I worked with a woman some years ago that had a little sign over her desk that had printed on it: “Of all the things I’ve ever lost, I miss my mind the most.” After working with her for a while, my thought was she may not have been kidding.
I worked in that arena, a large school of higher education, for a couple of years before I understood why she would say that…but since then, I have decided my mind is not lost, but goes visiting so often I no longer miss it when its gone.
I am not implying my responsibilities are of such menial, mundane levels or lack of import they require little or no thought—for surely that is not true. It is just that after doing the same things for so long, I can accomplish many of my daily tasks by rote (mechanical repetition of something so that it is remembered, often without real understanding of its meaning or significance). Much of the work I do is programmed into my entire cellular structure not just my gray matter. My complete physical and psychological composition is permeated or saturated with it. At times it seems the keyboard and calculator are extensions of my hands. (Kind of an Edward Scissorhand symptom or situation). So my mind is free to wander, visit elsewhere, or just stay abed if it so chooses. My body, unfortunately, is seldom allowed the same luxury. (Hmmm…just a thought, if I could get my mind to go to work and leave my body abed…..Hmmm Guess that can’t be done—stuff of Sci-Fi movies.)
I am sitting here looking at my 19” flat-screen monitor trying to decide if my brain is indeed up and thinking or if it is still abed. I know it is not visiting some far away place or situation or it would send me pictures occasionally to add insult to injury by letting me know of what I missing out by being at work.
Insert disclaimer scenario here: You are, probably, aghast that I am blogging from my desk at work…well, just calm down. I am not stealing hours or money by doing personal tasks on my boss’s time. You see, I work from home, I am the boss, and I am doing this on my break time—or as I like to call it—my respite time.
Okay, now that I have that established, my mind must have come to work with me this morning…so I conquer. But, the day isn’t over…so I will report back when I am through with my work.
The work day is over. I have been to a new restaurant serving Indian cuisine. The food was excellent. I am back.
Have you ever played the game “Conquer or Consequences?” No? All right, you have me there. I have never played that game either. But it sounds good. In all truth, though…there is not a board game, or a TV show, or any other game called Conquer or Consequences…the fact is this concept is called Life…as in mortality, day-to-day rat race, etc. My mother used a mind-game phrase once in a while when I wanted to do something for which she wouldn’t say no, but she wouldn’t say yes, either.
“Do whatever you want to,” she would say. “But you will pay the consequences.”
Well, isn’t that always the case? No matter what our decision, good or bad, wise or foolish, we will pay the consequences. That doesn’t always mean bad things will happen. Sometimes the consequences of our actions are rewards, not punishments. But when parents use that psychology…the implication is something bad will take possession of your soul if you follow your desires and you will be cast into hell for ever—or you will have to do dishes every night for the rest of your life! Whichever punishment the parent deems worst.
So today I conquer. My work was shared on whatever ratio was needed with brain and body both pulling their weight. I accomplished many things which I “have been meaning” to undertake (—the old “road to hell…paved with good intentions rule applies here). I have filed all the things which I have been piling for weeks…my philosophy…pile it until you have time to file it….my piles were heaps, my desk had disappeared except for the lower drawers and the legs. Much of my floor space had started to look like a garbage heap…but today my desk is clean. My floor is actually showing the new red carpet, and I can find things again, such as my stapler, my printer, and my mouse pad.
Yep, today I conquer, but will my brain desert me another day? In the words of Scarlett O’Hara Butler “…tomorrow is another day….I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Now playing at a theatre near you...
I have decided not to go see the movie now playing at my local movie theater entitled, "Why Did I Get Married, Too?" The reason is not that I do not think I would like the movie…I enjoy some of Tyler Perry's work...but the fact is I have been asking myself this very question as of late.
I was married, the first time, at the tender young age of 17...I thought, somewhere in the back of my young brain, that I was a very sophisticated, worldly--young, but nonetheless, woman. What I found out rather quickly into this quicksand-type situation was that, in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. I was being engulfed in a murky trap and suffocated….I had to fight to walk, to talk, to survive.
Now, many years later, I find that I am somewhat more mature—biologically and emotionally...but not a lot more "worldly" and probably not a whole lot wiser, for the most part, either.
I went to work to support myself when I was but 13 years old...yep, I lied about my age and got away with it for a while...when I could no longer get away with it in one place, I moved to another job. I was 15 and claimed to 18. One of my older brothers help me lie my way into a bigger and better paying job as a grill cook for a local hamburger chain (I had been a carhop in another hamburger chain—in the days when “curb service” was common.)
Working in hamburger joints exposed me to many things in life my parents never told me about. At 16, I met a man who thought I was 18...We dated, he fell in love and when I was 17--we married. We had been married for oh, at least a week, when I figured out I was still a little girl in a grown body that was fearful and lacking in the ability to successfully make a life and home on an adult level. All the things I had learned at the hands of mouthy, trashy, co-workers; and my brief exposure to bawdy women and crude men in a nightclub as a result of such associations were only part of the slimy underbelly of life that provided no base for emotional maturity. I knew nothing of what I needed to be a contributing individual with the feeling of any positive self worth.
It wasn’t until I got much older that I understood the self-worth thing…the “hind sight” phenomenon kicked in and I realized I had never grasped from a seedling that I was someone of worth. Even a seemingly insignificant acorn can become a mighty oak if not crushed under a heavy heel before given a chance…I was nearly as the unlucky acorn….I was almost never given a chance. 2B continued.
I was married, the first time, at the tender young age of 17...I thought, somewhere in the back of my young brain, that I was a very sophisticated, worldly--young, but nonetheless, woman. What I found out rather quickly into this quicksand-type situation was that, in fact, nothing could have been further from the truth. I was being engulfed in a murky trap and suffocated….I had to fight to walk, to talk, to survive.
Now, many years later, I find that I am somewhat more mature—biologically and emotionally...but not a lot more "worldly" and probably not a whole lot wiser, for the most part, either.
I went to work to support myself when I was but 13 years old...yep, I lied about my age and got away with it for a while...when I could no longer get away with it in one place, I moved to another job. I was 15 and claimed to 18. One of my older brothers help me lie my way into a bigger and better paying job as a grill cook for a local hamburger chain (I had been a carhop in another hamburger chain—in the days when “curb service” was common.)
Working in hamburger joints exposed me to many things in life my parents never told me about. At 16, I met a man who thought I was 18...We dated, he fell in love and when I was 17--we married. We had been married for oh, at least a week, when I figured out I was still a little girl in a grown body that was fearful and lacking in the ability to successfully make a life and home on an adult level. All the things I had learned at the hands of mouthy, trashy, co-workers; and my brief exposure to bawdy women and crude men in a nightclub as a result of such associations were only part of the slimy underbelly of life that provided no base for emotional maturity. I knew nothing of what I needed to be a contributing individual with the feeling of any positive self worth.
It wasn’t until I got much older that I understood the self-worth thing…the “hind sight” phenomenon kicked in and I realized I had never grasped from a seedling that I was someone of worth. Even a seemingly insignificant acorn can become a mighty oak if not crushed under a heavy heel before given a chance…I was nearly as the unlucky acorn….I was almost never given a chance. 2B continued.
The author--About me
Born in a small southern town in the Florida panhandle, population 1203…then it was 1204. I was the third daughter born to my parents. When I was but three weeks old, however, my family relocated in Central Florida in hopes of more work, higher wages, and a better way of life.
My father was a farmer, a well-accomplished carpenter, a song writer (but that is a totally different story), and a clown--I must have learned my humor from him. My mother was a housewife, gardener, doctor, teacher, friend, litigator, arbitrator, and incubator—a mother...she gave birth to eleven children...seven of whom are boys...four were girls, now women. From these offspring, my mother became a grandmother 31 times, a great grandmother and great-great grandmother more times than I can recall.
I have a lot of respect for my mother and my mind is filled with wonder and awe when I think of all she accomplished... She did not get a lot of formal education, she was not a career woman as the world defines it...she rarely worked outside her home. What she did, however, was raise to adulthood eleven offspring. She lived with my father until she died in 1988 at the age of 71+ years, just a few days shy of her 54th wedding anniversary. But while she lived—she mothered, she sewed, she cooked, she cleaned, she doctored, she chauffeured, she grew beautiful flower gardens, she raised chickens and vegetable gardens, she was active in church with a strong testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, taught Sunday School, took active part in Relief Society—the woman’s auxiliary at church, made hand-stitched quilts, and she worried about her children.
She did not get a driver's license until after her youngest child was born. While my father was working out of town...she taught herself to drive on the back roads of Orlando... which then, was a relatively small town...the orange groves next to our home and the dirt roads where my mother taught herself to drive, long before the advent of Walt Disney World, are now integrated into the business area of downtown Orlando. You can no longer find the little two-lane road called 43rd St by which I walked to school . It is all metropolized...is there such a word?...and overgrown with traffic and large buildings. The lake where we played and fished as kids must surely still be there...but where, and what is it called now? It was just the lake in Mr. Crawford's pasture when we were kids playing ball and running free.
My mother was a woman among women--a standard bearer. One of her most earnest desires beyond the well-being of her children and grandchildren was to travel to the "Holy Land" to walk where the Savior walked... I am sure she walks with the Savior now, not just where he has been.
But, about me?: I should be as good at everything I do as my mother is at what she does.
My father was a farmer, a well-accomplished carpenter, a song writer (but that is a totally different story), and a clown--I must have learned my humor from him. My mother was a housewife, gardener, doctor, teacher, friend, litigator, arbitrator, and incubator—a mother...she gave birth to eleven children...seven of whom are boys...four were girls, now women. From these offspring, my mother became a grandmother 31 times, a great grandmother and great-great grandmother more times than I can recall.
I have a lot of respect for my mother and my mind is filled with wonder and awe when I think of all she accomplished... She did not get a lot of formal education, she was not a career woman as the world defines it...she rarely worked outside her home. What she did, however, was raise to adulthood eleven offspring. She lived with my father until she died in 1988 at the age of 71+ years, just a few days shy of her 54th wedding anniversary. But while she lived—she mothered, she sewed, she cooked, she cleaned, she doctored, she chauffeured, she grew beautiful flower gardens, she raised chickens and vegetable gardens, she was active in church with a strong testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, taught Sunday School, took active part in Relief Society—the woman’s auxiliary at church, made hand-stitched quilts, and she worried about her children.
She did not get a driver's license until after her youngest child was born. While my father was working out of town...she taught herself to drive on the back roads of Orlando... which then, was a relatively small town...the orange groves next to our home and the dirt roads where my mother taught herself to drive, long before the advent of Walt Disney World, are now integrated into the business area of downtown Orlando. You can no longer find the little two-lane road called 43rd St by which I walked to school . It is all metropolized...is there such a word?...and overgrown with traffic and large buildings. The lake where we played and fished as kids must surely still be there...but where, and what is it called now? It was just the lake in Mr. Crawford's pasture when we were kids playing ball and running free.
My mother was a woman among women--a standard bearer. One of her most earnest desires beyond the well-being of her children and grandchildren was to travel to the "Holy Land" to walk where the Savior walked... I am sure she walks with the Savior now, not just where he has been.
But, about me?: I should be as good at everything I do as my mother is at what she does.
Monday, April 19, 2010
I seek respite--therefore, I Blog
With all I have to do each day...I now know to preserve my body and my sanity...I have to find time for me....to let my branches stretch out; to soak up the rays of all things good in this life.
I have lived a few years...I have raised three children of my own and a few who were given birth by other women who chose to run and play instead of taking care of their offspring. That's okay though, I do not mind that part.
I have experienced the death of my parents, two of my brothers, a beloved Aunt, and a daughter-in-law just in the past few years. I guess I am feeling my own mortality. There is more to me than bookkeeping, sales, phone calls, cooking meals, cleaning house, doing laundry, running errands, and trying to please everyone...
Today, I am learning to please me....how superficial you may say, how narcissistic, how down right selfish....Bah, humbug, (Ol' Ebenezer may have had a point at times) I say to those who might make such utterances or mental judgments...
There is nothing selfish about taking care of oneself. There is nothing narcissistic about caring enough about yourself to say...No, I can't do that right now. I have me on my agenda. Heck, I am worth it! What about you?
As a matter of fact...I need to end this blog, give my keyboard a deserved rest and go have my hair, hands, and feet done. There is nothing like a good pedicure to give a person a new lease on life....Sometimes, it makes me feel like a new woman....if they are done particularly well....they make me feel like a new man...but don't tell my husband....I let him think it is him. But then, my husband is always the man in my life.....(LOL)
I have lived a few years...I have raised three children of my own and a few who were given birth by other women who chose to run and play instead of taking care of their offspring. That's okay though, I do not mind that part.
I have experienced the death of my parents, two of my brothers, a beloved Aunt, and a daughter-in-law just in the past few years. I guess I am feeling my own mortality. There is more to me than bookkeeping, sales, phone calls, cooking meals, cleaning house, doing laundry, running errands, and trying to please everyone...
Today, I am learning to please me....how superficial you may say, how narcissistic, how down right selfish....Bah, humbug, (Ol' Ebenezer may have had a point at times) I say to those who might make such utterances or mental judgments...
There is nothing selfish about taking care of oneself. There is nothing narcissistic about caring enough about yourself to say...No, I can't do that right now. I have me on my agenda. Heck, I am worth it! What about you?
As a matter of fact...I need to end this blog, give my keyboard a deserved rest and go have my hair, hands, and feet done. There is nothing like a good pedicure to give a person a new lease on life....Sometimes, it makes me feel like a new woman....if they are done particularly well....they make me feel like a new man...but don't tell my husband....I let him think it is him. But then, my husband is always the man in my life.....(LOL)
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