Tuesday morning

I have a friend who is so organized and on top of things that I am not only impressed but also a little envious. As I wade through the many tasks involved in launching the Queen Mary of a new school year I notice that my old friends, aversion and distraction, want to come out and play, and staying with the developing of lesson plans, the tedium of typing up art orders and the challenge of bulletin boards is difficult, to say the least. I love the opportunity, with time off, to let the day unfold, lighting on this interesting thing or that like a butterfly, unencumbered by To Do lists. It is the attitude of play, and the fertile ground of creativity.   Yet Mark seems to thrive on listing and completing tasks, and he accomplishes a great deal on any given day.  He is the person for whom this quote was invented: "If you want something done, give it to a busy person." 

He calls his system his "Buttberry", and he has used it for as long as I have known him. It is a daily printout of his schedule and list, organized by day in a table, and he folds it up and puts it in his pants pocket, ready to whip out for reference throughout the day (when he puts it in his shirt pocket it becomes a "chestberry").  I am working on my own version of this nifty system, though the corrections and editing of this printed document are what keep me delighted; the rebel in me loves to make changes and cross things out. I guess the important thing is that I am somehow paying the mortgage, calling the plumber and remembering that dentist appointment.

Another friend, a victim of our hideous economy, has lost her home through foreclosure and now has moved to a much smaller place, an apartment in Zeeland, and is staring at boxes, the content of which is so precious to her, and wondering where in the world to put it all. She can't find anything, feels cast adrift and a stranger in her own digs. She is trying to piece it all back together after this storm that has totalled her home base.  Where Mark's life is characterized by order, my other friend faces the complete lack of it.  

Another visit to Mike the occularist last Friday to remedy a slight "toeing-in" of my prosthesis, giving me a vaguely goofy gaze.  I wound up wading into unfamiliar waters with him and I am still pondering all of that. Although I generally welcome the unusual and surprising encounter with others, I was unprepared for this one. One's attractions are so individual and irrational sometimes. 

Dear friends, I hope that all of you are moving into this new season with passion, as the temperatures cool down and the uniform green gives way to the subtle unfolding of the riot of color that always signals that we are once again approaching the month of my birth. 

Peace Out, 

Claudia