Procrastination

My husband Bob officially retired last December. Since then, we've been so busy we now wonder how we had time to work. We just can't seem to get the hang of 'retirement'.
Fearing we might squander all of the time we have left on our roads to eventual demise, I'm taking today OFF! 

The question is... where to start?  The possibilities are endless. I sit here bursting with anticipation and excitement. 

Home alone (Bob decided to use HIS day training hunting dogs) there is absolutely nothing to distract me or interfere in my progress.  I feel a sense of power. Impending accomplishment.   

But, planning is everything. I shouldn't waste a day like today on something menial or insignificant. I'll hate myself tonight if I don't accomplish something important.

But where should I start? 

I am not going to waste a single second.  I won't do anything that could be done on an ordinary weekend. This is too special a day to squander recklessly.   

I could sort through all my old photographs and put them into an album. That's something I've been wanting to do for years, and it would certainly give me a great sense of satisfaction. But a project of such monumental proportions would take much more time than one day would permit, so I better save it for when I have a Special Week.  

Of course, I doubt that I will ever have an entire week where I don't have any plans.  But you never know. I could get hurt... and have to take a month off to recover.  I see it happen to other people all the time. Yes. It's not a matter of IF... it's a matter of when. So when I hurt myself, I will definitely sort through all of my old photographs. It's good to know that I won't be lying on the couch wondering what to do with myself if I sprain an ankle. I have a PLAN.

But what to do today? 

I have to bear in my mind that whatever I decide to do, I must have it finished by the time Bob gets home. He hates it when I'm working and he's not. The only thing worse than an un-started project is a half completed one. Hmmmmmm... 

On the other hand, I can't sit around all day on the computer, wandering aimlessly from one website to another. Browsing exotic vacations we can't afford to take, researching rare illnesses I'll never get, and entering contests I'll never win. Then again, life is funny. You never know when something odd might happen. I hate being unprepared.  Somebody has to win the contest.  Odds are that sooner or later it will be me. Should I just give up and not enter them? How pessimistic is that? And if I did win, wouldn't it be nice to already know where I want to go on vacation?  

And what if... the pain I've always had in my right wrist really ISN'T tendonitis? What if it's a symptom of something more... sinister? Perhaps it could be a condition that if caught early, might be survivable? Now THERE'S a worthwhile cause.  Saving my own life! What's the sense in planning projects if I'm DYING? 

I'm glad I thought this through!  Thank God I took today off! This might take all afternoon!

I better get to it... I'm not one to procrastinate! 

Get Your Gift

Think about it.

You're given a magnificent gift.

All you have to do is accept it.

The gift will give you eternal life in a world beyond your wildest dreams.

Of course, you'd accept the gift.

Wouldn't you?

It's a no-brainer.

It cost the giver His life. He knew it would,

but he cared about you so much he gave his life willingly.

You discover that He wants to give the same gift to your children.

Your family, friends, and neighbors.

But they have to accept the gift before it's too late.

If they die first, they'll spend eternity in hell.

A place worse than your greatest fears.

You'd make sure your kids new about the man.

Make them accept the gift so you could all spend eternity together.

What kind of parent wouldn't want that for their children?

And yet, there are millions, maybe billions of people in the world

who won't accept the gift. Or tell their kids about it.

Why?

Are they crazy? Stupid?

If a stranger was giving away hundred dollar bills

I doubt there'd be a single person who would refuse.

And yet this man, the one who not only wants to give you eternal life, 

but also gave his life for us,

is turned away on a daily basis.

Just say:

 Thank you.

I accept your wonderful gift.

I certainly don't deserve it,

but I accept it.

And I will rush home and tell my family about you.

And my children. Friends and neighbors.

I love them all and I want them to share this gift with me.

And then I will spread the word to even those I've never met.

I want every person in the world to know that no matter how evil their past,

how many sins they've committed,

they will be forgiven.

That Jesus died on the cross for all of us.

Especially for the worst of us.

There is not a sin in the history of mankind

too evil to be washed away by the blood of the son of God.

What are you waiting for?

Death will claim all of us.

Accept your gift before it's too late.

Save your kids. It's your job.

Do it now.

Controlled Substances

It has come to my attention that since I have been so immersed in re-writing my novel the following situations have occurred:

1) Laundry: We have no underwear.  Even the emergency supply of older underwear is now dirty and lying beside the overflowing hamper.
2) Errands: We are out of dog treats.
3) Dusting: It is so dusty in here that it has been suggested that if anyone were to accidentally drop a seed it could take root and grow.
4) Dishes: We have no clean dishes or flatware.  The dishwasher is full.

5) Health: Nothing's getting firmer if there's dust on the rower!
6) Communication: Avid rock climbers are now asking to climb the pile of junk mail on my kitchen table for training purposes. I have over 25,000 unread Emails.
7) Beauty: My legs and brows are almost as hairy as Bob's.
8) Maintenance: There is still a Christmas wreath hanging on our front door. All my houseplants have died. 

Needless to say, I need to get my priorities in order, stop procrastinating, and get to work. So I am going to have to stop blogging on a regular basis, and just write one whenever I get the chance. 

 As soon as I finish this cup of coffee I am so out of here. The laundry is as good as done. 

I'm not even going to sign onto Facebook later to check my notifications. See? I'm already doing so well. You won't be seeing any humorous comments from me. Nope. I'll have to forgo wishing my friends a happy birthday. Stop posting cute videos and sharing meaningful sayings. No likes or LOL's. No shares. New friends will have to wait.  

Uh-oh. I think Bob is walking over to pull the plug! He's yelling, "PUT THE MOUSE DOWN AND STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER!" Isn't he just too cute?  I should write an entry on all the cute things he does!  But not today. Sigh. OH, ALL RIGHT!  Don't forget me, guys!!  I'll be back!

For All My Sisters!

Every time I pass the new rowing machine 

in the living room I feel guilty. 

In my mind, I can hear my mother's voice saying,

"Do you know there are millions of flabby people 

in other countries that would just LOVE 

to have an exercise machine like that?"  

So today I decided to give it a try.  

I wasn't nearly as coordinated or graceful 

as I thought I was, 

but everything always evens out.  

I wasn't nearly as thin and firm 

as I thought I was either.  

Which is pretty discouraging since I really didn't imagine myself as the picture of physical fitness in the first place.  

Just like all of my past projects, 

I have more work ahead of me than I thought.  

Of course, if I gave up Entenmann's Pastries, Tastykakes, and Dunkin' Donuts 

I would probably get into shape a lot faster.  

But... I'm 63 years old.  

How good should I look anyway?  

Do I really want all of my girlfriends 

to end up hating me?  

Do I want to make other women my age 

feel bad about themselves in comparison?  

It will be hard enough on them when they see 

what great endurance, stamina and flexibility 

I'll soon have.  

How egotistical would it be 

for me to also become thin, firm and have 

zero percent body fat as well?  

NO!  I am NOT that kind of woman!  

I will not cause my Sisters In Menopausal Madness any more misery than they already have!  

Today... I am going to buy a dozen Dunkin' Donuts!  It's the right thing to do.

WHO are...THEY?

They say we're in for scorching heat 

this week in Jersey.  

Who are they anyway?  

I don't think I've ever 

met one of them before.  

If we were to analyze this, we could assume 

that there is more than one, 

since we always refer to them in the plural form.  It's never 'he' or 'she' ... it's always they. 

I would guess that they are young.  

Most likely under the age of thirty, 

since they seem to have an opinion 

on just about everything.  

If they were employed, 

married or had children, 

they wouldn't have time 

to just go around saying things.  

Maybe there aren't as many of them 

as we think there are.  

They just want us to think so.  

I know that I am not one of them.  

No one ever listens to anything I say.  

Especially my kids.  

And yet I have heard all three 

refer to them many  times in the past.  

OMG!  Did you read what I just wrote?  

'All three of ...THEM!'  

Is it possible that MY kids are actually ... THEM?  

In a way it makes sense. Each one of my kids 

thinks they know it all.  

And I DO have more than one child ...  

hence THEM.'

Is it possible that my kids 

really do know everything?   

That every word they utter is carefully recorded 

so it can be repeated whenever necessary?  

Is this theory even POSSIBLE?  

Am I actually the mother of the chosen few?  

Of ... THEM?  

The Grand Poobahs behind every fact, speculation, prediction and rumor 

between Hollywood and Washington, D.C.?  

ME?  

MY KIDS?

THEM??

Nah.

CSI Clean!

I must admit that I watch too much TV.  

By far, my favorite shows are crime stories. Criminal Minds. Law and Order. 

Blue Bloods. Forensic Files. 

It's fascinating to watch the detectives gather evidence with scientific equipment.

But how can I justify my

interest in such shows?  

Will this knowledge help me at home?  

No matter how much I fantasize, 

when I dust my living room... 

it's not for fingerprints.

Blood spatter analysis

doesn't help me wipe up spills in the kitchen. 

The shows do affect my daily activities though. 

I get such satisfaction knowing that when I'm finished cleaning my house, 

the only dirt and fibers that could be obtained by the team at MY crime scene,

would have to be left 

by the perpetrator himself. 

Socially, I can see where a little forensic knowledge might alienate you.  

It's not polite to 'interrogate' the neighbors, 

and they DO notice when you're making mental notes on what brand of cigarettes they smoke, 

what size shoes they wear, 

and the existence and location 

of any tattoos they might have. 

Looking back on my life experiences, 

I realize that I have never been called upon 

to pick someone out of a lineup, describe a suspect to a sketch artist, 

or even look through any mug shots.  

It would be much more rewarding for me 

to watch a TV program on Bible study, 

health issues, or writing books. 

Do I worry that watching all these crime stories might make me paranoid?  

Not at all.  

I don't think it's asking too much for immediate family members and close friends 

to provide a small DNA sample 

for possible future forensic comparison.  Do you?

My Trash Conspiracy Theory

We missed the trash men again today. For some reason, they don't seem to stick to a schedule. Nothing screams failure louder than being the only person on the block with full trash cans. Dripping with humiliation as your neighbors drag in their empty ones.

Why does this happen? Unless a person had a big party, we put out the same amount of trash every week. Requiring the same amount of time to pick it up. I've spent years contemplating the  possible answer and here's my theory: 

I could be wrong, but collecting trash is probably not a highly stimulating occupation. It would only be natural for the workers to try to make it more exciting. 

I think, in their attempt to unwind, they gather at the end of the day and laugh themselves silly. Each is trying to top the other's story about who got  'left out' this week. They might even take pictures of the 'jilted' clients, standing at the end of their driveways in disbelief. Catch us scratching our heads and looking up and down the street in stunned silence. Searching for the reason why we missed trash day yet again. They post these photos on the walls of their office to re-live the incidents at every opportunity.

"Look at this one!" one says pointing to his favorite victim. "Remember Mrs. L in her pink robe and bunny slippers when she missed us for the second week in a row?  She stood there cursing for 20 minutes!" I can imagine them doubled over with laughter. 

"I got that beat!" another chimes in, removing a tattered photograph from his wallet to share with the others. "I  waited around the corner till this guy drug out all six of his trash cans. After he went back into his house, I picked up every can on his  street–except HIS!" Gasping with laughter, he passes the photo around to his eager listeners. "Notice the look on his face when he sees all his trash still sitting there. He thinks he's lost his mind!"  

Another dumpster devil jumps into the conversation. "That's classic, my friend! Isn't he the stockbroker with the solid gold name plates on his lids?" 

The man holding the picture is laughing so hard, all he can do is nod.

That must be it. We are merely today's entertainment and tomorrow's trophies. Unwitting participants in the game of trash collection. Doomed to remain dateless for the prom and unpicked to play dodge ball in the 5th grade.

Still, we hold on to the glimmer of hope that next week we'll be one of the lucky ones bringing in an empty trash can.

The article above is purely fictional and written with loving, sarcastic humor. It in no way implies my dissatisfaction with the hard working trash collectors who, in my opinion, deserve to make more money than any other government employee and live in the lap pf luxury.