INTERRUPTIONS

[Please consider today's post a "taster"--definitely more to come on this topic!]

If you're one of those fortunate persons who never gets interrupted, then feel free to go play solitaire or Wordscapes or wash your hair, or something.

For the rest of us--let's do a little dissection of INTERRUPTIONS.

Interruptions, in my experience, seem to fall into three categories:

• incidental interruptions - something I say triggers a thought in the other person and I get interrupted (usually causing me to forget what else I was going to say) (a mental power outage)

• intentional interruptions - something I say triggers a strong response of "Oh, no, it's nothing like that!" and an argument/discussion begins

• non-sequitur interruptions - I'm explaining something, and the listener says, "I never realized how crooked your front teeth are." Talk about conversation stoppers!

I might as well confess, right here and now: I don't like interruptions. They throw me off. They're like walking on a perfectly clear sidewalk and hitting the one patch of ice left from the last storm.

Any analysis of interruptions would have to include the big question "Why"--why do I respond badly to other people horning in on my thoughts and speech?

There are probably a number of reasons, but I can give you a few. For example:

• All my life I've been a reader. In a book, people continue to talk and recite and narrate, the story line proceeds, and nobody interrupted. Or, if they do interrupt, it all makes sense...on paper. Funny thing, though, real life doesn't work that way. People interrupt each other all the time.
• When I taught freshman composition I was the only one who talked. (This was back in the day--before online classes.) I presented the information, encouraged class participation, and often met only silence. Lulled me into thinking they were listening.
• Later, I had four little kids at home all at once; in order to keep things running smoothly, everybody heard (and learned, I hoped) the same rules. They seemed to take it all in.
• Finally, and probably the most likely reason, is the element of surprise. A close first cousin to interruptions, surprise throws me for a loop. Without a doubt, surprise is definitely not for me.

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You've probably heard the old expression: "There are two kinds of people in the world--those who say/do/act/believe (something or other) and those who don't."

In my experience, the words always and never somehow wiggle into that piece of pseudo-wisdom.

And in my further experience, one of the two kinds of people is more than likely to interrupt whatever it is that I'm saying at the moment. Not quite always, but certainly more often than never.

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See you another time with more on the subject of Interruptions. In the meantime, wishing you an uninterrupted and joyful week! 

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

  ARE YOU GETTING READY?

[With all the talk of climate change and global warming, you're probably laughing up your sleeve at today's topic. Well, go ahead and laugh. One day we'll have real Winter again. And if you're too far south to have the snow and ice and winds that creep inside your heavy coat and chill you to the bone, then give thanks for that. And say a little prayer for those of us who probably have to deal with such, um, conditions.]

I have to say it: If you have to ask "what" you're supposed to be getting ready for, you ought to go back to bed and get up later when your brain is awake as well as your body.

Ready for what? WINTER, of course; change of season; cold weather; longer nights, shorter days (light-wise, that is). 

In case you haven't noticed, stores are carrying products to ease you into the next season--heavier clothing, including sweaters, jackets and coats, hats/gloves/mittens/scarves, padded vests. 

They're also offering the fruits of the season, namely anything that has to be cooked/baked or mixed with other foods for a filling something-or-other, like stew or chili or a big dish of mixed-up stuff like Shepherd's Pie--anything that'll stick to your ribs.

If you've noticed all that stuff, how about the home improvement aisles? Something to shut out the drafts, warm the floors, heat up a room without installing a fireplace or making you wear seven layers of clothing from the skin out just so you can sit for a while to read, knit, or watch your favorite team tear each other to shreds on the playing field. 

Then consider your vehicle--that wondrous invention that got you to the store in the first place. Are its tires good? Are they safe for another season? How about oil--need a change? Are there any leaks? Defroster working? (I told you this was about winter. Pay attention.)

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Okay! The closet is full, the pantry bulging, house is warm and snug, and the vehicle is ready to hit the road (safely).

What else is there?

Well, I hate to bring this up, but there is the matter of our attitude . . . you know, how we're going to handle the days of freezing rain, frost (or ice) buildup on the windshield of the vehicle that sits outside the garage, piled-up white stuff (called snow, remember?) that has to be shifted by a shovel attached to your gloved hands before you can back the vehicle out, because the snow plow shifted it from the street to your curbside and across the end of your driveway . . . 

[Aside--times like these, when I contemplate all the events in the previous paragraph, I envy our family and friends who either migrate to warmer climes or actually reside there. And I know envy is a sin, but dang! winter up north is a sin itself, sometimes.]

As a retiree, I have a permanent dispensation for Winter Woes--if the weather's too bad for me to be out, I cancel whatever appointment I had for that day. (Fortunately, I have very few appointments so I'm not getting a reputation as a no-show.) I've learned to give myself some space to "not do" tasks that formerly were absolutely necessary (somebody must've said they were). I've cultivated the current ways to stay in touch with family and friends so I'm never lonely or feel I'm missing out by staying home.

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While I'm awaiting the arrival of The Next Act (you know what I mean) I'll enjoy the place I'm in--some colorful trees (finally), some nice days (sun, no wind, low humidity), some moments to do abso-bloomin'-lutely nothin'. They won't last--Life does keep rolling along, you know--and then I'll be wading around in my seven layers of warmth trying to find that library book I know I didn't return yet so I can read while I drink a big, steamy, milky coffee.

And after I've had my book-and-coffee break, I can assess the tasks to be done. Maybe I'll find one that appeals to me and do that. Maybe I'll do the virtuous thing and pick the chores I like least, do those first. 

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Getting ready--the process has begun!

Blessings!

Thursday's Child

PREPARATION

Here at Thursday's Child we're preparing for a large home maintenance project--painting the interior of the house.

Not all the rooms--just the ones that form the major portion of the front of the house, what you might call public rooms, if this were a place where a lot of folks gather.

Since we're not a gathering place, nor a public place, we are concentrating on these rooms because they get the most use and often the most abuse. (I hasten to add that we aren't wild-and-woolly folks; just that, well, you know, paint gets chipped here and there, and so on.)

Anyway! In order to get all this done in one week (my daughter's vacation), we have to look ahead, assess the situation, and--PREPARE.

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So while I'm "helping" prepare for the big event, I'm letting my mind slide off to the side to see if there might be a topic for a blog post. Sure enough, such a topic walked right in, sat right down, put its feet up, and said, here I am. Let's talk.

I'll give you the gist--the actual conversation would take too long to tell, you understand.

After a lot of rag-chewing, I could discern four distinct types of preparation:

1. Easy-Peasy
2. Middlin' Effort
3. Mucho Effort
4. Is-It-Worth-It Effort

The following are my own thoughts on these four categories.

Easy-Peasy - I think we've all done this one. Somebody says, "Why don't we---?" and folks chime in, "Yes, why don't we?" And in no time, a picnic is arranged, food appears (quick-marts are excellent for this purpose), and somebody drags out a moth-eaten, dusty blanket. "It's picnic time!"

I can recall a few times when my kids were young that we entered into spontaneous events. At the time, money was in short supply, so anything we could do at home, using no money and not much energy, worked great. Summer was especially good--since we had no swimming pool, we set up a sprinkler for cooling off in. A wading pool worked also (until it sprung a leak).

In my current stage of life (advanced, let us say), I can stave off a desire to go to the library by searching through the four (or is it five?) bookshelves for something to read. I used to be ashamed to say I have books bought but never read; but I'm no longer ashamed of that. Just like having my own book store! And the reason for not going out to the public library is that I'm too tired, or the weather's turned cold/rainy/windy or hot/humid/breathless. Why subject myself to that when I can browse resident bookshelves?

Middlin' Effort - As you might surmise, this kind of prep takes a little thought, some planning, perhaps; maybe even (gasp!) list making! Not a lot, not a lot. Just enough to keep the wagon on the road, so to speak.

I think of Middlin' Effort as preparing for lunch with a friend here at my house. Or afternoon tea, with only a couple of treats to go with the wide selection of teas to be had. The actual main event is visiting with my friend. No effort there, just enjoyment.

Mucho Effort - We probably all recognize this one--Thanksgiving Dinner, Christmas Eve Supper, special birthday party, anniversary/graduation/engagement/etc. event.

Our Mucho Effort event--now many years ago--was the tree-trimming party on Dec. 23rd. Not a lot of people invited--just three couples plus our family of six. One family had a child who came. We lived in the country, in an old farm house that had ten-foot ceilings, so it accommodated a really tall tree. You're probably envisioning a sweep of large rooms, lovely furnishings, a fireplace with yule logs ablaze. Sorry--not even close. The rooms were good- sized, but the furnishings had been through four kids, multiple dogs and cats, and were mostly hand-me-downs to start with. No fireplace, ablaze or otherwise. But there was a very nice bow window where the tree stood. And by the end of the evening, the lights twinkled, icicles reflected the light, presents under the tree had been opened and shared . . . .

Before the tree trimming itself, we'd had a "fondue dinner"--beef fondue (tenderloin tidbits cooked in hot oil, over a candle burning under the pot) and cheese fondue (chunks of French bread speared and dipped in melted cheese kept hot in another pot). Red or white wine to drink. Salad served after the main meal. Dessert (one of our guests was an excellent cook; every year he brought a dozen kinds of holiday cookies and special fruit cake, all of which he made)--and we ate those with coffee while the decorating progressed.

Lots of work? Sure, it was. And worth it. Which segues nicely into the next category....

Is-It-Worth-It Effort - This is a hard one to write about. This is some levels below the Easy-Peasy Effort category, but in other ways, it's 'way beyond Mucho Effort.

And here's why it's hard to write about. If I decide something is hardly worth the effort, I'm basing that on my own energy, my own interest, the possible outcome (good or bad), and whether I think I even want to attempt something that might not make me happy I did it.

An example of this was my continuing college education. Took 10 years, but I finally did it. There were many days when I was ready, far beyond willing, to give up. What difference did it make, if I finished my degree? Was I going to use it for a career? 

This kind of situation ends up being one long (and boring to other folks) dialogue with oneself about the merits--Do I or don't I? Who will care? Will I wish I'd gone on? You get the picture.

In the case of my college education, I did make the effort, convincing myself that it was a goal I'd set a long time before, for no good reason I could name; it was just the right thing to do.

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If you made it this far, I hope you began thinking about your own life events. 

I know I'll enjoy the newly painted walls in my house. And in a while, I'll forget that I spent so many hours sorting and storing and even (believe it or not) getting rid of some things. (Recycling is a wonderful thing. So is the library's shredding service.)

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Lots of things are worth the effort--taking care of each other, spending time with friends, writing letters and notes, teaching children about their families. You can name a bunch more.

Blessings,

Thursday's Child

 IN PRAISE OF SEASONS

[Geese flew overhead yesterday morning when I took my morning walk outside. Later I ran errands all over town--leaves have changed color on nearly every block. They all reminded me of the joy of the four seasons. Here's one song I sang a few years back.]

If I have a favorite month it would have to be October—for her color, her cooler temperatures, her sunny days—October could have been designed especially for me. And on clear days when the sky is a blue found at no other time of the year, I recall a portion of a poem by Helen Hunt Jackson, of Amherst, Massachusetts, writing in the 19^th Century:

   O suns and skies and clouds of June, 
   And flowers of June together, 
   Ye cannot rival for one hour 
   October's bright blue weather;

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Autumn’s passing leads to Winter, and I can hear already the moans, groans, and grumbles of those who “hate winter”; can’t stand to live up north all those long, dark, cold months; or who proclaim it to be the ugliest time of the year.

Really? I’ll agree in part—the cold gets to me and I miss the longer hours of daylight. But ugly? I love the pen-and-ink-drawing quality of a winter landscape. Shadows harbor blue tones. Trees reveal their structure. Evergreens stand out against the subtle whites. Winter always makes me think of “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Robert Frost’s famous poem; here it is in its entirety:

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

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I will admit, I’m ready for Spring when everybody else is. Of course I’m thinking of soft breezes, soft sunshine, soft green grass and plants. In reality, Spring in Northeast Indiana brings snow, fog, cloudy days, rain, thawing, mud, and freezing mud. But by April—ah, April, T. S. Eliot’s “cruelest month.”
From The Waste Land, Part I-Burial of the Dead:

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

April became the cruelest month for me when my mother died during my sophomore year in high school. Even today, I am vaguely unhappy during April, no matter how many flowers bloom, how gentle the breezes. But the time passes, and May comes with more and more flowers and trees in bloom and bushes putting forth fragrant perfume. And I am solaced.

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From John Keats’ poem, “On the Grasshopper and the Cricket”

The poetry of earth is never dead:
   When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
   And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;

That is the Grasshopper’s--he takes the lead
    In summer luxury,--he has never done
    With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.

Summer was always the season when time, for me, ceased to pass. Summer went on forever. Summer never seemed to end. For me that was punishment; I longed for cooler weather, school books, and teachers. (Being an only child meant I had no one to play with. But I managed—I lectured my dolls and made up stories.)

Now that I’m an adult, I distract myself from summer’s too-long visit with enjoyment of my neighbor’s roses, or the lovely shade of the trees surrounding my house.

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Seasons have come to mean more to me than merely changes in the landscape and activities to suit the time, temperature, and condition of the sky.

SPRING is a time of new beginnings; a time to sow, or prepare, or plan.

SUMMER is a time of growth, of tending what has been sown, of appreciation for what is growing.

AUTUMN brings harvest, and a time to take one’s ease after the previous work of Spring and Summer.

WINTER allows us rest, when much of life lies dormant, waiting for a new Springtime.

We can experience all the seasons of life—sometimes in one day, or during one project; in our homes, at work, at school; within ourselves, moment to moment.

If you live in other climates and don’t experience the change of seasons as dramatically as we do in Northeastern Indiana, look for signs of your own seasons—they may be more subtle, in color, shape, length—but you’ll find them. Look within. You’ll find them there as well.