Almost my first thought this morning was to set a daily plan. That was the easiest part as it turned out. The thought. In the past many years I’ve worked a morning routine developed for epilepsy management. If that routine were to have a title it would be Prepare for Self Care and it always includes a morning cup of tea. Then journaling where today I thought I would quickly sketch out a plan for today. Several years ago, I took a pencil sketching class. We were to copy a picture of a simple flower. I spend a lot of time sketching in every single detail. I didn’t get it finished by the end of the classes, but I did get it finished. So a Plan for Today. Easy. But it is always about the details! And so I questioned the quotation from Jasper Fforde I used for last night’s blog: “The best plans are always the simplest.” Simple? My Plan started with preparation for my weekend trip. Pack - put things in - take things out - and don’t forget your meds. Bus 7:15am. Scratch a morning blog post. Not enough time for that. Empty compost and garbage. I know - it’s only a weekend but there were good reasons. Bus at 7:15 and the walk to the station takes 10 minutes. Good it’s not raining but I have an umbrella with me and I’ll wear my raincoat. Those thoughts and more raced through my head before I was even finished my smoothie prepared yesterday just for this morning. So what I have learned is that I need some broad guidelines for creating a Daily Plan. Filling in all the details makes the plan quite overwhelming.
Daily Planning - A Work in Progress
- Preparation
- Flexibility
- Watch the busy work
- Time lines
“Tiny details imperceptible to us decide everything.”
~ W.G.Sebald, Vertigo
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Yesterday's Plan
This story from yesterday’s planned Writer’s group. Topic - write about an Irish fantasy. The very interesting part of yesterday was that five of six writers chose a different piece of Irish mythology: selkies (seals can lose their skin and walk on land as men), kelpies (water spirits in the shape of a horse), leprechauns (little men full of mischief and known as shoe makers), banshees (a wailing woman whose cry predicts the death of a family member) and ‘thin places’ (a divider between the physical tangible world and otherworld dimensions).
Just a Bit of Mischief
*Carlingford’s Sliabh Foy Loop trail is officially protected land for the 236 Leprechauns that apparently live in Ireland. Thomas didn’t know that this lovely trail was his to roam. ‘Oh, don’t you know that it’s a beautiful day with the sun a-shinin’ and the birds just a-twitterin’, all their music ridin’ on the breezes that rustle the leaves on the trees. And just look at those little clouds. Little white fluffs like heads of ripe dandelion, edging close to the sun for a bit of it’s lovely, warm gold.’ Thomas was not talking to anyone in particular but the rabbits and deer along side the trail. Thomas had been summoned to the town of Happy, nestled in the foothills of Grim Mountain to bring a bit of magic to change the sadness to happiness again. It was that or change the name of the town. Granny Marsh had sent for him. Against the wishes of most of the townspeople, she had decided it was the only solution. The problem was the Mayor. When he was elected, the town of Happy was, well, happy. He smiled and told them all how things would be so much happier. But Granny knew better. She knew of the Leprechauns and believed in their magic, but also knew that no one would come to help unless they were called. They didn’t need to be called to create mischief, but to help? Now that was a more serious matter. When Thomas arrived, all decked out in his *fine red outfit and tri-cornered hat, he went first to Granny Marsh’s front porch where she was knitting and rocking. Anyone watching would only see Granny talking to herself, leaning back in her rocker and laughing, getting serious and leaning forward and talking some more. Pointing her knitting needles to the town hall, the townspeople heard her say - ‘Himself is in his office and makin’ money means more to him than this little town.’ No one in the town could see anything except a big beautiful rainbow that reached from beyond the town of Happy all the way over top and behind Grim Mountain. The Mayor had been looking out the window of his office, a smug and smarmy grin on his face. When the rainbow appeared he thought that he saw a big pot of gold go flying all the way up the the rainbow and down again, all the way behind Grim Mountain. “I resign!” were the last words anyone heard the Mayor say. He did not even stop to get his coat or his hat. He jumped out of the window to the roof below and then to the street. The last anyone saw of Mr. Mayor was the dust he churned from running towards the end of the rainbow behind Grim Mountain. Thomas returned to Granny’s porch, where she was still rocking and knitting. ‘There you go then Granny. If that’s all you needed me to do, I’ll be off then. I’ll just take a spin around your fair town and see if there just might be some mischief that needs takin’ care of.’ The town of Happy was so happy that they didn’t even notice fence posts painted purple or a goat untied from it’s post.
*Irish folk lore describes Leprechauns as men who wore red outfits and tai-cornered hats. Irish novelist Samuel Lover describes Leprechauns as such in his 1831 work Legends and Stories of Ireland.
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