Being
Prepared
“I've
always felt a need to be prepared for whatever situation I've found
myself in. When I leave the house, what do I need to bring? When I
teach a class, what questions should I anticipate...you'll never
catch me with less than $200 in my wallet. I want to be prepared in
case I need it.”
Randy
Pausch (The Last Lecture)
Saturday
I was trying to finish a quilt top someone commissioned, but my
sewing machine kept skipping stitches. I went to the 'trouble shoot'
screen and scrolled through the possible causes. There were six, the
first being 'too much dust under the pressure foot'. To clean it out
I had to take the machine base apart. I started looking for the
screwdrivers that came with the machine—nowhere to be found. So I
went to my tool box in the utility room, nothing there either. I went
upstairs and rumbled through all the possible places I could have
left the small screwdrivers—came up empty. I won't print in this
spirituality blog the things that I said to myself and the dogs.
Finally, I found a penny and used that to unscrew the #$*+ machine.
It was packed with lent. After spending an hour and ruining two
perfectly good paint brushes (because I couldn't find the brushes
that came with the machine either) cleaning out the tiny little
chambers under the bobbin, I put it all back together and ran a seam
of stitches—it still skipped. More expletives, and on to possible
cause number 2. Long story short, I spent all afternoon trying to fix
my machine. Finally, I put on a new needle and inserted a new bobbin
and voila! It worked like a charm. The day was shot, but the machine
was fixed!
I
am not known for being prepared for all contingencies. I tend to lay
things down and leave them, and then forget where I left them—this
has not improved with age. I go downstairs with the intention of
getting two things and come back with only one; go back to retrieve
the other, and notice I haven't moved the clothes from the washing
machine to the dryer. Having done that, I've forgotten what I came
down for—until I get back upstairs. You get the picture. I'm sure
this never happens to you and I'm doubly sure you don't say the kinds
of things I do in response. It's hard to be an optimist when your
always screwing up, but I get a lot of exercise.
I
could chalk this up to age, or attention deficit disorder, or
preoccupation, but if I'm being honest with myself, I think I'm just
forgetful. I live in my head and don't pay attention to what I'm
doing with my hands and feet. Sometimes I employ the trick of making
a mental picture (click) of where I lay an item down—my cell
phone, for instance—and when I do, I remember. But most of the time
my body is doing one thing and my head is somewhere else. Do you have
this problem?
All
I can say is, it's a good thing my dogs can't talk, or everyone would
hear the kinds of things I say when I'm frustrated. Then no one would
read this blog again. Hope you're better prepared than I am.
In
the spirit,
Jane
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