then we suffer when we have inklings we should abandon it. What about the people depending on me? What about sticking to what I started? And what will people think of me if I quit?

We also suffer when we're working hard to accomplish something, pulling ourselves through a keyhole as it were, and people around us are saying Do what you love. Don't try so hard. Believe and the Universe will support you.

Perhaps we suffer just a tad more when people around us are doing what they love, and prosperity attends them, and we cannot see when they paid their dues. Did they? Did they have a period of struggle while they honed their craft and found their niche? or did they just go out there and ask for it and believe and it fell in their laps? That really burns.

When I think about these people by name, the few I know, I tell myself they struggled at another time, when I wasn't looking. They paid their dues. We all must, right?

Does that make you feel any better? because it doesn't do much for me!

People are built differently. Some of us who grew up with the Calvinistic work ethic think we must earn every good thing that comes to us. Other people believe they do not have to earn anything. If they be, they be enough.

I wonder if we switched places, and Believers had to become doers and Doers had to believe and all would be well…I wonder whether each of us in our inimitable self-torment might find a way to suffer even more?

Win, lose or draw, we're still alive. Whitney Houston is not.

We've chopped a lot of wood over the last nine years. We're in our fifth winter of heating primarily with free wood (the last four years almost exclusively). We enjoy the exercise. I get to use the chain saw and carry wood. I have only recently been able to wield a wood maul after more than two years off because of a shoulder injury I sustained at the gym. I missed the splitting. And stacking and restacking (a good way to work through anger or impatience).

Recently while meeting someone new at a regular Saturday morning discussion group, I mentioned it was a difficult commitment to be there every week, because otherwise, I'd be chopping wood and hauling water. He asked whether I meant that literally or figuratively. We've done so much of both–literally–that I'd almost forgotten it was first a metaphor for being grounded, for doing humble things, for addressing with excellence the tasks lying nearest.

Chopping wood…whatever that means to you…

• forcing words onto paper
• folding clothes for your family
• forging new relationships, whether personal, political or professional
• serving on committees, because you're capable, and someone has to do it

I won't claim any great zen insights from these mundane tasks. I enjoy the sheer physicality of swinging a sledge hammer, maul or axe with all my might, often then facing a test of strength to extract the tool from an unforgiving stump. But it's oh so sweet when the log splits perfectly, revealing that beautiful grain and seductive fragrance. Or when it flies into three parts on one blow.

When were we ever charged to appreciate life and its chores in a certain way? Is it not enough to put one foot in front of the other, and continue life's tasks—whether the right one first or the other one first. How do you know So-and-So who said there is a better way—and a lesser way—to live knew anything at all more than you know? Whatever you believe about that is something you decided in your own mind.

Have you just thought of some mind wood that begs chopping?

Yes, my kitchen cupboards are painted purple inside--what color are yours?

I heard an old wives' tale a few years back, and it made some sense to me. The saying was, "Whatever state of order or disorder you are in as the new year rolls in will predict your entire year."

I'm superstitious about some things and not about others (there's a whole blog post right there!). I was not frightened or superstitious about that bit of 'grandmotherly guidance,' but I deemed it a good enough idea to incorporate ever since.

So sometime between a couple weeks before Christmas and New Year's Day, I take my dresser drawers, one-by-one, to a TV tray in front of the – you called it – the TV — and sort them out while I watch favorite shows. I refold scarves, reorganize jewelry, recycle worn socks and unwearable T-shirts. It's a call to pack away shorts and tank tops and fill the drawers with turtle necks and sweat pants.

When I've been especially industrious, I've carried over this straightening up to the bathroom. Drawers and cupboards and bins of toiletries are sorted, thinned as needed, and reorganized into an even better schema than last year.

Sunday, December 18th–right in the key cleaning up field–I amazed myself by taking on the kitchen cupboards from top to bottom. First, there were the brightly colored and seldom used, mostly ornamental bowls and pitchers sitting atop the cupboards, organizing their own dust disguises for at least the last six months. All were cleaned or washed and repositioned.

One by one I delved behind cupboard doors, top shelf to bottom, removing all contents, dusting or washing the shelves, as needed, and returning – or washing and returning – the dishes. A little reorganizing, a little gaining space. Up and down the two-step stool I went, in a frenzy of polishing and making the kitchen gleam.

I didn't stop there. I did all of the drawers–washed the flatware trays, returning the nested spoons and forks to their respective compartments.

Next drawer: sharpened all of the knives while clearing and cleaning.

Next: Re-sorted and realigned placemats.

Then that most horrible of all drawers – the one with the over-sized utensils and the measuring cups and funnels…Many serviceable items were retired to covered plastic storage bins, awaiting a shift in gourmet preferences.

Moving left, there were kettles and baking dishes and storage containers and mixing bowls and glass measuring cups – all to be sorted, decided upon, and their pull-out wire baskets removed completely for thorough cleaning underneath. I won't bore you with the plethora of kitchen items. They're the same ungainly lots as yours, I'm sure. Each 3-4 items has a completely different shape, unsuited for nesting or compact storage.

I didn't stop here. I polished the counter tops, scoured the sinks, mopped the floor. All of this for what?

Because my doctor put me on Estrogen therapy, so instead of caring about only myself and my jewelry and my clothes, I went on a deep-seated pre-evolutionary kitchen binge, leaving me barefoot, knowing where every pot and spoon is.

Oh my gawd. I'm not going to get pregnant, am I? Because then I would really need to address my closet!