This summer, I haven't read nearly as much as I would have liked, but what I've read has been good.
Right now, I'm working on "Paradox of Choice" by Barry Schwartz. I particularly like the subtitle: How the culture of abundance robs us of satisfaction.
I've just read a particularly interesting section I'd thought I'd share: Maximizers versus Satisficers.
Maximizers are those that do a lot of research/thinking when faced with a choice, whether it be over a new job or a new sweater. Maximizers have very high standards and will agonize over nearly every decision, wondering if they could have found a better deal elsewhere.
Satisficers, on the other hand, don't feel the need to "shop around". They don't worry about the best deal - if they come across an item, situation, etc., that meets their standards and criteria, they take it. It's not that they have lower standards, it's just that they are perfectly content with 'good enough'.
You might read the above descriptions and know which category you mostly fit into. Really, though, no single person is ever an 100% Maximizer or Satisficer...we all have categories in which we maximize or satisfice. Most of the time, Brent and I are satisficers - we make decisions with very little regret. But, Brent is definitely a maximizer when it comes to technology - he will deliberate over those matters intensely. For example, he spent an ardent, agonizing week earlier this summer deciding if he really wanted/needed a BlackBerry. There was much debate and rumination on his part, both internal and external. On the other hand, I'm pretty impulsive, and usually it works out pretty good for me.
However, the author of this book contends that people will be most content if they can fit themselves into the Satisficers category for most decisions. This could mean major personality changes for some people.
Frankly, I think this can lead to some very good questions: What is the best? Why is it so important? What's so wrong with good enough?
05 August 2010
23 June 2010
Letting Go
There's nothing like a flooded basement and its subsequent reorganizing to help one sift through the accumulated crap on one's life.
The entire storage/laundry/husband office area has been in need of cleaning up and cleaning out. Today was the day. Please note the vital statistics:
80 - dollars spent on plastic storage
3 - hours spent on project
Hot Spot #1: Craft Shelving Unit. We had used various items to complete art projects throughout the year...we'd put none of it back in the right spot. Puff balls, styrofoam balls, and paintbrushes were scattered, willy-nilly. The CSU looked as if it had thrown up yarn, pipe cleaners, and glue sticks. Within forty-five minutes, this area was sifted, cleaned, separated and labeled.
Hot Spot #2: Another free-standing shelving unit that could only be described as "Household Potpourri". Light bulbs, painting equipment, the Kirby vacuum attachments, soapmaking items, etc. Again, a half-hour later rendered a much neater, nicer multi-purpose unit. Significant changes here include disposing of the soapmaking materials (a phase I went through about six years ago) and rearranging of the paint roller skeletons/drop cloths/painter's tape.
Hot Spot #3: The huge free-standing, hand-built (by previous owners) shelves which contained most of the crap that had survived the move from Minnesota to Iowa nearly five years ago. Items of interest include:
* Relics from high school and college times (both Brent and I)
* Our wedding unity candle
* Iowa State butt cushions
* Luggage
* Newspapers from significant events like our children's birthdays, September 11, and January 1, 2000.
* Diaries
* Baby books
* Educational materials from student teaching
Now, I am a keeper to a certain extent, but mostly I'm a pitcher. My husband, on the other hand, will keep nearly everything.
He insisted on keeping the entire newspaper from each of our children's births (not a local, small-town rag, I might add here). In the end, I threw out everything but the City/Region section, which included the kids' birth announcement as well as a sampling of the top stories in the area - for posterity's sakes. Then, he disdained the newspapers we'd kept the three or so days after the WTC bombing. Now, these I fought for...and won. I mean, from a journalistic standpoint, the front page headlines were "DISBELIEF" and "TERROR FROM THE SKIES" with tremendous photos of the bombing aftermath...when in history have we ever seen headlines like this?
Eventually, Brent sought refuge elsewhere, especially after I asked (implored/impelled) him to relocate his high school artifacts to a plastic tote (previously stored in a damp cardboard box). I also might have suggested he go through the box and get rid of unnecessaries...I mean, I was just trying to help, why be so touchy?
However, events were in motion; I was on the trash warpath. Math tests I'd kept since college found a new home in the garbage, as did several graduate school booklets. Folders containing schoolwork from high school were pitched. Old picture frames, too. Still, a significant amount of mementos remain, which were then packed into clear plastic totes and labeled appropriately.
In the end, three totally full black garbage made it to the garage, along with roughly ten cardboxes of various size on its way to recycling.
At the end of this very satisfying day, I am reminded of Albert Einstein's Three Rules of Work:
1. Out of clutter find simplicity.
2. From discord find harmony.
3. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
So, so, so, so, so true.
The entire storage/laundry/husband office area has been in need of cleaning up and cleaning out. Today was the day. Please note the vital statistics:
80 - dollars spent on plastic storage
3 - hours spent on project
Hot Spot #1: Craft Shelving Unit. We had used various items to complete art projects throughout the year...we'd put none of it back in the right spot. Puff balls, styrofoam balls, and paintbrushes were scattered, willy-nilly. The CSU looked as if it had thrown up yarn, pipe cleaners, and glue sticks. Within forty-five minutes, this area was sifted, cleaned, separated and labeled.
Hot Spot #2: Another free-standing shelving unit that could only be described as "Household Potpourri". Light bulbs, painting equipment, the Kirby vacuum attachments, soapmaking items, etc. Again, a half-hour later rendered a much neater, nicer multi-purpose unit. Significant changes here include disposing of the soapmaking materials (a phase I went through about six years ago) and rearranging of the paint roller skeletons/drop cloths/painter's tape.
Hot Spot #3: The huge free-standing, hand-built (by previous owners) shelves which contained most of the crap that had survived the move from Minnesota to Iowa nearly five years ago. Items of interest include:
* Relics from high school and college times (both Brent and I)
* Our wedding unity candle
* Iowa State butt cushions
* Luggage
* Newspapers from significant events like our children's birthdays, September 11, and January 1, 2000.
* Diaries
* Baby books
* Educational materials from student teaching
Now, I am a keeper to a certain extent, but mostly I'm a pitcher. My husband, on the other hand, will keep nearly everything.
He insisted on keeping the entire newspaper from each of our children's births (not a local, small-town rag, I might add here). In the end, I threw out everything but the City/Region section, which included the kids' birth announcement as well as a sampling of the top stories in the area - for posterity's sakes. Then, he disdained the newspapers we'd kept the three or so days after the WTC bombing. Now, these I fought for...and won. I mean, from a journalistic standpoint, the front page headlines were "DISBELIEF" and "TERROR FROM THE SKIES" with tremendous photos of the bombing aftermath...when in history have we ever seen headlines like this?
Eventually, Brent sought refuge elsewhere, especially after I asked (implored/impelled) him to relocate his high school artifacts to a plastic tote (previously stored in a damp cardboard box). I also might have suggested he go through the box and get rid of unnecessaries...I mean, I was just trying to help, why be so touchy?
However, events were in motion; I was on the trash warpath. Math tests I'd kept since college found a new home in the garbage, as did several graduate school booklets. Folders containing schoolwork from high school were pitched. Old picture frames, too. Still, a significant amount of mementos remain, which were then packed into clear plastic totes and labeled appropriately.
In the end, three totally full black garbage made it to the garage, along with roughly ten cardboxes of various size on its way to recycling.
At the end of this very satisfying day, I am reminded of Albert Einstein's Three Rules of Work:
1. Out of clutter find simplicity.
2. From discord find harmony.
3. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
So, so, so, so, so true.
Letting Go
There's nothing like a flooded basement and its subsequent reorganizing to help one sift through the accumulated crap on one's life.
The entire storage/laundry/husband office area has been in need of cleaning up and cleaning out. Today was the day. Please note the vital statistics:
80 - dollars spent on plastic storage
3 - hours spent on project
Hot Spot #1: Craft Shelving Unit. We had used various items to complete art projects throughout the year...we'd put none of it back in the right spot. Puff balls, styrofoam balls, and paintbrushes were scattered, willy-nilly. The CSU looked as if it had thrown up yarn, pipe cleaners, and glue sticks. Within forty-five minutes, this area was sifted, cleaned, separated and labeled.
Hot Spot #2: Another free-standing shelving unit that could only be described as "Household Potpourri". Light bulbs, painting equipment, the Kirby vacuum attachments, soapmaking items, etc. Again, a half-hour later rendered a much neater, nicer multi-purpose unit. Significant changes here include disposing of the soapmaking materials (a phase I went through about six years ago) and rearranging of the paint roller skeletons/drop cloths/painter's tape.
Hot Spot #3: The huge free-standing, hand-built (by previous owners) shelves which contained most of the crap that had survived the move from Minnesota to Iowa nearly five years ago. Items of interest include:
* Relics from high school and college times (both Brent and I)
* Our wedding unity candle
* Iowa State butt cushions
* Luggage
* Newspapers from significant events like our children's birthdays, September 11, and January 1, 2000.
* Diaries
* Baby books
* Educational materials from student teaching
Now, I am a keeper to a certain extent, but mostly I'm a pitcher. My husband, on the other hand, will keep nearly everything.
He insisted on keeping the entire newspaper from each of our children's births (not a local, small-town rag, I might add here). In the end, I threw out everything but the City/Region section, which included the kids' birth announcement as well as a sampling of the top stories in the area - for posterity's sakes. Then, he disdained the newspapers we'd kept the three or so days after the WTC bombing. Now, these I fought for...and won. I mean, from a journalistic standpoint, the front page headlines were "DISBELIEF" and "TERROR FROM THE SKIES" with tremendous photos of the bombing aftermath...when in history have we ever seen headlines like this?
Eventually, Brent sought refuge elsewhere, especially after I asked (implored/impelled) him to relocate his high school artifacts to a plastic tote (previously stored in a damp cardboard box). I also might have suggested he go through the box and get rid of unnecessaries...I mean, I was just trying to help, why be so touchy?
However, events were in motion; I was on the trash warpath. Math tests I'd kept since college found a new home in the garbage, as did several graduate school booklets. Folders containing schoolwork from high school were pitched. Old picture frames, too. Still, a significant amount of mementos remain, which were then packed into clear plastic totes and labeled appropriately.
In the end, three totally full black garbage made it to the garage, along with roughly ten cardboxes of various size on its way to recycling.
At the end of this very satisfying day, I am reminded of Albert Einstein's Three Rules of Work:
1. Out of clutter find simplicity.
2. From discord find harmony.
3. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
So, so, so, so, so true.
The entire storage/laundry/husband office area has been in need of cleaning up and cleaning out. Today was the day. Please note the vital statistics:
80 - dollars spent on plastic storage
3 - hours spent on project
Hot Spot #1: Craft Shelving Unit. We had used various items to complete art projects throughout the year...we'd put none of it back in the right spot. Puff balls, styrofoam balls, and paintbrushes were scattered, willy-nilly. The CSU looked as if it had thrown up yarn, pipe cleaners, and glue sticks. Within forty-five minutes, this area was sifted, cleaned, separated and labeled.
Hot Spot #2: Another free-standing shelving unit that could only be described as "Household Potpourri". Light bulbs, painting equipment, the Kirby vacuum attachments, soapmaking items, etc. Again, a half-hour later rendered a much neater, nicer multi-purpose unit. Significant changes here include disposing of the soapmaking materials (a phase I went through about six years ago) and rearranging of the paint roller skeletons/drop cloths/painter's tape.
Hot Spot #3: The huge free-standing, hand-built (by previous owners) shelves which contained most of the crap that had survived the move from Minnesota to Iowa nearly five years ago. Items of interest include:
* Relics from high school and college times (both Brent and I)
* Our wedding unity candle
* Iowa State butt cushions
* Luggage
* Newspapers from significant events like our children's birthdays, September 11, and January 1, 2000.
* Diaries
* Baby books
* Educational materials from student teaching
Now, I am a keeper to a certain extent, but mostly I'm a pitcher. My husband, on the other hand, will keep nearly everything.
He insisted on keeping the entire newspaper from each of our children's births (not a local, small-town rag, I might add here). In the end, I threw out everything but the City/Region section, which included the kids' birth announcement as well as a sampling of the top stories in the area - for posterity's sakes. Then, he disdained the newspapers we'd kept the three or so days after the WTC bombing. Now, these I fought for...and won. I mean, from a journalistic standpoint, the front page headlines were "DISBELIEF" and "TERROR FROM THE SKIES" with tremendous photos of the bombing aftermath...when in history have we ever seen headlines like this?
Eventually, Brent sought refuge elsewhere, especially after I asked (implored/impelled) him to relocate his high school artifacts to a plastic tote (previously stored in a damp cardboard box). I also might have suggested he go through the box and get rid of unnecessaries...I mean, I was just trying to help, why be so touchy?
However, events were in motion; I was on the trash warpath. Math tests I'd kept since college found a new home in the garbage, as did several graduate school booklets. Folders containing schoolwork from high school were pitched. Old picture frames, too. Still, a significant amount of mementos remain, which were then packed into clear plastic totes and labeled appropriately.
In the end, three totally full black garbage made it to the garage, along with roughly ten cardboxes of various size on its way to recycling.
At the end of this very satisfying day, I am reminded of Albert Einstein's Three Rules of Work:
1. Out of clutter find simplicity.
2. From discord find harmony.
3. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.
So, so, so, so, so true.
19 June 2010
Summer Fashion Trends!
Today was the first day in awhile that a.) the kids and I happened to have NOTHING to do and b.) the weather was hot and sunny.
And when these two things transpire at the same time, you all know what that means - it's time to hit the local swimming hole!
I always welcome the first pool day of the year. I look forward to observing the latest swimsuit trends, as well as the unveiling of exotic tattoos. In addition to this, I get a kick out of the social interactions between young men and ladies, who are engaged in their delicate and complicated dances of courtship.
1. The hot swimsuit trend this year is the string bikini. We're talking the old-school string bikini - the two triangle-shaped pieces of fabric that just cover the boobs and the briefs that tie at the sides. The colors this year are bright....turquoises, chartreuses, and fuchsias. I'm no slave to fashion, and so I did NOT turn out in my neon-colored two-piece.
And the world breathes a collective sigh of hidden-stretch-mark relief.
While I'm on this topic, I also noticed how easy it how to tell which girls were wearing their first two-piece ever...they kept their arms permanently crossed across their stomachs and breasts. I thank the stars that Kirby still prefers wearing one-pieces (although I'd have no problem lowering the parental hammer should she express a desire to wear a string bikini in the near future).
2. Being the tattoo admirer I am, I always enjoy pool season for this very reason. The hot new trend in this area appears to be tattoos alongside the rib cage, as I noticed at least one bikini-wearer sporting a line of stars along her side. I've also noticed that the number of tats a person has is directly proportional to the number of times they walk around the pool. The more tattoos, the more laps...
3. Nothing is new in the world of young people's interactions with the opposite sex. There are no current new trends, no new fashions. Every way that young people interact today resembles ways of roughly twenty years ago...except instead of string bikinis, girls then wore an early 90s version of a monokini. Otherwise, please note:
Similarity A: Girls then and now come to the pool in full makeup. But: 2010 girls go heavy on the black eyeliner. 1990 girls go heavy on the blue mascara.
Similarty B: Girls then and now come to the pool with their hair done.
But: 2010 girls have sleek, flat-ironed locks. 1990 girls have high bangs and sprayed wings.
Similarity C: Girls then and now slowly walk the poolside. Many times. So that 2010 and 1990 boys will notice them. Many times.
Similarity D: A, B, and C are done so that boys will pay attention. They usually show this by splashing the girls with chlorinated water. Both 2010 and 1990 girls are torn because a.) they want boys to pay attention to them, but b.) they don't want to spoil the hair and makeup that's gotten them that attention.
Similarity E: After much cajoling from the boys, 2010 and 1990 girls will finally enter the water...only to either be a.) abandoned for belly flops off the diving board or b.) dunked underwater. At this point, both 2010 and 1990 girls realize the futility of the whole experience and either a.) sigh with disgust and return to the safe haven of their girlfriends or b.) don't care about looking like idiots and follow the boys to the diving board/deep end/concession stand, etc.
So, to recap, here are your swimming pool dos and don'ts:
1. Don't wear bikinis.
2. Get tattoos so I can look at them.
3. Don't do your hair and makeup to come to a SWIMMING POOL.
4. Stay away from boys - they're icky.
And when these two things transpire at the same time, you all know what that means - it's time to hit the local swimming hole!
I always welcome the first pool day of the year. I look forward to observing the latest swimsuit trends, as well as the unveiling of exotic tattoos. In addition to this, I get a kick out of the social interactions between young men and ladies, who are engaged in their delicate and complicated dances of courtship.
1. The hot swimsuit trend this year is the string bikini. We're talking the old-school string bikini - the two triangle-shaped pieces of fabric that just cover the boobs and the briefs that tie at the sides. The colors this year are bright....turquoises, chartreuses, and fuchsias. I'm no slave to fashion, and so I did NOT turn out in my neon-colored two-piece.
And the world breathes a collective sigh of hidden-stretch-mark relief.
While I'm on this topic, I also noticed how easy it how to tell which girls were wearing their first two-piece ever...they kept their arms permanently crossed across their stomachs and breasts. I thank the stars that Kirby still prefers wearing one-pieces (although I'd have no problem lowering the parental hammer should she express a desire to wear a string bikini in the near future).
2. Being the tattoo admirer I am, I always enjoy pool season for this very reason. The hot new trend in this area appears to be tattoos alongside the rib cage, as I noticed at least one bikini-wearer sporting a line of stars along her side. I've also noticed that the number of tats a person has is directly proportional to the number of times they walk around the pool. The more tattoos, the more laps...
3. Nothing is new in the world of young people's interactions with the opposite sex. There are no current new trends, no new fashions. Every way that young people interact today resembles ways of roughly twenty years ago...except instead of string bikinis, girls then wore an early 90s version of a monokini. Otherwise, please note:
Similarity A: Girls then and now come to the pool in full makeup. But: 2010 girls go heavy on the black eyeliner. 1990 girls go heavy on the blue mascara.
Similarty B: Girls then and now come to the pool with their hair done.
But: 2010 girls have sleek, flat-ironed locks. 1990 girls have high bangs and sprayed wings.
Similarity C: Girls then and now slowly walk the poolside. Many times. So that 2010 and 1990 boys will notice them. Many times.
Similarity D: A, B, and C are done so that boys will pay attention. They usually show this by splashing the girls with chlorinated water. Both 2010 and 1990 girls are torn because a.) they want boys to pay attention to them, but b.) they don't want to spoil the hair and makeup that's gotten them that attention.
Similarity E: After much cajoling from the boys, 2010 and 1990 girls will finally enter the water...only to either be a.) abandoned for belly flops off the diving board or b.) dunked underwater. At this point, both 2010 and 1990 girls realize the futility of the whole experience and either a.) sigh with disgust and return to the safe haven of their girlfriends or b.) don't care about looking like idiots and follow the boys to the diving board/deep end/concession stand, etc.
So, to recap, here are your swimming pool dos and don'ts:
1. Don't wear bikinis.
2. Get tattoos so I can look at them.
3. Don't do your hair and makeup to come to a SWIMMING POOL.
4. Stay away from boys - they're icky.
26 May 2010
Nothing Is A Given
As I consider the enormity of the English language, there is one word right now that I can’t stop thinking about:
Fair.
A word that is so overused…and yet a word that describes a concept that is so vague, elusive, intangible. Probably because it is so overused.
We’ve all heard it. We’ve all said it. We’ve all thought it.
“That’s not fair!”
“To cry fair or foul.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
My online dictionary defines fair as “in accordance with the rules or standards.” Most of the time, that definition works for me. But I realize, it works for me ONLY because the “rules or standards” happen to go with my own desires and wants at that time.
When someone exclaims something is not fair, it’s usually because they feel they were entitled to some specific outcome/behavior. Many times, the entitlement is justified; it is in accordance with the typical society’s “rules and standards”.
For example, I have always believed that when I (and my spouse) was ready to have kids, we would readily, easily conceive them. I considered that “fair”. And, when the time came, that’s how it happened. All three times.
But wait, how many loving, amazing people are out there want the same as I did? Millions. How many of those same are not having children easily? Millions more, probably. Friends close to me are having conception issues – they have waited, pondered, researched for years – they have done all that thinking that most of the rest of us didn’t do. It seems “fair” to me that they should be more entitled to children than I was. Whose “rules and standards” are in effect here?
Another example of a skewed sense of fairness concerns a former principal I worked under; his six-month-old infant son passed away unexpectedly last night. According to the “rules and standards” we’re used to, we are entitled to outlive our children. It just seems to align with the natural sense of the world. I wonder now: where did I get that right to believe that?
These things cause me to call my idea of “fairness” in question. Once upon a time, I might have cried these things “weren’t fair”…without any sense of what I really meant. Now, because I do believe the universe unfolds as it will, despite what we do, these things occur for some cosmic reason. And, I don’t have to remind you guys that our “society” is not the end all-be all. There is a larger, more sublime “Society” that exists, and it has its own rules and standards…ones that we will probably never, ever comprehend.
Now, all I can really say is: These things aren’t fair…to me. And probably not to people I know, either.
Does this make you feel helpless? I hope it’s doesn’t. I think we waste too much time proclaiming what’s fair and what isn’t. It doesn’t matter – it’s what a person does after the judgment that matters.
Fair.
A word that is so overused…and yet a word that describes a concept that is so vague, elusive, intangible. Probably because it is so overused.
We’ve all heard it. We’ve all said it. We’ve all thought it.
“That’s not fair!”
“To cry fair or foul.”
“All’s fair in love and war.”
My online dictionary defines fair as “in accordance with the rules or standards.” Most of the time, that definition works for me. But I realize, it works for me ONLY because the “rules or standards” happen to go with my own desires and wants at that time.
When someone exclaims something is not fair, it’s usually because they feel they were entitled to some specific outcome/behavior. Many times, the entitlement is justified; it is in accordance with the typical society’s “rules and standards”.
For example, I have always believed that when I (and my spouse) was ready to have kids, we would readily, easily conceive them. I considered that “fair”. And, when the time came, that’s how it happened. All three times.
But wait, how many loving, amazing people are out there want the same as I did? Millions. How many of those same are not having children easily? Millions more, probably. Friends close to me are having conception issues – they have waited, pondered, researched for years – they have done all that thinking that most of the rest of us didn’t do. It seems “fair” to me that they should be more entitled to children than I was. Whose “rules and standards” are in effect here?
Another example of a skewed sense of fairness concerns a former principal I worked under; his six-month-old infant son passed away unexpectedly last night. According to the “rules and standards” we’re used to, we are entitled to outlive our children. It just seems to align with the natural sense of the world. I wonder now: where did I get that right to believe that?
These things cause me to call my idea of “fairness” in question. Once upon a time, I might have cried these things “weren’t fair”…without any sense of what I really meant. Now, because I do believe the universe unfolds as it will, despite what we do, these things occur for some cosmic reason. And, I don’t have to remind you guys that our “society” is not the end all-be all. There is a larger, more sublime “Society” that exists, and it has its own rules and standards…ones that we will probably never, ever comprehend.
Now, all I can really say is: These things aren’t fair…to me. And probably not to people I know, either.
Does this make you feel helpless? I hope it’s doesn’t. I think we waste too much time proclaiming what’s fair and what isn’t. It doesn’t matter – it’s what a person does after the judgment that matters.
25 May 2010
Letting Go - Corollary A
So, why do we hold on to the things we do? As I sifted through the medley of items collected throughout my years on this planet (as discussed in the previous post), it occurs to me I have no reasonable logic behind keeping what I keep. And throwing what I throw, for that matter.
Exhibit A: I found my wedding dress about three days ago. After my wedding, I'd had small damage repaired, the entire thing cleaned, and then boxed/packaged up nicely in a "keepsake box". The heavy-duty cardboard box contains a clear oval cut-out, which allows me to view the wedding dress's bodice in its beaded and sequined glory. However, it creeps me out a bit, as the dress is fitted over a dismembered plastic mannequin torso, rendering it head and legless. Kind of like Stephen King meets "Brides" magazine.
Of course, I wish I knew what exactly I was thinking some thirteen years ago when I had it done. The purpose? The need? Who knows. More provocative, though, is why I've left it that way for the last decade-plus. And why now do I have the fervid desire to rip the box open, put it on (even though it will be too big), and go shopping at WalMart?
Who can comprehend the post-wedding human mind? Who, indeed?
Exhibit #2: I'd packed five years' worth of "free" Iowa State University phone books into my Container O' Memories. Every dorm room had its own copy, which found its way into my luggage at the end of every school year.
WHY? WHY? WHY?
Originally, I think I kept them as proof of my progression through college; proof that I'd actually made it. You know, in case I ever lost my diploma or developed amnesia and forgot I graduated from college. Now, I think I've saved them because I'm so vain (I probably think this phone book is about me).
It occurs to me now that I should have just ripped out the page containing my name and saved that instead of the whole phone book. Oh well, in another ten years, when I go through those relics again, I'll do just that.
Going through all this stuff has provided a key discovery to my own personality: I keep things that remind me of things I could possibly forget. That's why the most of the Rochester Post-Bulletins of my children's birthdays did not make the cut...I will never forget my children or when I had them. They were the important things that occurred on those days; all other top stories are irrelevant to me. But, the 9/11 newspapers remain because it's an important historical event I don't want to forget.
And for this reason, the collegiate phone books will join the discard pile someday. I doubt I'll ever forget I went to college; I mean, every job I've ever gotten is because I have a college diploma.
And the wedding dress? Will I ever forget I'm married? I doubt it. Not when I wake up next a cute, conservative Aquarius every morning. Not when I interact with my three children on a daily basis (one of whom is his dad through and through). Not when I see our wedding picture displayed in the living room. Not when I catch the glint of my wedding band on my ring finger.
Now...if I ever get Alzheimer's...all bets are off.
Exhibit A: I found my wedding dress about three days ago. After my wedding, I'd had small damage repaired, the entire thing cleaned, and then boxed/packaged up nicely in a "keepsake box". The heavy-duty cardboard box contains a clear oval cut-out, which allows me to view the wedding dress's bodice in its beaded and sequined glory. However, it creeps me out a bit, as the dress is fitted over a dismembered plastic mannequin torso, rendering it head and legless. Kind of like Stephen King meets "Brides" magazine.
Of course, I wish I knew what exactly I was thinking some thirteen years ago when I had it done. The purpose? The need? Who knows. More provocative, though, is why I've left it that way for the last decade-plus. And why now do I have the fervid desire to rip the box open, put it on (even though it will be too big), and go shopping at WalMart?
Who can comprehend the post-wedding human mind? Who, indeed?
Exhibit #2: I'd packed five years' worth of "free" Iowa State University phone books into my Container O' Memories. Every dorm room had its own copy, which found its way into my luggage at the end of every school year.
WHY? WHY? WHY?
Originally, I think I kept them as proof of my progression through college; proof that I'd actually made it. You know, in case I ever lost my diploma or developed amnesia and forgot I graduated from college. Now, I think I've saved them because I'm so vain (I probably think this phone book is about me).
It occurs to me now that I should have just ripped out the page containing my name and saved that instead of the whole phone book. Oh well, in another ten years, when I go through those relics again, I'll do just that.
Going through all this stuff has provided a key discovery to my own personality: I keep things that remind me of things I could possibly forget. That's why the most of the Rochester Post-Bulletins of my children's birthdays did not make the cut...I will never forget my children or when I had them. They were the important things that occurred on those days; all other top stories are irrelevant to me. But, the 9/11 newspapers remain because it's an important historical event I don't want to forget.
And for this reason, the collegiate phone books will join the discard pile someday. I doubt I'll ever forget I went to college; I mean, every job I've ever gotten is because I have a college diploma.
And the wedding dress? Will I ever forget I'm married? I doubt it. Not when I wake up next a cute, conservative Aquarius every morning. Not when I interact with my three children on a daily basis (one of whom is his dad through and through). Not when I see our wedding picture displayed in the living room. Not when I catch the glint of my wedding band on my ring finger.
Now...if I ever get Alzheimer's...all bets are off.
02 May 2010
My 35th Year
I suppose I owe my faithful readers a recap of the thirty-fifth year of my life - what with my birthday being almost a week past now. I know I've stalled on composing this post, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps once I get to it, I'll realize it was a larger topic than previously thought.
I won't bore with the list of presents I received or activities I did. Instead, I'll regale you with the insights of a woman in her 35th year...because after all, I'm one year better and wiser; so the story goes.
First off, the month of April opened up with a new addition to my body.
I was first inked when I was eighteen. In the pre-cell phone and Internet era, what does a teenager do once she's left her parents' house and rules behind?
Besides have sex for the first time, I mean?
I get a tattoo! The only problem was that I'd put no thought into what I wanted; thus, I wound up with a design that was trendy and faddish at the time. I also did not consider where I would have it done; thus I ended up with the left shoulder. I don't regret getting the tattoo, but it occurs to me that 99% of the time, I forget I have it. And even if I did have it somewhere that I saw it often, it would have little significant meaning to me now.
But...I knew, deep down, I always wanted another tattoo. Finally, the germ of an idea came to fruition about a month ago. Right around my 30th birthday, the idea of having my astrological symbol tattooed appealed to me. But, I just quite never found the design I wanted...and ultimately, I never was quite compelled enough to get it done.
Then, the turmoil of the last year put the tattoo idea on the backburner. My husband and I separated and I was in the midst of a major job change. Getting a tattoo fell on the list of priorities. However, earlier this year, when things seem to set themselves right, the idea of a tattoo experienced a rebirth. I determined this year was going to be the year - but what? and where? The astrological symbol was still a possibility, but it had lost a bit of its luster. Even more of a vague notion was where to put it? All I knew was that I wanted it somewhere more visible.
Then, in what I can only explain as a total confluence of the planets, Providence, and/or other celestial forces unknown to me...the tattoo imprinted itself in my brain, as if it had been there along, waiting for me to remember it.
"Not all those who wander are lost."
One of my most favorite lines from one of my most favorite books. The rearranged blog title of a good friend here at the Stream (as well as IRL). The sentence engraved on a silver bracelet I'd long eyeballed in the Pyramid Collection catalog. And - a sentence that had more meaning for me than ever before, considering my journey of the last year.
The location? My foot. Yes, it was the trendy spot right now, but what better place, honestly, for THAT phrase?
So I went Easter weekend and got 'er done. After seven minutes of some pretty serious pain, I was done. And:
I love it. I see it everyday and I am reminded of my philosophy:
I really have no idea where I'm going. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But, I'm not lost. I'm wandering, but it's okay.
So, that's the words of wisdom gleaned from my 35th year. As much as society stresses that we all "have a plan", it's okay that I don't. I don't always know what I want to do with my life, I don't really have all my "safety nets" in place, I can't always see the "big picture", and who I am now might be totally different tomorrow.
And I think that's the way it's supposed to be.
I won't bore with the list of presents I received or activities I did. Instead, I'll regale you with the insights of a woman in her 35th year...because after all, I'm one year better and wiser; so the story goes.
First off, the month of April opened up with a new addition to my body.
I was first inked when I was eighteen. In the pre-cell phone and Internet era, what does a teenager do once she's left her parents' house and rules behind?
Besides have sex for the first time, I mean?
I get a tattoo! The only problem was that I'd put no thought into what I wanted; thus, I wound up with a design that was trendy and faddish at the time. I also did not consider where I would have it done; thus I ended up with the left shoulder. I don't regret getting the tattoo, but it occurs to me that 99% of the time, I forget I have it. And even if I did have it somewhere that I saw it often, it would have little significant meaning to me now.
But...I knew, deep down, I always wanted another tattoo. Finally, the germ of an idea came to fruition about a month ago. Right around my 30th birthday, the idea of having my astrological symbol tattooed appealed to me. But, I just quite never found the design I wanted...and ultimately, I never was quite compelled enough to get it done.
Then, the turmoil of the last year put the tattoo idea on the backburner. My husband and I separated and I was in the midst of a major job change. Getting a tattoo fell on the list of priorities. However, earlier this year, when things seem to set themselves right, the idea of a tattoo experienced a rebirth. I determined this year was going to be the year - but what? and where? The astrological symbol was still a possibility, but it had lost a bit of its luster. Even more of a vague notion was where to put it? All I knew was that I wanted it somewhere more visible.
Then, in what I can only explain as a total confluence of the planets, Providence, and/or other celestial forces unknown to me...the tattoo imprinted itself in my brain, as if it had been there along, waiting for me to remember it.
"Not all those who wander are lost."
One of my most favorite lines from one of my most favorite books. The rearranged blog title of a good friend here at the Stream (as well as IRL). The sentence engraved on a silver bracelet I'd long eyeballed in the Pyramid Collection catalog. And - a sentence that had more meaning for me than ever before, considering my journey of the last year.
The location? My foot. Yes, it was the trendy spot right now, but what better place, honestly, for THAT phrase?
So I went Easter weekend and got 'er done. After seven minutes of some pretty serious pain, I was done. And:
I love it. I see it everyday and I am reminded of my philosophy:
I really have no idea where I'm going. I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But, I'm not lost. I'm wandering, but it's okay.
So, that's the words of wisdom gleaned from my 35th year. As much as society stresses that we all "have a plan", it's okay that I don't. I don't always know what I want to do with my life, I don't really have all my "safety nets" in place, I can't always see the "big picture", and who I am now might be totally different tomorrow.
And I think that's the way it's supposed to be.
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