There is a Purpose

Procrastination: 

“the act of delaying 

something that must be 

done often because it is 

unpleasant or boring” ~

Cambridge online dictionary

        ~~~~~~

Dust has been banished, 

soap scum put in it’s place ~ 

down the drain, 

mirrors polished, 

floors devoid of cat hair, ……

and all the while I wondered:

“What are you procrastinating about? 

You dislike finicky housework?”

Not the first time with the puzzle, 

but now I know. 

I know that problems need sorting. 

The sorting that arises from

 the act of ‘finicky cleaning’

You may laugh, 

you may guffaw, 

you may snort in disgust 

but I see my thoughts 

attached to the vacuum, 

the rag that scrubs grime, 

the folding of stray tablecloths

until I have an orderly list of to do’s.

Tax time is always confusing!

“Organizing is what you do before you do something, 

so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up.”

~ A.A.Milne

The Word-craft Shuffle

Shuffling back and then forth again,

stacking together then

the order reworked.

Scrubbing my eyes

Raking my hair

Pausing and pacing…….

Getting just the right pen

making sure the ink flows

on the right sort of pages……

The bed is all rumpled,

laundry’s piled up,

there’s dishes in the sink…..

Then tapping and tapping

the keyboard for prose,

but maybe poetry’s best……

The outside is calling ~

it’s getting quite loud

But deep stomach growls keep me inside.

An essay?

A story?

What do I do?

On days calm and bright,

to write is a puzzle but

cheers me on none-the-less.

“My aim is to put down on paper what I see 

 and what I feel in the best and simplest way.”

~ Ernest Hemingway

**Global Pandemic alert by World Health Organization declared on this date**

The Out Basket ~ Complaint Department

The Out Basket ~ 

Complaint Department

No one ever really thinks about me and how important I am. ‘Oh, it’s just the the out basket. Toss it in there and the secretary will take care of it.’ There are days when I just look like a glutton. In an office, where I am usually treated with a modicum of respect, a good secretary keeps the out basket as clear and free of all incoming mail and interoffice memos as possible. She, or he, adds a reminder now and then in bold lettering: ‘OUT BASKET ONLY. This is not a garbage can.’! 

But, at home, that is so different. That same efficient secretary ~ her name by the way is Matilda ~ just keeps loading me up. Not just mail though. Oh no. Mending, bills to be paid, unopened junk mail, book returns, lists. So many lists. File folders jammed with who knows what. I should be kept neat and tidy, not overflowing with every stray item that Matilda has saved for ‘another day’. I mean, really, I am not attached to pneumatic tube system that delivers everything to their places. I am not a direct route to the trash can. I do feel like I’m being treated like one sometimes. Or is it a safety deposit box? 

And what kind of an out basket did Matilda, Miss Efficient Secretary, at work get? A cold wire metal basket or a brittle, shiny plastic tray? I am much more attractive. Beautiful honey coloured wicker with a strong metal frame. Handsome, even if I do say so myself. I’m much bigger and can hold so much more, which may be my downfall. Never the less, I am beautiful and at the same time handsome. Until of course, Matilda starts stacking things inside my wonderful spacious self. 

And, not to sound like a martyr, but I do have to listen to all the muttering of this motley array of items stacked and crammed between my stalwart sides. If any of us could really and truly voice our concerns, we would be moaning and groaning loudly with directions to “Please, please! File us away. Get your mending done. Take that book back to the library. This very nice basket, although very welcoming, keeps us all in limbo!! Sadly, we just have to sit here patiently until Matilda needs some important piece of paper she has lost. Does that sound like a ray of hope? It is a very thin ray. She comes digging through all of these myriad contents. Shuffles them all up. Then with either a ‘yay’ (very infrequent) or a sigh of resignation, she takes what she needs, puts everything back ~ completely out of order ~ leaving us alone once more. It is so very annoying.

“Being taken for granted can be a compliment. It means that you’ve 

become a comfortable, trusted element in another person’s life.”

~ Joyce Brothers

Timed Writing Exercises for June, 2019 - Hot Water and Heat

Sense of place and setting scenes are two exercises that require a fair amount of brain power. Stream of consciousness writing demands rapid access to descriptors and word crafting. As I began clearing up some loose bits on my dining room table yesterday, I came across a couple of ‘postcard’ stories from this month's Writers group. We were a small group, and still just as entertaining as ever. I’ve included both our assigned writing as well as the writing exercise our host provided for the afternoon. This group imposed assignment for June was a choice of two openings:

‘He suddenly realized his survival depended on knowing what she was hiding from him’

or

“Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?”

“It’s a dagger actually and no, you shouldn’t.”

Procrastination prevented me from writing out this assignment until the morning of our group. I already had thoughts that had mulled around for an entire month. Here is A Dangerous Liaison penned in about 15 minutes and edited today for this post.

A Dangerous Liaison

He suddenly realized his survival depended on knowing what she was hiding from him. Her voice was soft and just a little too sweet.  But the inflection was so slight, he couldn’t really tell if she was being insincere or it was just the way she spoke. He had only known her for a couple of weeks. They had been out to dinner several times. That should have been enough for him to get a sense of who she was. Then there were the two dances they had been to, She was an excellent and very provocative dancer. Still there were no clues. But damn, she was beautiful! Dangerously beautiful. Going to the movies did not count as they seemed only to sit in silence, her hand resting just above his knee. Softly and casually, but that hadn’t stopped him from being distracted from the movie. As the tension mounted - in the movie -  he could feel her nails dig ever so slightly into his warming thighs. But there was just something. An edge. Sharp and well disguised in her intoxicating presence. Cascades of thick brunette locks graced her bare shoulders. Their wine glasses were full, sparkling with champagne and hope. Steven took a deep breath and locked eyes with her deep violet eyes. 

“We’ve had a wonderful two weeks.” He hesitated, not certain of his next words. Fumbling, they tumbled out: “Should I ask why you have a knife in your purse?”

Daphne tossed her long locks and laughed cruelly. 
“It’s a dagger actually and no, you shouldn’t.”

*****

My second postcard story was our assignment that afternoon. We were given several sentences to use. They have been put in italics. When presented they seemed like the beginning of a story, however when I started this timed (10 minute) exercise it seemed natural to split them up. I did leave out one sentence about how ironing was not at the top of her list. I rather ran out of words somewhere around ‘heat of the day’, but the timer was still going so I just put down a lot of words. I’ve done bit of editing just to have this story make more sense.

It really was a rather difficult write!

Heat Wave

A heat wave had struck. They had been warned that it was coming but the family had not thought that it would feel like a hot iron sitting down on them and holding them fast. Their house windows were open mouths. The walls of their rooms, drying so that the wallpaper began to brown at the edges, seemed as though flames would begin to flicker, burning the paper vining roses that climbed the walls. Starched shirts hung stiffly on the clothesline. No breezes at all. The fabrics hung as still as the leaves on the trees. Electric clothes dryers were only a fantasy, luxuries saved only for the rich.  Sweat poring from her brow, mother's only thought was that, once evening cooled, the heat of the iron would be too reminiscent of the heat of the day. Summer on the farm was always welcome, but this heat wave was not. This was to be their lives for the next two weeks. Water would slowly dry up, the land sucking it dry, except for water evaporating into the dead still air. Washing clothes would be more of a chore. Open windows, whether with or without screens to keep bugs out, would be the order of every day. The hum of cicadas timed the stillness of the air. Even the children were more quiet - only asking for shade.

(Later I explained to the group that the children weren’t allowed water for their plastic swimming pool, but didn’t have time to write all of that.)

“Your intuition knows what to write, so get out of the way.”

~ Ray Bradbury

Timing ~ 4

Using a timer is the next part of my Daily Planning Guidelines. In my blog it is the fifth on that list. On the side of my fridge it is the fourth on that list. Guess I’d best tidy up my refrigerator list! Regardless, using a timer has been a very valuable tool in my entire learning about a writing practice. We have so many beeps, tones and alert sounds foisted upon our ears whether we’re inside or outside, I hesitated when this strategy was suggested to me several years ago. The longer I struggled against the Power of Procrastination the closer I came to resigning myself to one more sound assailing my ears.

My often used analogy with cooking allowed me to see the value of a timer. If I’m baking anything, the recipe always comes with a timed completion. Here is the neat little timer shaped like a garlic head I’ve used for years. Sadly, after those years of faithful timing, my poor little garlic head is not as reliable as it once was. It has created some near misses and some blackened and crispy products from my oven. So now, I just use my cell phone timer for all my daily timing needs. 

How does timing my work within a Daily Plan help? It provides a beginning and an end for me to work within. Editing is not exactly the most inspiring of activities. Revising is also not terribly wonderful, especially if I have attached my heart to certain sentences or words. The timer often ends one of those struggles, reminding me it’s time to get up and restore the circulation in my legs. Shift my brain into a different gear, whether it’s a bit of gardening or taking a walk around the block, taking deep breaths as I go. There is always a point that the timer is silenced. My body clock tells me when I’ve done enough work. I can take the bread out of the oven to let it cool, just as I can stack up any of my written work and let my thoughts settle until the next day.

“The Sun will rise and set regardless. What we choose to do 

with the light while it’s here is up to us. Journey wisely.”

~ Alexandra Elle

Don’t forget!  March is Epilepsy month with Purple Day for Epilepsy on March 26 each year.

A Special Fascination

I’ve been thinking about my brain today. Actually I think about the brain - any brain - alot. I would love to be able to see all the blinking and flashing of synapses and neurotransmitters in people walking down the street or standing in line at the grocery store or sitting in a movie. 

Do you suppose, if that were true, brains would be allowed to blink and flash in movies? Kind of like having to turn off your cell phone? A silly aside.

Right brain and left brain - our brain is literally separated into these two halves. Connected by the neural tissue of the corpus callosum, ‘messages’ are passed back and forth from one section to another. The right brain thinks in a colourful, sometimes artsy way. Creative, seeking meaning and depth, fun, fancy and beauty in life. The left brain is all business - ‘just the facts ma’am’, bulleted ideas and numbered steps (and rather bossy about it). This corpus callosum thing is the connection between the two halves.

And our ‘two’ brains run our lives and do it well as long as we don’t interfere with our whims and wants, with lack of sleep or with foods and substances that cause rewiring. We can’t see the blinking and flashing, but we do get to see the behaviour that results from all that activity and feel the feelings that also result from brain activity. My very own brand of epilepsy is a result of a bit of wonky brain activity that first interested me in brain chemistry and structure. What I’ve also learned is that it’s no wonder that folks do some very strange and sometimes fatal things because of brain activity gone awry. Our personal will does not seem to have a neurological structure - a different sort of connection.  An invisible connection with each other, with nature and with the Universe.

“The cause-effect sequences in our brains are just as determining,

just as inescapable, as anywhere else in Nature.”

~ Corliss Lamont

Procrastination vs Reconnection

Well, I’ve decided - sort of - 
procrastination will have to be put aside to another day,
reconnection just didn’t seem quite right ~ something was hovering in the middle
muddling the waters of any decision about this month’s topic ~ 
but maybe.........

Procrastination is about distractions
with the shiny sparkling novelties or bits of fun that pull us away from any appointed tasks even if those tasks have been of our own making.

Reconnection implies that there once was connection
and that, somewhere, sometime, separation occurred

“Once upon a time - it’s so old it’s beginning to feel like a story - 
a young mom and young nurse played the hand that was dealt.
Many people, places and things wove themselves in and out of her life.
Youth and early adulthood, out of the equation for quite some time,
melted and melded into an all consuming career.
Adult children, off and away, lived lives full of their own plans and dreams ~ home life had a tendency to become stilted and flat 
with decades beginning to fly too fast.”

Reconnection with home and hearth was necessary 
to boost the colour and texture of home using
tools from family memories, past and present friendships,
ongoing dreams left in the past and some still ahead in the future,
at the same time to allow a career to be good - but no longer all consuming.

Together, from memory, dreams, family, friends and experience
a new tapestry could be designed and woven
when the old tapestries had worn too thin.

“As we work to reweave the strands of connection, we can be

supported by the wisdom and loving kindness of others.”

~ Sharon Salzberg

Intention vs Procrastination

Intention is ~
Thoughtful design
Direction mapped with awareness.
Procrastination
Little, if any, thought for design!
Direction unmapped and unaware.

“If it weren’t for the last minute,

nothing would get done.”

~ Rita Mae Brown