Lift Up Your Hearts!

When Porter came home from a two-week business trip, he commented, "Wow, the house looks great!"  I was momentarily taken aback, because—in contrast with many of his previous out-of-town stays—I had not done anything special to prepare for his arrival. On the contrary, the house had looked that good for more than a week.^*

(victory)

Lower case, no exclamation point, sotto voce—lest the shy bird be startled and take flight, as she has so many times before.  But I told my daughters that if I lasted a month with my new organizational system, I'd write about it.

I'd like to be an original thinker, but what I'm actually proficient at is assembling, compiling, and melding other people's good ideas into something that fits my situation.  This was especially true in family life and education, where what at first glance may have appeared unique, or at least unusual, was merely my take on the best of what I found from a multitude of sources.

So, too, with my efforts at organization and homemaking.  At the heart of my new system is David Allen's Getting Things Done, but discerning readers will recognize the influence of Don Aslett, Steven Covey, FlyLady, Sandra Felton, Malcolm Gladwell, and a host of other inspirations, including family and friends.

I made my first effort to implementing GTD two years ago.  I knew then that I'd been handed an extremely powerful tool that would reform my life.   I made myself a Tickler file, I created Next Action folders, and I reaped significant benefit from them ... but the whole system never really got off the ground.  Mostly, I told myself, because "life interfered"—travel, visitors, and other disruptions shook up the system before it could become established as a habit.  Not that I would have traded any of the wonderful experiences I had, but they were, in my mind, the reason I didn't make progress.

Now I'm not so sure.  I'd be a fool to deny the detrimental effects of disruptions (especially unhappy ones) on a newborn self-improvement program, but in this case I now believe the crucial problem was that I had not had time (made time / had inspiration) to customize the program, to make it my own.

Porter's trip was the inspiration for tackling that project.  I'll spare you the nitty-gritty of the construction, except to say that most importantly it was a recursive process.  We perfectionists prefer that our projects have a long design phase.  "Measure twice, cut once" is our motto, and besides, planning is usually much more fun than implementation.  But what got this project off the ground and into a useful form was an ongoing design-implement-evaluate-revise-repeat plan.  Sometimes (often?) you just don't know what will work until you try it.

Enough talk.  So what am I actually doing?

I'm still using my Tickler file.  I love having a place to "file and forget until needed" concert tickets, driving directions for a future trip, birthday cards I've been inspired to write but which won't be mailed until later, information to bring to a doctor appointment, etc.

I'm also using Allen's Next Action, Projects, and Someday/Maybe folders, though this part still needs some revision.

Although these are anathema to GTD, my system relies on to-do lists.  I'm over trying to fit myself into what "should" work, and at leat at this point in my life, I need the inspiration of seeing the day's work laid out in front of me, with little check boxes that I can triumphantly, physically, mark off when the task is completed.  What's more, although i can do preliminary work on the lists in advance, I also need the inspiration of creating a customized list the night before, specifically for the next day, and printing it out.  I've tried putting my lists on the computer, and it just doesn't work for me.  At least not now.

The lists take two forms:

A Routine List, which sets out the basics of what I want to accomplish every day.  These are so standard that I print the list only once per week, and it has checkboxes for Monday through Saturday.  This list owes a lot to FlyLady's Morning and Evening Routines, but mine covers the whole day.  For example, the worms need their "air conditioning" refreshed once a day, and it makes no sense to give them their frozen water bottle in the morning or the evening:  they need it during the hottest part of the day.  Also, I want to work through my language exercises four times per day, spread out more or less evenly.  The lists are roughly divided into before and after mealtimes, but there's a good bit of overlap and flexibility as well. 

Daily Lists lay out, for each weekday and Saturday, what I hope to accomplish that day.  Some items are standard, such as "take out trash" on Mondays and Thursdays, and "yard work" on Tuesdays.  Others I fill in during my Weekly Review time, during which I evaluate the past week and look forward to the next.  Still others are added as I think of them during the week.  It all comes together the night before, when I check my Tickler and my Action folders, transferring items to the Daily List as appropriate, and printing the final result.  Did I say final?  Not really.  Often I'll add something by hand that comes up after the list has been printed.

It is easy to let the lists get out of hand.  I keep my Routine List to one page, with the table set up so that I can't put more than 38 items on the list.  In order to fit in what I want, I sometimes cheat by grouping items, e.g. "check & clear e-mail / blogs / Facebook / moderate comments" is one item.  That works because I don't group items until they have become such a habit that they get done together and I'm happy not checking them off until all are accomplished.  When I'm establishing new habits I need the satisfaction of checking of the baby steps; once established, I am okay with the groups and can take on the challenge of making room for something new on the list.

The Daily Lists are also one page only, and I've made the table size bigger so there's only room for 18 entries.  Sometimes I fill them all, sometimes I don't.  The trick, I've found, is having enough to challenge me but not so many that I get discouraged.  Too few items and I procrastinate because I think I have lots of time; too many and I procrastinate because "I'm not going to get them all done, anyway."  Ideally I find myself stretching to get just a couple more things done so I can have the satisfaction of completing the list.  I'm still working on getting the right balance.  I don't prioritize the items, exactly, but the Daily Lists are roughly divided into "must do" and "would like to do" tasks.

Daily and weekly jobs go on the printed lists, but anything less frequent than weekly gets a card that goes into my Tickler file.  Originally I had cards for daily and weekly tasks in my Tickler (despite Allen's admonition not to), but I've found the lists work much better for me.  For biweekly, monthly, or other less frequent items, however, the Tickler is still the simpler solution.

That's the basic structure.  Simple, no?  But the devil—and the success—was in the details.  It was a grueling two weeks, mentally and physically, as I gradually put it all together.  Monday and Tuesday went swimmingly, but by Wednesday afternoon I found myself exhausted—mostly mentally, I'll admit, though the constant low-level pain of a flare-up of plantar fasciitis can't be ignored as a limiting factor.  I had been working pretty steadily from 6 a.m. till 10 p.m. for two and a half days, and had put too much on Wednesday's list, so that I moved out of the stretch zone and into the procrastinate zone.  Quadrant IV activities were looking pretty good.  It's hard to explain, but in many ways it was the structure that was the mental drain.  Although my plan included three sets per day of purposeful relaxation exercises, I hadn't left any time in the schedule for spontaneity, the lack of which my mind interpreted as a need for rest.  I scaled back for Thursday and managed to recover my energy and my momentum.

The next week I anticipated the Wednesday slump, made sure I structured the activities to be more rewarding and less taxing, and managed not to hit the wall until Friday.  By the third week, even though I was doing more, I had begun to ride the wave, and the structure became my friend rather than my enemy.  I had created a workable system, and along the way had made good progress in several far-behind areas of my life.

That, believe it or not, is the short version.  Below are some details and a few observations I've made along the way: (More)

It was my kind of outing:  a great concert, not far away, and only 50 minutes long.  Central Florida Community Arts presented an all-John Rutter choral concert at the Maitland Presbyterian Church.  I love Rutter's music, and I'm so happy to be in a church where we get to sing a lot of it.  In fact, just last Sunday we sang the concert opener, For the Beauty of the Earth, so all the notes were fresh in our memories.  The other works were A Dedication and Amen, A Gaelic Blessing, Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day, and The Lord Bless You and Keep You, concluding with the marvellous Gloria.

For your listening pleasure, here's a version of For the Beauty of the Earth that's better than both what we sang and what we heard  :)

I didn't see Aly Raisman win her Olympic gold medal in floor exercise, as it was shown past even my Olympic-extended bedtime.  But I did watch the balance beam competition earlier, and that's where I saw her gold-medal performance.  Yes, I know she won bronze on balance beam.  But until her shockingly low score was re-evaluated and raised by the judges, she thought she had lost to Romanian Catalina Ponor.

What did Raisman do when she realized she had lost the bronze?  Did she cry, or swear, or sulk?  No, she walked over to Ponor and gave her a congratulatory hug.

Frankly, I find the Olympics mostly boring these days, now that the competitors and their performances are no longer amateur.  As a friend of ours, a National Football League referee, once said of football, "Don't kid yourself.  This is about business, not sport."  Raisman's display of good sportsmanship was the best thing I've seen from the London Olympics so far.

Skip this post if you are tired of reading about our fabulous grandchildren.  :)

I was talking with Janet the other day, and as I usually do, I asked what new cute things our grandkids were doing.

"Well," she replied, "Joseph counted nearly to 50."

This puzzled me, as numbers are his passion and a month ago he had happily counted past 150 for me.

Then she added, "in Japanese."

Last night we attended a very enjoyable performance of The Pirates of Penzance, proceeds of which were earmarked for a much-needed upgrade to the sound system at the Lake Brantley High School auditorium.  Our choir director and several people from our church were involved.  We almost joined the chorus, but demured after remembering that being involved in a theatrical performance is synonymous with having no outside life.  Daily rehearsals were more than we could handle.  Still, I regret somewhat losing the opportunity to be able to say that every member of our family had sat, however briefly, under the direction of Cindy Berry.

The show was great!  Everyone from the principals (local arts educators) to the middle-school policemen did wonderfully well.  The Pirate King was played by Christopher McCabe, Brantley alumnus and now the theater director at a local private school.  (I believe he was a freshman when Janet was a senior and no longer spending much time on campus, so don't wrack your brains trying to remember him.)  If his performance owed just a little too much to Johnny Depp, that didn't stop him from stealing the show.

Pour, oh pour the pirate sherry, fill, oh fill the pirate glass—and raise it in a toast to Joyce K., who taught us to love Gilbert & Sullivan.

Happy Swiss National Day to our family and friends across the sea!

Here are sixteen-plus minutes of this year's fireworks in Basel, in case you missed them in person.  I didn't sit through the whole show, but what I did see was very impressive.

Whenever we're not out of the state—or the country—on July 4, our favorite way to celebrate Independence Day is marching with the Greater Geneva Grande Award Marching Band.  That's Geneva, Florida, population 2,940 give or take a few, not the larger and more famous Swiss version.  I can't complain about missing the parade this year, as we instead spent the day with family and friends, some of whom had flown all the way from Switzerland (not Geneva) or the Gambia (think West Africa) to be there! 

But if we had not been in such illustrious company and more than a thousand miles from home, we'd have been with our GGGAMB family.  Camaraderie, music (and then some), free hot dogs, all the water you can drink (and sweat away), the fun of interacting with the crowd, and my all-time favorite arrangement of the Star-Spangled Banner (we miss you, Greg!), all wrapped up in a pleasant mix of old American patriotism and new American diversity.

I've written about the event before (for example, last year), but this time I have videos!  We're not in them, but you'll get the idea well enough.

The band plays All Hail, Geneva! with our trademark Union Break in the middle.

If that experience didn't make you run from the room screaming, you can find more from the band here.  (Janet, I recommend you click on that link and scroll to the bottom of the page.)

Richard, you did a great job with the cymbals, but I'm coming back anyway.

If we didn't live in Mickey's backyard, I don't know if our kids would ever have been to Disney World.  They never were much into the Disney characters, and (thankfully) were born too soon to be part of the Disney Princess craze.  But there’s a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will—our children grew up in Central Florida, and between good Florida resident deals and free tickets earned through performances at the parks, Disney World was a formative influence in their lives, and ours as well.  EPCOT Center, most especially.  It was hands down their favorite park, from the very beginning; fortunately, it was their parents' favorite park as well.

It is for them, as well as us, that I share this "heartfelt tribute to EPCOT Center as it existed from 1982-1993."  The way it used to be, which of course is much better than it is today.  Really.  (H/T Ruth S., a World's Worst Marching Band friend)

Natsukashi!

There are worse things than running over a dead rat with your lawnmower.

But on the whole, I'd rather not, thank you.

At least I think it was a rat.  It's kind of hard to tell now.

No, I'm not posting pictures.

 Q.  How did you spend your 60th birthday?

A1.  Mostly on the road.

A2.  With all of my children and granchildren, plus my brother, some nephews, a bunch of in-laws, and a nice assortment of other relatives and friends!

Both answers are true, and if I had to endure five states' worth of A1, it was worth it to achieve A2!  (Good thing we were in New England, not the Midwest.)

The Cleverest Birthday Card Award goes to my brother (and his family, but knowing my brother, I'm sure it was his idea):

Thanks to everyone who made it a memorable day!

They say a pound a week is a pretty good rate of weight loss, but today I lost a pound in six minutes.

Unfortunately, I've gained it all back by now, since the people who took my blood encouraged me to drink a lot tonight.

Did I say six minutes?  That's all it took from needle-in to needle-out.  However, from home to home was over two hours.  At the first bloodmobile I tried, the computer went down.  After waiting 45 minutes or so, with no progress in sight, I took my paperwork and drove to another site.

It seems there's always something they don't like about my paperwork, and this time it was my travel—never mind that at my last donation, just two months ago, this had posed no difficulty at all.  (At that time, it was something entirely different.)  "Exactly when, and for how many days, were you in Switzerland, Italy, Germany, and France in the past three years?"  If this had been one grand European vacation, I might have had the dates readily to hand.  But it was a struggle to remember, since—I'm amazed to say—I've made the trip a lot.  Fortunately, the lady with veto power over my ability to donate blood lightened up once she concluded that none of those countries is, or ever has been, in the United Kingdom....

Having read The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, I was acutely aware that the consent form I signed gives the blood bank pretty much unlimited rights to use my blood as they see fit, which is somewhat unsettling, I will admit.

I hadn't intended the adventure to take up most of the afternoon, but the time actually passed rather quickly, as I had brought with me Made to Stick, by the authors of Switch.  Guilt-free reading time, a bottle of water, a movie ticket, and two chocolate chip cookies—and all it cost was two hours and a pint of blood.  Plus I may save someone's life, which isn't a bad deal, either.

So, the CDC wants all of the "baby boom" generation tested for hepatitis C, in a move reminiscent of school teachers who punish the whole class for the misbehavior of the few.  I was planning on simply refusing the test, should our doctor suggest it, but now I have a better answer.

The Big Red Bus was at our church today, so we hopped on and donated, after the Eucharist.  (Blood in, blood out.)  As it happens, testing for hepatitis C is part of the "mini-physical" you get when you donate blood.  Now if the doctor asks, I can say, "been there, done that."  Several times over, as a matter of fact.

It was almost an idyllic scene:  Three adults, eight children—four boys, four girls, ages 9, 8, 7, 5, 3, 3, 14 months, and 6 months—and one playground all to ourselves.

Well, almost all to ourselves.  As the children happily ran back and forth across the grounds, it was more than a little annoying to remind them to watch out for the maintenance cart that came back again and again to ... to what?

The first time, the driver was apparently cleaning up branches from a recent storm, though he spent most of his time making worried comments about the exuberantly-climbing 14-month-old and glaring at the three adults who clearly weren't doing their duty in keeping her off the dangerous equipment.  "There's an open space up there she could fall through, you know!"  Yep, she could have fallen, I suppose, but she's part monkey, part mountain goat, and part bulldozer, so none of us saw any reason to spoil her fun.  "Open space" or not, this playground is as safe as it can get without being of no use at all.  Since the days when our children played there, we've lost the merry-go-round, the high, curly slide, and a lot of climbing equipment that was far more interesting ("dangerous") than that which replaced it.

The boys had ridden their scooters into the park, and dropped them right on the sidewalk as they ran off to play on the equipment.  We'd left the scooters where they lay, because no one else was in the park to be bothered by them.  When the maintenance cart came by, I quickly moved them out of his way.  "Do you know whose scooters those are?"  "Yes; they're ours."  "Riding scooters in the park is forbidden."  "Okay, I'll let the kids know."  We meekly obeyed, though I can't imagine why he found it necessary to enforce the rule.  Did I mention we were the only ones in the park?

Finally, the man drove away.  But like the famous cat, he kept coming back.  Driving slowly through the park, peering suspiciously at the children's antics, then leaving, only to repeat the process a few minutes later.  In other circumstances I would have been tempted to call the police!  But I'm sure he only meant well, and just wanted to be available when one of the frolicking youngsters suffered an injury, since the adults were clearly irresponsible, chatting away among themselves while the children chased each other up and down and all around.

Everyone had a wonderful time—except possibly the maintenance man, and who knows? maybe he was satisfied in a perverse sort of way for having prevented a scraped-knee scooter injury.  But the experience did leave me slightly disturbed.

Reading the Free-Range Kids blog, I've heard plenty of stories of how schools, governments, playgrounds, social service agencies, and other institutions have joined "helicopter" parents in a culture of fear that deprives today's children of the opportunities they need to develop into strong, competent, independent adults.  But this was my first personal experience with the phenomenon, and it was somewhat of a shock.

The materials:  We bought a couple of posts and a second hammer, but the rest of the materials were scrounged or donated by neighbors.

The labor force:  Jonathan, Noah, Faith, and Dad-o.

The experience:  Priceless.

Video tour of the fort.  Even Faith can climb up the ladder to the top, though she hasn't tried the Jump Line yet.

With apologies to our Northeastern friends who would like to be done with winter, thank you very much, I just have to say that I LOVE THIS WEATHER!  The air conditioner is silent (would that the power mowers, blowers, trimmers, and saws were also), we can have the windows open once more, the humidity is down, and tonight I ditched my shorts for comfortable jeans.  I hear the low will dip into the 40's tonight.  :)  It can't last for long—we'll be back in the 90's by the end of the week—but we're sure enjoying it while we can.