Almost on the Six O’Clock News

It was such a scorching dog day in late August that the birds were hot-tubbing in our backyard birdbath. I was wearing my bathing suit and had turned the air-conditioning down another notch despite the green voice in my head that said, ‘You should be ashamed.’ It didn’t help my mood to think about my daughter Peggy, her husband Tyler and my two young grandchildren, Jacob and Sophie working outside in 100 degree weather at a camp for foster children in our community? I admired their compassion and magnanimity to devote an entire summer running the camp and I was glad they were due home that evening.

If I Were a Car…I Wouldn’t Trust Me!

Attention mechanics: DO NOT read or listen to this essay. At best it’ll disgust you, but at worst, it could make you sick!

I’m a self-confessed car abuser and I’m not proud of it, it’s just the way it is. I’ve abused every car I’ve ever owned including my current one. My organizing skills have kept my cars clean on the outside and on the interior, but when it comes to taking care of what’s under the hood, they are nonexistent. I know, I know, I’m irresponsible. I wait until something happens and then I head for repair. And I know the “ounce of prevention equals a pound of cure,” deal, but I’ve never minded that proverb when it comes to automobiles.

Do Not Tick Off a Kink!

Usually if I wake up with a kink in my neck from sleeping wrong, I can work it out by mid-morning. Last week we were in Boston at our daughter’s home and we slept on our teenage grandson’s super firm mattress which was armed with difficult pillows.

I knew the minute I tried to get up, that there was one very angry muscle in my neck. You know those main muscles that stick out on either side of your throat when you frown and say “EEEK”? That’s the one that got mad. When it comes to pain, I’ve been through my share with three babies and a couple of broken ribs under my belt so I’m familiar with the pain scale of zero to ten, zero being pain free and ten being scalped and begging for Dr. Kavorkian.

Use Your Imagination to Help Getting Organized

Many struggle with disorganization as I once did. I was in nervous remission for years, but as time has passed I’m not that nervous anymore. I don’t let my messy tendencies get too far out of hand and my home is never more than 15 minutes to “company ready” (and that’s for the whole house).

When every room is HOURS or DAYS away from "company ready" and I HAVE BEEN THERE, it can easily be overwhelming and in that state of mind we can freeze, bust out of the place or retreat under the covers. All those actions make things worse.

Genetically Disorganized People Love Drama

My Aunt Tottie was extremely disorganized and was she ever dramatic! My mother was a BOP (Born Organized Person) and she used to roll her eyes over the way Aunt Tottie lived. She was a lousy housekeeper, wore baggy clothes day in and day out and rarely put on make-up, BUT when she did get cleaned up, she was a KNOCK OUT. Mom said when they were young; Aunt Tottie would get all gussied up to go out dancing and she’d make an entrance that would drop jaws. Mom said she looked just like Lauren Bacall.

All or Nothing at All

There’s a huge difference between a drastic transformation and change that takes place as gracefully and gradually as a baby turns into a toddler. But when we’re fed up with our old ways we tend to want an instant and dramatic fix. That’s what impatience is all about. Take weight for example, we want the weight to come off faster than we put it on. We get frustrated with a loss of just one pound in a week, yet if we gained a pound a week, we’d gain 52 pounds in a year. I don’t know anyone who’s done that and you probably don’t either.

If you’re like me, you tend to have that notion: All or nothing at all. When we want to get organized usually we’ve come to a place where every room is laced with chaos. When we decide to fix our finances it’s when the power’s been shut off or we max a few credit cards and sink into financial depression. When we want to lose weight it’s usually because we’ve let it go so long that our pants hurt and we’re scared to get on the scale. We’re not like the frog that stays in the water as it is heated to boiling and cooks to death, instead, we schlep along until we snap.

Will You Be My Valentine?. . .Please!

I have a hard time with “social networking.” I hired a person to help me learn how to use it to spread my ideas for finding joy in everything we do. Unfortunately that joy eludes me when it comes to Facebook. I’ve learned how to get onto my Facebook page for Make it Fun and my husband’s and my personal pages. I’ve been “liking” stuff and “commenting,” but I’m not sure what happens to those likes and comments?

When I got organized in the late seventies, I decided to keep my “project” a secret from my husband, kids, parents and best friend. I’d read that when you want to make a transitional change in your life, keep it to yourself and wait for “them” to come to you and say, “What’s happened to you?” or ”You seem happier and you’re always on time lately, what’s up?”

What’s This Inner Kiddy Thing All About?

Today I accidentally received an email not meant for me and since it was very short, I read it before I realized it wasn’t’ for me. It said, (I’m going to use different names) “Hey Mary I got another email about this inner child thing, what do you think about it? Maggie” Attached to the post was one of my Inner Kiddy testimonials. It made me wonder what “Maggie” thought and what she’d say to Mary.

A Man’s Perspective on SHEs

The oldest kid’s room smelled of mold, the middle kid was pasting a sticker book all over the living room walls and the baby was throwing the contents of her bedroom drawers out the window to make room for hide-and-seek.

The kitchen was littered with busted crayons, three sleeping bags reeking of alder smoke were under the dining room table, the parking strip grass was as high as an elephant’s eye and it looks like it’s growing right up to the sky.