A longtime friend is in town for a conference. I have plans to see her today and I’m excited about that. I would like to bring her by my home to meet my sweetheart and my puppy. Except then I look around. Dammit. The dishes from last night (and pots, pans, knives, cutting board, wine glasses…etc.) did not somehow magically wash themselves. No worries, I will empty the dishwasher and load it up again and we’ll be good to go.
Except that we’re not. Good to go, that is. My lunchbox from Friday is on the counter. It’s Monday. I have three purses on the floor behind the couch, a week’s worth of mail is on the kitchen table, and that basket of clean laundry is still standing in my bedroom, unfolded. In all fairness, it’s only underwear. I fished out everything else and folded and put it away. I was in a hurry.
Still, if I did those small things, the house would still not be what I want it to be. The office, where I sit and write, and also sew from time to time, is far too cluttered, with no place for all of the things it currently houses. The little bookshelf in the dining room was only supposed to be there over the summer while I was changing classrooms, and my dining room table has held a computer monitor since March. With no computer attached, I might add.
Each of these things is small, but the cumulative effect is overwhelming chaos. At least in my eyes. I think that’s why I don’t deal with each of those small things. I feel like they won’t make a difference to the overall appearance and atmosphere of the home. You can see it coming, can’t you? The aha moment? Well, it hit me like a ton of bricks.
This is just like what I do to my body. A little slip here, a misstep there, I tell myself these are small things. No big deal. But over time look at what all of those small, easily reversible things have accumulated into. I can fix my house in a day. It may not be perfect but it will be a lot better, and the results will be instantly recognizable. Not so with my body. I can’t fix it in a day, or a week, or a month. What I can do, and must do, is stop treating it so haphazardly.
Like my home, when I maintain my body a certain way it is a joy. It is comfortable, functional, and just feels good. I need to keep that in mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a little more housekeeping to attend to.
I’ve always enjoyed playing games. Let me clarify that statement a bit. I’ve always enjoyed playing board games. I also like word games and guessing games and many other types of games, but some games I definitely do not enjoy.
I do not enjoy the kinds of games that people play with each other’s emotions. I do not enjoy the types of games that are often referred to as office politics. Forget those games. I appreciate clear and honest communication. Games should be left for recreational purposes only.
As a child, I played lots of games outdoors in the neighborhood. We were always running around, getting plenty of fresh air and exercise. Some of the games were “real” like Spud and kickball, while others were the product of our collaborative imaginations. Bean soccer was one such made up game. I don’t recall the rules, but if memory serves me, there were many. We didn’t have an obese generation, because we were all outside playing, as long as the weather would permit.
Where I grew up we often had bad weather. Since my generation did not have computers, video games, or more than three television stations (none of them with non-stop children’s programming), we had to figure out other things to do. I loved to read, draw, and make things, like legos or crafts. I also loved board games. I remember playing Careers and Life as a little girl, thinking about what my future would hold.
I never lost that love, and was thrilled when, as a young twenty-something, I worked with a group of people who would regularly hold a game night. We would bring our favorite games, break up into groups, and play. My favorite game of that era was Trivial Pursuit, hands down. My brain has always been crammed full of useless trivia, and this was my opportunity to let some of it out! Of course there were snacks and beverages, and lots of laughter. I remember those game nights fondly.
As a middle aged quilter, I had the wonderful opportunity to go on several quilting retreats with some remarkable people. Our group also had quite a few women who loved games, and we would bring some along. We would take periodic breaks from sewing to organize a game. Balderdash was a particular favorite with this group. The laughter and chance to let down our hair was priceless.
As a young mother I engaged my son in board games. They were wonderful for learning to take turns, count, and make decisions. They also helped him to develop his attention span, and learn to handle both winning and losing with grace. Most board games are more fun with three players, so his father was frequently recruited as well. We spent many happy times playing Candyland and Chutes and Ladders. Over time those games were replaced by Sorry and Clue, then Risk and Monopoly. When he was very small someone gave us a Pokemon Master Trainer game. We held on to it until he was old enough (I think the box said seven but I’m pretty sure he got it when he was four or five). It was probably his favorite board game. He loved Pokemon, and this game delighted him. After all these years I’m pretty sure we still have it somewhere.
I still enjoy the opportunity to take time away from real life and totally connect with others by playing a game. We are all focused on the same thing, there is no technology pulling our attention away from one another, and we put our other concerns on hold for a short while. I think I will always enjoy playing board games. Oh, and if we’re playing Trivial Pursuit, look out, I’m still pretty good.
My son plays golf. He came to it entirely on his own, having never stepped on a course in his life before becoming a part of the school’s golf team. He picked up his first club as a freshman, and found that it was something he really enjoyed. Hooray!
I’m so glad that he found something that gives him such pleasure. He studies the game and talks about the game and even occasionally watches the pros or reads articles in golf magazines. Last summer my sweetheart discovered a great golf camp offered by our local university, run by their acclaimed NCAA coaches. It was a stretch financially, but we sent him. He also takes lessons at a local golf “superstore.” What can I say? The boy enjoys golf.
I’m especially glad he found it because it gives him some exercise and is something he can enjoy well past his teenage years. Neither his dad nor I play, and nobody ever suggested he take it up, so it’s something that is entirely his.
Last night his team held their end of the season dinner. As a freshman last year, he failed to mention this event to anyone until the last minute, then didn’t let us know that it was for families as well as players. Grr. This year I got more information out of him, and both his dad and I were able to attend.
The location chosen was a giant warehouse of a restaurant, a buffet type place that I won’t name, but it’s kind of like Silver Paddock. I had never been at this place before, and I will never return. Unless there’s another golf dinner there. Which there probably will be. Ugh.
The teenage boys love this place, which is why the coach selected it. Of course they love it, they are ravenous and there is so much food here, all of it available in whatever quantity one desires. I was hungry too, so I grabbed my plate and made the long trek to the start of the culinary display.
Way way down at the beginning of the line was the salad section. It was virtually deserted, and not terribly inviting with a few bowls of greens and some sad looking shredded carrots and garbanzo beans next to a couple of vats of mayo based concoctions. There were some jello creations too, and a couple of other odd things thrown in for good measure. Frankly, I was a little put off.
I continued down the line, plate still empty, past the soup station. Greasy vats of unknown origin simmered, waiting to be slurped down. Pass. Then I entered the Mexican section. Considering I live in the Southwest, this was pitiful. There were hard taco shells, some seasoned meat, and gooey nacho cheese, the kind you get out of a can. No thanks.
After that was the “Thanksgiving Dinner” portion of the food line. There were meats and side dishes galore, oh, and a tray of carrots. I took some of those, and a small dollop of mashed potatoes. As I continued on I found three varieties of chicken. I added a small chicken breast, bbq style, to my plate.
I hurried past the crowd waiting for leathery looking steaks, on to the deep fried section. There, fried chicken, shrimp, okra, potatoes, hush puppies, fish, and who knows what else waited to jump onto people’s plates. At this point I looked at my plate and decided that I had endured enough of this madness. I headed to my seat to eat.
It was okay. Not awful. Not great. Okay. Person after person around me devoured the food on their plates and popped up to get more. I stayed put.
The festivities concluded and my son and I got in the car to go home. “Did you notice anything about the demographics of that place?” he asked.
“Everyone in there was fat,” I replied, not missing a beat.
I’m glad he noticed. He’s not fat, and of course there were a few people in the restaurant who weren’t, but most of them were. Judging by how packed this place was on a Wednesday night, this restaurant must make a killing on the feeding of fat people. Quantity has definitely won out over quality in this scenario, and people were not only okay with this, they were clamoring for more.
I didn’t even mention the dessert section, which was by far the largest area of the buffet. There was chocolate flowing from some contraption and there were cakes, cookies, pies, brownies, and even cottons candy. Yes, gobs of spun sugar to top off your fat laden all you can eat feeding frenzy. Gross.
The experience reminded me of the buffet scene in Vegas Vacation. I cannot watch that scene without gagging. The movie is a favorite at our house, but that scene is so revolting that I have to leave the room when it plays. Perhaps if more people watched it, the Silver Paddock wouldn’t be so full of fatties.
The dishes from last night (and pots, pans, knives, cutting board, wine glasses…etc.) did not somehow magically wash themselves. No worries, I will empty the dishwasher and load it up again and we’ll be good to go.
BulgingButtons 