Hands down

Thursday, January 17, 2008 at 11:37 am (Smile Lines, Youngest of Seven)
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lotions1.jpgI’m wondering, why, when I have this many creams and lotions to choose from (including several new additions thanks to Christmas), my hands are still painfully dry. 

Yes, it’s winter, and probably not drinking enough water and too much hand-washing are to blame (drink more, pee more, wash hands more — it’s a vicious circle). But why the heck are they looking so old? They were fine up until a couple years ago and then ugh — lines and wrinkles instead of smooth, firm skin. I read that Zsa-Zsa Gabor (or maybe Eva) always wore a hat and gloves in the sun because the hands and face will give away your age before anything else. Smart lady!

Because my mom was older (45) when I was born, her hands always looked old to me. Broad fingers, thready blue-green veins I loved to squish, never any “nails” to speak of, arthritis already beginning to thicken the joints, loose skin, but always very soft. I can still remember how comforting they were and the smell of the Aquamarine lotion she used. I can remember those hands throwing coats over us in bed on really cold nights (we lived in a big old drafty house — the metal bed actually trembled a little in the wind). And painfully brushing and braiding my long hair until I finally cut it off in 5th grade. And soothing my frequent coughs with Vicks and an old piece of woolen cloth she’d warm up before laying it on my chest. And working, always working — scrubbing, dusting, laundry, cooking, paying bills, praying (lots of that) — just what you’d expect for a mom of 7.

My hands don’t really look like hers — yet — but the first signs are there. Of course, they haven’t seen nearly the work hers have — haven’t raised 7 babies or fed load after load through a wringer washer and hung them outside to dry or washed endless dishes (no dishwasher) or scrubbed second- and third-story windows while perched precariously on the sill (legs inside, body outside) or prayed thousands of rosaries.

Come to think of it, they’re beautiful hands. I should be so lucky.

If evolution really works, how come
mothers only have two hands? 
                      ~ Milton Berle

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Going up?

Friday, January 11, 2008 at 11:44 am (Smile Lines)
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stairs-up.jpgI know doctors have the best intentions when they ask, “So, how’s your energy level? Sleeping enough? Tired?” They’re trying to uncover some underlying issue like anemia or thyroid malfunction or sleep apnea that might be making you feel fatigued or run down.

But who responds to these questions with “Hey, I feel GREAT! Tons of energy. Never sleepy. I get my 5 hours a night and I’m good to go!”?

Truth is, every person I know is tired, whether a sleep-deprived parent, a shift worker, a 7 a.m.-to-9 p.m. professional, a retired person, a hack-for-hire. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t welcome the opportunity for another hour of sleep or a midday nap.

Me, I come from a long line of nappers. My sisters and I actually build naptime into any “perfect” vacation day — breakfast, shopping, lunch, nap, dinner is pretty much the norm when we get together. Just turn on the TV, crawl into bed or onto the couch, snuggle into a throw, and we’re out in minutes.

Even now that I’m so very lucky that I rarely have to wake to an alarm, most days I still want that proverbial extra hour. And I think I know why. It’s because I’m so darn busy in my dreams wrestling with stairs and elevators.

I don’t know when this started, but it happens ALL the time. Take last night — in the middle of a perfectly innocuous dream, I’m suddenly confronted with a narrow set of basement stairs that I must climb with no handrail between me and the floor and a very skinny landing to navigate. I have some papers in my hand that I actually have to put down in order to clutch the wall.

Whoa, where’d that come from? It wasn’t a stressful dream, and then suddenly it is! Stairs that narrow dangerously as I climb, elevators that plunge or stop between floors, escalators I have to leap onto or off of — I can’t count the number of dreams I’ve had involving these hazards. And I rarely recognize I’m dreaming — they’re just scary or annoying or tiresome.

Funny, the online dream dictionaries don’t paint a bad picture:

To dream that you are walking up a flight of stairs, indicates that you are achieving a higher level of understanding. You are making progress into your spiritual/emotional/material journey. It also represents material and thoughts that are coming to the surface.

To dream that you are walking down a flight of stairs, represents your repressed thoughts. It suggests that you are going into your unconscious. It also refers to  setbacks that you will experience in your life. If you are afraid of going down the stairs, then it suggests that you are afraid to confront your repressed emotions and thoughts. Is there something from your past that you are not acknowledging.

To see spiral or winding stairs signifies growth and/or rebirth.

Or this one:

If you are walking up the steps it is a sign of good luck in your present endeavors, but if you are walking downstairs expect to meet with bad luck and setbacks. If you should stumble and fall upward on the stairs you will have a happy marriage or relationship, but if you fall down them you must be more conventional in your attitude and lifestyle so you do not fall into disrespect.

All I know is, I’m always climbing those darn stairs, and it’s never good. The elevator or escalator is always malfunctioning. I’m always in danger of falling. I’m always stressed about it.

Maybe it just means I need to live in a rancher.

Until then, I’ll keep climbing upward (or trying to keep from falling downward). It’s a good metaphor for life, no?

A dream which is not interpreted is like
a letter which is not read.
~ The Talmud

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All downhill from here?

Thursday, January 10, 2008 at 5:05 pm (Hack for Hire, Smile Lines)
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Here’s a notion I’m wrestling with: Do we really get “better” at our jobs over time? 

Let’s say I allow myself a learning curve — a generous one of 3 years — and assume I’m better now than when I was a rookie holding down my first writing job.

But even that assumption I question — I look at some of the projects I did “way back when” and am quite astounded. Some are way more difficult than I’d feel comfortable tackling now — a product of the first-class company I worked for back then, at least in terms of caliber of work.

But for argument, assume the learning curve idea is valid, and I did learn something in those first few years. Am I a better writer now than I was, say, 9 years ago when I first went out on my own?

I guess that depends on how you define “better.”

  • Am I more experienced? Absolutely. I have 800 or so projects under my belt in the last 9 years, of varying degrees of complexity and difficulty. I know how to work, that’s for sure.
  • Am I more versatile? Ummm, probably not. I’ve tended to specialize more since going out on my own, staying away from the really technical, deep topics I used to have to tackle at my first job (nuclear fuel, for example) and sticking to more B-to-B selling of services and such.
  • Am I more credible to clients? Maybe — there’s something to be said for having so much history and such wide-ranging project experience under one’s belt.
  • Am I more confident? Yes and no. Most of the time, I know I can do the job, but, even after all this time, there still is and always will be an element of “Geez, this is hard!” That element Gene Fowler talked about when he said, “Writing is easy; all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until the drops of blood form on your forehead.” I still get butterflies when I have a particularly tough assignment or when really smart people are looking at me to be the “expert” in how they should talk about themselves and their work.
  • But am I a “better” writer? I honestly don’t know. And that’s a little disconcerting. Have I just been spinning my wheels these many years? Has everybody else been spinning away, too?

Do we really become better secretaries, accountants, lawyers, doctors, builders, roofers, cops, bankers, artists, designers, architects after years on the job? Or is it just easier to go through the motions? Could I have written what I’m writing now 10 years ago? Can I write now what I could write then?

I think craftspeople probably do get better over time — the woodworker is more skillful, the seamstress more accomplished, the sculptor more adept. But I don’t have the answer for the rest of us. Maybe if I was a novelist I could improve that way — to tell richer stories, use words more poetically, portray characters more deeply and realistically. But I’m just a hack — not an artist! 

I’m curious what other people think. Conventional wisdom tells us more experience is better, with age comes wisdom, with practice greater skill. Are you better at your job now than you used to be? Am I better at mine? Or did we peak when we weren’t looking?

Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. 
Sometimes age just shows up all by itself. 
                                              ~Tom Wilson

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