I would never let the Dog Whisperer know this but my 5.5 lb. Yorkie is the pack leader in our house. Oh, he acts like he’s not the alpha dog, but it is just to spare us the humiliation. He has trained us to obey all his commands (going out to check the rabbits at 4:00 a.m., barking at the front door when no one is there) but the most important one is making sure my husband and I are in the same room. It is very important to Dewey that the pack be together. If I am in the office and my husband is in the family room, Dewey will bark and whine at me until I get up and go in the family room. At night when I’m doing my night-owl stuff, he sits at the bottom of the stairs and makes annoying noises until I go upstairs. This can go on indefinitely. He always wins. He cannot go to sleep until the pack is bedded down for the night. “Oh, how cute,” you might say but he is as fickle as they come. If any of our kids come home and spend the night, we are dead to him–and we’d better not disturb him when he is curled up on their bed.
I decided to write my blog on how to have fun but quickly found there’s a lot of very un-fun advice about how to have fun. I couldn’t find a picture that showed what I thought having fun looked like, except this one where the girl is in a creek with her clothes on–the fun part being that she is wearing clothes. That is definitely more fun that being in your swim suit because clothes are not something that you’re supposed to have on in the water. The second fun thing is that she is next to some slippery rocks and may even be sitting in a little pool where the water is rushing by. I bet she started out just by getting her feet wet–also fun when you aren’t supposed to be in the water at all. All the rest of the pictures of people having fun didn’t look like fun although there was a lot of water involved. They all looked like they were supposed to be having fun but I could tell they weren’t. I just heard from my daughter-in-law that my 13 month-old grandson was dancing to Mickey Mouse with one finger in his belly-button and his other finger waving in the air. Unfortunately, no picture but that definitely also sounds like fun. Perhaps I shall try wearing my clothes in the river while dancing to Mickey Mouse with my finger in my belly button. I will give you a head’s up if it’s fun. If not, I’d never admit it but instead would urge you to go out and try it. Watching that would definitely be fun.
Soooo–what are you doing this weekend? I have a lot of plans–the thought of which exhausts me–which is why I will deliberately pace myself. I start by getting a really, really good night’s sleep, waking up about 10:00. This calls for coffee, a bagel with strawberry creme cheese and thorough reading of the paper. I don’t get to read the paper in the morning during the week so it is important to do it before my busy day starts. Paper read, including the classifieds, it is time for lunch because I don’t want to start on the basement only to stop in a half hour to eat. Wow! Lunch really made me groggy–a short nap will give me that boost I need–there willll still be plenty of time to do the basement and the garage before we go to the movies–last reduced-price ticket is at 4:00. On my way to the basement I look at the time-yikes, I really do need to get changed for the movies since I am still in what can loosely be called my pajamas (from the French, “paja,” meaning “unwashed.”) . It’s all good, though; since I’m really a night owl, I’ll get to the basement after the movies. So, that’s how my weekend rolls. Packed. Non-stop. Unrelenting. Rather than bore you with Sunday’s plans, just suffice it to say, I am crazy busy. I hope your weekend isn’t as unforgiving as mine. Go easy and stay safe. Life is just too short to be unproductive. Take it from someone who knows……
On short notice, I stopped by a business associate’s house to pick something up for work and couldn’t help but notice she had no stuff out. No piles of mail, no piles of papers, no piles of shoes to go up stairs, no piles of screws and pins and parts to things. Admittedly, she could have cleared the counters with a sweep of her arm into a box hidden in the oven but I don’t think so. Am I the only one with stuff? No matter how many times I “organize” my stuff, I can’t keep up. I feel like Lucy Ricardo at the chocolate factory–the stuff comes in faster than I can put it away. I was beginning to feel inadequate, until I told myself that this is probably a genetic disorder. The way that I have coped with my dirty, “messy” little secret is that I know exactly what is in each pile except for when I need something. While I do crave the kind of organization featured in magazines, cool little bins lined up neatly in cubbies, there is an odd comfort in my piles. Writers are unkempt and a clean, neat desk doesn’t make me feel like a serious writer. So, my piles will remain as they are until such time that I have company. Then I shall stack all the piles in a corner and put a plant in front of them. Life is too short to be neat. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Most Mother’s Days I don’t think of my grandmother but maybe because I have a new grandson, she is on my mind. I didn’t really appreciate how different she was because she was the only grandmother I knew. I thought all grandmothers watched boxing, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, yelling at the minuscule TV screen for her guy to knock the other guy out. Outings with my grandmother (who made us call her by her first name, Laura) always included a six-pack in a cooler that she called her “Travelers.” Long before I was born, she would leave her four kids with her husband and fly down to Cuba to bet on the horses. She never made cookies but did fix elaborate Mexican dinners and then put all the dishes in the bathtub and made the kids wash them. She told jokes, wore spike heels to work at age 80 and never went out without make-up, fabulous earrings and perfectly coordinated outfits. I don’t wear spike heels, I’m lucky to find two pieces of clothing that work together and I’ve never been to Cuba but when I look at my newest grandson, I want him to remember me as the person I think I am–fun, spontaneous and willing to make a fool of myself if it makes him laugh.
Ever had a dream you just knew meant something to you but you weren’t sure what? Dreams are how we think outside the box when our conscious minds can’t break out of conventional thinking. The man who invented the sewing machine couldn’t figure out how to make the needle work until he dreamt about invaders whose spears had holes in their tips. I wasn’t sure I could handle going to seminary until I dreamt that I found a door open to a big cathedral. Keep a pad and paper next to your bed and scribble down what you remember from your dreams. Gradually you will start remembering more dreams and details. If you have questions about your dreams, find a therapist who does dream work to help you interpret them. Dreams introduce you to your unguarded self, guide you in decision making and deepen your self understanding.