My life has become a series of –free zones. My driver’s seat is a cell-free zone. The dinner table is a telephone-free zone (cell or land). I attempt to keep a computer-free zone in my family room and kitchen immediately after school to ensure I can focus on my children as they return home. Each of these zones is intended to reduce my multi-tasking.
I recently read, not to my surprise, that multi-tasking is an oxymoron. We cannot focus on two disparate tasks simultaneously. A condition that is abundantly clear as I attempt to write amid the chatter in the orthopedists’ waiting room. There’s the toddler dancing around the mom and continually chattering until the mom says, “behave or I’ll call daddy and then you’ll be in trouble.” (I didn’t think parent’s used this threat anymore). Then a quiet pause for 30 seconds or so followed by, “okay, call daddy.” Several other people waiting chuckle along with me. See, even in writing I have been completely unfocused by trying to blog while listening to idle chatter.
Sure, there are plenty of –free zone established for the comfort and safety of the public—smoke-free zones, cell phone-free zones, even backpack-free zones to improve security or minimize shoplifting. But my –free zones are more personal—an attempt to reduce the clutter in my mind and allow me to live in the present. Just this morning I found myself creating a daily to do list while I was in the shower, then I paused and thought to myself, the shower should be a list-free zone. Perhaps I have created a whole new compulsion— -free zones. Maybe I’ll create a –free zone-free zone…
Packing in Blue States vs. Red States
Herein lies the basic difference between the red plain states and the blue coastal states—each decorates their business doors with friendly reminders to their clientele. Guess this gets to the difference in ‘packing’ between the two regions as well. In the plains, they put up a friendly reminder to leave what you’re packing in the car, while in the coastal region, a reminder to bring what you need for packing with you. Maybe if we could resolve these two differing perspectives on packing, we could reduce partisan politics.
Social Media: Conveyor Belt versus Assembly Station
Sometimes I’m in the mood for the conveyor belt approach of Twitter. I like to see comments on the day’s news, feelings and non-news passing by in a continuous stream. Unlike a factory conveyor belt, I am hardly seeing the same information in a repetitive fashion. This is more like a pizza oven conveyor—sometimes pepperoni going past, sometimes plain cheese, sometimes the works. Like a pizza conveyor just before the Super Bowl, there’s a constant, dense stream of comments which I find endlessly entertaining.
Then at other times, I need something along the lines of a factory assembly station where everyone comes together in the same place to add a piece of the final product. That’s more or less how I view Facebook. Sure there’s a conveyor belt of statuses flowing by, but when I make a status comment I can watch the assembly of an entire conversation in one place—the replies to comments, the extension of comments, the disagreements, all come together in one location.
It’s just social media mimicking real life.
Then at other times, I need something along the lines of a factory assembly station where everyone comes together in the same place to add a piece of the final product. That’s more or less how I view Facebook. Sure there’s a conveyor belt of statuses flowing by, but when I make a status comment I can watch the assembly of an entire conversation in one place—the replies to comments, the extension of comments, the disagreements, all come together in one location.
It’s just social media mimicking real life.
Managing Sibling Rivalry with Business Principals
Production: Clearly that is what created the sibling rivalry in the first place.
Human Resources: “If you have time to distract your brother while he’s doing homework then you have time to take the trash out.”
Engineering: Engineering can be helpful when the kinder, gentler precepts of human resources fail. Think building a wall between the children in the back seat of the car.
Business Development: “Jennifer is having a friend over after school. Would you like to invite Maddie over?”
Marketing: Instead of, “The brownies will be out of the oven when your sister gets home” try “I just put brownies in the oven. They should be ready for you to eat one in about 20 minutes.”
Sales: “You’ll be glad you have a sibling to share the burden of your parents when we age.”
Human Resources: “If you have time to distract your brother while he’s doing homework then you have time to take the trash out.”
Engineering: Engineering can be helpful when the kinder, gentler precepts of human resources fail. Think building a wall between the children in the back seat of the car.
Business Development: “Jennifer is having a friend over after school. Would you like to invite Maddie over?”
Marketing: Instead of, “The brownies will be out of the oven when your sister gets home” try “I just put brownies in the oven. They should be ready for you to eat one in about 20 minutes.”
Sales: “You’ll be glad you have a sibling to share the burden of your parents when we age.”
Transfer Station
Transfer Station. What an apt name. We load our broken ceiling tiles, plastic recyclables, flattened cardboard boxes, bound newspapers and junk mail, bags of tissue and floss, empty ice cream containers, coffee grounds and all manner of garbage tied up in plastic bags, into our car, slam the trunk and drive to the Transfer Station.
Many folks still call it the dump out of habit. Dumps and landfills have slowly given way to transfer stations from Maine to California. A friend of mine was helping her mom clean out her home before moving into a condo. She took endless trips to the town transfer station, each time driving from bin #17 back to bin #4 to bin #12 to find the appropriate drop off point for an old mattress, stacks of magazines, NiCad batteries and all manner of refuse that collects, untended, in a home over the decades.
My town's transfer station is less fussy-- one huge metal hole for recyclables-- ALL recyclables, one huge metal hole for garbage, a medium sized shed for 'second time around donations.' and some large mysterious piles for demolition material and tires. The cavernous metal holes drop into gigantic metal containers. Every month or so the containers are hauled away, to transfer their contents to someone else's town.
But where is all of this refuse transferring to? Who is on the receiving end? The term itself, 'transfer station' seems to echo the transitory nature of the material goods that we collect, hang on to and then chose to discard. So we 'transfer' them. To where? To whom? Is one large dump environmentally superior to a multitude of smaller landfills or is it simply more palatable to transfer our refuse somewhere else, somewhere farther out of site and out of mind.
Many folks still call it the dump out of habit. Dumps and landfills have slowly given way to transfer stations from Maine to California. A friend of mine was helping her mom clean out her home before moving into a condo. She took endless trips to the town transfer station, each time driving from bin #17 back to bin #4 to bin #12 to find the appropriate drop off point for an old mattress, stacks of magazines, NiCad batteries and all manner of refuse that collects, untended, in a home over the decades.
My town's transfer station is less fussy-- one huge metal hole for recyclables-- ALL recyclables, one huge metal hole for garbage, a medium sized shed for 'second time around donations.' and some large mysterious piles for demolition material and tires. The cavernous metal holes drop into gigantic metal containers. Every month or so the containers are hauled away, to transfer their contents to someone else's town.
But where is all of this refuse transferring to? Who is on the receiving end? The term itself, 'transfer station' seems to echo the transitory nature of the material goods that we collect, hang on to and then chose to discard. So we 'transfer' them. To where? To whom? Is one large dump environmentally superior to a multitude of smaller landfills or is it simply more palatable to transfer our refuse somewhere else, somewhere farther out of site and out of mind.
I am the Anti-Snow White
I am the anti-Snow White. Just like Snow White, woodland creatures come streaming from their forest homes to greet me. But instead of cheerfully offering their assistance in my daily chores, they come at me with a vengeance.
Maybe Snow White wasn’t waited on by pairs of nesting loons, but had she been lakeside I am certain the loons would have dove into the cool depths of the crystal clear waters to bring her lake reeds to dry and bundle into brooms. No such luck with my loon friends. While I admit I do love the loons, I wonder if they ever sleep. Instead of plying me with lake reeds to dry and fresh fish for dinner, my local loons start off my day with an alarm-clock awakening. Yes, even the ‘hauntingly beautiful’ call of the loon sounds more like a fire alarm when it’s piercing cry hits a high note at 4:30 am waking me from well, at least not Snow White-like sleep. And so my day of reckoning with the innocent-looking woodland creatures begins.
My first morning stop is my garden to see which dainty buds have been torn off my plants by the night’s marauding bunnies and deer. How do they know exactly which day the buds will bloom and rip them (only Snow White would refer to deer and rabbit’s incessant foraging as nibbling) from their stalks just before they open their colorful display? And it’s not just night visits any longer—my two little Bambis wait surreptitiously under cover of brush until I depart before raiding my garden in the middle of the day. Just yesterday I returned to spot the two fleet of foot thieves fleeing down my driveway and scattering into the woods across the street.
All of my woodland sparring partners are bold. I used to keep a tomato plant on my deck. But even with constant vigilance, my adversarial neighborhood chipmunk would scurry right up to the plant and pluck off a cherry tomato just before it was ready to ripen, or simply chomp into the sweet flesh and dart away.
Instead of sweetly singing with me and offering a helping paw or wing as I sweep up, I swear the chipmunks and birds are intentionally dropping their refuse just after my broom has passed. I keep my garbage can lid tightly affixed to repel the raccoons intent on flinging my garbage rather than offering their paws to shine apples, poisonous or not, for my fruit bowl.
No birds flit through my windows to turn back my sheets before I climb into bed. No bunnies snuggle on my covers to warm my feet. And the squirrels, rather than keep a lookout for a wicked witch, have chosen to take up residence in my crawl space and chew through all manner of important conduits in my walls. And so I settle down to sleep, one pillow over my head to keep out the sound of creatures chomping through my garden, and wait for the cry of the loon to startle me awake to another day.
Maybe Snow White wasn’t waited on by pairs of nesting loons, but had she been lakeside I am certain the loons would have dove into the cool depths of the crystal clear waters to bring her lake reeds to dry and bundle into brooms. No such luck with my loon friends. While I admit I do love the loons, I wonder if they ever sleep. Instead of plying me with lake reeds to dry and fresh fish for dinner, my local loons start off my day with an alarm-clock awakening. Yes, even the ‘hauntingly beautiful’ call of the loon sounds more like a fire alarm when it’s piercing cry hits a high note at 4:30 am waking me from well, at least not Snow White-like sleep. And so my day of reckoning with the innocent-looking woodland creatures begins.
My first morning stop is my garden to see which dainty buds have been torn off my plants by the night’s marauding bunnies and deer. How do they know exactly which day the buds will bloom and rip them (only Snow White would refer to deer and rabbit’s incessant foraging as nibbling) from their stalks just before they open their colorful display? And it’s not just night visits any longer—my two little Bambis wait surreptitiously under cover of brush until I depart before raiding my garden in the middle of the day. Just yesterday I returned to spot the two fleet of foot thieves fleeing down my driveway and scattering into the woods across the street.
All of my woodland sparring partners are bold. I used to keep a tomato plant on my deck. But even with constant vigilance, my adversarial neighborhood chipmunk would scurry right up to the plant and pluck off a cherry tomato just before it was ready to ripen, or simply chomp into the sweet flesh and dart away.
Instead of sweetly singing with me and offering a helping paw or wing as I sweep up, I swear the chipmunks and birds are intentionally dropping their refuse just after my broom has passed. I keep my garbage can lid tightly affixed to repel the raccoons intent on flinging my garbage rather than offering their paws to shine apples, poisonous or not, for my fruit bowl.
No birds flit through my windows to turn back my sheets before I climb into bed. No bunnies snuggle on my covers to warm my feet. And the squirrels, rather than keep a lookout for a wicked witch, have chosen to take up residence in my crawl space and chew through all manner of important conduits in my walls. And so I settle down to sleep, one pillow over my head to keep out the sound of creatures chomping through my garden, and wait for the cry of the loon to startle me awake to another day.
IPhones Used For Everything But a Phone
Music, check. GPS navigation, check. Restaurant finder, check. GPS for geocaching, check. Postcards, check. Baseball game audio, check. All that just by plugging my iPhone into the car power adapter. How did we travel around the country three years ago without our iPhones? 
Seriously though, on our drive through the plains states this July, we found our iPhones indispensable, and we rarely used them to make phone calls. We used them continuously while driving for a multitude of other needs, well ‘nice-to-haves’, but they certainly made traveling more efficient.
We got into the car in Topeka and first things first, plugged in both iPhones to the power adapter (real-time GPS drains the battery quickly). Then we entered our destination— in this case a coffee house in Nebraska City. I think I even heard my iPhone mutter, ‘Really, I can find you coffee closer than a 2 ½ hours drive’ Next, audio of choice—in the morning, the iPod, so also plug in the line-in cable. And we set out on our drive north.
Of course, although I use the camera on the iPhone, I still kept my camera close at hand and as I love maps, I kept the AAA state map open on my lap. AAA maps are far superior to any state maps. Honestly I don’t know why all states don’t start with the AAA map for readability and then add their state ads to the reverse side of the map.
As we started thinking about lunch, we’d use google maps on the iPhone to search for a good sandwich spot. Turns out that ‘sandwich’ isn’t a very good search term to find the type of places we were looking for—a place with homemade bread, or hummus and cucumber or a specialty pita pocket with goat cheese. To find those types of places the keywords ‘café’ and ‘bakery’ proved optimal for us. Even though we were in the heart of cattle country we found fabulous vegetarian sandwiches every day for lunch—like the great veggie sandwich at Amanda’s Bakery and Café in Emporia, Kansas—all by using the iPhone.
Mid-day we might take a break for some geocaching. Again, we’d turn to our iPhone and the geocaching app to locate a nearby cache and set us on our way. Then late in the day, being Red Sox fans, it was time for the ballgame. This was the only disappointment in using the iPhone, primarily because AT&T’s data service is outstandingly poor through the northern plain states. We used the audio on MLB when AT&T was able to keep it streaming to our iPhones (rarely). When AT&T failed (most of the time), I provided my own audio version following the play-by-play. I will certainly never be considered for a spot in the WRKO booth for Red Sox games.
Of course somewhere along the way we’d snap a few ridiculous photos with our iPhones and turn them into postcards to send to our kids at camp using Hazel Mail—an easy and fun way to keep them updated on our whereabouts. We felt a special connection to our iPhone as we were uploading one postcard and were directed to ‘wait patiently.’ Sometimes, we had to be really patient. We uploaded a post card in Hot Springs where AT&T’s data service was very slow. We waited while we sat enjoying sandwiches at the Poet’s Loft. We waited while we strolled down the street. And then we continued to wait for the postcard to upload while we put our wallets and phones in lock boxes before our thermal bath. The last words on the iPhone screen as my husband placed it in the lock box were, “continue waiting patiently.” Then the metal lock box was shut, the box was slid into a metal slot in the middle of a bank of lock boxes, inside an office, inside a stone bathhouse in the middle of Hot Springs, Arkansas which rests in a valley surrounded by hills. I wonder how long the phone tried in vain to reach a signal before muttering to itself, ‘where in the world am I?’
Seriously though, on our drive through the plains states this July, we found our iPhones indispensable, and we rarely used them to make phone calls. We used them continuously while driving for a multitude of other needs, well ‘nice-to-haves’, but they certainly made traveling more efficient.
We got into the car in Topeka and first things first, plugged in both iPhones to the power adapter (real-time GPS drains the battery quickly). Then we entered our destination— in this case a coffee house in Nebraska City. I think I even heard my iPhone mutter, ‘Really, I can find you coffee closer than a 2 ½ hours drive’ Next, audio of choice—in the morning, the iPod, so also plug in the line-in cable. And we set out on our drive north.
Of course, although I use the camera on the iPhone, I still kept my camera close at hand and as I love maps, I kept the AAA state map open on my lap. AAA maps are far superior to any state maps. Honestly I don’t know why all states don’t start with the AAA map for readability and then add their state ads to the reverse side of the map.
As we started thinking about lunch, we’d use google maps on the iPhone to search for a good sandwich spot. Turns out that ‘sandwich’ isn’t a very good search term to find the type of places we were looking for—a place with homemade bread, or hummus and cucumber or a specialty pita pocket with goat cheese. To find those types of places the keywords ‘café’ and ‘bakery’ proved optimal for us. Even though we were in the heart of cattle country we found fabulous vegetarian sandwiches every day for lunch—like the great veggie sandwich at Amanda’s Bakery and Café in Emporia, Kansas—all by using the iPhone.
Mid-day we might take a break for some geocaching. Again, we’d turn to our iPhone and the geocaching app to locate a nearby cache and set us on our way. Then late in the day, being Red Sox fans, it was time for the ballgame. This was the only disappointment in using the iPhone, primarily because AT&T’s data service is outstandingly poor through the northern plain states. We used the audio on MLB when AT&T was able to keep it streaming to our iPhones (rarely). When AT&T failed (most of the time), I provided my own audio version following the play-by-play. I will certainly never be considered for a spot in the WRKO booth for Red Sox games.
Of course somewhere along the way we’d snap a few ridiculous photos with our iPhones and turn them into postcards to send to our kids at camp using Hazel Mail—an easy and fun way to keep them updated on our whereabouts. We felt a special connection to our iPhone as we were uploading one postcard and were directed to ‘wait patiently.’ Sometimes, we had to be really patient. We uploaded a post card in Hot Springs where AT&T’s data service was very slow. We waited while we sat enjoying sandwiches at the Poet’s Loft. We waited while we strolled down the street. And then we continued to wait for the postcard to upload while we put our wallets and phones in lock boxes before our thermal bath. The last words on the iPhone screen as my husband placed it in the lock box were, “continue waiting patiently.” Then the metal lock box was shut, the box was slid into a metal slot in the middle of a bank of lock boxes, inside an office, inside a stone bathhouse in the middle of Hot Springs, Arkansas which rests in a valley surrounded by hills. I wonder how long the phone tried in vain to reach a signal before muttering to itself, ‘where in the world am I?’
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)