Biting, Chewing, Swallowing—Not the Same

Every month I look at projects that seem to have bred on my desk while I wasn’t looking. I’m sure every writer goes through this phenomenon once in a while. I always have big projects, small ones, and ones waiting to be given the light of day.

While trying to come up with a post here today, I took a good look at my eight-foot desk—a really good look. I may have taken on a bit much lately.

Among the piles of debris stacked along two thirds of the right side are the magazines and journals from the past two months that I have yet to read. Yes, I do keep that stapler in plain sight, so that I don’t have to rummage through those piles on a doomed search. I have a vague idea what’s contained in those piles; vague being the operative word. The dragons keep stray projects from deserting.

Really important prelim work for one of the novels I’m writing is piled prominently on the floor next to my chair so that I can grab it at a moment’s notice.

I know; chaos. Right?       

Sorting through everything doesn’t come easy for me; it’s a lot like chewing food. The reason is that I’m not sure what I’m going to need or how soon, which means I can’t quite put it aside yet. Living in Limbo is something that’s been necessary for quite a while. It’s not one of my favorite locales, but it beats living nowhere.

Swallowing digital bits and bytes is much easier. Believe it or not, my computer files are much more organized. I keep thinking about a piece from 60 Minutes done by Andy Rooney. He wanted to know if creative and productive people kept their offices neat and orderly, or if they looked like his—out of control on steroids.

I remember watching him wonder through the halls, taking an informal poll about  offices belonging to his colleagues. With camera dutifully following him, chronicling all that was to be seen, Rooney discovered that his domain was, in many aspects, more organized than several others on the staff. Because he knew how hard each of these men and women worked each day, and the types of schedules they kept, he concluded that people who were very productive and creative, were also messy and preferred it that way.

When I envision some of those offices, I can look at mine and smile. At least my books occupy a bookcase, I have no uneaten food lying around, I know where my extra checks are, and my computer is easy to get to. I have actual clear floor space.

Andy might be surprised at how disappointingly uncluttered my office area really is. Or, I could be kidding myself in a fit of guilt-ridden denial.

Must do something about this--I’ve ordered my actual work, now to tackle the physical side of things.

Until later, peeps. Let’s see, if I get all of that pile into the right-side file cabinet…

Claudsy

Karma, Kalispell, and Settling Back In

Getting settled back into an apartment after being on the road for five months has its dual impressions. It’s nice to be stationary for more than a few days at a time, but at the same time it presents its own set of limitations, expectations, and curses.

When you’re on the road, if you don’t appreciate the music played by those at the next “home” site, you pick up and move the car to another site. That’s not possible with an apartment. If the neighbors fight a lot, we would have had the same recourse and the same dilemma in an apartment. The police seem an awful resort to call upon, but…

So far we’ve found ourselves with great neighbors downstairs from us. He’s helping us move in our stuff from storage. Anyone who lives above the ground floor knows what a bonus that one is.

The odd part about that is that last December Jo and I were downtown finishing up some last minute preparations just before leaving on the road. She’d just taken our Kalispell Clock snowstorm photo and we’d gone to the library for a few minutes. When we came out, we were approached by a younger man who desperately needed a lift back to his apt. complex. Seems he lived in the same one we did.

Of course, we gave him a lift. He would have frozen if he’d tried to walk home. His mother couldn’t come back to pick him up for a couple of hours. We made a stop at Wal-Mart on the way home. He came in with us to stay warm. We all made it home without incident.

And now that younger man is determined to show his appreciation for our act of kindness. What’s that old statement about “what goes around comes around”? We didn’t have a clue that it would possibly come back so quickly or be so wonderfully timely.

We’re taking it slow with the bringing our stuff in. We need the time to get things put away. And since I had a wee accident a bit over a week ago and bummed my knee, I’m no use whatsoever in the moving experience, except for feeling guilty that I can’t help.

We definitely don’t want me trying to bring anything up or down the concrete stairs. I’m not stable right now on level ground, so helping is out of the question. As a result, my cane and I sit, trying to remain out of everyone’s way. Putting my office/bedroom together and getting it back up and running is going to take a bit more time than originally planned, I’m afraid.

On top of all that, I haven’t yet found the power cord for my desktop computer. I have everything else but that one cord. Until I can find that I can’t get myself into my big computer. Thank God for a little brother who loves me and is generous.

The cable guy came this morning to connect the internet. Guess what! It still isn’t working. Oh, the service comes in but our computers aren’t recognized by it and the security key we use isn’t recognized by the system as viable. So here we sit with more computers than many small businesses and we can’t use the internet that’s flowing into the apartment. Whew! Finally found the problem. Almost had a coronary there for a minute.

How’s that for irony. We’ve been pulling the net in from the open air for nearly three weeks and still can’t get regular net in the apartment. It’s great having a business across the street with public wi-fi that we can use, but we’d like to have our own now. God willing we’ll have that problem taken care of before noon.

There you have a peek at our day so far. I’ll leave you with one piece of advice. Kindness comes around unexpectedly and from the oddest corners. Remember our downstairs neighbor? One of his predecessors in that apartment helped us move in to the previous apartment we had here. Now you have the rest of the story.

Until later,

Claudsy

Limiting Oneself

　
When do we know when we have enough? “Enough what?” you ask. “Enough of anything,” I reply.

How much is enough when you sit down to eat? How do you know when you have enough clothing, shoes, office supplies, words?
Enough everything?

How does a person limit herself to having just enough of something before possessions flow over into the way-too-much category?

We’re sliding through the final days of the annual Thanksgiving experience. We should be able to answer this simple question before moving on toward Christmas.

If you move around as much as Sister and I, you would totally understand why this subject is critical to us now. We have both been sentimental collectors of things since forever--each for similar, and yet, different reasons.

We’ve both lived with abundance. We’ve both known times when enough was only what we could carry in our arms. For the last nearly fifteen years, we’ve also known what it’s like to have an annual purge of possessions because we’d collected too much of nearly everything.

Until we began planning this trip around the country, however, we had never learned the lesson of enough more completely. If someone loses their home to disaster--of whatever variety--the reality of what is necessary vs. what is luxury seldom weighs in. That we are creating--in a very limited sense--our own loss of home makes for interesting revelations.

We’ve come to truly appreciate the meaning of limitations regarding necessary possessions for living. Any good Hindi would laugh at us for this tardy understanding. That philosophy teaches to only concern oneself with meeting personal daily physical needs. For the average American, that’s a philosophical challenge of enormous proportions, sometimes on more than one front. For sentimental collectors like us, it goes beyond that.

How many clothes does one take on the road for year or more? How does one limit kitchen supplies when a love of cooking is rooted in your soul? Do campers really need at least one dress outfit on the road? Remember, there won’t be irons handy.

Necessities must come first. The rest is luxury. Our necessities: shelter, food, clothing, transportation, photography equipment, computer with extra drives, minimum writing materials, and an adventurous spirit.

We have all that. Everything else stays behind.

That’s where limitations come in. The purge has begun of possessions we’ve not used since we’ve been in Montana. Some things have been with us for many years and survived many moves across the country. No longer.

This whittling process for the trip and its look into needs vs. wants has shown us where our lives need to focus. And that focus isn’t on possessions any longer.

Our pot-latch will be the talk of the apartment complex. We have furniture, kitchen ware, assorted decorating goodies, you name it--even small appliances. Our storage garage awaits its own purge to allow an accommodation of its new contents.

Our Thanksgiving is winding down with a true appreciation for all things achieved this year. We’ve finally learned the limitations we must live by for the next year and are grateful for them. We’ve also learned, in a personal sense, how perception shifts with understanding and why limitation can be a person’s best friend.

So, I ask you again. What limitations have you put on yourself and are they friend or foe? If they don’t allow for understanding, purpose, and expression, they have joined the enemy. (As Bill Cosby would say, “Sort of like tonsils when they go bad.”)

If those limitations keep you growing, learning, striving, they could be your best friends. It’s up to you to decide.

Do you have enough?

Until later,

Claudsy