My Favorite Bit of Paper Cup Philosophy
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating - in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
J. D. Morehouse
On Sundays, I am a slug. I allow myself this. I am a woman who runs at 90 mph at almost all times. I over-commit and usually do not fail to deliver, no matter what it takes out of me. By Sunday I am tired. I don't get up to the alarm, even if it means I have to go walking later in the day or even into the evening. I do the weights and bands, but sometimes I do fewer reps than on the other 6 days. My home typically looks like hell by Sunday, so there is some necessary rehab work to be done. Usually there are no groceries left anywhere, so that must be accomplished, too. I like to make dinner for a friend on Sundays, and that requires just a little bit of tidying up, selecting music, menu decisions and hair primping. Uh-oh. On Sundays I am not a slug. I just sleep in a little bit and run fast in a different way than on the other 6 days. Sometimes I am very, very tired. I don't do "take it easy" very well. I behave like my mother. And that is a sobering thought.
In keeping with my fascination of human beings connecting with one another, yesterday the oddest series of clicks happened. A man in Honolulu landed on one of our company's websites that I'm inordinately proud of because I created virtually all of it. He called me to inquire about services and was pulled to both my voice and what I had to say. He wouldn't hang up. I'd told him everything there was to tell and he wasn't ready to schedule services, but he wouldn't go away. Finally I said, "Well, let us know if we can be of service." He called back immediately to tell this long, winding story about his properties throughout Hawaii and the San Francisco Bay area where his girlfriend lives, and how they have one property here in Las Vegas but both the tenant and the property management company have disappeared and the girlfriend and her mother are here this weekend cleaning the house up, painting, etc. because they need to rent it and, and, and . . . "Well, that's funny, sir. I worked a number of years as a property manager." Silence. Three hours and too many interstate phone calls later and my resume e-mailed, my company was providing service at the home, one of our staffers had been engaged (off-hours, in his own time) as a handyman, another staffer had been asked if he'd like to rent the home, and - I think - I'm the property manager. Bank accounts to be opened, locks to be changed, ads to be posted. And I had thought it was just another Saturday in the salt mine!
In my ears right now: The Byrds, "He Was a Friend of Mine". Why I like it: it's about JFK. And while there's no question that Jim/Roger McGuinn is singing lead, David Crosby's harmonizing is so pronounced that it's more like he's got the lead. I like that I can pick David Crosby's voice out. No matter which group he's with at any given time.
Something that charmed me today: My little black cat, Virginia Woolf, is a needy thing, and I'm not home much. She is known to head-butt for petting and to leap into the laps of my visitors and me for immediate attention. This morning, as I ground the coffee beans, she tiptoed figure-eights around my ankles. As I've been sipping my brew and typing at the keyboard, she's made herself into a vibrating (purring) backrest behind me in my chair. It is good to be kept by cats.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
So, my oldest friend, Mr. Insomnia, returned last night and pulled me out of bed long before the BlackBerry would have. Since I was up anyway, I decided to throw on the clothes and walk a little more fiercely than on other days. Folks, I was greased lightning! The temperature was perfect at 3:00 a.m. - mid-70s. The Wind Circus had folded its tents and left town (although it's now back for a return engagement), so I could actually breathe through my nose without suffering from allergies. By the time I'd clocked a couple of miles, I had a good sweat going and my heart was pounding. When I glanced at my watch, I could tell that I was peeling time off of my usual pace, so I pressed a little harder. Let's see what the old girl can do! Well, it is true that the 9 miles of scorch marks on the sidewalks of Summerlin South were caused by me in the predawn today. I hope there's not a fine to be paid for damaging public walkways!
So what was different? I'm tired all the time and no ball of fire on some days. Once in awhile I plod through miles, never hitting my stride. But today . . . . I'm convinced it had to do with my music playlist. This morning it was Angry Girl Music. Enough Alanis Morissette, Aretha and Lucinda Williams in mad-as-hell form and anyone would burn up the pavement! Now I need to pay closer attention to see if the days I'm plodding like a cow are reflective of what's playing in my ears. If I'm snailing along at 3 mph, does it relate to poorly selected soft rock? Maybe a little Air Supply?
In my ears right now: REM as I work at my desk.
Something that charmed me today: I bought 2 small cactus and colorful pots to brighten up a plain white windowsill in the office. These came from my favorite 99-Cent emporium, so not much was expected of them. Today, one of the cactus has a flower starting to bud! It's only been in the bright windowsill for a couple of weeks, but it's giving a gift already.
Friday, May 29, 2009
So I started blogging, not even certain what it was and it took me days to become as addicted to this quick-hit-several-times-a-day-diversion as I am to e-mail on my BlackBerry. First I followed my friend's blog and then some of the blogs that had intrigued him, and then, and then . . . By day three, I wanted one of my very own! For what earthly purpose? Probably the same reasons I always volunteer to write the club newsletter or to take minutes at the meeting or take copious notes when interviewing someone.
I souped up my profile which led me to other blogs and other people. How many thousands of men really call Sense & Sensibility their favorite movie? It's a big old cyber world out there and who knew? Some little "hey, there" acquaintances have been made. . help me! I'm blogging and I can't stop.
When my daughter was about three and we went off in the mommy van to preschool or some errand, I never turned on the ignition until I saw and heard that her seatbealt was latched. She always did a little pantomime thing to her right, her left, farther right, farther left. "What are you doing, Amber?" She was buckling up all of her 'tend (pretend) friends! The child packed those 'tend friends along with her every moment of life. Not so very different from this, 16 years later.
So ~ there's my first post.
And finally to share something beautiful. I was treated last weekend to a hike in the desert. We were sad because the ubiquitous joshua trees and yuccas we could see from the highway obviously did not bloom this disastrously dry spring. I was starved for the sight of a desert flower. One desert flower. Any desert flower. Once we arrived at our destination and got onto the hiking trail, we were treated to a fairly big bloom, but only on some of the cactus varieties. Not one claret cup (the most beautiful of all) to be seen - it's simply too dry and our desert is distressed. But the trio of little beauties above was a sight! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, and a tip of the hat to the photographer.