Now I’m sharing all my secrets

I have spent my adult life being prepared, rarely, if ever, missing a deadline. Our son was born two days early.

Over the years, whenever we've invited people for dinner, I'd like to sit quietly in a chair for a half hour or so before our guests arrived and simply blink my eyes. This made me feel powerful.

At work, when I had to make a presentation, I'd go to the conference room well in advance and clean the whiteboards, line up the markers and erasers in the slim, silver tray, wipe off the table with wet paper towels from the ladies room, and rearrange the furniture.

Like a girl scout, I was always prepared.

But lately I’ve been messing up.

Here's a picture of my jeans drawer. Note the total lack of clean jeans.

My sister, Kit, had to come over to my house yesterday morning at 6 a.m. and help me get ready for a First Friday event at our local Art Center. We worked for four hours and ten minutes making product labels and putting price tags on the stuff I made to sell.

I was a whole day late.

Here's a photo of my messy craft room. Seven incomplete projects!

Being retired has taken the "mo" out of my mojo.

I’m not "golden."

Not “good to go.”

I’m neither "locked nor loaded."

I’m not ready for anything, especially for retirement.

Comments

Therese said…

Haha! This post is great, Holly! Don't feel bad. All's a sign you're relaxing and letting your hair down. You deserve it. Have fun! So nice to not have to worry about schedules and due dates!

December 3, 2011 at 1:50 AM

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About 10 years ago during our routine Saturday phone call, my father asked me an amazing question, “Why does seeing something beautiful make a person cry?” I was honored that he asked me such a powerful question and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. In my lifetime, I've seen some beautiful things that have made me cry. When I was 17-years-old and an exchange student in Spain , I walked down a dark corridor inside a church, turned a corner, and saw a huge painting (10 by 16 feet), El Greco’s “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz.” That was 1972, but I vividly remember the colors in it: the metallic gold, the reds, and the grays and how the elongated faces and figu res dripped emotion. I remember the awe I felt in seeing that the artist had painted a sheer white gown over a black velvet robe (lower right). I stood quite close to it for as long as the guide would allow. For many, the natural world evokes wonderment. About 25 years ago, on a trip to rural Canada...

Holly Cusumano

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