Inertia

A body at rest tends to stay at rest.  The same applies to a brain, my brain anyway.  I go through these incredibly productive periods and then some force acts upon me and inertia sets in.  The force acting on me today is the horror of a massacre in an elementary school in a small town, far removed from the dangers of the big city.  As I try to wrap my head around what happened, I find myself in a state of paralysis because I see no end to the violence.

Crazy people do things like shoot up innocent children.  Why did the Newtown, Connecticut, shooter have access to so many powerful guns?  Because his mother owned them and apparently didn't keep them locked up even though her son who lived with her was mentally disturbed.  She supposedly kept the guns for her own protection.  Fat lot of good they did her.

The real problem, as I see it, is that we have an epidemic of mental illness in the United States of America.  Why is that?  The long answer is, it's complicated.  The short answer is that we are a fearful people and becoming more so.  We no longer have confidence that our law enforcement officers can protect us from the growing dangers threatening our well-being.  Lots of people, perfectly sane people, purchase guns to protect themselves.  The way they see it is that danger lurks around every corner, behind every door, up every tree, and so they keep a gun at the ready. I doubt that most of these guns are effective in preventing crimes, but I guess having them makes people feel better.

I do not advocate banning guns because that would just push the market for guns and ammo underground and create a whole new world of problems.  As far as I am concerned, people can have as many guns as they want AS LONG AS NOBODY GETS HURT.  So, how do we keep guns out of the wrong hands while allowing Americans to exercise their Second Amendment rights?  This may be the most important philosophical conversation we as a nation ever have because until something changes, more innocent people will be mowed down as they go about their lives, and it will happen with increasing frequency because the mental health crisis in our country gets worse every time a shooting occurs.

Adam Lanza was diagnosed with a form of autism called Asperger's Syndrom.  This did not cause his violent behavior per se.   It is quite likely that he was depressed, perhaps because of being bullied as a child at the school where he acted out his inner rage.  Lanza needed treatment -- medicine, therapy, a residential program, something -- but did not get it.  The responsibility for this likely rests with his mother who, given her own fondness for assault weapons, was probably not aware of the message that her hobby communicated to her disturbed son.

Some of my neighbors feel that there should be more guns, not fewer.  These same people are devout Christians of the born-again variety who spend countless hours in Bible-study and prayer.  I don't get it.  Jesus was supposed to have said that we should turn the other cheek rather than hit back.  Unless I am misinterpreting everything I ever heard in church and Sunday school, Jesus would probably be distressed that his followers brought their pistols to church, just in case. 

In the words of the great Pogo Possum, "we have met the enemy and he is us."

I Forget

When my children were little, they named me "Miss Forget" because they noticed that I had a hard time remembering things.  Like the saintly mother than I am, I laughed when they called me this because I was in no position to argue with them.  I frequently forgot lunches, appointments, playdates, essential items from the grocery store, and where I had put things during my occasional cleaning binges.  I would also forget things like Hubby's lifelong aversion to onions and follow a recipe to the letter only to have him eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner.  I have come to realize that "forgetting" the onion problem was passive aggression on my part.  Those early years had their rocky moments.

The Operating Principal in our home was that anytime something went missing, Hubby and Daughters 1 & 2 would accuse me of throwing it away because to them cleaning meant tossing even though I was always extremely careful not to toss anything important, like a report card or math binder.  Cleaning binges being binges, after all, I goofed once in a while and threw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater.  Of all the things I inadvertently threw away, none was of particular importance or monetary value in the grand scheme of things, they were instead bits of clutter that had special meaning to their owners which I had failed to appreciate.  Every time this would happen, I would beat myself up for being an insensitive and overbearing matriarch, and proceed to empty out the trash bins while vainly searching for the missing objects, praying for God's mercy so that I could get out of the doghouse.  On a couple of occasions I did find the items in the trash, but most often they would be long gone.  My sins, however, were never thrown away:  they resided on a list which Hubby and Daughters 1 & 2 would recite from memory as proof that what they could not find I had obviously disposed of.  Unfortunately, I could never remember any of the times that I found the items they had accused me of throwing away, so for years I felt quite defenseless.

The other thing I did during my cleaning binges was to Organize the House and this involved finding a place for everything and putting everything in its place.  My three nearest and dearest compete with each other to be in the Packrat Hall of Fame to the point where they sometimes border on hoarding.  This upsets me because it is impossible to clean a cluttered house and when I am in a mood to clean, I let nothing stand in my way.  I have tried various methods of corralling the clutter such as boxing stuff up and storing it in the attic, basement, or garage to see how long it will be before anyone asks for their most precious scrap of paper or Pokemon eraser.  Once, after a box had sat undisturbed for three years, I looked through the contents and tossed it.  The very next day, Daughter #1 asked about that little rubber chicken she had gotten as a party favor in kindergarten which I had just found inside the box which the trash collectors had just picked up.  Of course I lied about it because if I hadn't looked in the box, I wouldn't have known the little rubber chicken was inside.  My penance for telling this lie was that Daughter #1 was hysterical and demanded that I turn the house inside out to help her find the damn thing.  For those things which I assumed had some value to their owners, i.e., they were in the top layer of clutter, I would attempt to stow away in a logical place with the hope that I would remember where to look when asked.  Unfortunately, I could never remember which Organizing Principal I was operating off on the day when I did the stowing and so the item would remain lost until months or years later when I found it while de-cluttering, re-organizing, or moving.

Why is my life so much more complicated than everybody else's?

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander all rights reserved

Weed (s)

The Red Dog

I am not sure why I bother to weed my garden beds because the weeds grow in much more quickly than I can pull them or kill them with Roundup.  I even have help of the canine variety.  The Red Dog loves only one thing more than the swimming pool, and that is helping in the garden.  He is the reason why my house is not and never will be clean (another of my opportunities to practice being Sisyphus).  He is also the reason why my white jeans are permanently stained with large paw marks.  I used to go right around the twist when The Red Dog "decorated" my clean white jeans but now, I no longer care.  The reason I no longer care is that I no longer go anywhere that requires my looking clean and put together, so when The Red Dog comes at me wearing his mud suit and boots, my cammo pants hide the evidence.

Sometimes I use weed-pulling as an excuse to avoid doing things I do not want to do, like cooking dinner, going to the grocery store, cleaning the house, or working in my office.  When Hubby comes home and there is no dinner on the table, I tell him I am saving us tons of money by doing manual labor rather than hiring someone (who really needs the money) and suggest that he get us a pizza from Enzo's.  When the overdue notices start showing up in the mailbox because I have been "too busy" to sit down and write checks, I hide them and then have to spend two solid days in purgatory (my office). It is a good thing that Hubby doesn't get involved with the household accounts otherwise I might have to get a "real" job.

Then there are those opportune times, during tropical storms and 100% humidity, when I voluntarily go to the office with every intention of paying the bills and filing everything away that needs filing and shredding everything else, but decide to check FaceBook instead.  This takes an inordinate amount of time (all wasted!) and makes me want to do some writing in order to get my focus back so I can attend to the high priority tasks languishing on my my desk.  The unfortunate thing about writing is that once I start, I can't do anything else until I am finished -- no matter how long it takes.  It is a little bit like weeding in that way, which leads me to wonder whether writing is a form of procrastination.  (Better not go there.)

As soon as the sun comes out, a whole new crop of weeds will spring forth and I will have to get back to my futile attempt to get my gardens in shape.  My Highly Effective Sister and her Mister do not seem to have these problems.  They keep their garden in shape, get their bills paid on time, host frequent dinner parties, own numerous rental properties, travel constantly (for fun), and hold down Important Jobs!  And they each have graduate degrees.  It's enough to make me want to get out of the gene pool, except it is too late:  Hubby and I have already reproduced, ensuring that the next generation of Highly Ineffective People, like weeds, will keep the entropy going.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved

When Highly Ineffective People Go Rogue

Highly Ineffective Person's Dwelling (when it was on the market)

I am coming off a month-long period of being Highly Effective.  This happens about once a year and catches me totally off guard.  To recap, in the past month, I packed Daughter #2 off to her sophomore year of college; removed every dust mote and mold spore, virus and bacterium, from the 1600 square foot apartment occupied by Daughter # 1 so that she will be able to breathe; helped my in-laws empty their family home of 40+ years; organized my husband's half of the home office; and re-organized my entire filing and bill-paying system.  And, I got my garden beds weeded, trimmed, and mulched while I was on the road!  I even managed to do some writing when I wasn't driving or slaving away.

My Office:  AFTER (family photo)

When I enter these (temporary) Highly Effective phases, it feels like a kind of mania.  I talk faster, write more, don't sleep (much), and feel like I can do anything.  I make lists and actually use them! I create strategies for how to manage my day and do the work that ten of me couldn't accomplish under normal circumstances.  And then, it all ends just as quickly and mysteriously as it began.  Suddenly, the kitchen is grimy, the floors are gritty, and the laundry has piled up into a three-day affair.

One thing I have learned in recent years is to make the most of these brief and rare periods of productivity because it is the only time I actually get anything done.  The rest of the time I feel like I am shuffling piles of papers, living in the laundry room, and panicking over what to fix for dinner for my husband who is "absolutely starving" and has to eat the minute he comes through the door.

The garage will have to wait until next year, I'm afraid.  Unless it "accidentally" burns down.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved

Dogs

Today got off to a good start:  I was up early and got the housekeeping out of the way in record time.  There was even a hint of the cooler, drier air which is why people live in south Florida, so I decided to take the dogs for a walk.  Part of my rationale for doing this was to make Ringo so happy he wouldn't feel the need to escape our fully-fenced 3 1/3 acre property.  Alfie is a good dog and won't leave when the gates are open because he's a homeboy who knows that his life is good.  Ringo knows his life is good, too, but there's always room for improvement.

Ringo is also known as Mr. Fun because he can't seem to get enough of it.  At first, he was content to torment Alfie into play fighting with him for several hours a day, but then Alfie stopped taking the bait and the fun was over.  Luckily for Ringo, and unluckily for us, Doug, the dog next door, is 65 pounds of solid muscle and has boundless fun capacity!  Our wildlife fence was a serious problem for these two fun-boys until Ringo discovered a hole in the one place we could not get to without serious bodily harm.  Somehow, he slid through the impenetrable net of vines, palmettos, and thorn bushes in the southwest corner of our lot where he somehow knew a narrow gap existed.  Getting from the canal into Doug's yard involved some serious problem-solving and geographical aptitude.  It turns out that our big red dog is a canine genius.

It took more than a week to hack away at the jungle so that we could close the hole in the fence and for three whole days, Ringo sulked around like we were punishing him.  But then, Doug taught him how to dig under the shared fenceline and an escape artist was born.  So began an endless cycle of digging, escaping, and patching.  I no longer feel sorry for Sisyphus.  Whatever he did to irritate the gods, he likely deserved.  At some point I will put in a sheep fence or hot wire, but that takes measuring and multiplying and problem-solving, three things which I have little talent for.  My brain hurts just thinking about the thinking involved.  And then there is the cost of putting in the fence because if I do it not only will I electrocute myself but the wire won't work and then my husband will left alone with Houdini's heir.

In south Florida, wildlife fencing is a necessity if your property backs up to a canal where alligators have been known to flourish, not to mention snakes, boars, and who knows what else.  If a dog goes missing for a couple of days, chances are it fought an alligator and the gator won.  When (not if) Ringo goes mandible a mandible with a gator I expect he will go out in an explosion of ecstasy because, after all, the flip side of pain is pleasure!  And that brings me to my own pain (aka Ringo, aka Houdini, aka Mr. Fun).  If I were a Highly Effective Person, first of all I would NEVER have adopted this dog.  Highly Effective People purchase pedigreed dogs, guaranteed to be brain dead.  They have much better sense than to "rescue" someone else's problem.  My husband and I, two of the most Highly Ineffective People you are likely to meet, have now "rescued" four dogs, not one of which could be considered brain dead.

What we have that our Highly Effective brethren do not, is a collection of hilarious stories of dogs from hell who captured our hearts and taught us that there is always something to look forward to.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander all rights reserved

Habit #11 – Putting Others First

Everybody knows somebody who juggles childcare, eldercare, social activities, and a full-time job, with every hair in place and no wrinkles in her linen suit.  We Highly Ineffective People talk about them behind their backs, admiring them while secretly tearing them down because we are consumed with High Effectiveness Envy (HEE).  I have been in a care-giving role for 22 years and never – not once – have I managed to look put together.  The hair is always frizzy, the blouse rumpled, and the pants a little too long in the rise or baggy in the seat.  Until recently, my main responsibility was for school-age children, but suddenly I find that in addition to managing children in two remote locations, I have aging parents, with increasingly complex needs, demanding my attention.  And two birds, two dogs, a horse, and a husband.  And a large house and 3 acre garden.

Even with some household help, I am never caught up and most of the time am not looking my best.  It would be easy to blame the south Florida climate for my rumpled appearance except I had the same problem when I lived up north in much less humidity.  It would be equally easy to blame my complicated family for my constantly disorganized household, except that I know women with much more complicated families who keep it together AND work full time.  Why does their hair look neat, their manicure fresh, and their clothing brand new?  Who has time to get her hair done (two hours), nails manicured (one hour) and buy new clothes (hours and hours) every week?  Not me.  I barely have time to go to the grocery store and fix a no frills dinner on days when I have to pay the bills which I have neglected until the last possible moment.

What is it that differentiates Highly Effective People from their Highly Ineffective counterparts?  My latest theory can be summed up in one word:  Caring.  These two types of people care about the same things but in very different ways.  Highly Effective People care about efficiency and effectiveness, their appearance, and what others think about them.  Highly Ineffective People care about these same things, but cannot do anything about it.  Marshaling our energies takes so much effort that we should never do more than one thing at a time.  Highly Ineffective People are incapable of multi-tasking, and yet we do it anyway.  And the reason:  because we cannot say no to the people (and animals) we care about.  When the children need something, they need it NOW.  When Hubby needs something, he needs it YESTERDAY.  When the dogs need something, they knock me over.  When the horse needs something, he kicks out his stall door and then I have to call the vet to stitch him up.  Usually, EVERYONE needs something URGENTLY at the SAME TIME, which is exactly the time during which I had planned to clean the kitchen or pay the bills or weed one of the garden beds or do a load of laundry or go to the grocery store or cook dinner or backwash the water softening system or make the bed or dust the plantation shutters or clean the pool deck or change the air conditioner filters or take the car for service etc.  So I do what any other Highly Ineffective Person would do and try to do everything at once and when, predictably, I accomplish nothing, I am tempted to sell my soul to the Devil in exchange for becoming a Highly Effective Person.  The only problem I can see with this is that I might not like my Highly Effective Self and the Devil would say “Didn’t your mother ever tell you to be careful of what you wish for?  Because you might get it.”

Maybe I should tell my loved ones to be independent for a change, but then they might do it and then they would figure out that they don't need me and then what would I do?

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved

Habit #10 Facebook

I was a late comer to Facebook and once in, I had the attitude that I was too cool to be one of those people who was constantly telling her friends about the minutia of her life.  Slowly but surely, I gained enough "friends" that I began checking in every couple of days, then every day then twice a day, then...  I'm not on Facebook all of the time, like SOME people I know, but checking the latest posts has started taking up way too much of my time.  Time that could be put to more Effective use. 

Most of what people put out for their friends' enjoyment is fine, even entertaining.  But today, two of my so-called friends shared some ugly political nonsense and it has me all upset.  For the record, President Obama is nothing like Osama bin Laden ever was even on his worst days!  Neither does he waltz over to the archives to burn sacred American documents such as the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  Finally, he is not sending G-men out to confiscate your guns and make you work in a collective farm.  This is the kind of spew that some of my "friends", who I actually consider friends think it is OK to share. 

I was supposed to be productive today, after all my property is flooded, thanks to Hurricane Isaac, so I have been housebound for hours, but instead of re-organizing the pantry or doing laundry or changing sheets, I am obsessing about the nasty garbage my Facebook friends believe their Facebook friends want to see.  I was so upset that I actually wrote on these friends' walls to let them know that their "shares" were toxic.  Then I posted the following as my status:

Dear Friends,

I would like to request that if you share ugly and twisted political messages about one presidential candidate or another that you please un-friend me.  “ Likes” are fine, but comparing either of these gentlemen to Osama bin Laden, Vladimir Lenin, or Adolf Hitler is wrong.

Thank you.

Perhaps this was a little extreme, but I was truly sickened by these postings.  Part of being a Highly Ineffective Person is that it is hard to let things like this go.  I get so tied up inside that I cannot focus on anything else.  I know a number of Highly Effective People and they don't seem to get bogged down the way I do.  Perhaps it doesn't bother them that when lots of people spread lots of lies, no one knows what the truth is anymore.  Or, maybe Highly Effective People are optimists who don't let nastiness get them down.  Or maybe they are stupid.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander all rights reserved 

Martha Stewart Ruined My Life

My future husband and I visited his parents' home in south Georgia a few months prior to our wedding to attend the 19 or so parties which were being thrown in our honor.  In between parties, I would allow my face to relax over a cup of coffee in the breakfast room where Mom kept her latest cookbook purchases.  The year was 1984 and I had never heard of Martha Stewart, but there she was, wearing pink Laura Ashley, on the cover of her inaugural book, "Quick Cook," a beautifully photographed instruction manual for getting dinner on the table in style without spending the entire day in the kitchen.  I was hooked and read the book from cover to cover at least seven times across that eternal weekend.

I loved her list of pantry must-haves - including things like truffle oil, caviar, and sundried tomatoes (which no one had ever heard of) - and decided that my life would be good if I became a Martha disciple.  The biggest impediment to stocking my pantry a la Martha was that my local grocery store was stuck in the seventies.  Granola was the most up-to-date product they stocked and so my quest for the magic pantry which would allow me to make beautiful dinners in five minutes or less immediately hit a wall.  Martha Stewart lived in New York City; I lived in Washington where the "good" restaurants were traditional French style and not particularly noteworthy because they didn't have to be.  There were a handful of tiny epicurean markets scattered about the greater metro area but that meant getting in the car and driving around which I was loath to do.  The closest one, Neam's Market, was in Georgetown where I found two or three of Martha's items but they were so expensive I couldn't bring myself to purchase them.  It was at this point that I lowered my aspirations to include only those items I could find at Safeway or Giant, which eliminated all but five recipes.  Of the remaining five, four required onions which my hubby-to-be was allergic to, but I was undaunted.

Martha believed in setting a beautiful table every evening using a variety of plates and stemware.  At that point in my life, I had no beautiful china, serving pieces, or stemware, nor did I have a ready source of fresh-cut flowers.  No matter, I told myself, I'll work with what I have which was from a thrift store.  We had begun to receive place settings in the Adams English Ironstone pattern which we had registered for in the small town that my future husband called home but it would be many months before we had eight entire place settings, so I continued to use the chipped and cracked plates and bent flatware to which we were accustomed (and which I could drop without serious incident).

After re-reading "Quick Cook" and sighing over the photographs of Martha in her demure dresses while lovingly serving perfectly prepared frozen desserts, I decided that it was time to put the plan into action.  I chose an easy-sounding, onion-free recipe of sesame-seed encrusted chicken pieces in a soy marinade served inside baked acorn squash halves.  Preparing everything took well over two hours but it was very tasty.  I didn't have time for the rest of the menu which included an elaborate side dish and dessert.  In my rush to make this dinner, I had neglected to wash the lettuce for a salad, so I had to get up from the table and do that.  Hubby-to-be offered to do it, but I was desperate to become accomplished in the kitchen so I wouldn't let him.  I placed the salad in front of him and realized I had not made any salad dressing.  The salad dressing I had wanted to make required walnut oil which I did not have so I substituted olive oil which was fine, but not what Martha called for.  After dinner, Hubby-to-be offered to do the clean up and because I was tired, I let him.  An hour and a half later, I peeked into the kitchen where he was still battling a huge pile of dishes, cookware, glasses, etc.  "Did you have to use every single plate, bowl, pot, and measuring cup in the house?" he asked peevishly.  I made a quick note to myself never to let him do the clean-up again.  "Good food takes time and makes a mess," I said defensively.  "I just followed the recipe in this book I borrowed from your mother called 'Quick Cook'."  He said that next time he would prefer "Quick Clean-Up".

After the "Quick Cook" fiasco, I sadly returned the book to my future mother-in-law and went back to Campbell's Tomato Soup and cheese toast.  My loyalty to and desire to be like Martha only grew, however.  I devoured everything she wrote and was an early subscriber to her magazine, "Martha Stewart Living."  Apparently I was not alone in wanting to channel Martha.  If will power could have transformed my home to one that looked like Martha's, I would have succeeded but will power cannot change an Ineffective Person.  Just the same, I sewed curtains, made elaborate Roman shades, designed adorable Halloween costumes for my children, ordered Martha's craft project kits, and made my own piping for kitchen chair cushions.  But it wasn't enough.  Every project that I tackled, nearly did me in because of the mess it created and the time it took away from housekeeping.  No matter how hard I worked at straightening, organizing, cleaning, decorating, my house was always a mess.  I was at a low point in my quest to be Martha when she tried to cheat the system and had to go to the Big House to pay her debt to society.  Betrayed, angry, hurt, and exhausted I renounced my Goddess and decided to give the Fly Lady a try.

Where the pre-felony conviction Martha was all about the kind of good taste and restraint that only money can buy, the Fly Lady would be right at home in a trailer park.  My suspicion is that the person behind the Fly Lady was once, or maybe still is, a hoarder, in other words obsessive-compulsive.  After she taught me how to get out of bed, get dressed to the shoes, and shine my sink, she then bombarded me with reminders to tackle my "zone", drink a glass of water, "bless" my home, and update my control journal.  Martha had been a sort of siren with her lifestyle that felt tantalizingly attainable when I read her magazines and books (even though I would never have the money to hire enough people to clean up after me);  the Fly Lady, on the other hand, was like the most annoying pre-school teacher I had ever met.  She was So Perky! So energetic!  So Positive!  And her messages were So Simple!  But I gave her a chance anyway because my life was chaotic and I couldn't remember to change the air conditioner filters or get the cars serviced or any of those routine chores which cause big problems if neglected.

The Fly Lady's Control Journal is her answer to "Martha's Calendar" which graced the pages of her monthly book of "good things."  Martha would schedule "washing window screens" along with yoga, picking raspberries with Mom, canning tomato sauce, and polishing the brass fittings and leather harness on her two-horse carriage.  The Fly Lady had probably never picked berries, taken a yoga class, or come withing two miles of a horse.  Her control journal was all about fighting the entropy of modern life by motivating her follows to grab that feather duster and start stirring up the dust motes.

Fortunately for my family, my Fly Lady phase lasted less than a month.  At first, the constant reminders in my email inbox kept me focused but when I tried to develop and live by the control journal, everything fell apart.  My control journal was not perfect so every time I tried to use it I found something that needed to be changed, so off to my computer I would go.  I spent so much time perfecting that year-long to-do list that I forgot to pay my bills and plan Daughter #1's birthday party.  Fortunately we had a pool and my daughter was a summer baby so I called her friends' moms and bought a cake from Safeway along with a couple bags of chips and everyone had a great time and because of the short notice, no one brought a gift!

No thanks to the Fly Lady, my house was messier than ever and my to-do list was so complicated that I gave up.  Fortunately, we decided to move to Florida so I had an excuse for not being organized.  That was seven years ago but I'm using it still.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander all rights reserved

Habit #1: Procrastination

This topic is so huge I could spend the rest of my life writing about it but before I sit down and get to work, I realize that I need to run the dishwasher and water the plants, two things which I really do not want to do, so I put that off by checking Facebook and email first to see if there is anything requiring my attention.  By the time I have read today's Facebook news (yawn) and my daily spams, it is time to feed the dogs.  After I have fed the dogs, then I realize I have nothing in the pantry with which to make a tasty, nutritious, and visually pleasing meal for my husband.  I run to the grocery store hoping for inspiration and, finding none, buy the usual boneless, skinless chicken breasts, linguine, broccoli, and marinara sauce, as well as ingredients for a salad.  Another day of zero productivity even though I have been busy from dawn to dusk.

Highly Effective People set goals, make lists, prioritize, and rarely procrastinate.  I try to emulate them, but it never lasts for long.  Once, several years ago when I was feeling particularly ineffective, I decided to subscribe to the "Fly Lady" website (www.flylady.net) "Your Personal Online Coach to Help You Gain Control of Your House and Home".  I forced myself to tolerate the annoying little "Fly Lady" who sent a barrage of chirpy emails to my inbox every day reminding me to get out of bed, immediately get dressed to the shoes, and make my bed before ANYTHING ELSE!  My dog was extremely helpful with this first commandment:  he tripped me up as I headed toward my closet (instead of the kitchen), nipped at my ankles as I was attempting to step into my panties, head-butted the backs of my knees as I searched for a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans (never mind that this outfit was completely inappropriate for the meeting I was supposed to attend at 9:00 am), and proceeded to run off with my left sneaker.  I remembered that I had forgotten to make my bed the second I limped into the kitchen, where my dog had dropped my soggy sneaker.  My first day as a Fly Lady groupie got off to a bad start.

One endearing quality of the Fly Lady is that she sends constant affirmative messages, assuring Ineffective People that they can be just as Effective as people who do not need the Fly Lady to remind them to get out of bed and get dressed.  In the old days, you could download a form from the Fly Lady called "The Control Journal", which allowed you to plan out your day beginning with #1. Get Out of Bed.  The days of downloadable freebies from the Fly Lady are long gone.  Now it costs $12.95 but it is worth it because of the adorable little Fly Ladyisms which grace every page.  We don't clean our homes, we bless them beginning with our most important daily ritual:  shining the kitchen sink.

In order properly to shine your sink (and bless your home) the Fly Lady recommends her book "Sink Reflections" (get it?) for $15.00.  For another $10.49, she'll throw "three deluxe microfiber cloths" into the bargain.  So the first thing you do is fill the sink to the rim with hot water and a cup of bleach, let it sit for an hour to kill all those nasty microbes which love to make you sick, and then get to work scrubbing and polishing.  I don't know about you, but if I leave the sink full of bleach for an hour, it will be a very long time till I get back to it so I skipped this step.  Next, dump some scouring power into the sink and scrub away with a sponge or one of those deluxe microfiber cloths; a plastic knife is a must to scrape the hidden gunk out of any crevices.  Then rinse well.  Finally, using a clean dish towel wipe the sink dry and voila!  According to the Fly Lady, you will immediately feel hopeful even if you had to stack three weeks of dirty dishes on the floor in order to find the sink.  In case you don't believe me, the Fly Lady has an inspiring video showing all the wonderful things you can do once you have shined that sink (http://www.flylady.net/d/getting-started/flying-lessons/shine-sink/), such as let your cat play in it (yuck!).

I could continue having fun with the Fly Lady, which has a long list of useful products with names such as "Fly Lady's Rubba Sweepa" but I think I have put off writing about procrastination long enough.  A cup of coffee will get me started, but first I need to clean the coffee pot and shine my kitchen sink!

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved

Black Holes

When I first learned of the existence of black holes in the universe, my overactive imagination convinced me that we were all going to be sucked into a black hole like dust bunnies under a bed destined for the vacuum bag.  I have since learned that black holes are passive, waiting for objects to come close enough to be trapped by their gravitational force.  The black holes in my life, however, are different; they follow me around.  One popped up yesterday because daughter #2 and I got into a terrible argument during which we both said hurtful things to each other. Even though we both apologized, the energy drain keeps tagging at my heels, so today I am even more ineffective than usual.

The Highly Effective People I know do not seem to experience these emotional black holes.  They tell people off who need to be told off and get on with their day.  What's even more interesting is that the recipient of the telling off almost always forgives them.  Maybe Highly Effective People have some of Ronald Reagan's Teflon.  I either have no Teflon or have been sprayed with a very low quality-made-in-China generic non-stick coating; and it is the same for other Highly Ineffective People of my acquaintance.  Here's an example of how this works:  one windy day, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and got a little grumpy with my neighbor who doesn't keep her trash properly contained so it blew all over my front yard like it did the prior week and the week before, ...  That person will never speak to me again unless I fall all over myself apologizing for having been such a jerk and beg her to throw her trash all over my front yard for the rest of time.  Even so, our cordial neighborly relations will never be the same all because of one small act of grumpiness which opened a black hole in my world.  My slovenly neighbor will have the upper hand and I will forever be kissing it.  Why, you may ask, do I care if my slovenly neighbor speaks to me?  The answer is that I am wracked with guilt about any negative feelings which I may leave in my wake.  What if I died tomorrow?  My neighbor would show up at my memorial service and tell everyone what a small-minded, petty jerk I have always been.

Lesson #2:  Highly Effective People do not care what their slovenly neighbors say about them.

Epiphanies

My husband and I have been married for going on 28 years.  This fact alone is proof that God exists because my ineffectiveness is a cross that my husband bears every day of his life.  We were talking the other night about the difference between effective people and ineffective people and Hubby said it was analogous to the way chimpanzees have nearly identical DNA to humans, except for one or two tiny little chromosomes.  My sister and her husband are Highly Effective People in the extreme.  She is a mucky-muck with the World Trade Organization; he runs the Geneva, Switzerland, office of a major multinational law firm.  They renovated their rental house before buying the house across the road and increasing its square footage by 60%.  Meanwhile, both of their sons became Eagle Scouts and were accepted into ivy league colleges.  I took comfort in having a cleaner house than my sister.

Sister and Mister are shining examples of Highly Effective People.  They make the world a better place, not in grand, sweeping ways, but by living exemplary lives.  Lives which make the rest of us feel inadequate.  What is interesting is how many Highly Effective People there are who make the world a worse place.  Take Adolphe Hitler, for example:  highly effective, amazingly effective, criminally insane.  A lesser example is George W. Bush, 41st President of the United States.  I consider him a sleeper because he was a mediocre student, failed businessman, and so-so governor of Texas.  Thanks to a little help from his family and friends, he landed in the White House where the VP and his cronies instructed him in the ways of Highly Effective People.  The result:  two un-funded wars, a bankrupted federal government, and the most dysfunctional congress in history.  Talk about effectiveness!

Moving from the Macro- to the Micro-View, we have Carly U., a former friend of Daughter #2.  Carly U and Daughter #2 shared first names and were referred to as "The Carlys" and "Carly F. and Carly U."  CU was everyone's darling: blonde, blue-eyed, tall, tan,a good golfer, straight-A student, etc., etc.  While sports recruiting is forbidden at our school, it would not surprise me one bit if CU received a generous scholarship in exchange for agreeing to attend TPBPS (Toney Palm Beach Private School).  I am easily swayed and bought right in to the CU story lock, stock, and barrel.  While I never worshiped on the alter of Carly U., I believed that she was truly exceptional.  I must confess that I was happy that my wonderful Daughter #2 had such an illustrious and Highly Effective friend.  Networking starts young these days.

It was the 10th grade science project that showed me that the empress had no clothes!  Daughter #2 and CU were partners in a project to study the quality of water from different sources.  Science projects do not have to prove anything other than an understanding of the rubric.  It took me a while to convince Daughter #2 of this fact.  In the end, the girls invented a bunch of plausible test results to plug into a spreadsheet demonstrating that treated water was cleaner than that which was drawn directly from a well or from a five-gallon bottle of "spring water".  My epiphany came when I was helping Daughter #2 compile the notebook and tri-fold display for the science fair.  CU's main contribution was to write the conclusion.  I was expecting to be wowed by CU's writing, after all she was one of the top students in the grade, acing every test, exceeding expectations, and generally making everyone else look like a slacker.  So I read the paragraph she contributed to the effort.  THE PARAGRAPH!  And it was garbage:

Conclusion:
In conclusion, we believe that this experiment was very successful.  Most results were satisfying and reassuring.  Our hypothesis is that the most publicly exposed water may be in wonderful quality or greatly contaminated.  Although we have some poor quality in certain some of the tests for different samples, the majority of the sampled water is fantastic.  One major mistake that we did not consider is the distance between our homes.  However, this mistake was also advantageous because we were able to collect samples from areas with entirely different water sources.  Another mistake was that we didn't make sure that we received all we ordered; although we had to eliminate one test, we were still able to continue testing other aspects of water quality.  We believe we had good time judgment for testing, but beginning earlier definitely would have helped.  We have fulfilled our purpose; we assured ourselves that the water that has been drunk in highly populated areas is healthy for consumption.

I read this out loud to Daughter #2 who said in her defense, "Carly likes to use big words."  To which I responded, "THIS IS GARBAGE!  THE SMARTEST HIGHEST ACHIEVING GIRL IN YOUR GRADE WRITES GARBAGE!"  Daughter #2 took the paragraph and re-read it in the privacy of her own room.  A couple of hours later she came out and said, "Mom, what are we going to do?  I called Carly and she said it was perfect the way it was and was not going to change a word."  Then it began to dawn on me.  Who had done the research to decide on a project?  Daughter #2.  Who had purchased the supplies?  Daughter #2.  Who had written the proposal to the science teacher?  Daughter #2.  Who had organized the experiment sessions?  Daughter #2.  Who had documented (doctored) the results?  Daughter #2.  Who had assembled the project notebook?  Daughter #2.  The ONLY contribution made by CU was the ineptly written conclusion in which she stated that "the results were conclusive" in 1,000 words.  Daughter #2 took it upon herself to "edit" the conclusion.  CU's reaction:  "Wow, you really changed it a lot."

Their project took first place in the science fair and CU got most of the credit.  She did nothing other than show up for meetings and write a paragraph of meaningless nonsense, but because of her ability to outshine everyone else, the glory was hers to bask in.  This is Lesson #1 in how a number of Highly Effective People operate:  behind them there is quite likely a team of highly ineffective people who do all the work.  I'm thinking it's time for us Highly Ineffective People to wise up.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved


 

Crappy Hour

The words began flowing out of me as I wrote my first piece on being ineffective.  For a writer, that is the best feeling in the world.  Damn, I’m good, I congratulated myself.  Maybe I’m not so ineffective after all.  I finished up the writing (and the pinot noir) and was ready to create my new blog, but I couldn’t remember my Gmail username and password.  So I tried logging in using various combinations of user names and passwords which I might have created but none of them worked.  Then, I decided to ask Google to reset my password on a user name that could only belong to me.  Success!

I was so excited to start posting to this new blog and attempted to create it under my Gmail account using my real name and default (MSN) email address.  This is when the fun started because the Google Team decided I must be a spammer and blocked me at every turn.  After about two hours I threw in the towel and created the blog under my default email account even though I had wanted the blogs to be completely separate from each other, because my other blog is about Serious Topics. I am willing to bet big dollars that Highly Effective People can do whatever they want with Google and never get accused of spamming. How I envy them.

A few years ago, I took a part-time job as an “executive assistant” to the executive director of a small local orchestra under the delusion that this would be a fun job.  Judith, the executive director, considered herself a computer expert and had set up a peer-to-peer network in the office which allowed the three computers to share a single printer.  She was a fan of a data management product called “File Maker” and had created a database of the orchestra’s subscribers with it.  The problem with File Maker is that it is easy to use and because it is easy to use it is unable to handle the sort of elegant file structures that a frequently-updated database requires.  Judith’s approach was to keep adding fields to each record for each new subscription year.  After about three years, a subscriber’s record was approaching maximum record size.  Even worse, trying to figure out exactly what data each record contained was an exercise in cryptology.  For example, what exactly did the field “0405msub” contain?  No one could remember, but it was important so the field had to stay.  

A major problem with being a Highly Ineffective Person is that even when you are right, no one listens to you. I, a former database designer, explained to Judith how the database might be redesigned in order to simplify data management and provide more useful information, she then explained to me that her database worked just fine and was easy to use and understand and I should just do my job.  Judith's database was, she made clear, the highly effective product of a Highly Effective Person.  

File Maker has a lovely mail/merge function which saves countless hours of clerical time, a high priority for Highly Effective People like Judith.  One of my first tasks was to create a mass mailing to all past and present (and living) subscribers offering them a discount on the coming season if they bought their tickets early.  To Judith's eternal dismay, it became immediately clear to her that not only was I was a Highly Ineffective Person, but I could bring her beloved network to its knees simply by turning on my computer.  She had to leave for a meeting, so I rolled up my sleeves and tried to make File Maker work for me.  After two hours of frustration, I ended up doing the mailing the hard way (i.e., printing each letter and envelop individually) because in the end it took much less time than doing it the easy way.  When I was about 75% finished, Judith returned and demanded that I stop what I was doing and use File Maker, so I pretended to comply until she left for another meeting.  Thirty minutes later, the mailing was done but File Maker had thrown down the gauntlet.  It was a long four months until Judith had hired my replacement.

Here I am, eight years later, attempting to create a blog using a user-friendly (idiot-proof) blogging platform and being accused by Google of being a spammer.  I am tempted to haul out the IBM Selectric and put my posts on the Publix bulletin board.

 Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved

Happy Hour

I have reinvented myself as a writer because that is a good job title for someone who accomplishes very little on a given day.  Today, for instance, I had planned to clean Daughter #2’s room because it hasn’t had a visit from the vacuum, dust rag, and toilet brush since April or May.  But first, I had to feed the dogs and make coffee, two things I do every day.  You might assume that I can do these tasks blindfolded and in my sleep, but you would be wrong.  This morning, I assembled the coffee carafe, put the paper filter in the basket, filled it up with ground coffee, and moved on to the next thing.  The dogs know to wait while I make the coffee, which is a very endearing trait.  I picked the dog bowls up from the floor and put them on the counter and stared off into space for about 30 seconds while I tried to remember what it was that I was supposed to be doing.  Dog food – right!

Feeding the dogs is very rewarding because the dogs enjoy eating the same disgusting food day after day.  Their food is truly revolting which makes me wonder WHY I am spending $150 per month on dog food I can only buy from the vet.  That’s a topic for another day.  This morning after successfully feeding both dogs AND providing clean drinking water, I was ready for my coffee, my little reward for getting out of bed and feeding the dogs, except I had forgotten to turn the coffeemaker on.  Minor glitch, I decided to put the time to good use and make my breakfast while the coffee brewed.  

Something about this morning was off and I couldn’t put my finger on it until I went to pour that first divine cup of java:  I had forgotten to put water in the coffeemaker’s reservoir.  I hadn’t heard the gurgling of the water, that glorious morning music which heralds the beginning of a new day.  I can’t eat breakfast without coffee, so I filled the reservoir and did some tidying up while the coffee brewed for real this time.  I must have lost focus somewhere in the family room while picking up newspapers and empty glasses because the wheat germ on top of my yogurt was completely soggy by the time I remembered that I had not yet had coffee and breakfast.  

By the time I had finished my breakfast and poured the third cup of coffee into a thermos for later, I was an hour late for my riding lesson.  Merde.  My trainer had already come and gone, thinking that I had stood her up, so took my horse out to let him run around with the cattle in sand arena.  He had a great time and we ended up in the round pen where we did some work on human-horse communication.  Unfortunately, the poor equine got overheated so I had to walk him around for an hour after hosing him down in order to get his heart rate down.  Then I noticed that he had cut himself while galloping madly after the bovines.  Merde, again.  I had to wash out the wound and fashion a bandage out of sterile gauze and duct tape.  By the time I had finished with this, it was close to high noon.  That was OK, however, because I still had plenty of time to clean my daughter’s room and make the dentist appointments which were overdue.  

I returned home dripping with sweat, stripped down in the mudroom, and headed straight for the shower.  Just as I was about to step in, the phone rang and it was the mortgage specialist who was helping me refinance the mortgage on our house.  He had a few questions he needed to go over with me, he said, it should only take a few minutes.  An hour later, I was still naked and answering questions (which I had already answered at least twice before).  Once everything was resolved, I took that shower and changed into fresh clothes.  A second shower was in my future because my daughter’s room was truly fetid.

First, I needed a quick bite of lunch so I made a PB&J and ate that while checking out the Sunday crossword puzzle which was created by a crazy trivia freak.  I couldn’t even figure out the three letter words.  Then my cell phone rang and it was Daughter #1, the one who lives in Savannah.  “Mom!” she said.  “I NEED YOU TO SEND ME MY CUSTUMES FOR DRAGON CON RIGHT AWAY!!!”  Uh. OK.  I didn’t have anything better to do (actually this sounded better than cleaning the homegirl’s room anyway).  It took a good 45 minutes to find all of the various components of the costume which included an enormous hoop skirt, red wig, bejeweled skirt,feathered bodice, and several pieces of unwearable jewelry.  “PLEASE PACK EVERYTHING CAREFULLY – I’LL CRY IF ANYTHING GETS RUINED.”  Uh.  OK.  

Three trips to the car with the costume stuff and away I went to the local pack-n-ship store.  “I need to send this stuff to my daughter in Savannah,” I said to the young and helpful-seeming young man who was on duty.  “UH, do you have a box for any of this?” he asked.  “No, that’s why I am here!  You guys are supposed to know how to pack stuff.”  “Uh. OK.”  Another highly effective person.  I hope for Daughter #1’s sake that everything arrives intact, un-damaged, and as she hopes it will be because I do not think I can survive her grief if a single pearl comes unglued in transit.

Fast forward to 8:00 pm.  I decided that the only way I could make sense of my ineffectiveness was to write about it, so that brings us to number 9 on the list of 7 Habits of Ineffective People:  happy hour.  I’m enjoying a glass of pinot noir while I wait for dinner to cook.  Merde.  I forgot to turn on the oven.

Copyright 2012 Teresa Friedlander, all rights reserved