I have no idea which is worse, remembering a painful past or ignoring an excruciating present. I do know what they have in common, and that is rubbish. I also know that moving on isn’t as much about taking a few steps forward as it is about being willing to untangle and the cruelly uproot whatever’s holding us back.
As I look around my office at the stacks of books on the floor waiting to be reshelved; the piles of file folders containing the years of research of the past lives of my ancestors, magazines, clothes, empty prescription bottles (good to put more stuff in), slippers, shoes, piles of fabric sorted by color and the unfinished quilting projects, it’s difficult to believe that all this is surrounding the working space I have created for myself.
My closets are crammed so full that I need Houdini’s help to organize them. My drawers don’t just hide my disorder; they hoard it. I pick up something to put it away in its proper place and look around in appalled curiosity because I set it back down who knows where.
I think of “stuff” as being co-dependant. We allow it to accumulate and it enables us to stay stagnant. Sometimes it keeps us in an unhealthy situation that we should have dealt with years ago. Our “stuff” adapts to its surroundings and like little chameleons it adopts the color, shape, and texture and settles in for the long haul in closets, drawers and under beds, and not likely to be a trip to the landfill.
I’d be the first to admit my home needs an exorcism; then I would need help with the methodical task of letting go of all my stuff. I could always justify my hoarding by saying that it makes me happy and keeps me safe. I love it and it loves me. I only need to lay my hands on that box of scrap fabric or that winter jacket I hadn’t worn since I left colder climate for my mind to start screaming, “You can’t get rid of me!” I touch old letters and photographs and I am bound by them insisting I hear their stories over and over again. “We’re family, you can’t get rid of us!” Eventually, our possessions take on a life of their own and our “stuff” embodies what is outworn or unfulfilled in our lives and that’s why it’s so hard to give it away.
A day came recently that my “stuff’s” life with me is over and we both need to move on. Move is a powerful word and movement is life and/or the beginning of reality. I thought about the time many years ago that I had to sort through my mother’s possessions after she passed and wondered why she would keep such “stuff”. I know, because I have inherited that hoarding gene and it’s time for me to break the cycle. I’m now separating the guilt stashes from the legitimate ones because I would rather my children not have dry eyes sorting memories instead of messes.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Dog and Pony Show...
Dog & Pony Show…
Thank you, guys! I think I finally understand the whole concept. The idiom meaning of an elaborate presentation orchestrated to gain approval. In this particular case, a convoluted attempt to sell me on working for their company. Wine me, dine me and court me with a glitzy presentation. Suck in your stomachs and hold your breath, persuade me with no real information or content and perhaps this anxious job-seeking indigent will avoid the bottom line and not say, “Show me the money!”
I went to my not so typical standard dog and pony interview. I listened to them trying to sell me on the advantage of starting on the ground floor of their company’s new division. In between the rhetoric, like reading between the lines, my interpretation translates like this…I would need to curry favor to even be considered to climb the corporate ladder.
Imagine, little ole me, in session with the Knights of the Round Table; I sat poised and erect, while they searched for the best vein to insert the needle of inquisition Then the onslaught of prepared but not original questions began:
1. What is the most important; safety, quality or production?
2. Do you want to climb the ladder?
3. Are you a team player?
4. Can you keep the ball rolling?
5. Can you meet deadlines?
6. Can you handle stress when it comes down to the wire?
7. Can you tighten your belt?
8. Can you work out kinks?
9. Can you pull your weight?
10. Where so you want to be 10 years from now?
This is my interpretation with a slice of imagination:
1. Yes, this is a trick question; the answer is the same as the question. (1) No company wants OSHA on their butts. Period. (2) Quality says that the company emulates perfection. Duh? (3) Production is a number’s games, no production, and then the ump calls the play, “You’re Out!”
2. Doesn’t everyone want to advance their careers through promotions while collecting brownie points?
3. A committed employee (brown noser) who works well with others on the clock then disses you in public.
4. Ensure them that a project is progressing effectively and on time or you can keep rolling with the ball.
5. Meeting the time allotted for a particular project, before you fall dead on the finish line.
6. Stress? What’s a little stress? I knew I had one nerve left before I started this job!
7. Reduce operating expenses when the cash cow dies.
8. Improve a flawed product or service or they may pull the plug on you.
9. Share the workload and help others carry the dead cow away.
10. Is it a crime I hope to be in a happy place and not working 10 years from now? After all, I will almost be at my full retirement age.
Did I get the job you ask? Will I be age or sexually discriminated against? Am I over or under qualified for the position? I’ll never tell because I am still waiting for the answer to my question…”Please, won’t you show me the money?”
Thank you, guys! I think I finally understand the whole concept. The idiom meaning of an elaborate presentation orchestrated to gain approval. In this particular case, a convoluted attempt to sell me on working for their company. Wine me, dine me and court me with a glitzy presentation. Suck in your stomachs and hold your breath, persuade me with no real information or content and perhaps this anxious job-seeking indigent will avoid the bottom line and not say, “Show me the money!”
I went to my not so typical standard dog and pony interview. I listened to them trying to sell me on the advantage of starting on the ground floor of their company’s new division. In between the rhetoric, like reading between the lines, my interpretation translates like this…I would need to curry favor to even be considered to climb the corporate ladder.
Imagine, little ole me, in session with the Knights of the Round Table; I sat poised and erect, while they searched for the best vein to insert the needle of inquisition Then the onslaught of prepared but not original questions began:
1. What is the most important; safety, quality or production?
2. Do you want to climb the ladder?
3. Are you a team player?
4. Can you keep the ball rolling?
5. Can you meet deadlines?
6. Can you handle stress when it comes down to the wire?
7. Can you tighten your belt?
8. Can you work out kinks?
9. Can you pull your weight?
10. Where so you want to be 10 years from now?
This is my interpretation with a slice of imagination:
1. Yes, this is a trick question; the answer is the same as the question. (1) No company wants OSHA on their butts. Period. (2) Quality says that the company emulates perfection. Duh? (3) Production is a number’s games, no production, and then the ump calls the play, “You’re Out!”
2. Doesn’t everyone want to advance their careers through promotions while collecting brownie points?
3. A committed employee (brown noser) who works well with others on the clock then disses you in public.
4. Ensure them that a project is progressing effectively and on time or you can keep rolling with the ball.
5. Meeting the time allotted for a particular project, before you fall dead on the finish line.
6. Stress? What’s a little stress? I knew I had one nerve left before I started this job!
7. Reduce operating expenses when the cash cow dies.
8. Improve a flawed product or service or they may pull the plug on you.
9. Share the workload and help others carry the dead cow away.
10. Is it a crime I hope to be in a happy place and not working 10 years from now? After all, I will almost be at my full retirement age.
Did I get the job you ask? Will I be age or sexually discriminated against? Am I over or under qualified for the position? I’ll never tell because I am still waiting for the answer to my question…”Please, won’t you show me the money?”
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Play Me...
Music sparks wonderful memories of my childhood. My mother had a Spanish guitar that belonged to my grandfather. The dark as ebony finish made you believe you were looking into an endless black gazing pool and if you touched it, your hand would truly become immersed in the wood.
Before she started to play, mother always closed her eyes as she lightly strummed the steel strings. She hummed the notes while she adjusted the tuning keys to make sure it was perfectly tuned to her ear and mind before she continued to play. In spite of the fact, my mother never learned to read music, she had a gift for creating her own melodies and lyrics. Some of these songs were silly juvenile ditties that made me laugh and dance; while others were so compellingly beautiful your senses were free to drift away. I was certain when I looked at her calm face, her thoughts did move her to another place as she became one with her instrument…
Play Me
by Monica Sharpe
I sleep under his bed
Safely in my case.
I hear him as he lies down
Every night.
He prays for the future
And yearns for the past.
He dreams for the days
I spent with him…when
He pulls me out from my slumber
And places me on his leg.
I cannot see,
I can only feel.
His fingers flutter across me,
Caressing my neck.
Familiar again.
We speak no words to one another,
But I understand him completely.
The melody he creates tells me everything.
I feel his ambition,
Desires.
Frustrations,
And joy.
I cannot speak,
But convey what cannot be spoken.
Before she started to play, mother always closed her eyes as she lightly strummed the steel strings. She hummed the notes while she adjusted the tuning keys to make sure it was perfectly tuned to her ear and mind before she continued to play. In spite of the fact, my mother never learned to read music, she had a gift for creating her own melodies and lyrics. Some of these songs were silly juvenile ditties that made me laugh and dance; while others were so compellingly beautiful your senses were free to drift away. I was certain when I looked at her calm face, her thoughts did move her to another place as she became one with her instrument…
Play Me
by Monica Sharpe
I sleep under his bed
Safely in my case.
I hear him as he lies down
Every night.
He prays for the future
And yearns for the past.
He dreams for the days
I spent with him…when
He pulls me out from my slumber
And places me on his leg.
I cannot see,
I can only feel.
His fingers flutter across me,
Caressing my neck.
Familiar again.
We speak no words to one another,
But I understand him completely.
The melody he creates tells me everything.
I feel his ambition,
Desires.
Frustrations,
And joy.
I cannot speak,
But convey what cannot be spoken.
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