The style

Southern and Otherwise.

I don’t know if you can really call Jeanne Robertson’s style something suitable for Saturday Silliness, being as it’s not really that silly. Hilarious, but not silly. However, there’s a lot of fun to be had, so we’re going to go ahead with it for today’s post.

Just a little background: Ms. Robertson is a former Miss North Carolina. And she’s 6′ 2″.

It’s not entirely clear whether it’s her height or her obvious intelligence that shatters all my stereotypical notions about beauty queens, but she is not what I expect when I think of pageant participants.

She’s made a living for quite some time as an event speaker. Meetings, conventions, clubs, I guess. I suspect she made quite a decent living because she is very good at what she does. In recent years, however, I think she has found herself more in demand than ever, thanks to YouTube.

Since I am always thrilled to see smart women succeeding beyond their ingenue years, I totally love Jeanne Robertson’s story.

And since I can relate to many of the incidents she relates in her appearances, I totally love Jeanne Robertson’s stories.

All of them.

If I absolutely had to pick a favorite, I couldn’t do it. I’d be torn between “Never send a man to the grocery store” and “Men don’t know the style in New York City.” So, I’ve linked to both of them here. You can see for yourself.

And then you can go on over to YouTube and listen to whatever else you can find because she has no bad material. It’s all good!

A present for you

From me.

And whoever set this up, of course.

It’s just a little something of a Friday Find, in the spirit of the Tuesday Tip from a week ago.

I’ve heard from some friends in New Zealand, and it’s already Dec 21st there, so the Mayan Apocalypse seems to have passed us by. Yet another of those oddly popular doomsday thingies that just didn’t pan out.

Of course, if you are still worried, still thinking maybe we haven’t quite made it through the 21st yet, this link is still appropriate. Because, really, what else have you got to do?

Sit back. Turn on your sound, if you aren’t at work. And just do nothing for 2 minutes.

Go ahead.

Click on that link above. Take a break.

We’ll all still be here when you get back.

Wasn’t that nice? A little holiday from the holidays!

(Hang onto that link. Life being what it is, I’m pretty sure it will come in handy often. )

What is wrong with me?

Seriously.

This is not a rhetorical question. I really am wondering. Although I suspect I probably ought to close this post to comments before asking!

Oh, well. I’ll take my chances.

If you happen to know me and feel you have the answer to this question, perhaps you can either be kind or email me separately.

The reason I ask is because of the nonsense yesterday.

I went out to run some errands and look for a few remaining Christmas presents.

Everything was going so well.

Even though I didn’t find everything for which I was searching, the sun was shining, traffic was light, I was hitting the stores in a smooth and logical order.

I got to Radio Shack and, with the aid of an extremely cheerful and knowledgeable and helpful clerk—something that has become less the norm at Radio Shack than it was in the days when people were building their own crystal radio sets—anyway, with her help, I found the proper components to make an extension cord to the corded headset I like to use with my phone. Now, I will be able to sit on a comfortable chair in my office for any lengthy conversations rather than be stuck at the desk.

I know, I know. Bluetooth, etc. But, I like corded phones. The sound is better! I also like having my hands free when I talk. So I needed a longer cord.

And I found it!

And I paid for it.

And I went on to the next store.

Where I no longer had my wallet.

And so. . .

You know what happened then. Rifling my purse. Searching the car. Calling the Radio Shack. Back-tracking. Searching the car. Rifling my purse.

Eventually, I went galumphing home, certain that I was now going to have to cancel all my credit cards, replace my license, my union cards, my insurance cards. Everything.

I did, however, ask the MotH* to check the car for me, yet again.

Naturally, he found the wallet. Just sitting on the floor beside the driver’s seat.

Where I had looked at it, dead in the eye, at least four times!!!

I don’t usually think of myself as being given to panic. Having extremely poor vision and being very unobservant, yes. Panic, not so much.

I even remember seeing the black shape there. I suppose it registered on my brain as the little handle you use to adjust the seat.

Which, in my car, is not black.

So, you know, I ask myself. What is wrong with me?

But I’ll tell you one thing that isn’t wrong with me. I am not missing my wallet! My mind, yes. But not my wallet.

Whew.

* MotH = Man of the House

Life is what happens

While you are busy making other plans.
~ John Lennon

Isn’t that the truth!

Also, that old line from Robert Burns’ poem, To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough, about how “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley.”

But my tip this Tuesday is to take some time and plan anyway.

If your goal is an aimless ramble, it’s fine to set out with no particular destination. I’ve had some really fun excursions that began that way. The plan was to have no plan. We set out with no destination, stopped along the way at whatever roadside attraction caught our interest, and had a high old time exploring all kinds of oddities.

I’ve also had some expeditions of that nature that were total failures. Nothing interesting to do or see turned up, no place to get a decent meal, nowhere to sleep comfortably.

So, that’s a gamble. Fun (or not), and fine for an outing, but maybe not exactly a recipe for achievement.

You can’t reach a goal if you don’t have one.

We’re coming to the end of the year. Traditional stock-taking time. This is the point where we look back at how far we’ve come and measure it against where we wanted to be.

It’s often hard to focus on the big picture all by yourself.

Some people, a few, are very good at self-direction. Some people are able to use things like journaling to help them explore these questions and come up with a set of goals. Some people benefit from using a life coach.

One thing I’ve found very helpful in the past is a Mastermind Group. The structure involved in showing up at a meeting and having time to talk about what you are working on and where you want to go is invaluable. I’m thinking it’s time to reconnect with some of my old group or start a new one. Because it’s always a good time to be making plans.

It’s worth asking if we still want what we thought we did. What’s changed? What isn’t working? What could be better? Where do we want to be this time next year? Five years from now? Ten?

Of course, life will happen. Storms will blow us off course. Sirens will distract us. Strange gods and cannibals will slow us down. It’s wise to enjoy the journey as none of us knows whether we shall ever reach Ithaca.

But if we don’t set out for Ithaca, we won’t meet the sirens, the gods, the cannibals, and we won’t get home.

The ten years will pass anyway.

Where do you want to be?

Not a creature was stirring

Fortunately.

Saturday, we had the annual Boat Parade Party at my house. This is due to the annual boat parade hosted by a local restaurant.

Boats from far and wide—or, at least, from the immediate vicinity—get all dolled up with lights and voyage circuitously around the inlet for the enjoyment of residents and all comers. The boats that are small enough to fit under the bridge make a circle of our little creek before joining the main parade.

One of the stand-outs this year—of the ones small enough to come our way—was a boat fully equipped with fireplace, pajama-and-bathrobe-clad children and a loudspeaker from whence issued the full narration of Clement C. Moore’s A Visit from St. Nicholas, otherwise, and more familiarly, known as ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

So, there were some creatures stirring on the boat. There was a captain, a pilot, a driver, whatever you like to call him, and there were some waving children. But they didn’t stir very much—and a good thing, too.

I never did figure out quite how the vessel was configured, but it sure seemed to sit awfully low in the water. The hearth upon which those cozy-looking children were seated was, maybe, an inch above the waterline. Any untoward stirring and there was likely to be some untoward soaking.

Miraculously, the parade made two circuits around the creek and everybody stayed dry—as far as I could tell.

It was a most successful parade. Last year, there were only about four small boats. This year there were twice as many. And they made two passes! And there were lots more people on either bank to cheer them on.

It’s quite fun to clap and yell and applaud as they go by our side and then to hear all the cheering out of the darkness from the opposite shore. A whole lot of individuals forging a community of joy for one evening.

And it was especially miraculous this year—when something that makes kids happy seems even more important than usual.

All I did

was walk out the door.

Honestly! The uproar in my driveway yesterday!

I just wanted to get the mail.

I walked out the side door and before I left the shelter of the carport, two rather large-sized doves took off from the driveway with much fluttering and flapping of wings and cheeps and squawks of panic such that you’d have thought I’d flung a cat into their midst. At the same time, one of the dang squirrels came around the corner, pulled a cartoon skid to a stop (hard to do on a bed of river rocks) and reversed course in a mad rush to escape that startled me just as much as I’d startled him.

(The squirrels, by the way, are no longer to be known in this blog as “the squirrels.” From here on out, they are always to be referred to as “the dang squirrels”—and, when especially irritating, as “those dang squirrels.”)

It seemed like a lot of unnecessary commotion for a simple trip to the mailbox.

Life is like that sometimes.

You set out in all innocence to achieve something of no great moment only to find everyone around you inexplicably horrified and upset by your (to you) harmless actions.

It’s worth remembering, I guess, that there are probably always doves and dang squirrels along the way—whatever you’re trying to do. And their reaction may seem silly to you, but it seems life and death to them.

And it’s also worth remembering—if you happen to be the one squeaking and squawking when the monster is coming up behind you—that maybe she just wants to get the mail.

The heart of the matter

Chronic dissatisfaction is at the heart of the matter.

I’ve sort of taken Todd Gitlin’s words out of context. Truth be told, I don’t have the context. I found the quote on a quote website. But it resonates with what I have been thinking as I ask myself, “What am I thankful for on this Thankful Thursday?” Because, you know, I have to do a blog post.

The first thing I thought is that I’m going to be stuck for a blog post, because I’m not feeling very thankful just now. In fact, I’m feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

And then it struck me.

That’s the thing for which I am thankful.

You see, I’ve been in my “new” house for almost three years. The big culture shock of the move is over. The adjustments of finding doctors and dentists and grocery stores and dry cleaners have been accomplished. Almost everything has been unpacked and most things have found places. The big repairs to the house itself have been accomplished. There are still major remodeling projects to come, but the walls have paint, there is enough furniture to find a place to sit and a place to sleep as required, and we have managed to acquire most of the things we never needed previously. Lawn mowers, for example.

Moving is no longer the main focus of my existence.

Now I’m moved. And I’ve got to figure out what my new life should look like–other than a life lived in service to this house.

The house is all well and good. It’s beautiful, in fact. And I am enjoying the weather and the view and the coots. I am more than thankful for the quiet–as anyone who knew me during the living hell of my previous existence is no doubt aware. We’ve settled into a routine.

And it’s just occurred to me in the last week or so that something is not quite right.

I’m not painting and plastering every waking hour, so what am I doing?

That is a disconcerting feeling…or would be, except that I recognize it.

It’s the same feeling I’ve had in the past just before something really interesting comes along. Just before I get a great job or write a play or have an adventure of one kind or another.

I don’t know what this calm before the storm presages this time. I approach it warily—as one should approach all storms—but I am thankful the breezes are stirring.

I’ll echo my niece who said, once, at a family gathering when she was…oh, about one and a half…and had been playing quietly on the floor, paying no attention to any of the adults, until she popped suddenly into view, announcing with great interest and a joyfully rising inflection,”I wonder what’s gonna happen.”

Creativity, for me, has always required space—a gestational period of boredom. I think, perhaps, it’s come round again. And I’m thankful.

I wonder what’s gonna happen.

The best holiday present

You could give yourself.

So, we’re in the middle of December. You’ve gotta bake cupcakes for the kids’ holiday party, shop for presents, wrap presents, ship presents, plan meals and trips, clean guestrooms and send cards, figure out a Secret Santa gift for a co-worker, attend midnight mass, help out at the food kitchen—whatever your version of the endless list that endlessly grows during the holidays.

My tip for you today is give yourself a break.

You had an extra cookie? You can let your diet go—a little bit—just once or twice.

Couldn’t find time to do your Morning Pages? The world will keep turning.

Can’t figure out how to get to the gym between work and the six holiday parties you have to attend? Maybe it’s okay to skip it.

I’m not saying throw your hands up in the air, curl up in a blanket and stop showing up to everything all at once. I’m just saying that there’s a lot to do this time of year. We’ve all got goals and To Do lists and routines we’ve set up to help us realize our dreams.

If you are anything like me, you might get to feeling really guilty when you veer off the path—and you are going to be forced off the path a good few times in the coming weeks. If I understood football, I would insert some reference here to offsides or out of bounds or whatever it is. The point is that you’re going to break the rules you’ve set up for yourself.

When that happens, you have a choice.

You can kick the ball and stalk off home, or you can say, “Whoops! Blew that call. Gimme the ball again, Coach. I can make up some yardage next time.”

I’m going to remember that, yes, I’d like to lose a few pounds, and yes, I’d like to make some progress on my novel, and yes, I want to be able to do a few more situps, BUT it’s okay if I don’t manage all of it every day this month.

Because enjoying the holidays is on my To Do list this year. . .and that’s one thing I’m determined to accomplish.

Twinkle, twinkle

Little lights.

Every year, at this time, there is a miracle of light where I live.

All the houses along the creek decorate their docks. The houses themselves, with few exceptions, remain dark. But the creek side is resplendent with light. One house even has a web of golden lights strung from tree to tree, high up in the branches and down to the ground. The glow is magnified and multiplied by the reflection in the water, and it is really quite something.

A few houses down, a giant Santa presides over wildlife and watercraft from the top of a dock’s sun deck. Bright Christmas red in the daylight, he glows and waves to the cars on the bridge at night.

There are twinkling palm trees and sea walls lined in blue and green, strings of red and purple, green and yellow spiraling around pilings, and Christmas trees built entirely of lights standing out at the ends of piers.

It’s all gorgeous.

There’s no prize for the best decoration. No reason for any neighbor to vie with any other. They do it because it’s beautiful and because people love it. When you get right down to it, nobody living in the house actually spends that much time looking at their own lights. And no one house is all that spectacular by itself.

We enjoy the totality of the experience. The whole is truly greater than the sum of its parts.

It is lovely, every night, to see the lights come on, house by house, many of them on timers with photocells, just waiting for the sun to set enough to switch on the power. It is lovely every year to see who has installed something new and what it is.

It is true that we do enjoy looking at them. I can’t really speak for everyone, but I venture to guess that we enjoy, more, the thought of the cars crossing the bridge night after night, a sudden glimpse of brightness out the side window, “Look, Johnny! Look!,” and parental hands pointing while little round eyes stare quickly, greedily, at a beauty that cannot be grasped, cannot be savored, but is offered up by a community for no better reason than because it’s pretty and because we can.

When I am old and feeble and forgetful, I hope I will be able still to see the twinkling lights of Christmas. I do love them so.

The slippery mind

I have one.

The night before last, as I was writing yesterday’s blog post, I had a great idea for today’s. It was so good that I debated with myself. Should I write it instead of the Scissor Fit post? I decided, no, I would write the Scissor Fit post and save this new idea for another day.

And, you know what happened then, right?

I didn’t write it down.

Aaaaaaaarggggggghhhhh!

The days when I could effortlessly recall every little thing seem to be gone. I can still recite huge chunks of plays I did in my giddy youth. There are poems that are permanently lodged in my brain. But the reason I came into this room two seconds ago. . .not so much.

Now, I’m not saying that I never used to forget things.

It’s a fact that about once every seven years, I would be peacefully sitting at home, about to have a lovely meal I had cooked myself, when the phone would ring and somebody would say, “Where are you?” and I would have to rush out to some important meeting that had completely slipped my mind. It was always upsetting and embarrassing, but it truly only happened about once every seven years—and almost never after I got my Palm Pilot. (I still say the Palm Pilot has the best reminder application!)

Nowadays, I rarely have meetings I am supposed to attend, but I do have other things I am planning. There are things I want to pick up at the store, blog posts I want to write, little tidbits of news I want to tell a friend or relative. It’s a bit worrisome that they slip my mind more often than they used to do.

I think it’s because I have more time than I used to have. Few things have to be done today; there’s always tomorrow. There’s a nice leisurely feel to that—except that I always seem to be busier now than I was in the days when I had a full-time job and rehearsals every night—but it does seem to rust the old steel trap.

I think one of my New Year’s Resolutions might have to be to memorize some monologues or a sonnet or two.

Just to see if I still can.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Category Archives: Life in General