Enough?

From the feel of things, I'm thinking it's probably time to put away my summer clothes and get the winter ones out of the attic.  But I'm not going to get to it today.  It's a chore I don't enjoy very much anyway, probably because it reminds me of my excesses.  I have a nice sized closet...It should be big enough to hold all my clothes for two seasons.

When I was growing up, I had just one week's worth of clothes.  I had one nice outfit, something I wore to church and to other dressier occasions like a piano recital which were few and far between.  I also had a couple pair of pants and a couple of shirts and a sweater or two.  That was it.  It was enough.  That's what everyone else had, and I never, ever, for one moment considered that I didn't have enough.  It's because I did have enough.

If I could find the energy today, I would go up into the attic and awkwardly maneuver the big plastic box with the lid that snaps shut that contains my sweaters, and I would lug it down the stairs.  I would pay the price for having too much.  But I'm not going to get to it today.  I am numb.

Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of my peaceful Saturday afternoon, as I sat on my screened porch reading one of many books I own, after a satisfying lunch and as smells of our taco dinner were just beginning to fill the house, I heard up close seven gun shots, one which took the life of an 18 year-old boy.

There wasn't enough of something, and it wasn't fall clothes.  The shooter and the victim, caught up in their world of gangs and drugs, were missing something.  What did they not have enough of?  Was it a loving home to grow up in?  Was it a safe neighborhood to live in where they could walk out their door and not be accosted by gang members?  Were they missing a quality education?  Was it a lack of parents and community members who believed in them and their potential?  Was it access to counselors who could help them process their anger at the unfair world?  Were they missing the flicker of hope in the possibility of a different life, one that included a job to support themselves? What did they not have enough of?

I don't know the answer to those questions.  But I do know one thing for certain.  There were enough guns. There was definitely enough of that.