@ Tan, who asked how I got the comp time, and if it was for staying awake in the meeting without my knitting [because I got in trouble with the office manager a few months ago, for knitting in a meeting]. No, I wasn’t in Friday’s meeting; I was out on the front lines at switchboard, telling people who called for attorneys [who were in trial or at client meetings or depositions or mediations], that the secretaries and paralegals were in a staff meeting, and yes, I knew the meeting had been going on since 9:45 and they still weren’t out. That meeting.
I got half a day of comp time because I got the second-highest number of “Good for You”s last year. Among the support staff, if somebody helps you accomplish something, you send them a thank-you email with a copy to the office manager. The person who gets the greatest number of them during the year, is awarded a full day of comp time when we have our first staff meeting in the new year.
When she gave me my certificate on Friday, the office manager said that my friend led the pack by only a few emails, and that it didn’t seem fair that I should not get a reward as well. [One of many reasons why I like my office manager, even if she doesn’t understand that knitting in meetings is not a sign of disrespect, and keeps me awake.] All those invoices that I paid for my legal-secretary friends last year, are what got me my “Good for You”s. That, and other odd bits of service that I was able to do at switchboard, before I moved back into a cubicle.
I typed about 60 drafts last week, for two legal secretaries serving four attorneys. And Friday afternoon I got a frantic email from another legal secretary, asking if I could pay her invoices this coming week. [She writes “Good for You”s that sound like Academy Award acceptance speeches. I don’t recognize the person she is describing when she thanks the office manager on my behalf, but it’s always fun to read them.]
@Kristen, who commented on how much I get done each day before she has eaten her breakfast. My creativity is what keeps me sane. Literally. Twenty years ago, when we were waiting for the children’s father to begin chiropractic school, and more specifically for the student loan money to arrive, we lived for two weeks on two large boxes of powdered milk [reconstituted, of course] and 56 loaves of bread [14 of those four-conjoined-loaves packages from Sack N Save]. I told the kids not to kill each other, and I warped my loom and focused on making beauty. Creativity and my somewhat skewed sense of humor have gotten me through other experiences that were soul-shattering, faith-numbing, and testimony-depleting.
And when I am creating, I am more apt to notice the Creator’s beauty which surrounds me, and to be grateful for my blessings and willing to serve others.
I am also a little hyper, in mind if not in body; my body is a little slower to learn things, but once they are learned, they stay learned. Creating things helps me to remain in the moment, to not postpone joy for some mythical future day when everything in my life will be just-so. Not to mention that it effectively burns off energies that could easily get me in trouble if not diverted into chastely productive channels.
I have the same hungers and longings as every other healthy human adult. You see all these projects flying off my needles; I see a boudoir which is a sanctuary, and a home and heart which are peaceful. My girls are well aware of my imperfections and weaknesses, but I think it is safe to declare that we are all thankful I do not have a revolving door on my bedroom.
So, do not envy me because of the socks and scarves and shawls that are filling up my drawers, or the stash-busting that continues in spite of the generosity of my friends. Hug your spouse or your sweetheart, and be thankful that you have one. And if you don’t feel like hugging your spouse or your sweetheart, may I suggest that you see if there is something you can do that will change your attitude, or your circumstances, whichever is appropriate. The gifts which Heaven has given me, which I recognize in all their abundance and variety, are given to me in compensation for the gifts which I yet lack, but will one day enjoy.
[Don’t cry for me, Argentina. Just hand me the stitch marker which sailed over your head a minute ago when I was cabling without a cable needle, and love the one you’re with...]
I got to spend some time with Middlest yesterday. She was more than a little under the weather, to the point that she brought a doubled plastic bag with her in the car, just in case. As she began to feel better, she remarked that the nausea had passed, but she still felt woozy. At which point I told her she had just given me the title of this morning’s post.
Feeling a little woozy myself, but not from illness. I just finished printing off my notes and multiple strips of quotations for the RS lesson I will be teaching in four hours. I read each address that is the basis for the lesson, at least once, and last night I made an outline of which quotations I wanted to use. This morning I excerpted them from the PDF’s of the talks and formatted them for printing. The subject which our stake president has chosen for us? Joy in these days.
I know a little bit about that, and I cannot wait to share with my friends and to hear their own experiences.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!