I went to the Young Human Factory yesterday. The custodians and technical staff are making repairs and updates while production is down. I did a few things, like data entry and uploading a letter of recommendation. But the heating system isn’t working properly – I covet those open-tipped gloves of Bob Cratchet – so I left after a few hours.
Today I’ll drop off some paperwork and bring a few things home. I had a dream once of Separation of Work and Casa, but the dreams of innocent girls whither in the chill of reality.
In keeping with not-ancient tradition, I have a short list of resolutions I reject. In 2018, I won’t…
…hit the gym more. Thursday I withdrew my YMCA membership reluctantly because of the great staff and great facilities, but the 45-minute drive after work is terrible. Let’s see what exercise videos and hand weights can do.
…stay on trend. The public library is full of books I haven’t read, my wardrobe is professional if not inspired, and everyone is too mesmerized by their phones to notice mine.
…try a new hobby. Until I cross everything off the Big To-Do List, hot yoga and parasailing must wait.
What about you? What are resolutions you just won’t make?
It’s that time again when friends forward all sorts of intriguing ideas about how to improve oneself in the New Year. Decluttering, trying a new hobby, building a need-only budget, replacing one meal a day with a colon-cleansing smoothie….
They make me want to revive the practice of The Unresolution: declaring what life improvements will be discontinued. My former co-workers promoted it at their year ending parties. (My favorite was when M’e the Fashionista declared she would no longer attempt to like jazz.) Continue reading
The furniture is moved and the floors are washed. The tree is up but not yet trimmed. The two silk Flores de Noche Buena aka Poinsettias are in the bedrooms. And bits of pine tree and cones are placed in various places so that their scent makes up for the tree fakery. Continue reading
I had plans for today: sleep in until 7, be at church by 8, and afterwards head to the Factory for a few extra hours of work.
Instead, the birds woke me about an hour before sunrise. After a quiet winter, the cacophony is atrocious: squawks and chirrups, with only a few warbling notes to add a pleasant sound. The birds grew louder because they flew closer. By the time I crawled out of bed, there were grackles and redwing blackbirds having a party in the backyard. Continue reading
I know it’s not Spring. In fact, a beautiful layer of snow covered everything just a couple days ago. But if I don’t start now while it’s cold, I’ll never get it done when it’s warm and
the garden beckons the weeds call me out to rumble.
Last week I spring-cleaned the bathroom. That involved exploring the depths under the sink. The collection of lotions and other concoctions surprised me. Truth is that I put things there that I seldom use, like hair gel and the fragrant body cream that someone gave me for Christmas 2012. Out they went! The bathroom doesn’t look any different, but it’s better inside.*
Lent, which starts next week, is rather like Spring Cleaning: no huge make-over of body or habits, but some straightening out on the inside.
*This weekend it’s the laundry/utility closet. Space is tight and there’s little room for anything but lint and dust, but I suspect when I start pulling things out, it’ll be like unpacking the Tardis.
“Get out a piece of paper or pull up a fresh document and write down every goal you intend to accomplish in your literary lifetime. Write down all your ultimate dreams and then try to write your way to them.”
-Katz, Christina. “Diversity As You Go.” The Writer’s Workout: 366 Tips, Tasks, & Techniques from Your Writing Career Coach. Cincinnati, OH: Writer’s Digest, 2011. 42. Print.
One of the fun things I did this past weekend was taking six books off the shelf and putting them in a bag for the library. A few were guilt-inducing books of writing exercises; they brought me no breakthroughs or epiphanies.
I considered getting rid of Katz’s book but when flipping through, a couple entries caught my eyes. This was one. I like to think of having a lifetime of writing in me, loop after loop of story like a thread spooled somewhere in my heart. Endless. Full of colour and promise.
It reminded me of reading Ray Bradbury explain that he wrote a list of story titles and then wrote the stories that went with them. It took him years, but he did it. Sometimes he had no more than the germ of an idea when he started, but somehow it grew.