Dirty Jobs

No one likes the dirty jobs. Cleaning my circa 1951 oven is an unpleasant task. Scrubbing bathrooms infested with boys also tops the list. When I was a kid, I hated cleaning the trap in the sink after washing dishes.

My friend's young son, Paul, has figured out how to get through life without doing any of the dirty jobs: he is going to marry a woman who works full-time and lets him stay home, but only AFTER the kids are all potty-trained. None of that messiness for him, by golly!

We all understand the disdain of the disgusting; the odor, the filth, the nastiness make us turn our eyes the other way and hope someone else will step up to the plate.

I love fungi. I think they are beautiful. Their colors are bright spots in dull brown expanses. Walking along a leaf-littered path, small, red spots of color grab my attention. Bright, happy buttons of mushrooms melt into the landscape doing their work without fanfare or recognition.

Without fungi to decay organic materials the leaves, grasses, and dead animals would pile up and overcrowd our world in no time. Yes, that spore-filled cloud of mushrooms is doing all of the dirty work. You walk by not noticing the important work going on right under your nose, because the fungus at your feet has already removed the odor.

So many people in our lives are faithful fungi. They pick up the dirty laundry that falls around us, take out the trash that is heaping in ever-growing mounds, and mop up the mess of someone else's problems. They are largely unnoticed, but their bright beautiful colors bless me when I take the time to discover the difference they are making in the world.