Yesterday’s Boston Globe had an article about Syria not sending female athletes to the Olympics this summer. I read the article, you can read it here, with a heavy heart. Really? Yes. No Syrian women rising from the Arab Spring to compete in London’s Olympics. As I considered female athletes doing the long jump in burkas, I thought again about my to-do list for the day. My list is in different places. Sometimes the list makes the white board in the office, sometimes the notes app on my phone, sometimes I consider my brain capable of holding the things to be done. Yesterday’s list included: buy snake. Not a reptile. Though, we’ve had our share of mice eating, sleeping all day under costly heat lamps, reptiles. They eat, digest shed and the kid who wanted the snake is done with the snake after they realize that going to Petco to buy frozen rodents is disgusting. The snake on my list, involved going to the plumbing supply store and buying a stick with a corkscrew on the bottom and a handle at the top to twist corkscrew. One of our household members clogs the toilette at least once a month. No amount of creative flush/plumbing combinations fix the issue. So I call the plumber. He’s a nice guy who tells me stories about out his daughters and his wife and sometimes smells like patchouli. He arrives, uses HIS snake and charges me eighty dollars. Recently, Ron took pity on me and showed me his snake. He told me that for forty bucks I could buy my own snake and “break up” the debris that clogs our toilet. Patchuli-plumber also suggested stool softener and inexpensive toilette paper. And, he asked that when I purchased my snake, I not offer my services to my neighbors. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. He looked at me seriously, and repeated his request. I agreed. No snaking for the neighbors. I made a deal with the plumber, sorry.