Strike, what strike?

Hollywood writers have been on strike for 2-1/2 months now, but does anyone really care? I’ve been reading how the awards shows have been mere shadows of their former selves, with no writers to put those witty words into the presenters’ mouths. And many TV shows have depleted their stockpile of episodes and are into reruns now (except for a few late starters, like Lost and New Adventures of Old Christine, which are just about to begin their seasons for some strange reason known only to TV execs).

I don’t know a lot about the strike, but I think it involves writers getting paid “residuals” when shows or movies go into syndication or DVDs or whatever. Hey, I’m all for that — the actors are getting paid, so why shouldn’t the writers? (And as a writer lucky to have been paid only once for any job, no matter how long-lived a brochure or Web site, I say, “You go, girls & boys!”)

But really, does anyone outside the industry care? If I never saw a new TV show again, I’m sure there would still be plenty to entertain me. Just keep playing the best of the old shows, and I’ll be fine for years and years. I watch reruns every single night — Everybody Loves Raymond, Frasier, Will & Grace, Golden Girls — and in most cases, they are so much better than anything else “new” you can find. Plus, there are hundreds of shows I never watched the first time around, so could spend years catching up (yes, imagine it, I have seen maybe 2 or 3 CSI and Law & Order episodes in my life).

But what about movies? I know these are a big deal for a lot of people. But not Mike and me — we have yet to go to the movies together and have watched only a handful of DVDs in our entire relationship. We’re just not movie folk, I guess. But even if that changes, we have years of movies to catch up on, so having “nothing new” is no big deal.

Oh yes, and here’s an idea: We could all read a book instead! Or while away even more hours surfing the Web. Or blogging. Or selling on eBay. Or cleaning the house.

So, writing compadres, I wish you the best in your efforts — I know how hard it is to do what you do. But the sad truth is, if you never get to work again, the world will still go on. And that’s true for every single one of us!

If you surveyed a hundred typical middle-aged Americans,
I bet you’d find that only two of them could tell you their
blood types, but every last one of them would know
the theme song from The Beverly Hillbillies. 
                                                               ~ Dave Barry

S I M P L I F Y

The “simplify” mantra has become so popular, and it’s easy to see why. Now that the Christmas decorations are down and the house is more or less back to normal, it actually looks a little stark. Which, if you know me, you know I have tons of chatchkes and collectibles and so does Mike, so for the status quo to look “stark,” you can imagine the holiday excess.

But it’s so refreshing. The house feels like it has breathing space. And I actually got Mike to help me load up the car with several boxes, bags of clothes, and some unused tables to donate to the local Christian Laymen’s organization. It felt so great to get rid of stuff I’ve had packed up for probably a year (how embarrassing). Now I want to do more!

The problem is a genetic predisposition to hoard. My mother grew up during the Depression; times were hard and the family had very little; as a result, she throws nothing away (the attic and basement in our family home are downright scary). Her brother was the same way. My cousins tell of cleaning out my uncle’s things after he died and coming upon a bucket filled with the little nozzles from spray cans. I guess you just never know when you might need one — or a thousand. As a result, my sisters and I are fascinated by stories about people who hoard — we can see those same traits in ourselves.

My friends coined a good name for this need to simplify — CRaP (Consolidate, Reduce, and Plan). Some things I’m wrestling with in my own CRaP efforts:

  • Cookbooks. Aside from a few favorites I can’t part with, I have probably 10 others I never open. The Web is always my go-to source for recipes these days…so surely some of the cookbooks can go?
  • Books in general. I don’t have anything like an extensive library, but we have a few shelves in the attic of novels and a few textbooks, and I have some work-related business topical books (that I never look at). I don’t know, I have visions of someday having a little library and time to sit down with a good book in front of a roaring fire. But I’ve read all these…keep ’em anyway?
  • Collectibles. I have a lot of stuff, including a large collection of china and nowhere to even display it all. I have a couple boxes of really lovely things all packed up. There’s not really a market for them anymore, even on eBay — I acquired them over time and many were gifts, but I’m at a loss. I suspect these will have to stay in their boxes for a while longer.
  • Clothes. Having worked from home these last 9 years, my wardrobe is a joke — a few go-to outfits for business meetings and the occasional event, and a lot of stuff that looks 10-15 years out of date. And dressy clothes I haven’t worn since the long-ago days of office Christmas parties. I know at least another garbage bag full can go, along with a couple coats.
  • Housewares. I have many things tucked away in cedar chests and such — curtains, drapes, throw rugs, comforters — things I can’t use here, but I always think “someday?” (On HGTV shows, they’re always raiding people’s closets and pulling out “treasures” like this to redo spaces — what are the odds a designer is going to come and do that for me?)
  • Work samples. I have a couple underbed boxes filled with old print samples of projects I worked on 10 or 15 years ago (back in the days when companies actually printed materials instead of just posting them on the Web.) These are tough to part with for historical reasons, but I haven’t looked at them in years and I do have some portfolio binders as well in case a prospective client wants to see samples.

Oh the burden of our possessions. Tastes change, spaces change, styles change, sizes change, but our stuff stays the same. I do feel the load, particularly since I’ve moved more than most people and know what it feels like to have to pack it all up, haul it somewhere else, and deal with it there. Oh, and you have to love all the paper — 7+ years of income tax records, bank statements, and such — forced clutter. Along with project papers that “I just might need.”

But, now that the S I M P L I F Y mood is upon me, I want to keep going. To feel lighter and less burdened. To make room for new ideas, new ways of looking at things, and yes, maybe some new possessions more in tune with how I feel and what I want now. It sounds so S I M P L E — why is it so, so H A R D?

The sculptor produces the beautiful statue by chipping away
such parts of the marble block as are not needed –
it is a process of elimination. 
                                                ~ Elbert Hubbard

Going up?

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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