The One Minute Manager

There is a rule that I have recently implemented into my life. I'm practicing at every possible chance, because Google's finest researchers haven't agreed on how many days it takes to break a habit. I only know it's a LOT more days than I wish it were. (I wish it could all be worked out in 30 minutes, like an episode of Full House.)

So...the newbie:
If it's worth doing, and takes one minute or less to do, do it now.

It is increasingly apparent to me that lots of good things take me sixty seconds or less:
Paying my rent online
Writing a postcard to a friend
Watering that plant in the living room
Taking out the trash.  Ohhhh, the trash. How many minutes have I fumed because I didn't use the first minute well.

Once, a friend and I returned home from Ash Wednesday Mass to find the trash bag we had conveniently leaned by the patio now wiggling IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WALKWAY. On the WELCOME MAT. Where it was WIGGLING and certainly NOT WELCOME.

There was a possum inside.

He had a great fondness for sweet potato fries, and just knew with his keen possum sense that we had hidden fry remnants two crusty layers deep in the trash bag. (That's the real picture up there. I was praying that our sliding glass door was bulletproof, in case the possum wanted in and was really, really fast.)

We shuddered and shouted for a broom. Weapon in hand, we felt menacing enough to sprint like Olympic sissies past the hoppin' Hefty bag, into the house. We double-locked the door in case possum Spidey sense could get past knob locks, too.

(The trash bag battle is a toughie. Here is one of many mouse-hole pictures I have texted to all four housemates to underline a grave fact: our back patio may be the neighborhood Great American Buffet for rodents. They're out there telling each other that those ladies with the big backyard provide plastic-wrapped, bite-sized Trader Joe's samples on a bi-weekly basis.)

Other one-minute wonders:

Making my bed.

Filing receipts each week.

Loading the dishwasher.

Emailing one person just because.

Choosing my clothes for the next day.

Those minutes help me appreciate and remember the bigger things that have to happen in order to accomplish the smaller tasks: I can't pay the rent in 39 seconds unless I have taken 60 hours that month to earn the money. I can't pack a real lunch unless I have planned ahead and purchased groceries.

They also remind me how quick tasks can turn into drawn-out chaos if I don't take care of them in a timely manner. Like that time the $10 parking ticket blossomed into a $92 late fee because I lost it under a pile of to-do lists. (To understand my feelings in that moment, please see picture above.)

Here's to "the heroic minute: here you have a mortification that strengthens your will and does no harm to your body." -St. Josemaria Escriva

Can't even wish it were already tomorrow. (On Grief.)

There's this feeling I've had twice in my life. I think it can only really climb over my limbs in the night, because then you have to stop doing, but your brain can't fully man the wheel and start thinking enough for the awfulness to go away. The things that you witnessed in the daylight were not right; they hardly seemed real in the way that the Grand Canyon hardly seems real. In these times, my body feels an icy ache, and I can't even fathom what falling asleep might feel like. It's hard to breathe, but I don't worry about not breathing because I can't worry about anything. I'm too sad to worry. My brain searches in a wild-and-exhausted scrabble for something that feels solid, and for something to slow the thinking. Even the floor of a hospital room is solid, because you're in a place where people do things. Not many people really really think in a hospital. The mystery of sickness and pain suffocates a little, and the wasted suffering makes it hard to think, and the flourescent lighting snuffs out the real thinking that's left.

When I first felt this feeling, John Mayer sang a song called "Dreaming with a Broken Heart" that was perfect. John Mayer needs to wash his hair and probably make his bed. He's a mess. But his song was just how I felt. Well-played, plaintive piano is how this feeling sounds:

"When you're dreamin with a broken heart, the wakin' up is the hardest part. 
You roll outta bed, and down on your knees. 
And for a moment you can hardly breathe
wondering was she really here? Is she standing in my room?
No she's not. 'Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone."

He even repeats it just right. When someone's gone, gone, horribly, awfully gone or changed or hurting, you have to repeat really simple things, and still expect them not to make sense until the chill slinks away and you forget the enormity of this so that you can live and brush your teeth and read your Shakespeare homework again. The first time I felt this feeling, I sat on the back porch and told the dog the simple things that I couldn't understand. It felt good that Marshall the Alaskan Malamute could "get" them in a dog way, but no more. I felt like I was only a few steps removed, understanding all of this in a human way, but no more.

In a time like this, you don't even want to wish it were tomorrow, because more of this wakefulness seems overwhelming. What are you to do?

Do I have to feel asleep with roses in my hand?
Would you get them if I did? 
No, you won't. 
'Cause you're gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.

(John wrote the song about a woman he loved, but I definitely pretend that it applies beyond his original context. I got the practice when he came out with "Your Body is a Wonderland" my freshman year of college, and I pretended the whole time that he wrote it about a communicative couple in a committed marital relationship. So Theology-of-the-Body of you, Mr. Mayer. Well done.)

Wondering could you stay, my love? Would you wake up by my side? 
No she can't. 'Cause she's gone, gone, gone, gone.

A great many things.

There are a great many things that you think to do when it's time to finish a final exam.

In the last three days, I've been tempted to:
make and decorate cake pops
create the world's best Pinterest board to win a Vespa from Kate Spade
start training for another marathon or some other halfs
survive on three hours of sleep a night
launch a full-scale overhaul of mental health services to medical students at Vanderbilt Medical School
weed the back yard
seed the front yard
join Catholic Match
get a nannying job
dip-dye a boring white dress
go into real estate
try yoga
iron fabrics I've never ironed before
spend money on really chic heels
paint on canvas
create my own Women and Gender Studies curriculum
make jewelry from vintage brooches
befriend the neighbor that is afraid of Catholics
ask the other neighbor if she stole the boxes off our porch
research language acquisition
tell people off
apologize to people
translate Love and Responsibility and present it to the American Psychological Association
finally mail wedding gifts, birthday cards, baby gifts, and newsy letters that have sat in my car/dresser/closet/work bag for days/months/years
read Introduction to the Devout Life
rearrange my furniture
write a list of all the phrases that I finally understood in revelatory fashion as an adult but should have realized earlier in life. (E.g. "The jury's still out." "Come to terms with it." Etc. Etc.)
learn Italian
learn Spanish
kareoke

The list goes on. However, I would feel sheepish if it ended up longer than the research paper I'm supposed to be finishing.

You think I'm kidding.

Maybe I did succumb to the pressures of some of these temptations.

I totally weeded the yard. Howdjalikemenowww.

I am going to love him.

When my family decided to get our first pet without gills in the early '90s, my parents called a family meeting to discuss the responsibilities that accompany a new dog. We talked about the investment of time and money that Oreo, our dalmatian (who was just born, so new he was still spotless) would need. We delegated tasks according to each person's particular preference and talent.

Dad was a hard worker. He would scoop Oreo's poop.
Mom noticed what people needed. She would pick up Oreo's food from the Farm Service downtown.
Tala was diligent. She would feed and water Oreo every day.
Someone asked, "What will your job be, Hannah?"

And Hannah answered: "I will love him."

from Henri Nouwen's The Inner Voice of Love

"When you get exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed or run down, your body is saying that you are doing things that are none of your business.  God does not require of you what is beyond your ability, what leads you away from God, or what makes you depressed or sad.  God wants you to live for others and to live that presence well...Your way of being present to your community may require times of absence, prayer, writing, or solitude.  These too are times for your community.  They allow you to be deeply present [for them] and speak words that come from God in you.  When it is part of your vocation to offer your family a vision that will nurture them and allow them to keep moving forward, it is crucial that you give yourself the time and space to let that vision mature in you and become an integral part of your being.

"Your community needs you, but maybe not as a constant presence.  Your community might need you as a presence that offers courage and spiritual food for the journey, a presence that creates the safe ground in which others can grow and develop, a presence that belongs to the matrix of your community.  But your community also needs your creative absence.

"You might need certain things that the community cannot provide.  For these you may have to go elsewhere from time to time.  This does not mean that you are selfish, abnormal, or unfit for community life.  It means that your way of being present to your community necessitates personal nurturing of a special kind.  Do not be afraid to ask for these things.  Doing so allows you to be faithful to your vocation and to feel safe.  It is a service to those for whom you want to be a source of hope and a life-giving presence."

Birthday wish.

Volo quidquid vis,

volo quia vis,

volo quómodo vis

volo quámdiu vis.

I want to do what you ask of me:

in the way you ask,

for as long as you ask,

because you ask it.

-Oratio Universalis

attributed to Pope Clement XI

“Is she pretty?” 


“She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is the secret of their charm.”

- Oscar Wilde The Picture of Dorian Gray

5th Sunday in Reaaaally Ordinary Time.

Sometimes, holiness is feeding the hungry in Honduras.

Most of the time, it's:
maintaining joy while re-hanging clothes at work,
silencing the most horrible swears you know when it's nighttime and your oven won't shut off,
and realizing that the stress over your undone Research homework is really your own damn fault.

There's that. I'm exhausted.

"A Christian is to be a 'sign of contradiction'—a light on top of the mountain—

a thorn in the side of the world. His entire life is a silent reproach to sinners, 

a beacon of hope to the oppressed, a ray of sunshine to the saddened, 

a source of encouragement to the destitute and a visible sign of the invisible reality of grace.

Saints are ordinary people, who love Jesus, try to be like Him, 

are faithful to the duties of their state in life, sacrifice themselves for their neighbor 

and keep their hearts and minds free of this world.

They live in the world, but rise above its mediocre standards. 

They enjoy living because life is a challenge, not an indulgence. 

They may not understand the reason for the cross, 

but faith gives them that special quality to find hope within it. 

They do understand they are to walk in their Master's footsteps 

and everything that happens to them is turned to their good.

Saints are ordinary people, who do what they do for the love of Jesus 

- say what they must say without fear - 

love their neighbor even when they are cursed by him 

and live without regret over yesterday or fear of tomorrow."

-Mother M. Angelica, "Holiness is for Everyone"

Time to check the Good Junk Cabinet

This post was written by my dad. He's really great, and his emails are always solid gold. 

Nothing has been changed in the transmission of this post from email to blog...

random grammar, formatting, and storyline tangents are parts of Dad's verbal art.

Time to check the Good Junk Cabinet. 1-29-2012

Everyone should be lucky enough to have space for such a cabinet.  We need such cabinets to help frame forgotten things that can surprise us when we re-discover them.  We need such cabinets to return to, to help us gauge where we have come from, to help gauge what we once thought was important, to help remind us of things we once wanted to/ and maybe still want to get around to doing. 

When I was a young man, and transient, I called it a good junk box.  Now that I have been married 30+ years and have lived in the same house for over 20 years I have a Good Junk Cabinet.   

With the most recent purchase of running shoes, and the last pair not being worn out enough to throw away yet, I declared that today after church I have to come home and clean that cabinet out and see what can be tossed so the cabinet doors close.  

Here is what I found: Some of it is current: my running shoes, t shirts, travel shaving kit.  Other items are archival … on purpose:  A paper napkin still in its plastic pack from when I accompanied the 2004 HTRS Marching Band (& Hannah) to the Medieval Knights dinner and Renaissance games in Florida .

  Some are archival by happen stance:  Old belts.  Running turtle necks that have not been used in years, as I have not run in the winter for years. …Making me wonder if I will again.  

The rest of this Sunday’s list of what I “found” in my good junk cabinet:

Old prescription receipts for pills I still am waiting to really need before I take them.

The receipts for the 4 white shirts I bought the month after Hannah died.  (Those were the 4 white shirts I was going to wear until they wore out and then by the time they wore out I would be done mourning.)

Directions to stop watches that I have yet to figure out how to account for lap times when at a track meet.

2 Norelco Electric razors that no longer work but they have the caution note on them: contains a NiCad/rechargeable Battery – Dispose of properly.   And I am not certain what “properly” is.

A portion of  “pocket diary” notes dated 12-10- 2004…that points back to Joyce’s statement that we should keep a diary when we are going through challenges because people can get caught in a cycle of thinking that we have not made any progress … and by going back to such old notes we can often be surprised about how far we have come, or that we were ever really in that deep of a side track/ challenge. 

A 2 year old OWH story about an Iowa family named Klocke that I was going to mail to my friend Norm Klocke who lives in Kansas . 

A parable I got from a pastor several years ago following the funeral of Barb (Schroeder) Fry’s mother:  …A Parable on motherhood by Temple Bailey

The young mother set her foot on the path of life.  "Is the way long?" she asked.  And her guide said, "Yes, and the way is hard.  And you will be old before you reach the end of it.  But the end will be better than the beginning."  But the young mother was happy and she would not believe that anything could be better than those years.  So she played with her children and gathered flowers for them along the way and bathed them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them and life was good, and the young mother cried, "Nothing will never be lovelier than this."

Then night came, and storm, and the path was dark and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle and the children said, "Oh Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come," and the mother said, "This is better than the brightness of day, for I have taught my children courage."

And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead and the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary, but at all times she said to the children,  "A little patience and we are there."  So the children climbed and when they reached the top, they said, "We could not have done it without you, Mother."  And the mother, when she lay down that night, looked up at the stars and said, "This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness.  Yesterday I gave them courage, today I have given then strength."

And with the next day came strange clouds which darkened the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil--and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said, "Look up.  Lift your eyes to the light."  And the children looked and saw above the clouds an Everlasting Glory, and it guided them and brought them beyond the darkness.  And that night the mother said,  "This is the best day of all for I have shown my children God."

And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and the years, and the mother grew old, and she was little and bent.  And her children were tall and strong and walked with courage.  And when the way was rough they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill, and beyond the hill they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.  And the mother said, "I have reached the end of my journey.  And now I know that the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone and their children after them."  And the children said, "You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates."  

And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates closed after her.  And they said, "We cannot see her, but she is with us still.  A mother like ours is more than a memory.  She is a Living Presence."

As I re-read this parable that I had forgotten about, I newly recognized that such parables should not be saved just for eulogies. Rather such parables should be shared when those mothers and those others are alive … so all around can nod their head in recognition by this reminder: “So that is what has been going on here for all of my life.”  …Whether that person nodding in awareness is 7 years old or 14, or 27, or 57.  Rather than waiting until after the fact to grasp this story, share this story (or a version of your own story) with someone you love who may not have a clue how deep that love can be.   

That is some of what I found in my Good Junk Cabinet today.  I hope your day was as lucky.  KB 1-29-2012

One thing they never tell you about being a missionary...

...the theme parties are just too good.