Just for fun, a reprint of my humorous essay first published in the Seattle Times, June 28, 1998. Can you relate? Leave a comment!
People like me, who read best-sellers long after their prime, are waiting with breathless procrastination for the Seven Habits of Highly Distracted People. I borrowed its antithesis from a highly-effective friend, got to page 9 of 352 during car pool stops, then lost the book.
It surfaced a week later at my mother-in-law’s, where I’d dropped it before hauling out her garbage. That’s when I came up with seven habits that every distracted person can practice with pride.
1. Be reactive. Plan not to plan. Be spontaneous and mysterious. Posting the week’s nutritious and color-balanced menu may work for effective people. But after a long, disorganized day I’d rather play “What’s My Menu” with leftovers. I rationalize that I’m passing on the heritage of my Scandinavian ancestors, who gave the fancy name “smorgasbord” to refrigerator potluck.
2. End with the beginning in mind. Every project is worth starting. The other day I opened my sewing box to mend socks and encountered scraps to cut for my next quilt. That required clearing dirty dishes off the table for a cutting space. The soaking dishes reminded me to treat a grass stain on my son’s jeans. Opening his closet, I decided to sort out the clothes he outgrew six inches ago. Someday, I’ll sew that quilt.
3. Put last things first. Effective people ruthlessly sort their junk mail over the wastebasket. They miss reading about the joys of vinyl siding and easy credit They never find, as I did, a sample copy of a “life planner,” which promised to reduce my chaos to charts and disarray to discipline. Right away I wrote in my first and last priorities of the day: get up with the chickens and go to bed with the teenagers. I achieved both. The items between those didn’t fare as well, but there’s always tomorrow.
4. Think win-a-few/lose-a-few. One day it was just me and one of my young teens in the car. Realizing my offspring was staring at me soulfully, I jumped at this golden moment of parent-child bonding. “What’s on your mind, my dear?” I gushed. “Hey, Mom,” the child replied, “How come you have whiskers?” In true lose-lose form, I told the rude child that I was interviewing for a job as a circus bearded lady.
5. Understand that you never will. My graduate degree in communications doesn’t count a whit at 5:30 p.m. when a child is in distress over algebra homework sprawled all over the kitchen table. My suggestion that we re-attack homework after dinner reveals my ignorance of the intellectual process. “You never understand,” wails the child, who uses the same phrase on shopping trips when I choke over mini-skirts and platform shoes.
6. Syncopate. Highly distracted people are one-person bands who do it all with off-beat style. We all need those days that we discover—at noon—that our jeans are unzipped and the turtleneck is on backwards (no wonder it felt like a noose). Who cares? At least I pried a family out of bed, plunked a chicken in the crock pot, tossed a load in the washer, and delivered kids to the right schools before I showed up at the hardware store with my apron still on.
7. Grow wizened and wise. Distracted women may buy “Oil of Delay” by the Costco gallon and rub nasty stuff into their hair to cover up the silver. But we don’t believe that life after forty means a brain shrunk to the size and texture of a walnut. Every day holds wonderful learning experiences—if we can find where we scheduled them in our daily planners.
I once thought I wanted to be abnormally perfect. But now I’m content to be perfectly normal. I take courage from my great-great-something grandmother, whose perfect day included milking the cow, getting pecked gathering eggs, pumping the water to boil for laundry, knitting Pop’s socks, and plucking the feathers off the candidate for chicken dinner. Then when every last pot was scrubbed, she sat down at her little pump organ and sang, “The End of a Perfect Day.”
Well, it was almost perfect. She was supposed to ride the buckboard to town, but forgot to write it down in her planner.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
That's, uh, some baby!
One of my former pastors had a fail-safe way of admiring wrinkled newborns who were far from “cute.” “That’s some baby,” he’d say with a smile as a new mom or dad peeled back the swaddling blanket. The proud parents usually didn’t catch the double meaning.
At times, people come to show me their writing “babies.” I could say, “That’s some article/story/devotional,” and wish them well. But if they want to be published, they need an honest critique. The fine art of critiquing was never easy for me, even after working several years as a teacher for a national writer correspondence course. I’d rather have people like me than disappoint them by saying their writing needs better organization or its passive verbs and mixed metaphors weeded out.
Thus I have great respect for those who both succeed as writers themselves and in mentoring other writers. One such person is Cecil Murphey, a former pastor who is probably best known as the second byline on Don Piper’s best-selling book, 90 Minutes in Heaven.
Several years ago I saw Cecil across the room at a writer’s conference, but I don’t think I ever introduced myself. Perhaps I was in awe of this unimposing man with a mop of curly gray hair. After all, he was the author of more than a hundred books, most of them on Christian living, care-giving and Heaven. He also weathered tragedy when a fire destroyed his home (including his office) and took the life of his son-in-law.
Yet Cecil has steadily invested his writing earnings to help other Christian writers. He has funded scholarships for writers’ conferences and backed other help for communicators. I benefited when Cecil paid for a professional makeover of publicity flyers for a selected group of Christian women speakers. Let’s just say mine went from a dented old jalopy to a gleaming sedan.
Proverbs 22:9 says, “A generous man will himself be blessed.” This month, those touched by Cecil’s generosity have been encouraged to commend his behind-the-scenes efforts in the Christian writing world.
For a window into his mentor’s expertise, visit his blog about the writing life: http://cecmurpheyswritertowriter.blogspot.com/ . Its entries are a reminder that writing is plain hard work. A just-born literary offspring might be, well, ugly. It needs to mature to usefulness.
To characterize Cecil’s legacy, I want to torque Proverbs 22:29 just a bit: “Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings, he will not serve before obscure men.” Cecil serves both the King of Kings and the more obscure men and women serving the same King.
He’s some author—and we’ve been blessed.
At times, people come to show me their writing “babies.” I could say, “That’s some article/story/devotional,” and wish them well. But if they want to be published, they need an honest critique. The fine art of critiquing was never easy for me, even after working several years as a teacher for a national writer correspondence course. I’d rather have people like me than disappoint them by saying their writing needs better organization or its passive verbs and mixed metaphors weeded out.
Thus I have great respect for those who both succeed as writers themselves and in mentoring other writers. One such person is Cecil Murphey, a former pastor who is probably best known as the second byline on Don Piper’s best-selling book, 90 Minutes in Heaven.
Several years ago I saw Cecil across the room at a writer’s conference, but I don’t think I ever introduced myself. Perhaps I was in awe of this unimposing man with a mop of curly gray hair. After all, he was the author of more than a hundred books, most of them on Christian living, care-giving and Heaven. He also weathered tragedy when a fire destroyed his home (including his office) and took the life of his son-in-law.
Yet Cecil has steadily invested his writing earnings to help other Christian writers. He has funded scholarships for writers’ conferences and backed other help for communicators. I benefited when Cecil paid for a professional makeover of publicity flyers for a selected group of Christian women speakers. Let’s just say mine went from a dented old jalopy to a gleaming sedan.
Proverbs 22:9 says, “A generous man will himself be blessed.” This month, those touched by Cecil’s generosity have been encouraged to commend his behind-the-scenes efforts in the Christian writing world.
For a window into his mentor’s expertise, visit his blog about the writing life: http://cecmurpheyswritertowriter.blogspot.com/ . Its entries are a reminder that writing is plain hard work. A just-born literary offspring might be, well, ugly. It needs to mature to usefulness.
To characterize Cecil’s legacy, I want to torque Proverbs 22:29 just a bit: “Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings, he will not serve before obscure men.” Cecil serves both the King of Kings and the more obscure men and women serving the same King.
He’s some author—and we’ve been blessed.
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