You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
Here’s one filing system I used, back when dealing with piles of paper:
Haven’t quite figured out an alternative for online “piles” yet. Guess they’re “files” on the screen that’s erroneously called a “desktop.”
Last time I looked, my laptop was sitting on the real desktop.
And I’ve still been getting by without a printer.
Any ideas on how to keep those incoming emails and texts from getting lost in the clutter?
As we anticipate the renovations to our new old house, one of the big touches I realize I’m missing is a really comfy place to sit while reading. I’m admitting I never really had that in our old place, not until we got the lights above the pillows in bed, but even those were too hot for comfort and the lack of back support took a toll.
So here are the specifications:
I’m assuming it will be in the parlor where the wood-fired stove will sit. The big question now is just, where, exactly they’ll fit.
~*~
I do wonder, by the way, why nobody sells dental chairs as home furniture. These days, they’re quite cozy and seem to contort themselves to everyone’s fit. Any ideas? I’m not sure they’re exactly what I envision for reading, but in front of that giant home screen? Or just for a snooze?
First off, I should explain that few old houses in New England actually have much by way of closets. So I’m actually talking today more about personal wardrobe and style.
One of my long-term planning notes was this, for my shift into retirement:
Focused look: new jeans (black/green/gray); sandals (fewer socks; also, they travel better); blazers for the pockets.
What actually emerged was quite different.
I shifted from denim jeans to tan cargo pants, for their pockets, especially.
Instead of my customary oxford shirts, I wore turtlenecks in winter, and Aloha shirts in summer. (I still largely avoid T-shirts.)
Instead of that blazer, I rely on a messenger bag to hold my reading glasses, cell phone, emergency cardiac prescription, choral music scores, and so on.
My style, such as it is, has emerged from yard sales, mostly. These days my focus is on wearing them till they give out while also downsizing. You’d be surprised how many compliments I get.
Krill
Drill
Shrill
Thrill
In my vanilla-bean beehive
with a topknot pillow
A man can’t get rich if he’s taking care of his family – Navajo proverb
Especially when his is the Family of Man or all critters
As I’ve been revisiting my earlier planning for retirement, I started to scold myself for not looking more carefully at finances. Then I remembered something I had anticipated but never noted: adding an overtime shift or two each month during my final five years of employment.
For years, management always seemed to have those openings, and the pay was good – time-and-a-half, often with a nighttime or weekend differential.
In the last five years, the kids would be on their own, for one thing. We would really build up our savings – by 25 to 50 percent, as I’m now calculating.
What happened instead was that the newspaper found itself increasingly financially strapped, to the point our pay was actually being cut. Officially, I was the copy desk chief, except that in the end there were no longer copy editors. They were all wearing other hats as positions consolidated. As for those overtime hours? We agreed to allow the hiring of part-timers.
So much for the big plan.
At least the stock market hadn’t crashed when my wife and I closed out our IRA to purchase the house in Maine.
One of my pre-retirement exercises involved trying to envision a routine that would help me meet my dreams – or at least some ambitious goals. It meant considering how many hours a day and week I would devote to each segment of my life – what percentage of my time I’d devote to Quaker, to literary pursuits, to being outdoors, and so on.
This is what I came up with, though I have to confess it’s far from where I wound up.
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Putting it together on a daily clock led to this:
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It was awfully regimented, even for someone used to “living on the clock,” as I had in the newsroom. Worse, it still didn’t fit everything in. I wondered about something more flexible, perhaps alternating a month of intense writing/revision with a month of other activity. Did I need to specify reading or rereading one novel and one other book each week? That sort of thing.
~*~
Arraying them over a full week led to this:
SUNDAY: Quaker, with visitation to other Meetings once a month. Family and friends in afternoon or visits to museums and galleries. Possibly an evening movie.
MONDAY: My normal disciplined schedule (see above).
TUESDAY: Normal disciplined schedule. Take the trash out.
WEDNESDAY: Option for travel, mountaineering, hiking, swimming, etc. (may actually float in the week, depending).
THURSDAY: Normal disciplined schedule.
FRIDAY: Normal disciplined schedule.
SATURDAY: A real weekend break, for a change. “Simmering” abed. Brunch. Opera broadcast. Weekend trips. A “date” night. Dance/concert/theater/party.
~*~
Let me repeat, that’s nothing like what actually emerged. If anything, I wound up spending too much time “up in my lair” at the keyboard, at least before moving to our new old house.
The new exercise, when I remember to apply it, has me waking up with a question: What do I WANT to do today?
Deciding I want to do certain chores or tasks, knowing how I’ll feel when they’re accomplished, is a much better approach, than performing them with a sense of duty or obligation.
Or I can decide I want to do something else more … and can put them off because I want to.
How do you decide to best spend your time? And suggestions for the rest of us?
It’s a line from a wife working with her captain husband at sea, in correspondence preserved at the Penobscot Marine Museum in Searsport, Maine.
What wisdom!
The ocean can be truly cruel, especially on the sailing ships and their masts of her era.
I thought everyone did. And then one day, at the close of Quaker worship, I casually asked the circle if anyone in the room didn’t do such a checklist. I was surprised by the number of hands that went up, even if they were a distinct minority.
How do they get everything that needs to be done, done? It’s still a mystery to me. It’s like I need a map if I’m gonna get anywhere.
My wife and I have multiplicities of such lists. The problem is keeping them all straight. Sometimes, once we find where they’ve gone missing, just trying to read the handwriting is confounding, but even guessing still helps.
For years, I kept both seasonal and monthly lists, broken down into categories of Personal, Domestic, Creative, Quaker/Spiritual, and, at times, even Computer and Astro. I eventually kept a master file on my PC for easy updating and printed out pages as needed for a clipboard.
You know, reminders of auto tag renewal, driver’s license, income tax filing, ordering firewood (and the phone number), furnace and chimney cleaning, medical exam and dental cleanups, birthdays and anniversaries, Yearly Meeting sessions, drafting our local Meeting’s State of Society report, and so on.
To that I added goals like weekend escapes, writing and publishing agendas, gardening chores, home improvements, even exercise, which never did actually happen. Reviewing these can be embarrassing.
Yes, we can regiment ourselves or else try to go with the flow, even if that means trying to put out endless fires we hadn’t planned on. The frustrating part is all the stuff that never got done – or as I’m seeing in my review, did so only years later. Others remain unfulfilled dreams or promises.
The more practical solution has been my keeping of weekly planning calendars, though a master list would still help in inserting some of the tasks. This year, I’ve gone with a smaller book – make of that what you will. I do miss the big artwork, though.
Jnana's Red Barn 