My day off is planned to efficiently execute the priorities chosen and any pre-set appointments. I write "The List' each week. It is specifically created in descending order of priority which is then merged into an eight-hour time. All are included. Then I make a route list that encompasses all my errands so that I don't backtrack or miss any of my stops.
Most of the days are nutty. Crazy nutty. I always have 50 'things' that I want to do in the 8 to 10 hours I have to work with each and every week. One of my biggest dreams for my life is to simply -- truthfully it could not be more simple -- have the freedom to spend my time in my own way.
Wrapping beautiful Christmas presents in hand selected wrapping papers bound by luscious ribbons with hand-written cards on heavy stock cards. Thus the presentation becomes part of the gift and adds a sparkling enhancement to what's been gingerly tucked for the recipient's pleasure.
Create beautiful cut-out cookies. For a holiday. A birthday. A special celebration. Carefully collect wonderful accents and mix all shades of icing colors to exquisitely ice and decorate each shape so that lips will actually hesitate before biting into each of these pieces of edible art.
To discover the web. Take hours. Days. Follow where my fingers want to go, winding in, out and through the wealth of information in the cosmos. To research everything from Henry VIII to the newest area restaurants to other blog sites. Out-of-the-way weekend spots to fashion trends to tracing a family's ancestry. Wherever fancy leads.....
To sit with a friend and listen. No rushed visit. No interruptions. Having the steam off two hot cups of tea slowly drift through a long conversation spiced with laughter. With memories. Being able to savor tales never before shared.
Finally start on that list of book titles collected over a lifetime. To sit nestled in a favorite chair with the afternoon sun tickling the crafted words as it moves across the opened pages. To be immersed into another time. Another place.
Real wealth? Time. I hope you carve out some for yourself. Some just-for-you space. To restore. To balance. To enrich. To spoil.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Discovering Rima at the-hermitage.uk
I had a recent email conversation with my niece about how one's blog gets promoted thus their readership grows and grows as its own entity or even reaches that magical place called DISCOVERED such as the Julie and Julie spot which became the movie featuring Meryl Streep. How does that happen??
From her perspective the advantage may go to a blogger who spends time connecting with others through reading their pages and in turn inviting these folks to then hook-up to theirs. Thus the network grows and spreads potentially exponentially. When I logged onto to write some last Saturday night I found myself reading a blog listed on the blogspot home page. "The Hermitage" was there under their Most Popular heading. I was intrigued. I wanted to burst beyond the friends/family bubble my writing exists in, peeking into new realms to explore so I dove head-first and clicked into an amazing adventure.
Take a half hour and join me there. (Really. A half hour. And I'm not even being practical with that time frame -- 'a few minutes' is not going to do the trick...not after you relish the first spoonful of the palate that awaits you down Rima's rabbit hole. You just have to go and smile and wonder and shake your head.) You will find yourself peering over my shoulder as I peek over hers as the truck house rambles along the by-ways and hedgerows of she and Tui's adventures.
I wrote to her asking permission to do just that. I received a missive from her the following day, and I quote: "I'm no less chained (or brave actually!) than anyone else, I just chose to live how I wish... we do appreciate the beauty of it of course too! You are welcome to tag along :) Best wishes to you from the house on wheels. Rima"
Have fun -- it will be like your own Alice in Wonderland experience.
From her perspective the advantage may go to a blogger who spends time connecting with others through reading their pages and in turn inviting these folks to then hook-up to theirs. Thus the network grows and spreads potentially exponentially. When I logged onto to write some last Saturday night I found myself reading a blog listed on the blogspot home page. "The Hermitage" was there under their Most Popular heading. I was intrigued. I wanted to burst beyond the friends/family bubble my writing exists in, peeking into new realms to explore so I dove head-first and clicked into an amazing adventure.
Take a half hour and join me there. (Really. A half hour. And I'm not even being practical with that time frame -- 'a few minutes' is not going to do the trick...not after you relish the first spoonful of the palate that awaits you down Rima's rabbit hole. You just have to go and smile and wonder and shake your head.) You will find yourself peering over my shoulder as I peek over hers as the truck house rambles along the by-ways and hedgerows of she and Tui's adventures.
I wrote to her asking permission to do just that. I received a missive from her the following day, and I quote: "I'm no less chained (or brave actually!) than anyone else, I just chose to live how I wish... we do appreciate the beauty of it of course too! You are welcome to tag along :) Best wishes to you from the house on wheels. Rima"
Have fun -- it will be like your own Alice in Wonderland experience.
Monday, October 19, 2009
The Milk Carton
Have you ever had a plastic jugs make you smile? I went to the grocery store today and milk was on the list. It takes me a while to get to the dairy case because it is in the farthest diagonal corner from the entrance as the crow flies. I was looking at all the stuff in the cart that I had collected along my route as I approached the displayed rows of half-gallons, full gallons. Two-percent, one-percent, skim. White, Chocolate, Buttermilk.
I noticed there was a sticker stuck just above the handle but paid no attention to it until I was standing in the check-out line. (Let me interject an opinion here: I LOVE MARKETING GENIUS. It makes me happy. No kidding. Ok, back to the story....) So I'm staring at the magazines lining the cashier's space waiting my turn ever so politely reading all the headlines filled with the latest gossip and I reach down to lift the gallon out of the cart when I hear, "How are you doing today, ma'am? Paper or plastic?".
And that's when I focus on the sticker. It's an ad. For Oreo cookies. Oreo cookies. How smart is that?? Milk and Oreos. As all-American as baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. I salute whoever came up with this flash of inspiration. It's ingenious. It's clever. It's smart. I LOVE IT!!!!!! So to answer the young cashier's question: I am great!!
(Have you seen the new Budweiser commercial where the hand flips the beer cap upside down to look like a crown perched on the top of the bottle?? The cap isn't new. The bottle isn't new. 'King of beer' claim isn't new. All three have been around for years. But someone got inspired to put the sharp points 'up' creating a whole new take on something so utilitarian. So mundane. Adds another fresh touch to their updated campaign. New twist. Trendy feel. Kudos, Budweiser. Kudos.)
I noticed there was a sticker stuck just above the handle but paid no attention to it until I was standing in the check-out line. (Let me interject an opinion here: I LOVE MARKETING GENIUS. It makes me happy. No kidding. Ok, back to the story....) So I'm staring at the magazines lining the cashier's space waiting my turn ever so politely reading all the headlines filled with the latest gossip and I reach down to lift the gallon out of the cart when I hear, "How are you doing today, ma'am? Paper or plastic?".
And that's when I focus on the sticker. It's an ad. For Oreo cookies. Oreo cookies. How smart is that?? Milk and Oreos. As all-American as baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. I salute whoever came up with this flash of inspiration. It's ingenious. It's clever. It's smart. I LOVE IT!!!!!! So to answer the young cashier's question: I am great!!
(Have you seen the new Budweiser commercial where the hand flips the beer cap upside down to look like a crown perched on the top of the bottle?? The cap isn't new. The bottle isn't new. 'King of beer' claim isn't new. All three have been around for years. But someone got inspired to put the sharp points 'up' creating a whole new take on something so utilitarian. So mundane. Adds another fresh touch to their updated campaign. New twist. Trendy feel. Kudos, Budweiser. Kudos.)
Monday, October 12, 2009
And What About Squeezed-Up Sleeves??
Still building on that very tempting 'grab-the-brass-ring-grant-idea' I have a second area of study. I personally cannot stand loose, baggy cuffs around my wrists. Can you? Sweaters, blouses, T-shirts, jackets, whatever. Anything long-sleeved MUST fit nice and snug.
Thus most of my clothes get pushed up my arms to bunch around my elbows either due to age of the garment (loss of elasticity in the material) or its construction. Kind of gives me that cool preppy look and gets that sloppy material out of my way. In fact as I type this entry my sweatshirt cuffs were folded back once before I shoved them up my forearms. Hint: that fold makes a secured band for the weight of the material to rest against so it doesn't fall or collapse back down as quickly. Kind of a physical anti-gravity thing. If only my high school physics teacher Mr. Drinkhouse could see me now. He would be so proud. (psst - back up NOW coz the lightening bolt is on its way.)
Wow. Come to think of it this phenomenon could turn into a two-fold study. On the one hand a sociological one of the demographic kind and on the other a psychological one where we analyzed any phobias or personal issues which may have caused this trait tot begin with in the first place. You know. Like this could be a symptom of rebelling against the establishment rules such as having-to-always-having-to-keep-your-room-clean-while-growing-up or those 'you-must-be-clean-plater' statements made nightly at the supper table. That kind of stuff. OH! OH! And what if it went full circle, so to speak, where these findings and statistics fed back into the Loud Night Noise Study shedding even more light on possible causes of that condition. I don't know about you but my mind is just being blown away by what this all could mean for the entire world-at-large. And possibly...just possibly...there might be a Presidential Medal of Honor for Contributions to the Betterment of Mankind waiting out there for me when all these findings are published and hailed as 'brilliant' and 'enlightening'. Perhaps even 'unparalleled'. (bravo, mes amis! caught my tongue in cheek tone, have you?)
Seems to me this calls for TWO different grant applications. Let's do the math: Two studies. Twice the money. Thus the real issue is why the heck am I sitting here typing on this keyboard when I could be raking in the BIG bucks...and building a trophy case for all the fancy hardware bound to come this way. I just love hand engraving, don't you?
Thus most of my clothes get pushed up my arms to bunch around my elbows either due to age of the garment (loss of elasticity in the material) or its construction. Kind of gives me that cool preppy look and gets that sloppy material out of my way. In fact as I type this entry my sweatshirt cuffs were folded back once before I shoved them up my forearms. Hint: that fold makes a secured band for the weight of the material to rest against so it doesn't fall or collapse back down as quickly. Kind of a physical anti-gravity thing. If only my high school physics teacher Mr. Drinkhouse could see me now. He would be so proud. (psst - back up NOW coz the lightening bolt is on its way.)
Wow. Come to think of it this phenomenon could turn into a two-fold study. On the one hand a sociological one of the demographic kind and on the other a psychological one where we analyzed any phobias or personal issues which may have caused this trait tot begin with in the first place. You know. Like this could be a symptom of rebelling against the establishment rules such as having-to-always-having-to-keep-your-room-clean-while-growing-up or those 'you-must-be-clean-plater' statements made nightly at the supper table. That kind of stuff. OH! OH! And what if it went full circle, so to speak, where these findings and statistics fed back into the Loud Night Noise Study shedding even more light on possible causes of that condition. I don't know about you but my mind is just being blown away by what this all could mean for the entire world-at-large. And possibly...just possibly...there might be a Presidential Medal of Honor for Contributions to the Betterment of Mankind waiting out there for me when all these findings are published and hailed as 'brilliant' and 'enlightening'. Perhaps even 'unparalleled'. (bravo, mes amis! caught my tongue in cheek tone, have you?)
Seems to me this calls for TWO different grant applications. Let's do the math: Two studies. Twice the money. Thus the real issue is why the heck am I sitting here typing on this keyboard when I could be raking in the BIG bucks...and building a trophy case for all the fancy hardware bound to come this way. I just love hand engraving, don't you?
Federal Grants
We hear or read about the 'odd' or preposterous ones every now and again. The nightly news loves these kinds of exposes. The print media provides a list to make us shudder. We shake our heads at the theme or theory or product given thousands of dollars for research or testing. But we don't do anything about the waste. At least I'll own up. I don't.
After writing yesterday's post I was inspired. I should be filling out the required application paper work right this very minute to receive some of this pot of available money. Why not? Somebody else out there did the submission and consequently received a big, fat check. Maybe I'll just jump on the old lucrative gravy-train.
With my windfall I could outfit a lab to do brain wave testing crossing over every demographic category and testing all sorts of people to trace and audio record brain transmissions as the participants fall asleep. Male. Female. Age. Race. Location of home. Location of job. Color of eyes. Color of hair. Height. Weight. What they ate for dinner. Favorite snack. Coffee or tea. Straight up or decaffeinated. The music they listen to. The movies they watch. Favorite color. Leather watch strap or metal bracelet. Over or under toilet paper. Stilettos or flats. Hershey bars with or without almonds. Maybe my staff and I would discover some unknown brain 'thing' in charge of night time activity which directly impacts the volume of that activity. I'm not sure but maybe we could win the Nobel Prize for Medicine. (Seems highly possible and probable to moi after last week's winner. Plus I could donate my million to charity as well and avoid any angst my husband might have --see my 11.22.08 entry.)
What? You say this is nuts. Really. No, really? I'm merely considering the security of long-term employment. All of the multitude of possible contributing factors ~ wacky and logical alike ~are positively endless. My research could go on and on and on and..... Forever! I'm set!! Won't ever have to worry about economy fluctuations or outsourcing. Maybe the lab would even evolve into a popular TV reality show. Wow. A Nobel Prize AND an Emmy. Could I ask for anything more??!
And I would look very cute and quite official, I might add, in a little white lab coat. So-o-o my color.
After writing yesterday's post I was inspired. I should be filling out the required application paper work right this very minute to receive some of this pot of available money. Why not? Somebody else out there did the submission and consequently received a big, fat check. Maybe I'll just jump on the old lucrative gravy-train.
With my windfall I could outfit a lab to do brain wave testing crossing over every demographic category and testing all sorts of people to trace and audio record brain transmissions as the participants fall asleep. Male. Female. Age. Race. Location of home. Location of job. Color of eyes. Color of hair. Height. Weight. What they ate for dinner. Favorite snack. Coffee or tea. Straight up or decaffeinated. The music they listen to. The movies they watch. Favorite color. Leather watch strap or metal bracelet. Over or under toilet paper. Stilettos or flats. Hershey bars with or without almonds. Maybe my staff and I would discover some unknown brain 'thing' in charge of night time activity which directly impacts the volume of that activity. I'm not sure but maybe we could win the Nobel Prize for Medicine. (Seems highly possible and probable to moi after last week's winner. Plus I could donate my million to charity as well and avoid any angst my husband might have --see my 11.22.08 entry.)
What? You say this is nuts. Really. No, really? I'm merely considering the security of long-term employment. All of the multitude of possible contributing factors ~ wacky and logical alike ~are positively endless. My research could go on and on and on and..... Forever! I'm set!! Won't ever have to worry about economy fluctuations or outsourcing. Maybe the lab would even evolve into a popular TV reality show. Wow. A Nobel Prize AND an Emmy. Could I ask for anything more??!
And I would look very cute and quite official, I might add, in a little white lab coat. So-o-o my color.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Night Sounds
No, I don't mean the comforting tune of the whistle cutting through the thin,crisp fall air from the late night train speeding on the tracks near your home.
No, I don't mean the sound of the tires careening around the corner on a car driven by the neighborhood teenager desperate to get home before his (or her) midnight curfew.
And, no, I don't mean the approaching airplane arching its flight pattern in a path directly over your roof to position itself for its final approach.....and you could swear by the sound barrier being broken that the pilot's true intention is to land his baby on the street in front of your house AND destroy your hearing at the same time.
What I am talking about is when you crawl in bed, turn out the light, nestle down under your covers creating that perfect cocoon you'll inhabit for the next few hours and then... =WHOA= This incredible cacophony explodes in your head. Your eyes fly open. Immediately you realize there's not going to be any rest in your oh-so-cozy little sanctuary of soft sheets and puffy pillows until the brain slows down all the messages that are zipping round and back and forth and in and out between your ears. It's LOUD. Wild. Crazy. Mad-den-ing.
Concentrate the next time this happens to you. Really listen to all the layers of noises. What you do you sense? What can you pick up? Mine are whizzing high-pitched electronic noises like radar or maybe animal communications ( you know ~ like bats send to one another). And then others sound like speeding after-work-drive-time-freeway-car-and-truck traffic. I can distinguish patterns and sequences and rhythms ~ Oh, my!! Can you? Hey~Don't you roll your eyes. (i saw you...) You might as well listen and analyze. You're awake anyway, right?
Best advice for getting to sleep? Become the alpha dog. Be firm. Tell that brain of yours it's time to be quiet and go to bed. (Lean on all those experiences from babysitting, your own kids, your husband/partner, roommate, neighbor.......whatever.) And Remember: You are in charge. As soon as that gray matter knows you are waiting and your patience has a limit the intensity will lessen and the level will drop. Promise.
C'mon now. (nudge, nudge) Just try it. I'm telling you it will work. Betcha ya that quarter (read 10-27-08's entry).
(*** Please leave me a comment below -- I love to hear from all of you!)
No, I don't mean the sound of the tires careening around the corner on a car driven by the neighborhood teenager desperate to get home before his (or her) midnight curfew.
And, no, I don't mean the approaching airplane arching its flight pattern in a path directly over your roof to position itself for its final approach.....and you could swear by the sound barrier being broken that the pilot's true intention is to land his baby on the street in front of your house AND destroy your hearing at the same time.
What I am talking about is when you crawl in bed, turn out the light, nestle down under your covers creating that perfect cocoon you'll inhabit for the next few hours and then... =WHOA= This incredible cacophony explodes in your head. Your eyes fly open. Immediately you realize there's not going to be any rest in your oh-so-cozy little sanctuary of soft sheets and puffy pillows until the brain slows down all the messages that are zipping round and back and forth and in and out between your ears. It's LOUD. Wild. Crazy. Mad-den-ing.
Concentrate the next time this happens to you. Really listen to all the layers of noises. What you do you sense? What can you pick up? Mine are whizzing high-pitched electronic noises like radar or maybe animal communications ( you know ~ like bats send to one another). And then others sound like speeding after-work-drive-time-freeway-car-and-truck traffic. I can distinguish patterns and sequences and rhythms ~ Oh, my!! Can you? Hey~Don't you roll your eyes. (i saw you...) You might as well listen and analyze. You're awake anyway, right?
Best advice for getting to sleep? Become the alpha dog. Be firm. Tell that brain of yours it's time to be quiet and go to bed. (Lean on all those experiences from babysitting, your own kids, your husband/partner, roommate, neighbor.......whatever.) And Remember: You are in charge. As soon as that gray matter knows you are waiting and your patience has a limit the intensity will lessen and the level will drop. Promise.
C'mon now. (nudge, nudge) Just try it. I'm telling you it will work. Betcha ya that quarter (read 10-27-08's entry).
(*** Please leave me a comment below -- I love to hear from all of you!)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
For Goodness Sake: Moisturize!!
I have a darling client who has become a friend. She is vivacious, cute, funny, and straight-out honest. She recently attended a high school class reunion. She stopped in to tell me about it and even brought a few photos.
After she had explained who was who and what all they had done she looked me right in the eye and said "I have one word of advice for you: Moisturize!" My left eyebrow shot up, which it has all of my life when I am reacting to something said or done that is unexpected or doubted or astonishing and I simply looked at her in that "Huh?" kind-of-way.
"I love all these girls to death. We have been so close all these years and we stick together like family. But, my word, we are in our 70's and their skin looks pathetic and dry. Lines are running all over the place so their faces and necks like road maps and all the men kept telling me how wonderful I looked. I just wanted to tell my friends to get a clue." She looked at me in all sincerity like a teacher advising a student. She punctuated her message by punching her finger three times in the air at me. "Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize."
I assured her... geez, I promised her... that I have since I was 14 and that I would never, ever stop. She patted my hand and told me I was indeed a "good girl". I accepted her praise with a big smile knowing I had dodged that bullet....and feeling like I should be rewarded with a good old-fashioned tummy scratching or at the very least have my ears rubbed!
After she had explained who was who and what all they had done she looked me right in the eye and said "I have one word of advice for you: Moisturize!" My left eyebrow shot up, which it has all of my life when I am reacting to something said or done that is unexpected or doubted or astonishing and I simply looked at her in that "Huh?" kind-of-way.
"I love all these girls to death. We have been so close all these years and we stick together like family. But, my word, we are in our 70's and their skin looks pathetic and dry. Lines are running all over the place so their faces and necks like road maps and all the men kept telling me how wonderful I looked. I just wanted to tell my friends to get a clue." She looked at me in all sincerity like a teacher advising a student. She punctuated her message by punching her finger three times in the air at me. "Moisturize. Moisturize. Moisturize."
I assured her... geez, I promised her... that I have since I was 14 and that I would never, ever stop. She patted my hand and told me I was indeed a "good girl". I accepted her praise with a big smile knowing I had dodged that bullet....and feeling like I should be rewarded with a good old-fashioned tummy scratching or at the very least have my ears rubbed!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)