Wishing well

When anyone in the family has a problem, sooner or later it will appear on my desk where even my myopic eye cannot miss it. It will sit there waiting for resolution, or at least judgment, from Papa who is somehow the last hope of all things broken. Springs and screws, bits of plastic, receipts for unbudgeted expenses, fund raising flyers, notes from the teacher, small vibrating toys lacking batteries. Like coins in a wishing well, such valuable items are sacrificed to the bottomless well of my To Do list in the hopes that something good and deserving may result.