Continuing the HaQ tradition of occasional confession: While looking for my stapler the other day, I found a recipe for squash, an old insurance ID card, and a book titled “The Organized Mind”. Right.
The fact that I had to search for an item that is bigger than my hand and bright blue, should tell you something about why a book in that genre might be necessary.
I did eventually find the stapler, but not without about twenty minutes of concerted effort. This is not the optimal search pattern. Maybe it’s because I use a filing system politely refered to as “geological”, otherwise known as the “file by strata” method. That is – everything is in layers and you just need to know how long it’s been since you last saw whatever you’re looking for to know how far down to go. Translation: there are piles of stuff in here and I think it’s in that one… or maybe that one… Or maybe it’s in the other room… Sigh.
The upside of this system is that it does work. Most of the time. Well… sometimes. When I can remember when and where I last saw whatever I’m looking for. The downside is that it sometimes requires excavation to get down far enough to find it. And the resulting rubble can require considerable clean up. Which sometimes means that I’m reorganizing the stuff in the piles (translation: redistributing it based on criteria slightly less random than dates of deposition). The new “organization” may make a modicum more sense. The organization process can even mean that some of the stuff leaves the premises. That comes with considerable relief.
However (telling tales again), the new piles are not structurally different from the old piles and my sense of relief is tinged with the future regret of having to repeat the whole 
process again. I know why this is, though it is a challenge to take the next step in resolving it. The challenge here is that to actually “organize” it is necessary to designate a real place for items to reside – a Home. That place is very unlikely to be in the third level of a vertical assemblage of random stuff. So I know that my real task is removing enough stuff to be able to designate a discrete place to put the things I want to keep. And then putting them there. And then promising to do more of that. As soon as I locate those file folders and find the label-maker… As I’ve said before, I’m a work in progress.
Stay tuned for more on the Here’s a Quarter blog next week! As always, your thoughts and comments are always welcome – they are moderated (I know – adulting again), so they may take a little while to appear, but I read them all and appreciate that you were here. Thank you!
kettle on to make coffee. When you do finally get some coffee, almost 45 minutes later because you have to feed all four of the fur people and dole out treats and meds and then let the dogs back out, you realize your cream has gone bad when you pour a big fat dollop into your fresh mug of revival and it turns into a cup of curdled blobs…
, too; he would take a sip of fresh dark brew, close his eyes and smile and say “Ambrosia!” I like good coffee enough to mail order my beans from the place I loved it most, and have for more years than I’m going to put a number on (I just counted up the number and got a nosebleed). I get two deep dark roasts and blend them to a smooth, slightly charred perfection – pour a big steaming cup, and give me a good hour to savor it and that is my ideal morning. There is little that makes me grumpier than having to rush out to an early morning meeting and being served weak, under-roasted, over-caffeinated coffee. Ew. Just – ew. Add that to the fact, as we have already established, that I am Not A Morning Person, and that might as well be a cup of gunpowder for my mood. It’s not pretty. So I just carry my own and save the ammo for those who like loading up on that stuff.
maybe chocolate… oh yeah!! Or both…) is for celebrating, whether you’re celebrating the end of a big project, or just the end of the day. You don’t want to celebrate with stuff that tastes like the lovechild of a sugary kid drink and old socks. Life is too short for bad wine. Get the
who come out at night and leave extra ammo. Not that I really mind. There are few things as sweet as a purring happy cat snuggling up to you in complete trust. On the other hand, the only way for me to really get the carpets near to fur-free is to vacuum almost daily. That’s a tough sell for someone who is not a big fan of noise or dealing with emptying the cup every four passes. Oh well. I get it done as I can – which means I need to get stuff off the floors and out of way. Which is to say, it does not happen often enough. Because – boxes…
pesticides in my garden in years, I don’t mow areas of my yard that are too steep to use a mower on, and I planted wildflowers (emphasis on the wild) instead. Other than treating my pets for fleas, I don’t use pesticides in the house, either. There’s a small spider that lives in an out-of-the-way spot in my kitchen – I call her “Little Sister” and encourage her to go after the occasional housefly that shows up.
You know the ones – the ones someone gave you because they thought you’d enjoy them and they are so lovely you’re almost afraid to unwrap them, so you keep them in the box they came in. Or maybe they’re the one or two you bought because they were so impossibly cute or beautiful or funny that you could not resist. But you still keep them in a cupboard somewhere, apart from the everyday dishes. As if beauty or fun were not part of your daily life.
Remember that old saying, “An apple a day…”? It’s the harbinger of a whole host of helpful ideas for what to do every day. Here’s another of my odd confessions: I have a push-pull relationship with the whole idea of set habits for Every. Single. Day. BUT – Daily rituals have become important to me. I don’t mind ritual – I hate regimentation. So creating a daily habit skirts a fine line; it’s nice to have some predictable ways to get necessities done, smoothly, and with less fuss, but I’m not signing up for wagging fingers if something happens and the habit gets upended.
overwhelming.
heresaquarter 