The Practical Alaskan sees firewood. I see string lights.

The Practical Alaskan sees: "We need to clear the brush."

My brain sees: "Where should the seating area go?"

Which is how I found myself in Alaska realizing something I've probably known my entire life:

I'm a zhuzher.

The realization came when I learned that tomorrow's family activity involves clearing brambles and cutting firewood around my mother-in-law Maraley's cabin.

Now, before anyone reminds me, I am fully aware that Scripture tells us to do everything without grumbling. (Philippians 2:14)

So let's just say I am prayerfully working through my lack of enthusiasm for forestry. 🌲😐

Maraley’s sweet cabin in Cooper Landing

Then I started laughing because this isn't a new problem.

A few years ago, Maraley invited us to her little cabin in the woods. It contained exactly three pieces of furniture: a bed, a table, and a chair.

Naturally, I asked if I could rearrange things.

She said yes.

So I moved the bed.

I moved the table.

I moved the chair.

Then I stood back and admired my work.

Apparently, Maraley was less impressed.

Because after I left, she moved everything back. 😂

Then I remembered the garage sale we hosted a few years ago.

While everyone else was hauling boxes, carrying furniture, and doing actual work, I was creating departments. The kitchen items needed their own section. The vintage treasures needed better placement. The signs needed to be more inviting. The customer experience needed improvement.

I was busy creating what can only be described as a boutique shopping district in a driveway.

At one point, Maraley finally looked at me and said:

"Brandi. Stop." 🤣

Maraley’s garage sale in Palmer a few years ago. My merchandised textiles and clothing department

And that's when it hit me.

The Practical Alaskan sees: "We need to cut firewood."

My brain sees: "What if we added string lights?"

The Practical Alaskan sees: "Three pieces of furniture."

My brain sees: "Three opportunities."

The Practical Alaskan sees what is.

I immediately start imagining what could be.

A garage sale becomes an experience.

A backyard becomes a gathering place.

A room becomes a fashion parlor.

A cabin becomes an opportunity to rearrange all three pieces of furniture.

It's not that I don't want to help.

It's just that when presented with a pile of branches, my first instinct is to imagine where the seating area should go.

I don't enter spaces.

I enter spaces and immediately begin to dream.

Could this be cozier?

More welcoming?

More beautiful?

More fun?

The answer is almost always yes.

And apparently, I don't just do this with spaces.

I do it with conversations, too.

Which is why those long Alaska car rides have been so funny for me. The Practical Alaskan sees a three-hour drive and thinks:

"What a peaceful ride."

My brain sees a three-hour drive and thinks:

"Excellent. We have plenty of time to discuss our dreams, favorite memories, future plans, furniture arrangement philosophies, and whether the cabin needs string lights." 😂

The funny thing is, nobody else was suffering. The rest of the family was perfectly content admiring the scenery in silence. Meanwhile, I was secretly recording a podcast in my head, planning a backyard renovation, performing air guitar to old gospel hymns, and mentally installing string lights in Maraley’s cabin.

So if you ever invite me over and come back to find the furniture rearranged, just know it's how I say, "I love this place."

And if you're my mother-in-law Maraley, you'll smile, move everything back, hand me a rake, and remind me that the trees aren't going to clear themselves.

❤️😂✨

Signed,

A Proud Zhuzher