I'm actually almost caught up on laundry.
So...I know you're not supposed to air your dirty laundry in public, but I've had a basket of "hand wash onlys" and "dry clean onlys" and other "special care" labels that have been taking up residence in my laundry room for so long it was beginning to get its own junk mail.
I'd forgotten about that perfect "grown up" dress we bought for Catie to wear at Vince and Erin's wedding two years ago. It's hand wash only and...well...I did hand wash and she did wear it several times before it fell into the abyss. I hope it still fits her.
I also completely forget about last year's teal sleeveless blouse that I promise I did adore. I just didn't rescue it before it faded from memory. I'm quite happy to have it back.
I'm ashamed to admit, but I've had another one of these baskets occupying real estate in my bedroom, too. It was filled with fleece jackets and sweaters (so that's where that pretty pink YSL sweater went!). I'm kind of mad at myself. It's really not so hard to do this. It's almost like cleaning toilets. It doesn't take but a few minutes, so why is it so hard to just go ahead and do it? Why must I let it collect lint for six months, until I decide I'm finally sick to death of moving these ugly baskets out of my way?
I guess so I don't have to go shopping! :)
Monday, April 23, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Sayonara...bring on tomorrow
So today was kind of...I don't know how to describe it.
It's rainy, which puts me in a dreary mood anyway. And I walked out of The Mirror for the last time today. Y'all know what an emotional fool I am.
Last week was when it hit me I'm out of a job again. I had a meltdown and did all my freaking out. (It wasn't pretty. Poor Robb. And kids.) I'm over it.
This just felt....I dunno. I hate goodbyes.
It was weird. My co-workers and bosses stood there and said goodbye and good luck as I walked out the door. I felt sad, but I really wished I had the chance to know them better. I think that made me more sad than actually saying goodbye to them. They're good people.
Of course, I've only been there three months. It felt like I should be a little more sad when I drove out of Thomson for the last time. I was a little sad, but I felt better by the time I got to Augusta.
Now I'm just trying to figure out what my new tomorrows will look like. Last time I was out of work I accomplished very little. This time I vow to make much better use of my time and actually do some things. I'll let you know how it goes.
It's rainy, which puts me in a dreary mood anyway. And I walked out of The Mirror for the last time today. Y'all know what an emotional fool I am.
Last week was when it hit me I'm out of a job again. I had a meltdown and did all my freaking out. (It wasn't pretty. Poor Robb. And kids.) I'm over it.
This just felt....I dunno. I hate goodbyes.
It was weird. My co-workers and bosses stood there and said goodbye and good luck as I walked out the door. I felt sad, but I really wished I had the chance to know them better. I think that made me more sad than actually saying goodbye to them. They're good people.
Of course, I've only been there three months. It felt like I should be a little more sad when I drove out of Thomson for the last time. I was a little sad, but I felt better by the time I got to Augusta.
Now I'm just trying to figure out what my new tomorrows will look like. Last time I was out of work I accomplished very little. This time I vow to make much better use of my time and actually do some things. I'll let you know how it goes.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Holy cow
Gotta share this. It's funny how things smack you between the eyes sometimes. Especially since this message has been coming to me for the last few days in a variety of ways.
"This just means God has something better in store for you," a lady told me just today, after asking what I'm going to do after our last paper comes out next week.
I needed to hear it. I had a meltdown yesterday. Some days you just don't want to put on your big girl panties. You just don't want to deal with it. You want someone to come make all the bad stuff go away. I think that's okay once in a while, as long as it doesn't go on for too long.
So anyway, tonight as I was eating dinner, I finished reading The Walk, by Richard Paul Evans. It's a true story. I thought I had problems. This man built a successful advertising company, married his best friend, drove a Lexus and lived in a $2 million home. Then his wife became paralyzed in a horse accident, while she recovered his partner stole his company, his car was repossessed, his wife then died from complications, and his home was repossessed. He decided to walk from Seattle to Key West, and this book is about his journey. Read it.
But he shared this story, and it just smacked me between the eyes. So I thought I'd share it with you. I'll try to abbreviate it. It's a Brazilian folk tale and it's kind of long.
A Master of Wisdom was walking through the countryside with his apprentice when they came to a hovel on a meager piece of farmland.
"Go see if they will share their food," the Master told his apprentice, though they had plenty of food.
The apprentice did as he was told. The farmer, his wife and and their seven children came to the door, their clothes tattered and dirty.
"My Master and I are sojourners and want for food. I've come to see if you have any to share," he said.
The farmer replied, "We have little, but what we have we will share." He gave the apprentice a small piece of cheese and a crust of bread.
The apprentice reluctantly took their offering. He didn't want to take from what little they had.
"Life is difficult, but we get by," the farmer said. "And in spite of our poverty, we do have one great blessing. We have a little cow. She provides us milk and cheese, which we eat or sell in the marketplace. It is not much but she provides enough for us to live on."
The apprentice took the food back to the Master and told him about their situation.
The Master said, "I am pleased to hear of their generosity, but I am greatly sorrowed by their circumstance. Before we leave this place, I have one more task for you.
Return to the hovel and bring back their cow."
The apprentice did as he was told. When he returned, the Master instructed him, "See yonder cliffs? Take the cow to the highest crest and push her over."
The apprentice was stunned. "But Master..."
"Do as I say."
The apprentice sorrowfully obeyed, and he and the Master went on their way.
The apprentice grew in mercy and wisdom, but always felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the poor farmer's family. One day he decided to apologize for what he had done. When he arrived, he found the hovel gone and a large, fenced villa in its place.
"Oh no," he cried. "The poor family who was here was driven out by my evil deed." Determined to find out what happened to the family, he pounded on the door.
He was greeted by a servant.
"I would like to speak to the master of the house," he said.
A smiling, well-dressed man appeared.
"Pardon me, sir, but could you please tell me what has become of the family who lived here?"
"My family has been on this land for three generations," the wealthy man replied.
The apprentice looked athim quizzically. "Many years ago I walked through this valley, where I met a farmer and his seven children. But they were very poor and lived in a small hovel."
"That was my family," the wealthy man said. "God works in mysterious ways. We had this little cow who provided us with the slimmest of necessities, enough to survive but little more. We suffered but expected no more from life.
Then, one day, our little cow wandered off and fell over a cliff. We knew that we would be ruined without her, so we did everything we could to survive. Only then did we discover that we had greater power and abilities than we possibly imagined and never would have found as long as we relied on that cow. What a great blessing from Heaven to have lost our little cow."
Maybe newspapers are my cow.
"This just means God has something better in store for you," a lady told me just today, after asking what I'm going to do after our last paper comes out next week.
I needed to hear it. I had a meltdown yesterday. Some days you just don't want to put on your big girl panties. You just don't want to deal with it. You want someone to come make all the bad stuff go away. I think that's okay once in a while, as long as it doesn't go on for too long.
So anyway, tonight as I was eating dinner, I finished reading The Walk, by Richard Paul Evans. It's a true story. I thought I had problems. This man built a successful advertising company, married his best friend, drove a Lexus and lived in a $2 million home. Then his wife became paralyzed in a horse accident, while she recovered his partner stole his company, his car was repossessed, his wife then died from complications, and his home was repossessed. He decided to walk from Seattle to Key West, and this book is about his journey. Read it.
But he shared this story, and it just smacked me between the eyes. So I thought I'd share it with you. I'll try to abbreviate it. It's a Brazilian folk tale and it's kind of long.
A Master of Wisdom was walking through the countryside with his apprentice when they came to a hovel on a meager piece of farmland.
"Go see if they will share their food," the Master told his apprentice, though they had plenty of food.
The apprentice did as he was told. The farmer, his wife and and their seven children came to the door, their clothes tattered and dirty.
"My Master and I are sojourners and want for food. I've come to see if you have any to share," he said.
The farmer replied, "We have little, but what we have we will share." He gave the apprentice a small piece of cheese and a crust of bread.
The apprentice reluctantly took their offering. He didn't want to take from what little they had.
"Life is difficult, but we get by," the farmer said. "And in spite of our poverty, we do have one great blessing. We have a little cow. She provides us milk and cheese, which we eat or sell in the marketplace. It is not much but she provides enough for us to live on."
The apprentice took the food back to the Master and told him about their situation.
The Master said, "I am pleased to hear of their generosity, but I am greatly sorrowed by their circumstance. Before we leave this place, I have one more task for you.
Return to the hovel and bring back their cow."
The apprentice did as he was told. When he returned, the Master instructed him, "See yonder cliffs? Take the cow to the highest crest and push her over."
The apprentice was stunned. "But Master..."
"Do as I say."
The apprentice sorrowfully obeyed, and he and the Master went on their way.
The apprentice grew in mercy and wisdom, but always felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the poor farmer's family. One day he decided to apologize for what he had done. When he arrived, he found the hovel gone and a large, fenced villa in its place.
"Oh no," he cried. "The poor family who was here was driven out by my evil deed." Determined to find out what happened to the family, he pounded on the door.
He was greeted by a servant.
"I would like to speak to the master of the house," he said.
A smiling, well-dressed man appeared.
"Pardon me, sir, but could you please tell me what has become of the family who lived here?"
"My family has been on this land for three generations," the wealthy man replied.
The apprentice looked athim quizzically. "Many years ago I walked through this valley, where I met a farmer and his seven children. But they were very poor and lived in a small hovel."
"That was my family," the wealthy man said. "God works in mysterious ways. We had this little cow who provided us with the slimmest of necessities, enough to survive but little more. We suffered but expected no more from life.
Then, one day, our little cow wandered off and fell over a cliff. We knew that we would be ruined without her, so we did everything we could to survive. Only then did we discover that we had greater power and abilities than we possibly imagined and never would have found as long as we relied on that cow. What a great blessing from Heaven to have lost our little cow."
Maybe newspapers are my cow.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Hello....goodbye
I'm not even going to apologize for my absence this time. Trust me. You haven't wanted to hear the thoughts in my head. You would have been patting my knee sympathetically with one hand and dialing the asylum with the other. I can't promise I'm saner now, but the earth is definitely a little less shaky.
A week ago, my boss had to have surgery. He is out on medical leave for the rest of the time we're open. Next week is our last issue. Guess who gets to figure out how to say goodbye for a paper that has served this community for the past nine years?
How do I do that when I've only been there three months?
That's what's been on my mind since about 3 p.m. today, right after I finished Thursday's paper and turned my attention to next Thursday. How many stories do I write? What about the stories we already have? What should run? What should never see the light of day? How much new stuff do we cover? What exactly do we say to close this chapter in the town's history?
I wanted to see how The Mirror said hello. It took me about one minute to find the very first issue. (Somebody was clearly a whole lot more organized than I am.) I read the first article, written by the staff, announcing the new paper, its mission and its goals for serving the community. In true me fashion, I started writing a column. Because I narcissistically believe everyone is dying to know what I have to say, I guess.
Not really. I just think this is one of those occasions that needs a personal touch. I guess I feel like somebody should actually say goodbye. I'm not at all the person to do it. I've been there three months. I'm still being introduced to people who pop in to say hello. I haven't met the mayor. There are streets I haven't seen yet. There are restaurants I haven't eaten at. I can't name all the main thoroughfares. I still don't know where all the bad parts of town are, and which are the really good parts. But since I'm the only writer there...somebody's got to do it. Don't they?
I will meet with the publisher tomorrow. Perhaps he can write something for us. But I don't think he can say goodbye the way I think we should, either. He is based in Louisville and hasn't been publisher very long. I have a vision and I believe I'm right. I just wish I had the relationship with the town to make it mean something.
A week ago, my boss had to have surgery. He is out on medical leave for the rest of the time we're open. Next week is our last issue. Guess who gets to figure out how to say goodbye for a paper that has served this community for the past nine years?
How do I do that when I've only been there three months?
That's what's been on my mind since about 3 p.m. today, right after I finished Thursday's paper and turned my attention to next Thursday. How many stories do I write? What about the stories we already have? What should run? What should never see the light of day? How much new stuff do we cover? What exactly do we say to close this chapter in the town's history?
I wanted to see how The Mirror said hello. It took me about one minute to find the very first issue. (Somebody was clearly a whole lot more organized than I am.) I read the first article, written by the staff, announcing the new paper, its mission and its goals for serving the community. In true me fashion, I started writing a column. Because I narcissistically believe everyone is dying to know what I have to say, I guess.
Not really. I just think this is one of those occasions that needs a personal touch. I guess I feel like somebody should actually say goodbye. I'm not at all the person to do it. I've been there three months. I'm still being introduced to people who pop in to say hello. I haven't met the mayor. There are streets I haven't seen yet. There are restaurants I haven't eaten at. I can't name all the main thoroughfares. I still don't know where all the bad parts of town are, and which are the really good parts. But since I'm the only writer there...somebody's got to do it. Don't they?
I will meet with the publisher tomorrow. Perhaps he can write something for us. But I don't think he can say goodbye the way I think we should, either. He is based in Louisville and hasn't been publisher very long. I have a vision and I believe I'm right. I just wish I had the relationship with the town to make it mean something.
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