Mar13

Butter First

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I was intending to go to the Resale Shop today for my weekly volunteer shift. My morning involved taking Stella out for a romp around the yard, while I cleared snow from the car, and loaded trash, recyclables and donations in it. I kept an eye on the clock to be sure to allow myself enough time, as there was plenty of snow to clear, and more coming down. My afternoon in town included plans to pick up my paycheck and take it to the bank, and stops at the Transfer Station, airport, Post Office and grocery store. Along with four hours at the Resale Shop. I’ve been at home for a week now, so was ready to venture out.

I wish I could boast about how wildly productive this time off has been so far. The truth is, extra time doesn’t stand a chance against all the myriad ways of wasting time that I have in my arsenal. That’s a topic, though, that deserves more time than I have right now. I have managed to spend several good days in the studio, so that, at least is encouraging.

This morning, with a full day out-of-the-house ahead of me, I did not have an agenda beyond that. Probably a walk with the dog when I got home this afternoon, nothing more. So, when weather and road condition reports started showing up on my computer, along with an announcement that many businesses, including the Resale Shop, would be closed today, well! I felt like a child upon hearing a “snow day” announcement! Unexpected free time…what’s better than that? I quickly decided to spend the day in the studio.

First, though, I made myself some peanut butter toast. That’s two slices of homemade bread, toasted, buttered, and then topped with peanut butter. Butter first. That’s especially true when toast is involved, but actually any bread, for any type of sandwich, first gets a spread of butter. It doesn’t matter if it will also be covered with mustard or mayonnaise, or topped with a moist egg salad or a juicy hamburger, butter comes first.

My sister Brenda and I both feel this way. I think we’re the only ones of our sisters that do. This may seem like a subject that would never come up in conversation, but I can remember at least two discussions regarding our use of butter. The first was when Brenda and I were putting a pile of sandwiches together for a crowd. One of us made the observation that we both made sandwiches the same way, butter before the other condiments. The second was at a gathering of all of my sisters. Then Amy brought it up, and did a little spontaneous survey to find out which of us adhere to the “butter first” rule, as our Mom always did, and which of us no longer do.

Granted, it’s not a topic that would generally be of interest, but when my sisters and I gather, it is quite normal to look at habits and quirks, and pull out all of our amateur psychology skills to analyze them. We have noted who, as a child, was a nail-biter, bet-wetter or thumb-sucker, and how long it took any of us to outgrow those behaviors. We observe adult behaviors with even more interest. Who still does this, or that goofy thing that was normal when we were growing up? Did that trait come from Mom, or from Dad? Who has left that behind entirely? When the sisters in my family get together, these are perfectly valid considerations. So, I know that, for me and for Brenda, we go for butter first!

Mar11

Time Off!

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This is the first Wednesday in quite a while, that I haven’t been preparing for my work day. Normally, I’d get up at 6:30 with the alarm, brush my teeth while the coffee brews, then do a short exercise program. After that, I settle in to drink coffee while checking mail, catching up on the news, and playing on-line Scrabble. By 9 o’clock, I’ve traded robe and slippers for sweats, boots, and whatever additional outerwear I need to tackle the current weather. Then my dog Stella and I head out for our morning walk. We aim for two miles, but in recent weeks, icy conditions have made that mostly impossible. There were days when it took almost an hour to do half that distance!

Home, Stella – who knows she’s about to be abandoned for the day – trots upstairs to her comfortable headquarters, where she’ll wait for her treat, scratch behind the ears, and reminder to “take good care of things.” Though she tries to present herself as an alert watchdog, I do believe she sleeps for most of the day. I head in to the bathroom for a quick shower, and to dress for work; my shift runs from 11AM to 7PM. Honestly, it’s a pretty cushy job. There’s no back-breaking labor involved, and I rarely break into a sweat. The people I work with are all kind and helpful, and customers are a pleasure. I have no complaints.

Still, I was feeling the need for a break. The last time I had any significant time off work was last fall, when my sisters and I took a week’s vacation. That was followed shortly afterward by another trip, this time for my brother-in-law’s funeral. It was one of those times when the gathering of family and friends offer some comfort and even joy through the grief and sorrow. Still, not something that would count as “vacation.” After that, I settled in to the island for the long, lonely winter. No family gatherings for holidays; no interruptions to my routine. Fortunately, I handle it well. I’ve always been something of a loner, even while growing up in a big, raucous household. My Mom once said, “Of all my kids, Cindy is the only one that could live on Beaver Island. She always has been the most anti-social of all my children.” I believe she meant that in the nicest way possible. And, I think she was right…though “asocial” might have been more accurate than “anti-social.”

Lately, the calendar seems to be speeding toward summer, when my work schedule will expand, and every day is busier. I’ve been feeling the lack of time. Time to get caught up on all the things that seem so difficult to get to when even the mildest of work schedules breaks up the week. On household projects, health routines and studio work, but also just on my own thoughts. Also, the people I work with were taking advantage of opportunities to get away, which made me a little jealous. Suddenly, right now, all conditions fell into place, so that I could navigate a few days away from my job. Business is slow enough that my absence won’t be a huge hardship, and another artist is here (just back from a vacation!) to handle the art classes. So, I have taken two weeks off!

Of course, I have big plans. I want to spring clean the house, finish sorting and organizing cupboards, closets and drawers, and tackle a couple larger household projects I’ve been putting off. I intend to plot out this year’s garden, and get my seed order ready. Encouraged by having managed, with milder weather, to get a good walk in, taking both speed and distance into consideration, three days in a row, I want to keep my focus on diet and exercise. Maybe shed the five pounds I’ve managed to add in the last few months! And, I’m looking forward to having time to spend in the studio. Nothing comes easy there at first. After having neglected the space for weeks on end, as well as all the half-formed plans and partially developed ideas that I left there, it takes some time to regain that flow. I spent most of yesterday in the studio, and I’m encouraged by what I got done. Hurrah for time off!

Mar9

Better

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Rereading my last post, I concluded that I may be dwelling too much on the negative. It’s not hard to do, while in the middle of a difficult winter, with so many scary, unpredictable and unsettling world events going on. Still, I need to take care of my own health, both mental and physical. Sometimes that’s just a matter of taking baby steps, small and unsteady at first, just to create some forward motion.

Finally, finally the weather seems to be letting up. The day before yesterday, with rain coming down, I was sure I’d be able to get a decent walk in. I prepared for it: long underwear and wooly socks topped by sweats, my winter coat, heavy gloves, cleats on my good, waterproof boots and, on top of the warm knit cap, a wide-billed rain hat. Surely, I thought, the rain would have cleared the snow and ice from the road. I was so wrong! The ice, now free of any texture or snow cover that might have offered a bit of traction, was absolutely treacherous! It took a half-hour just to make my way from the back door to the road, clinging to branches where there were shrubs, hugging the piles of snow left by the plow, and sometimes tramping through more than 18 inches of snow still covering the yard. At the road, where I was hoping for bare gravel, there was only more ice, stretching off in every direction. Defeated, I turned and made my way back home.

I spent the rest of that day in the studio. I haven’t settled into a project yet, one that will grab hold and inspire, commanding my time and attention, so I spent my time with busy work. I did some organizing and a little cleaning. I mixed paint with polymer medium and put a base coat of color on a stack of heavy papers that will eventually be the background for collages. I sorted through my large tote of collage materials, filling a few envelopes with interesting bits. I made a list of dimensions for future matt and frame sizes. By the time I came downstairs to clean my brushes, it felt like I’d had a productive afternoon.

Yesterday, my dog Stella and I headed out once again to attempt a walk. What a difference! Though there is still plenty of snow covering my yard, all along the road-side and into the woods, the walkways were clear! The sun was shining! Though there were a few puddles to navigate around, Fox Lake Road was mostly clear. I’ll take open water in any form over the ice we’ve been dealing with; from the muddy footprints Stella brought home, I’d say she agrees. For the first time in two weeks, we were able to walk all the way to the end of the road. And, for the first time in at least a month, we were able to set our own pace, rather than have slippery conditions and fear of falling making those decisions for us. My sore muscles today underline the fact that it’s been far too long in coming! By the time we got back home, I’d been able to strip off gloves, hat and scarf. There is hope yet, that spring is coming!

This morning, I searched for and found a good description of “The 5 Tibetan Rites.” As an exercise program, it has intrigued me since I first heard about it. It is a form of yoga with active, rather than static poses. That interests me, because I tend to get bored with yoga routines. The only one I’ve maintained for any length of time is a 5-minute standing sequence. I like that there are only 5 exercises in this program, and that they can be completed in ten minutes. I considered buying an illustrated book, but I have plenty of exercise books gathering dust on the shelves. Today, I found a good video that demonstrated each of the exercises clearly, and slowly enough so that I could write down the description, and even sketch the poses. It also offered variations on each exercise, for people – like me – who are out-of-shape or far too inflexible to attempt them otherwise! I haven’t actually tried the program yet, but I feel like this is a start. As I said at the start, baby steps!

Mar7

Maybe…

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Again, I’ve let two weeks go by without posting a blog or, in fact, writing anything. I’ve been missing my family like crazy, and they are always in my thoughts, but getting an actual letter out has been a challenge. Yesterday, during a slow afternoon at the Resale Shop, I finally got one short missive off to my sister, Brenda. And, maybe, today I’ll find enough inspiration to write a few paragraphs here.

It seems that I’ve spent much of this winter in the doldrums. The weather hasn’t helped. For months, there has been a layer of extremely hard ice covering roads and walkways, making every outing a treacherous one. Cleats on the soles of my boots cannot pierce the ice; walking poles won’t dig in to it. Sometimes, snow cover helps, but then a sunny afternoon or a visit by the plow truck brings the ice right back to the surface. What used to be enjoyable two-mile walks down the Fox Lake Road, taken at a pretty good clip, have lately often been reduced to cautious half-mile excursions. They take at least the same amount of time, as every baby step is taken with care, looking for areas with a bit of traction or purchase. I tell myself, “at least we’re out in the fresh air…” but when the temperatures hover around freezing levels, that’s not much comfort.

The news continues to be a big source of depression, concern, heartbreak, and often fear. I was born in the 1950s, when World War II was a recent memory. This country was riding high on its identity as not only victors, but saviors. We stepped in to help. The vision I grew up with was of the United States as heroic. Not as a bully; not as an aggressor. Though incidents during the Viet Nam war and other conflicts have worked to challenge that ideal, and delving into our history reveals many more mean examples, I’ve held on to my beliefs: we are the “good guys.” We support the persecuted and downtrodden all around the world. We support rules and laws that keep individuals safe. We help. We use our power, influence, money and strength toward the greater good. Until now.

Now, persons in our government seems keen on the United States being a tyrant, a tormentor, an aggressor. The words, “by force” are thrown around in conversations about countries that have been our friends. The violence we are perpetrating, often without proven justification, without asking permission, and without prior warning, against boats in international waters, civilians on streets in our own cities, and (heaven help me!) over a hundred young children in girl’s school leaves me shattered every day. And from the people with authority to answer to these atrocities, I’m hearing the language of the schoolyard bully: “they asked for it;” “they deserve it;” “we’re going to kick them when they’re down;” ” no mercy…”

Some days, I can hardly bear to get out of bed in the morning. But, I continue on. I sign petitions, make phone calls and send postcards to make my opinions known. I watch the snow receding as we inch closer to spring. I plan my garden. I walk the dog. Now and then, I find the stamina to go into the studio, to try to work on something creative. Once in a while, I sit down to write. One step at a time, I continue forward, trying to maintain hope.

Feb21

Absolutely Right

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I’ve been writing on this site for close to 15 years now. I have published, I think, well more than a thousand blogs. A few times a year, I bring what I’ve written and record them for our little radio station. Lately, it seems I have run out of material. The last few times that I’ve brought my little stack of papers up to the WVBI office to read them aloud, I’ve embarrassed myself with how very repetitive and boring they sound. One after another, I talk about all the things I have to do, the struggle to motivate myself, and my difficulty in finishing projects. Every great now and then, I recount a rare productive day. How tedious!

People are nice. I get comments that tell me I am too hard on myself, that I get more accomplished than I give myself credit for, and that I shouldn’t worry so much about it. Maybe ( I hope!) I’m not really as repetitive as I seem to be, to me, when I’m reading one blog after another. Or, more likely, people are just kind.

With that on my mind, I’ve been having a lot of difficulty finding fresh topics to write about. There isn’t much new and exciting going on in my life. On Beaver Island. In the middle of the winter. I have lived a long life, and have collected a lot of stories…but I often think I’ve already told them all. Do I continue to go on and on about my monotonous, uninteresting day-to-day efforts, or do I chance repeating myself? That’s the dilemma I face, when thinking that I should sit down and write. Today, I’ve opted to gamble on an old story.

My youngest grandson, just twenty-two years old, thinks he would love to debate me. He has formed strong opinions, and is of a age where he’s confident enough in them, that he’d like to test them out. My daughter assures him that, in fact, he does NOT want to debate with his Grandma Cindy. She knows I would disagree strongly with him on just about everything: politics; religion; the role of women within a marriage, in the workplace, and in society. I have no desire to discuss these things with him, but if it came to that, I like to think I’d be merciful.

I remember when I was about that age, with newly formed ideas that I was equally passionate about. I cringe when I think of my bold audacity, telling my mother how to “parent,” she who raised nearly a dozen children, or arguing with my Dad about a thousand little things. Mom was gracious. “Give it some time, Cindy,” she said, “You might feel differently as your kids get older.” Dad, on the other hand, was always up for a good fight. And I, at that age, was never willing to let it go. Our altercations would last for hours, until we were both angry and frustrated.

Aunt Katie took me aside one day, and explained to me how to get along with my Dad.

“I was raised with him, Cindy, and with three other brothers. They’re all stubborn Germans. Arguing with them will never get you anywhere. When a disagreement starts,” she said, “raise your arms, and drop them to your sides. Say, ‘you are absolutely right.’ Do not say, ‘you might be right’ or ‘you could have a point’ or the argument will continue. Say, ‘you are absolutely right. Then, just go ahead and do what you want.”

I watched this play out brilliantly in my Aunt Katie’s life. My Dad would rant about how foolish the game of golf is. “What kind of idiot,” he’d say, “wants to pay good money just to go chase a little ball around with a stick?!” “You’re absolutely right, Bob,” my aunt would say, as she loaded her clubs in the car and headed for the golf course. Dad would go on and on about the foolishness of having flowers. “A garden is enough work on its own, without planting things that you can’t eat,” he’d say. “You’re absolutely right,” Aunt Katie would reply, as she continued to run strings up the wall for her morning glories to climb.

This technique never worked quite as well for me, but it was still excellent advice. I may attempt a version of it, if my grandson ever tries to convert me to his way of thinking!

Feb3

My To-Do List

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It’s early afternoon, and I see that Stella has once again taken up residence on top of my freshly-made bed. She can see out the front window from that location, and she enjoys keeping an eye on the goings-on out there. This time of year, there isn’t much to see. Rarely, a car drives by; now and then a bird or a squirrel make an appearance; that’s about it. It doesn’t matter to Stella. Right now, she has given up observation for the more inviting pleasure of another nap.

I know how she feels! These quiet, cold days make me want to do little more than hibernate! I have a hard time working up the ambition to get anything done. Last evening, after doing the dishes, and realizing that was my biggest accomplishment of the whole day, I made a list of things to do today. “Make the list when you’re feeling optimistic and full of possibilities,” was a bit of advice I read lately, “then force yourself, to stick with it until it’s done, no distractions allowed.”

Good advice, I thought. My method, because I hate to disappoint myself, is to list things only as I complete them. Do something, write it down, check it off. There is gratification in having a long list of accomplishments for any given day, granted. Lately, it seems like that’s not quite enough motivation to actually get up and get at it. Also, I’ve gotten more forgetful in recent years. Maybe that’s age-related. I think more likely is that I have so many things to keep track of, that need tending to. That is directly related to how many things I have let slide.

Where to begin? Should I start with the 2023 tax forms, and the accompanying paperwork, that have been stacked on a shelf for months now, waiting for me to find time or motivation to fill them out? When that is done (and I have to admit, this fact is probably acting as a deterrent!), I still have 2024 and 2025 to deal with! Or maybe I should head for the studio, where I have a dozen in-progress pieces, and no clear direction forward for any of them. Plus, it’s cold in the studio! It seems silly to tackle cleaning out the file cabinet, when the desk is more visible, and also needs attention. Every single thing is important; I have neither time or energy to do it all. Often that leads me to give it all up for “busy work,” stuff that is helpful and necessary enough so that I can justify putting off those things I’m trying to avoid. Busy work includes things like making bread, making soup, working on a crochet project, and writing this blog.

So, I started this day with a list, created last evening when today stretched ahead of me, full of possibilities. I got up this morning determined to not be distracted from it. So, my plan was to get all of my possible distractions out of the way before I started anything serious. That’s how it happens that now, at 2PM, I have yet to start ticking the items off my list. I made the bed, checked the news, read my Email, looked through the local items for sale on Facebook Marketplace, improved my Scrabble score, read a couple blogs, watched a few YouTube videos, drank almost a full pot of coffee, toasted a bagel, and started soaking a cup of beans for soup I’ll make later. When I finish writing this, I’m going to take Stella for a walk. Then, by god, I’m going to tackle that list!

Jan24

Too Cold!

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Right now it’s a chilly five degrees (that is -15 celcius!) here on Beaver Island, and the wind, which has a big effect on how cold it feels, has died down. This is a heat wave compared to the temperatures we’ve had over the last few days. At this time, there is just a gentle snow falling. Even better, the sky is bright! I have already heard a plane!

We’ve had a long string of days where the weather prevented all flights to and from the island. More days without flights than anyone remembers, I’ve heard. There have been folks on the mainland waiting to get home, and others here rescheduling appointments when they can’t get across. There has been no mail. The shelves in the grocery store are just about bare. Restaurants here are not receiving their supplies.

Compared to many other places around northern Michigan, and, actually, around the whole country, we’re in pretty good shape. Our electrical power seems to be holding, as is the internet service. The tug boat brought a barge of fuel across the water just a few weeks ago. Most of us prepare ahead of time for winter shortages and inconveniences, stocking up on groceries and other necessities. I could probably sustain myself for several months from my pantry and freezer. And, though much of the country is expecting record-breaking winter conditions, right now it seems pretty mild here.

But, it is definitely cold. A few degrees warmer than it has been, but when temperatures are hovering around that zero mark, a few degrees doesn’t offer much relief! Stella goes outside on her own these days, and she hurries to get back in. We haven’t had a walk in three days now. The last time we tried it, she turned back for home before I did! I brought down a supplemental heater yesterday, to make the living space more comfortable. Both the dog and I are staying pretty close to it! She has two afghans added to dog bed, to nestle into; I continue to pile on layers of clothing. It’s cold!

Jan20

Only What I Can Do

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It is freezing outside today. Wind chills are making it feel even colder. Frostbite is a danger after even a few minutes of exposure. For the second day in a row, Stella is not getting a walk. She’s bored, but not arguing about it. She’s been outside, as needed, through the morning, but she doesn’t dawdle. Right now, she’s comfortably resting on her dog bed, in front of the heater, right behind where I’m sitting here at the computer.

I bought Stella a new dog bed for Christmas. She had chewed up the one she inherited when she moved here, and the next two that I bought for her. I put a cushion down in that space, which she could rest her head on if she decided to park herself there, and for a while let her go without her own dog bed. She insists on sleeping with me anyway, and my bed is where she spends most of her time, when I’m home. Now and then, she curls up in the armchair. When I’m away from home, she parks herself upstairs, on top of my printing press, where she gets a wide view of the whole front yard.

But, in the Christmas spirit, I purchased another dog bed. She uses it often, when I’m working at the computer, or sitting on the nearby chair, and she hasn’t yet shown any inclination to chew it up! Maybe she learned her lesson. More likely, she’s gotten a little older, and forgotten what pleasure she found in scattering bits of foam, fabric and stuffing all through the house. In any case, I’m happy with her newfound maturity, and she seems very content curled up by the heater on her new dog bed!

There is definitely a chill in this house today. I’m wearing my fleecy robe, over sweats, over long underwear, and I still feel cold! It makes it kind of hard to move around, which makes it difficult to get much done. I managed to lose the robe long enough to get in my morning exercise. I’ve been working on a couple future projects for my art class. I have a loaf of bread rising, to go with the soup I plan to make for dinner. I’ve written one letter. Not much, for my last day off!

Now that I’m old, and receiving Social Security benefits, I work outside of my home no more than I have to. This time of year, when businesses have slowed down, I have four days off! Time! Time to work on or complete all the sorting, cleaning, and organizing projects I have planned for my home and studio. Time, even, to start something new. Too often, my list of accomplishments are little more than a sad reflection of how much time I waste.

This week, I started out working on a cabinet to deal with the shelf inside it, that had warped to the point where it was no longer doing its job. It had to be removed, and somehow replaced. I got everything out of it, filling the counter above and the floor around it with all the things that had been stored inside. I couldn’t get the shelf out. It was going to have to be cut, to remove it in two parts. That involved an hours-long task with a handsaw, or some piece of power equipment. That dilemma was enough to stop me in my tracks. Often, as was the case this time, after having created more mess than I’d started with.

I managed to diddle way the rest of that day on “busy work,” diversionary tactics to make me feel productive when I am not. The next day, my goal was to get everything done that I had not completed the day before. And I managed it! It was actually a very productive day. Stella and I got a two-mile walk in. I cut the shelf in two using my jigsaw, fashioned a shelf out of a wooden crate, washed everything before putting it back in the cabinet, and swept up the sawdust. I swept the entire downstairs while I was at it, took out the compost, burned the paper trash, and finished an afghan that has been “in progress” for at least two years.

Yesterday, I spent in “recuperation mode,” accomplishing only what was absolutely necessary. Now, today, again I’m faced with the pressure. This is my last day off of the week! It’s too cold for a walk, so that is out. Bread is making, soup is planned. I’ve made good progress on samples for art class. I have been meaning to publish a blog, so now that’s done. It’s not much, granted, but, hey…I do what I can!

Jan11

Falling Down

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I took a fall on the ice yesterday that was extremely jarring, and left me with a big “goose egg” on the back of my head. Nothing was broken and I didn’t have a concussion, but I fully expected to be unable to move when I got out of bed this morning. Not so! All of yesterday’s soreness, muscle aches and tingling seems to be gone. Other than the lump on my head, I seem to be fine.

That’s always a big relief! I have weak bones, and often suspect that a bad fall will be the end of me. I’m cautious, always, but refuse to just stop moving. The last several days, with ice covered roads and walkways, my excursions were shortened to one mile, and that distance would take me about twice as long as usual, watching every footfall for safety and balance. Yesterday, with a couple inches of fresh snow over the ice, it felt much safer. The snow provided a little traction.

I told my dog Stella that we might just get a long walk in, and we were both excited about that. I walked over 470 miles in 2025, beating out the previous year by a hundred miles! This year, I want to surpass last year’s total. The way it’s going so far, I’m going to have a lot of making up to do! So, we started out happy, moving right along. I was confident we’d get two miles in, and possibly push it further.

I had barely made it to Loretta’s driveway, which is half-mile from my home, and where I’d turn if I were going to walk one mile, when, suddenly, I was on the ground, flat on my back. Normally, when I fall, though I know almost nothing about anatomy, in the split second it takes to go from “up-right” to “on-the-ground,” I think I could name every bone in my body, running through the list of what might give way. Not yesterday. It happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to react. The snow slid under my step; the cleats on my boots didn’t bite into the ice, and I was down.

Immediately, I hurt all over! I curled onto my side, and truly wondered if I’d be able to get up. My ribs ached, though they had not been battered in the fall. My fingernails ached! At a snail’s pace, I managed to get up, and very tentatively made my way back home. In slow motion, I stripped off my outerwear, and assessed my injuries. There was a big knot on my head, but that appeared to be the extent of it. Why was I so all-over sore?

Maybe the fall had driven the air out of my lungs, causing the pain around my ribcage. Maybe the bump on the head was causing the pain and tingling in my fingers. I put an ice pack on my head, and took to the computer to investigate. Did I possibly have a concussion? No, it didn’t sound like it. One-by-one, I eliminated every other possibility my hyper-active, hypochondriac mind could come up with. Okay. I am probably okay. I took it easy last evening, took two ibuprofen before bed and – it seems – I woke up in fine shape this morning. I think I’m even up for my yoga routine!

Twenty years ago, a fall wouldn’t be worth a mention; now, I can write several paragraphs about it. As I age, falling down has become a much bigger thing!

Jan7

Yesterday Was “the Day”

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Day before yesterday, I wrote “today is the day,” and I truly thought I would somehow manage to pull myself out of my lethargy, and get stuff done. No luck. I shoveled the snow from the side walkway, and cleared the hood and windows of the car. I took the dog for a long walk. I did a load of laundry, paid a few bills, and managed to figure out how to cancel a couple subscriptions. Beyond that, it was dinner, dishes, a minimal tidy-up, and bed. Discouraging, yes, but not hopeless.

As a lifelong procrastinator, I can verify the power of a last-possible-moment, now-or-never, adrenaline driven sprint! Growing up, we’d often rise up as a group, with a short half-hour before my Dad would pull in the driveway and, in a fury of last-minute energy, put the entire house in order. During my college days, I was able to pull amazing things out of seemingly thin air, right on the deadline. Due dates, test days and final critiques were regularly preceded by “all-nighters.” I managed good grades all the way through, but often wondered if I couldn’t have done even better, if I had managed my time more sensibly. It would have certainly been easier on me!

Anyway, here at home, all was not lost. I woke up very early yesterday, filled with desperation-fueled energy, and tucked in to the tasks on my list, and a few others that I ran into along the way. I had noticed that the table beside my bed had become a jumble of too many books: some finished but not shelved, some waiting to be read, and many “in progress.” Underneath it all was a layer of dust. So, with my first cup of coffee, that’s where I started. While following my exercise program in front of the computer – which involves standing, so a slightly different view of the surroundings – it had come to my attention that the simple curtain in front of that cubby was also badly in need of laundering. That was next.

With a small load of whites in the washing machine, I made quick work of taking down, boxing up and putting away the Christmas decorations. From the dining room table, a gathering of Santa’s with random accessories, and the banner from the window behind. My crocheted Christmas stocking was hung on the side of a low cabinet; the nativity set rested on top. The little Christmas tree rested on top of the big old army trunk in the living room. It is inside of that trunk where all of it gets stored. I remembered to gather the various strands of beribboned jingle bells from every door knob, the Santa Claus spoon rest from on top of the stove, and the embroidered “Season’s Greetings” towel from the cupboard door. With everything back in storage bags and boxes, I am ready to move on to the new year!

My bullet journal, though not quite finished, is already in use. I put away the markers, pens, washi tape, rulers, calendars, and too much other paraphernalia to mention. I brought the paper cutter back upstairs to the studio. Anything that gets added or completed at this point, does not need to be such a major production!

Then, on to clearing out the studio. That meant making room for all the stuff I’d stored in there. In the past, that was the spare room…which was now set up as a guest bedroom. Oh, but I so enjoyed having company last summer! And I hated for it to be such a major production to make accommodations for guests! Might it be possible to leave that bed set up? I investigated. The attic space had barely room to fit the dismantled bed: headboard, footboard, mattress and box spring. It was stuffed full!

But, oh, there was the bread maker, which I was planning to put into use this winter anyway. I pulled that out. I rearranged a couple storage totes, a large artificial Christmas tree (that I don’t use, so should probably bring to the resale shop next December), a sewing machine and a box of fabric. Better access, but no more extra room.

At the other end, where the bed would be stored, was another twin sized mattress, that I had purchased – it was a trundle bed then – at the same time as the one I was using. Why was I sleeping on the same worn out mattress that I’d been using for the last ten years when I had its twin up here is storage? Well, it was quite a navigational challenge, but I managed to move it out of that tight space, around the dresser and the foot of the double bed, around the corner, and down the stairs. There, I stripped my bed, put the whites in the dryer and my bed linens in the washer, then dragged my old mattress outside, and replaced it with the better one.

That made space in the attic for a pile of 1 x 6 boards, my small trampoline, Pilates chair, hula hoop, dog crate, and two large baskets full of other things too numerous to mention, all out of the studio! That makes room for me to actually work in there!

I’m not done. I still need to figure what to do with the old mattress. The studio, abandoned and unusable for months, need to be cleaned and organized. There’s still plenty to do, in every room in this house. My day was broken up by a necessary trip to town mid-day. I still had to re-make the bed with clean sheets. And, the usual, dog walking, making meals, and tidying up. But, for this moment, I’m simply ready to celebrate all the progress I made. Turns out, yesterday was the day!