Rest

I enjoyed a few hours of pampering last night. It was a most precious gift.

I received a gift certificate for a spa manicure and pedicure at my most favorite spot in the world. Two hours of indulgence that ended in the serene pedicure room where soothing music quietly played in the background, the spa pedicure chair massaged my tense neck and back and the word "Rest" was the only adornment on the wall that I faced.

I rested. And it was wonderful.

Thank you!!

A Little Compliment Goes a Long Way

Someone took the time out of their day to seek me out and thank me for a compliment that I had made earlier in the day. "No one ever says that" she told me ...

A clerk in a store and I had a deep and meaningful conversation as I paid for my goods one day, about the power of a compliment. She said as women, we are continually putting ourselves down and very critical of ourselves and our appearance. So she said that she has made it a habit to sincerely compliment people whenever she can.

I have made it my mission to focus on the positive around me. I try my best to speak positively and keep focused on that which is good. I tend to acknowledge that which remains unseen ... the way people make me and others around them feel and the difference people make by being exactly who they are.

I don't often think to compliment people on the basis of appearance. Because I truly don't focus on and see their outward appearance once we begin to speak. I listen for and hear what lies beneath the surface. This is what I focus on within myself and those around me. What is on the outside is not as important as what is on the inside.

Yesterday was a very good reminder to focus on those little things 'on the outside' as well. We all walk around with that frail and penetrable outer layer. We all need a little boost from time to time. We have the power to make a small difference in another person's day.

The power of a compliment goes a long way. Go out and make someone's day!

The End of Another Season

The Desperate Housewives are finally branching out and moving off of Wysteria Lane and onto other avenues of their lives.  It is time for me to move out of their lives and on with my own.

But first? I must see if Addison gets her baby and her man. Will Pete and Violet just follow their hearts or will Violet analyze their relationship to its final resting place? What story lines will the producers of Private Practice use to draw us back in for another season?

Then I must tune in and find out which Seattle Grace surgeons have survived the plane crash. Will this final episode have us wondering which doctors will be back next year?

I will happily tune in for the results of the semifinals and finals at Dancing With the Stars. I don't want to see any one of them go home this season. I find myself pining for Mark Ballas to bring the trophy home. He just seems like a genuine nice guy. You never see him yelling or becoming frustrated with his students nor does he create an aura of drama. And man! I love watching that guy dance!!

What is it that I am lacking in my life that I am so drawn into the land of illusion on TV?

Is it the friendships on Wysteria Lane that bear some resemblance to my real-life forever friends? Is it the real-life struggles of the relationships within the Private Practice and a cast who are at an age and stage in their lives that I can actually relate to? Is it the habit of turning in to the private lives of the interns and doctors at Seattle Grace? Or is it to see dreams come true as non-dancers transform into dancers before our very eyes?

My personal selection of TV programs mirrors what I live, desire and strive for in my life.

It is time to turn off the TV and go out and create my own daily documentary worth showing up for every morning ...

Sunday - A Day of Whatever You Need it to Be

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. It has been for a very, very long time.

At the very beginning of my work career, I had two jobs. I was available to work seven days a week. Which I did. For a while. I can't remember when I gave myself the gift of 'Sunday'. But it has been a gift that I have tried hard to hold onto ever since.

During my daycare reign, I babysat five days a week. I worked out of our home on Saturdays. But Sundays? They were mine!! I lived for Sundays. And they were wonderful.

When I took on a paper route, I remained true to the Monday - Saturday rule. It got pretty crazy for a while as I juggled a few too many jobs. But Sunday? It was still mine!

Even when I segued from a paper route to a flyer route, I kept Sundays free. I had to deliver a Sunday paper but we were allowed to deliver it Saturday afternoon or evening. I may have delivered that paper on Sunday a few times when Saturday plans overruled my Sunday-off policy. But even at that, it was a choice. Sundays remained sacred.

My bookkeeping days were erratic. I worked when I had work. I had days off unexpectedly. So yes, I worked Sundays. I suppose that was compensated by getting days off during the week. But days off happen unexpectedly in lieu of that guaranteed Sunday off, it isn't the same.

I have been back to the Monday - Friday work week for nine months. It is a little bit wonderful. But that must change and the idea of it is shaking me up a little bit.

I must be available to work Saturday and Sunday at my new, second job. I may not be scheduled to work both days. But I must be available. I was hired a month ago and so far, I have been scheduled for one four hour shift. So far, it hasn't interfered with my Sunday rule. But that could change at any given moment.

Yesterday was an idyllic Sunday.

I savored the quiet hours of the morning. Then, I sat back and shared coffee and conversation with my Second Son and his girlfriend. I phoned Mom and had a most excellent 'Mother's Day' visit. Mom and I talked until my Second Son and his girlfriend made lunch for us. We sat on the deck and had a drink and soaked up the spring sunshine. My Youngest Son and I went to see 'The Avengers' after that. When we got home, my Oldest Son took me out for supper. I walked in the door just as the series finale of 'Desperate Housewives' was starting...

The day was absolutely perfect.

Every Sunday isn't like that. But they have the potential to be. A small part of me died inside when I signed a document that waives the right for me to enjoy this small pleasure that means the world to me.

I know in my head, that I need this second job to get us through the summer. I know in my heart, that I will miss my Sundays more than anything else.

Yesterday was a most excellent Mother's Day. Most Sundays are equally special and enjoyable. They mean the world to me. I don't want to give that up.

One for Cinderella's Step Sisters

I went out one more time yesterday in search of the perfect 'glass slippers' for these unbelievably fussy and ill-formed step-sister-feet of mine.

Mission Impossible began on April 14th.

I thought I had stumbled across the perfect compromise. A pair of Dawg's for my casual walking pleasure; another pair (they were on sale) to easily slip in and out of around the yard. I then took the rest of my allotted budget amount to a shoe store that specializes in 'hard to fit feet'. I found a pair of shoes that I could wear to work and I thought my mission was complete.

Part Two of my shoe challenge involved wearing each of the above pairs of shoes around the house for a day to see if they worked for me.

Pair #1 was the first pair that was rejected. My little toe was complaining about that tiny strap that was cutting into it. And that was with light, household use. That would never work in the real world.

Pair #3 was super comfy after a day at home. I thought they were a winner. Then I tried them on with a pair of capri pants. I took a glance at how they looked in a mirror. 'Skiis' were all I could see. My feet are long, wide and ugly. I do not need shoes that accentuate the fact. I could not wear them out of the house.

I thought Pair #2 was going to work. So I kept those ...

Mission Impossible (the sequel) sent me out to my shoe shops for the second time two weeks later. The Dawg store did not have any other shoes that would work for me. They were very pleasant about it and refunded my money. I was grateful. I went to the specialty shoe store and returned my skiis. They were very understanding and we found another pair that looked and felt right for the job.

Trial #2 with the second pair of shoes went well. I ensured my orthotic was placed where it was supposed to be. I adjusted the straps so that my feet sat properly within the orthotics. I wore them around the house as I cleaned windows. They were very comfortable. Ah-ha! This was it! I was ready to take them out into the real world. Then I looked down.

The shoes were almost an inch too long in the toe area. Add to that, the fact that my bunions cause my toes to veer to the right. And the shoe itself veered to the left. I couldn't believe that I didn't see this before (I had my socks on when I tried the shoes on in the store). My foot looked long, wide, ugly and deformed. I could not wear these shoes out in public. I was losing hope.

Yesterday (May 12th - four weeks after the original mission), I set out on Mission Impossible #3. I tucked my orthotics and my feet into Pair #2 shoes and put on some miles as I wore them to my class; walked several blocks from my car to the shoe store; and did my grocery shopping. Oh, my achin' feet!! Pair #2 have got to go!

But ... I do believe that I finally found a decent pair of sandals that will work for me at my ultra-expensive-hard-to-fit-shoe-store!!

Believe it or not, these are the prettiest shoes  of the bunch. These are the ones I finally kept. 

Now I still have one horribly uncomfortable (new) Pair #2 of shoes to deal with. I wonder if I have the stamina for yet another Mission Impossible sequel??

As I hobbled out of the shoe store yesterday afternoon, I felt great empathy with Cinderella's evil step sisters. Just look at their feet!  I think they were probably bitter because they were wearing ill-fitting shoes ...

Housecleaning 101 - Everything in its Place (but where IS that place???)

The sun is shining upon all of the dust, dirt and grime around here. It is spurring me on. At least in bits and spurts.

I am running across a challenge that is relatively new to me in my quest to clear off cupboards, table tops and dressers. It is the challenge of finding a spot for something that has never had a spot in the house before.

I am a creature of habit. A place for everything and everything in its place is the way things are (as a rule) around here.

My keys are in one spot of a grand total of three or four spots. If they are not where I expect them to be, they are officially lost to me. Just ask my sister who borrowed my keys for a few minutes last weekend. When I reached into my pocket and they were missing; double checked the only two spots that they could be, in my wallet-sized purse and they weren't there ... I knew they were lost.What I neglected to remember was the fact that I had voluntarily handed them over to my sister just five minutes prior to the 'loss' ...

Whenever I (used to) do my top-to-bottom housecleaning, I took great pride in knowing that every single paper clip, safety pin and small home and office accessory in the house were all together in one spot. A spot that was their own and a spot that they had resided in for many years prior. Going back and finding said items was easy because they had a history within our home.

As electronic items and accessories started to add up, one shelf in the laundry room became a collecting spot of 'anything electronic or related to phones, electricity and the like'. There was logic behind putting something in that spot because there was a link in my brain to follow. In most cases, these items were easily located (if and) when needed months later.

My new dilemma are the new-to-the-house items. Items that have little or no correlation to that-which-has-resided-in-the-house-for-years. These items have been slowly collecting in the nooks and crannies of our life here. I am afraid to put them someplace, for fear of never finding them again. So they sit out in full view. And the pile grows.

Each time I picked up one of the above items, I would wonder what was the most logical place to call home. I would come up with an idea but remember all other items lost to me and I would put it back down where I found it. I repeated this step several times.

Yesterday (after I cleaned the bedroom blinds and windows .... YAY!!), I walked by my dresser one more time. This small pile had to go. Each item found a new home. Each home seemed quite logical to me when I thought of it yesterday (and all the times prior).

The questions remain. Will I find these items when I go to look for them in six months? Or will I completely forget that I even own them? And if I forget I have something ... should I really have it at all???

Housecleaning gets complicated as time goes on. Obviously the answer is to downsize the excess and get our life back to a bare bones existance. One where I know exactly what we have and where to locate it.

It's no wonder I have given up on housecleaning. There is no end to it once you begin.

Stay tuned for Housecleaning 102: The Un-Midas Touch (when everything you touch seems to break) ...

Outbound Calls Net Results

My discomfort with phones is rooted in my childhood.

I was born into the party-line era. We lived on a farm for the first nine years of my life. I think our ring (may have been?) one long, two short. I never answered that phone. Number one, no one ever called me. Number two, I was a little bit terrified of that technology and was unsure about that one long, two short business.

We moved to a big metropolis when I was nine. The habit of not answering the phone followed me to the big city, even though we had our own private line with one ring. I can honestly remember asking if I could answer the phone for the first time in my life sometime in my ninth year.

As I advanced in years I became comfortable in answering the phone. I was still not a big fan of dialing it (the fear of talking to someone other than the party I was calling or leaving a message paralyzed me). Then came boys. Sitting and staring and hoping the phone would ring was a big part of my early courtship years. Girls didn't phone boys in those days. At least not in my world. I remember calling a boy once ... it was so far out of my comfort zone I remember how the first part of that conversation went.

Adulthood brought much more comfort with that modern gadget called the telephone. I love, love, loved it when it rang. Dialing it? It was a little like pulling off a bandage. The quicker you did it, the less painful it was. Add the mantra of: "Who would ever want to talk to me??" that coursed through my mind for the better part of my life-that-far and phone dialing never became something that I was totally comfortable with.

Outbound calls always had a purpose. I would not phone someone 'just to talk' (who would ever want to talk to me??). If there was not a specific purpose, I rarely picked up the phone and dialed it.

My years in a teleservice department (where outbound soft sales calls were in their infancy in my line of business) should have cured me. In fact, I think it made it worse. I did it because it was part of my job. But I never liked it. I definitely didn't run home and yearn to dial the phone when it wasn't part of my job description and I wasn't getting paid to do so.

After living half a century with this minor phobia, I think I finally (just about) have it licked. I pick up the phone 'just to chat'. I have found that phone conversations net much higher results than emails if you want to gather a small group. I would much rather let my fingers do the walking than waste a tank of gas and time that I could be doing other things when it comes to shopping. Yes, this gadget called a telephone most definitely makes life easier. The ability to bring friends and family into my home with ease, has made me become quite fond of this piece of technology.

Outbound calls are still an area of discomfort. I will email over telephone nine times out of ten. But ... if I have the opportunity to leave a message and the party will get back to me at their convenience, it definitely makes the task easier.

When I get home from a day at work, I have used up my day's quota of energy and confidence. Picking up the phone becomes an onerous task. I will avoid it like the plague.

I have put off booking a dance lesson for far too long. I keep waiting for my head to be in a place where I can make the most of a lesson and have the confidence to pick up the phone, dial it and book a lesson.

First thing yesterday morning, I called the dance studio and left a message about booking a dance lesson. I thought I knew what my day would bring. I was wrong. An hour and a half later, I called back (and left a second message) when my day took an unexpected twist. At the end of my work day, I was greeted by a message left on our answering machine. "I have an opening at 7:00 tonight ..." One quick and easy phone call later, I was in!

Three outbound calls + one phone message = one dance lesson last night.

It was tough, but it was worth it!