Chipping Away at the Pile

Chipping Away at the excess in my life. Yesterday I was thinking about how sometimes it doesn't feel like what I do is enough. Today I was noticing again how I sometimes have too much in my life.

This week, it's too much to do, almost too many social events (too many if we want to keep up with the little girl), too many emails. Oh My. The emails.

I belong to several listservs and reminder-and-notification services. This means it it not unusual for me to get dozens of emails a day if not hour. It's not the tens and hundreds that can pile up in my husband's inbox (everyone gets copied on email discussion whether they need to or not). But it's still substantial.

Last Summer, I decided this could not go on! Following an idea from Leo of Zen Habits and the unclutterer, I shrunk my inbox down to nothing by pasting everything that had piled up into another folder. Then every day, I'd delete the ones I didn't need. That left me accumulating only a few emails per day.

Last month I came back from my trip and realized that once again, I had over a thousand emails simply sitting in my inbox. Now some of them, yes, I need to save for some reason, like gig notes or family correspondence. But what about everything else?!

Frankly, since I had the baby, I simply cannot read everything. I took myself off a couple of lists, and started freely deleting the rest. I actually do read or at least skim the neighborhood listserv, and the notifications from FB help keep me up with my friends across the region and country. Then there are people asking for info or offering me gigs or my mother asking me if I'll make it to an event. Still. 1150+ emails? No. This can't go on. It was to over 2000 at one point, and I shrunk it back by half.

My best practice for shrinking the pile of emails is to purge daily and weekly, monthly, or whatever it takes.

I look at my inbox and ask myself, "Of those things labeled "Today," what do I really need to keep? Any? None? Delete, delete, file, delete!" Then I move onto to those email labeled "Yesterday" and so on.

It's not perfect, but it's the best I can do, and by that I mean it's really the only thing I can do, short of archiving piles of crap, I mean, emails permanently. And what on earth makes me think I will go back and look at them again? Hahaha, no.

An interesting corollary is that I attempt the same strategies with my paper piles.

First I try to get rid of as much incoming as possible. I take myself off of mailing lists and refuse to give info to people who just want to send me more mail. Then I keep trying to file or act on the items that need it, and throw away the rest. And just like as with email, I sometimes I get so annoyed with my lack of progress that I dump a whole pile of stuff into a new box just to get it out of my sight. And it's no surprise, unfortunately, that a new pile just grows in its place! Then, ultimately, I have to keep at it, purging on a daily basis.

I won't even get into news services. I just don't subscribe any more. I cannot keep up with every last thing happening in the world.

It must be a curse of the modern world, though, that we are so connected and so in touch and thusly so overwhelmed with items demanding our attention. All I can think of is to ignore most of it and purge the rest. Every damn day.
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Gift Perfectionism? When is It Enough?

So yesterday's post got me thinking again about how I tend to approach gift giving.

I find it often very difficult to buy, or rather, choose, gifts. Whether it's for my husband or my sister or a friend, it's rarely easy.

Sometimes I am lucky and the perfect idea will come to me in time to find and acquire an item. More often, I am undecided about what I should choose. And here is where I run into problems around Christmas time. I want to find thoughtful gifts for people. And yet, I'm never sure if what I end up with is good, if it's ideal, if it's best, if it's right, if it's enough. Oh boy. Is it enough!?

I've concluded that I suffer from gift giving perfectionism, which as you could guess, is as debilitating as any other kind of perfectionism. I always worry that whatever I chose is not the best choice. Will they like it? Will they appreciate it? Will they think it's enough?

There we go with the enough stuff again.

Is it enough? Isn't it enough that I spent time thinking of what they'd like? But I always wonder. Is it enough that I found something to surprise them with? Is it enough that I spent time and money and energy on this project? Is it enough that I give them "only" this one special thing? Is it enough that I wrapped it up in anticipation of their unwrapping it? Because that is what I live for, after all; I love watching the unwrapping.

But too often, even after I decide on the one special thing, I'll worry or decide that it's not good enough, or not enough enough, and I'll buy an additional present. And at some point, I'll often find myself cruising through shops, snatching up more gifty items to "round out" my offerings. It's wearing. It's a wearisome panic.

The worst part is that worrying about my choices means that I sometimes put off those choices until it's very late in the game. Some birthday presents never get given because I panic over the right choice. I don't know why it's such an issue, especially since I've cultivated more of a go-ahead-and-make-a-choice attitude in other areas of my life.

Perhaps it's because there are so many choices. I usually rely on parameters to help me narrow down other decisions, but in the great wide open shopping days of November and December, there are few parameters to help me limit the options or ideals.

An artsy thing? Some wooden spoons? is that enough? Spoons AND a cool spatula. No. Not kitchen ware this year. How about a book? A shawl? Do they need a shawl? What about a pretty one? Maybe they'd rather a gift certificate? Oh hell, I'll get them some chocolate. Chocolate AND a gift certificate.

Oh, I enjoy creating a variety package, but this extra worry wears me out.

Maybe it's because there are a few people on my list who I worry will be critical of my choices. (Now, that's a big one. Are there a few people tainting the well of generosity?) Maybe it's because I can't come up with any good ideas. Or anything I can afford. Maybe it's because I'm placing too much on any one gift giving occasion. Maybe I'm worried it won't look good, whatever it is, as if I don't measure up to some ridiculous standard. Oo, I'm getting some ideas about where this is coming from now... Ooh, or do I feel cheated if they don't seem to like it enough for me? Now that's another angle to think about.

Maybe this year, I'll think about this and watch for clues and see where this worry is coming from.

Maybe I'll give myself a pass and say, Ya done good. You did enough. And I'll be happy, dammit. And they'll be happy too, dammit. And if they are not, it's too bad, dammit. :)

Time to wrap up this post; it's enough. ;)
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Shopping Conscience Says: Put That Back!

Oo, Sweet n Salty has another thoughtful quality-over-quantity The Good Grinch post up. Reminds me of when I recently escaped for a couple of hours of shopping at Micheal's, that craft store with more Than You Possibly Want.

I was looking for picture frames (on sale) for my in-law's recent family portrait. I was looking for attractive yet inexpensive cookie tins. I was looking for a stocking (also on sale) for the little girl because although I'd like to make one for her, It Ain't Gonna Happen This Year.

So then I got sucked into the shopping vortex and started finding stocking stuffers for various family members.

A bouncy ball that lights up and flashes when you squeeze it, good for my step-nephew. A crocodile that "grows" when you submerge it in water over night for somebody. Colorful, flower-shaped plastic bangles for my niece. A cheap wooden pattern tray my mom could use for playing with quilting patterns. Um, a Christmassy tin for somebody, and an extra frame for another family picture, and maybe frames for baby photos for the grandparents, and...

I was feeling some pressure because I hardly get any time to get anything done these days, and I have more plans than time. If I find something that works, I need to seize upon it. And the small cookie tins are my justification for sending cookies if indeed I am able to make cookies this year.

I flew past boxes of colorful ornaments, fake grapes, big box art kits, scrap booking supplies, paint-it-yourself molded plaster ornaments. But more stuff called to me. A scrapbook. Another stocking. A book of origami projects with included paper that my sister would just love, I'm sure of it!

Luckily, I ran across a couple of shoppers debating whether to get some tchotchke or other.

Oh, that's cuuute. one of them said.

Who are you getting it for? asked the other.

I don't know yet.

Well then why are getting it?! Why get it at all?

But look how cute it is.

Who are you getting it for? more insistently.

...And they repeated almost the exact same conversation a second time.

I giggled in recognition. It was like listening to a little devil and a little angel sitting on my shoulders while I was shopping. "Do you really need that?" "But it's cute!"

I also am tempted to buy things that would be perfect for "somebody" or "sometime." Sometimes it's hard to find exactly what I want. Sometimes it's hard to decide exactly what I want! Sometimes I grab at something as gift insurance in case I can't find anything better. Sometimes I get exasperated by my gift panic that induces impulse buys. I really appreciated reading Sweet n Salty's take on that.

I probably could use a "shopping conscience."
Who are you getting that for?
Do you really need that?
Put that back!

I convened by the stockings to reassess my basket. I kept the tins, the picture frames and my favorite stocking. I put back most of the rest, including the plastic, then went on my merry way to the cashiers. Quality over quantity. Oh, I wish it so.

Less plastic, more heart. I'm making mostly pizelles for Christmas this year. If the stars and schedules align.
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Kathryn Quotes

"Hell doesn't want you and heaven is full."

Who said that? It doesn't matter; it's an elegant expression, isn't it?

I used to work with someone named Kathryn. I still know her, and even run into her sometimes while out and about. She's an artist and a collector of quotes that she uses in her work. I'm always fascinated to search for the snippets of text that show up, and I often find myself writing down the quotes I see.

The quotes are often shards of poetry or song lyrics or artist philosophies. I see things from Mingus and Balthus.

Where are you now, Balthus, now that I need you?

let the music and the madness get to you/life ain't so bad at all (m jackson)

Very frequently, they are little notes to herself. I've seen her process, and the little notes wend their way in from the beginning. Even when she is brutally honest with herself, it all goes into the art.

I could have done a lot of things in my better days.

Do what's good for you or you're not good for anybody.

They are sometimes obscure, or vaguely profound, often both at once! I may not really understand them or agree with them, but I feel as though if I thought about it hard enough that I'd find some kernel of truth. And they are irresistible. They are neat little packages of phrase. I search them out like rare truffles at the base of trees. They are plaintive, defiant, joyous, thoughtful, encouraging, cadjoling, flavourful. Like poetry, they resonate just beyond the edge of meaning.

Once I started collecting quotes, I started finding others that fit into the same limbo. "Kathryn quotes" has become a shorthand for a certain kind of pithy, quirky quote.

There's no such thing as nothing, not at all. / It may be really very, very small / But it's still there. In fact I think I'd guess / That "no" does not exist. There's only "yes".

Do what you have to do so you can do what you want to do.
(This comes from Denzel Washington.)

Recently, I fund this one:
We are, all of us, storytellers. We choose what we hear, and see, and believe. In a void of answers we settle into a tale that best suits what we need. -Sweet&Salty

And what I need, apparently, is little dashes of poetic philosophy and humor to shake up my brain a little. What that says about me, I don't know.


What was it that Pierre Trudeau said? Oh yes: "I've been called worse things by better people." Surely that must make some sense.

life ain't so bad at all, at all

O man, learn to dance, or else the angels in heaven will not know what to do with you. - Saint Augustine
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Travel Vignettes

Cows grazing on rollingly flat fields. Black and white, brown and white. A stream bed meanders through the landscape. Crows take flight in small flocks.

The sun slowly setting behind hills topped with winter-bare trees. Photographing knobby branches outlined by pale golden sunlight. Catching sight of the river.

Weathered out buildings. A barn with Mail Pouch Tobacco advertizement painted on. Old brick buildings, restored or boarded up.

Trucks thundering past on a winding narrow road. The SUV behind us tailgates, but where would they go? They couldn't pass those two tractortrailers either.

Over bridges with spans angled like Flying Geese triangles, brown, grey, green.

Baby tires of toys one after another and flings them to the side, over the car seat. There go the blocks, and the rattle. There goes the "sound machine." Still turned on, it gets stuck half way to the floor, a button pressed against the seat, - boingboingboingboing! and making us laugh until it's dislodged. There goes a burp rag too, and her blanket. Fling, flang, flung!

At gas stations, cars stuffed with families discharge to stop, stretch, recharge and refill.

A train passes in the distance, a homey, rolling sound with horns wailing and massive metal wheels rumbling on the tracks like a distant waterfall.
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The Good, The Bad, The Sleepless

So we survived the first night of our trip to enjoy the second.

The Sleepless:
Stayed up until nearly five am to prepare photographs of the baby for the grandparents photochip. Then after hours of singing to a non-sleeping baby in the car, found myself the following morning at four am, stepping in to put my daughter to sleep *again* after my husband had exhausted and exasperated himself on the same project. We had a very tired and very hungry little girl who was too tired to sleep or eat well. So that made three of us. I'm so tired, my eyes feel like they are about to shrivel up and fall out of my head.

The Bad:
We started the trip barely half an hour down the road with a suddenly fussy baby read: dirty diaper. We stopped at the best "travel center" we could find, and still had to change the little girl in a women's bathrooom in which the light bulbs were in imminent dancer of burning out, and NO changing station, necessitating using the tile floor (I have a cushioned changing mat, but still - Don't touch anything! I told her), AND enjoying the young ladies who came in and out in the dim light, washing hands, and using an incredibly loud and new-fangled "sheet of air" hand dryer, prompting the little girl to scream in terror. It was an inauspicious start.

At the end of the trip, after numerous misadventures and feeding-scheduling near-disasters, we found ourselves at our first stop - after midnight - in the worst "plush" hotel room I've ever had the misfortune to experience. The sufferings were slight but stinging. A nursing chair with no arms and too tall to put ones feet on the floor. What ergonomics? A heater that either ran continuously and noisily - when it wasn't putting out dry hot air, it was blowing cold breezes on us - or had to be turned completely off, which we did, preferring cold over noise. A bed that was ridiculously small for two people. Large, dark, fancy-ugly furnishings crammed into an already small room. Another interior designer's triumph over usability and common sense. A room that was not only NOT next to the lobby, but was located as far as one could possibly get from the lobby. Hellooo, end of hallway, fifth floor. Meanwhile, I haven't eaten in hours, and most of our travel food it too noisy to eat at night. I'm starving. And exhausted. Oh, a miserable night-day indeed.

The Good:
Hot showers that make me feel a little more alert and alive. Better feedings - several before noon - better nappings - little girl takes a nap on the bed for an hour before we leave. A modest travel day with good food, great weather and relaxed entertainments. Houston, we have a happy baby! The little girl entertains herself with red cylinders and teething links. I entertain myself by shooting scenery out the car windows with my snazzy new camera and feeding chocolate to Mr Sweetie. We eat lunch at our favorite reliably-decent-sushi-and-Asian-food-on-the-road, although I don't quite manage to stuff myself. Our next room is comfortable and convenient. The front desk offers to be of service and happily brings us more dental floss after we've run out. The duvet is plump and cozy. The pillows are poofy and self-re-fluffing, slowly rising up after each pressed hand. I set the little girl up on a bed with several pillows as bumpers, and she quickly learns the joys of sinking her face and arms into the fluffiness and Ummmming in delighted appreciation. I demonstrated how the pillows can be used to "bop" someone in the head, and she giggles wildly. We snack, we nap. We put the little girl on a soft play mat, and she "scootchs" off the mat and halfway across the room, adventuring at a snail's pace, looking back at us every so often for reassurance. Go, little girl! we say. I teach her how to call for Daddy and she practices calling for my attention, although she calls me Baba. She takes a one hour nap. I take a two hour nap. Mr. Sweetie troubleshoots dismantling a part of the travel bed. I read and write bloggy things. And then the little girl is down at a decent hour. I'm eating Nutella for dinner (hey, it's quiet!), my feet are going to sleep from kneeling in front of my husband's laptop on the floor, and it's still a good day. It's a good night for good sleep. Good night, all.
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Packing Mania

When I was a youngster, all of our relatives lived between two to sixteen hours drive away, so we were always going on long car trips. And since we were five people in one car, and often camped to save money on hotels, this came to a lot of stuff to pack.

My father would start early that morning and spend several hours collecting all of our packed items, carefully assessing the relative volume and necessary accessibility, and fitting it all into our big blue Chevy Impala. Somehow, he made it all fit, although I remember a couple of years in which I had things packed in around my feet. It always did take hours to pack the car, and somehow I came to understand that this accommodated my father's packing method.

I don't need to take hours to pack it all in, fortunately, although that one year we drove across country with a Summer's worth of stuff came close. We really did have to analyze the layout like a jigsaw puzzle that year, and in the end, a few things didn't make the cut.

My husband, bless him, is good at packing without obsessing. That first trip we took out West together - two weeks in a pickup truck with backpacking gear - he quickly learned that I obsessed over packing. One morning I was trying to get my sunblock no, and he said, Let me pack while you do that. I promise I won't break anything. It took about half as long, and it all fit. He said, We're ready to go. Just don't look to closely at it! Over the years, I've retrained myself to trust him to get it done when I'm too stressed to think straight. And thank goodness for that.

Even when I am not traveling across the country, it does take me a while, my brain organizing as much as the physical items. I'm always running later than I'd like, and I almost always leave feeling I've forgotten something. Often at the last minute, I am making sandwiches or taking clean laundry out of the drier or changing kitty litter - any number of things that need to be done before one goes.

I invariably do leave with something unfinished. Oh, well! I have to say. Or, Aiigh! Damn it! That feeling of panic and terror is as much a part of my travels as anything else. But then once I am on the road, I am relieved that it's out of my hands.

One essential tool to keeping my sanity is the packing list. Whether I am going to a dance weekend, a backpacking trip, or an overnight calling gig, or up to visit relatives for a week, or staying in Arizona for a month, I have my system to kept keep my mind straight.

I have packing lists for backpacking, including food lists and weights down to the ounce for each item. I have a list of basic essentials for any dance weekend with and without camping. I have packing lists for Summer travel, packing lists for Winter travel, and sublists depending on what activities -swimming, stargazing, hiking, birdwatching - we might be doing while traveling.

I need that system so that I bring everything we need, but not more than we need. Every year it shifts around, yet gets a little more refined. Mr Sweetie is proud that we've pared down to what we really need.

Now that we have the little girl, though, I have whole new categories of items to list. Clothing, diapering, nursing, pumping, sleeping, entertainment. And we have to find time in which to not only assess and refine the current list, but to actually pack as well. Yesterday, it took me five different tries to have the time + attention span to consolidate two lists. In case you are wondering, I get a lot of things done in the middle of the night.

And now we on to a whole new race... leaving town within twenty-four hours of our original plan, with everything we need, with sanity still relatively intact, at just the right moment in the feeding cycle to make it at lest an hour down the road before we have to stop. We did it once this Summer; now to try it again...

Wish us luck. We have the lists. We have travel food and clean laundry, but a lot of things to pack and a lot of details to nail down. I want to be gone within twelve hours. I make no promises about my sanity.
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