Completing my list … for once
It was chilly that day, unexpectedly cold for late August. I was, how can I put this, taking the day off. As a retired person, taking the day off seems a bit embroidered, but bear with me and I’ll explain.
I am one of those “list” people. I get up every day and, over coffee, carefully make a list of the things that I want to accomplish by the end of the day. Some of these lists are epic, not only quite long, but elaborately detailed. For instance, I may list all of the steps it takes to clean the family room so that I can check off each as I complete it. There may be a complete shopping list next to the item that says shop. And I, of course, embellish the name of the day with artwork. I’m retired. I can whittle if not on wood, with colored pencils and paper.
The list is my guide for the day and, well, you all know how lists work. You may get some of the items done. It is a rare day on which I finish the list. Well, if there are two or three things on the list, maybe, but most of the time the list far exceeds my energy or interest.
And, being long educated to the highest level of guilt when there is unfinished work, I can feel, as the day progresses, the sense that, once again, I’ve failed. This is one of those “you are your own worst enemy” things.
I read only recently that there are many like myself who make unrealistic demands of their time, interest and energy. This particular piece suggested that those of us so afflicted make the list and then cross of half of the items. I tried this. It didn’t work when it comes to the feeling that you let yourself down … again. Are there brain cells that demand that you set goals that are beyond realistic? If so, the rest of my body is not in sync. It can always find something else to do beyond the list, even if only to nap.
But, on this particular day, I started the list with one item: read.
Now, I can read anywhere and that left me open to so many possibilities … far more than if that first item were, let’s say, laundry.
I can read in the park. While I could do laundry … at least theoretically, in the park, I am sure that there are laws against it not to mention the visual pollution that it would entail. I can read in the car. I cannot do laundry in the car, but I could do laundry at the laundromat and read while the wash is being done … but that seems like more of that list mania. I could read at the library. I cannot do laundry at the library.
So, perusing my options and imagining where I could read, I chose the porch at our cottage. This is where I discovered that it was colder than anticipated.
But hey, this was a small glorious adventure. I made myself an enormous cup of tea, gathered a large fleece blanket from the back of one of the rocking chairs and, book in hand, I sat myself down in another rocker on the porch … the one with the sun behind it and two soft cushions on its back.
Then I remembered that I hadn’t had any sustenance for a while and unwrapped myself from the blanket to explore what might be available to assuage my hunger. The cottage is always replete with marginally unhealthy snacks, and there it was, a whole bag of mustard and onion pretzel pieces. Paradise … close to a Pepperidge Farm chocolate cake … spicy and delicious. Thank goodness.
I spent the afternoon deliciously, without guilt. Well, perhaps a little when I consider the calorie count of those pretzels, a minor sin. I had no list to nag at me, no demand to be busy, to accomplish stuff that no one but me really cares about. I had the cool breeze off the lake to urge me to snuggle in my warm blanket and keep my teacup filled. The book was, if not great literature, a comforting page turner that erased any urges I had to “do something.”
I am still smiling.
Ann Ferro is a mother, a grandmother and a retired social studies teacher. While still figuring out what she wants to be when she grows up, she lives in Marcellus with lots of books, a spouse and a large orange cat.
