Category: Real Life

Get-It-Done-Itis

The AOPA regards “Get-There-Itis” as a syndrome that “claims the lives of dozens of pilots and their passengers yearly.” My own term “Get-It-Done-Itis” isn’t quite as serious (nor does it roll off the tongue half as well), so I don’t know if it will catch on. But it’s a syndrome that has weakened quite a few work days for me, and maybe you.

I’m a morning person, which means that I tend to wake up before the alarm and go through the transition from bedraggled sleeper to productive citizen with a certain impatience. I’m checking the calendar, to-do list, work and personal e-mails, eating, showering, dressing – all with a certain mania to Get It Done – getting the trivial or necessary-but-not-productive stuff out of the way so I can tackle the Big Thing on my Agenda While It’s All So Fresh in My Mind. If I could figure out how to do all that “small stuff” that stands between me and putting my feet on the floor in my bedroom and putting my hands on the keyboard in my office at once, I’d probably do it. That’s how stuff like this gets sold.

So that’s good, right? If you play your cards well and you beat that traffic light at Cobbs Ford Rd. and the Bypass, you’ll be an hour ahead of everyone and can clear the decks without interruption – why is that motorcycle cop waving at me?

Get-There-Itis creates dangerous conditions and is fed by impatience. Get-It-Done-Itis works in a similar way: Read more

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No, really – loading ALL my CDs into the iPod classic

I just recently moved, and the best thing about it, besides picking up 500 more square feet and a garage, is that I FOUND ABOUT 15 MISSING CDs! When I did the “load all the CDs into my iPod maneuver” earlier this year, I’d had the nagging feeling I was missing some. In fact, I knew for a fact I was, but I couldn’t put my hands on them. In the course of unpacking boxes, I found them. iTunes library complete!

In other news, I can now put my hands on all my books, too.

Leadership Autauga Retreat

Tonight we’re in Auburn, having wrapped up the first day of the Leadership Autauga Retreat. Or should I say night. The group got here in time to check in and get dinner, followed by some team-building exercises by Keith Duck which served to break the ice. Grown-ups don’t get enough chances to do silly things to really get to know each other, and Keith does a great job of bringing the ideas, the props, and the enthusiasm which gets everyone on a first-name basis in a matter of hours.

And then I had to take over and do left-brain stuff – we did a quick overview of LA’s history and purpose, followed by a brief brain-storming session about potential projects.

We’ll hit it again tomorrow with some discussion about leadership and personality traits, led by Kimmie Ellis.

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Rotary Club flier

Rotary golf flyer 2011

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Where I was

I was, inexplicably, heading down to Dothan to try to sell promotional products. To funeral homes. Yes, it was a bad idea, as was continuing to head that way after I stopped in Troy and saw TV coverage of the first strike. I think I was just kind of in shock after that, especially after hearing on the radio about the second strike, and the slowly dawning comprehension that this wasn’t an accident. Read more

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Troy-Bilt’s Revenge

For about the time it takes to mow the entire lawn, I worked on my weedtrimmer on a recent afternoon.

The last of the original line had spooled out, except for about a foot long piece. I looked forward to replacing the line with child-like anticipation. Because my new weed trimmer had a Speed Spool(TM), which eliminates the tedium of taking the weed trimmer head apart by allowing the user to simply insert one ten foot line through the two openings, even up the two ends so that about five feet are sticking out on each side, then start winding the line back into the spool.

This sounded easy enough, so I pulled out ten feet of off-brand weed trimmer line (same gauge as the line used by this weed trimmer), and went to insert it. Not so fast. The afore-mentioned foot long remnant was hiding inside the spool, requiring it to be disassembled after all. Read more

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The real moment in a funeral

As the woman emerged from the audience today at the funeral, I feared that she would be the first of a line of people which sometimes form at such events. I call this part of a funeral “amateur hour” or “open mic night.” I feared that she would have some wandering, off-the-cuff remarks, and that she would be followed by a congo line of even more wandering, off-the-cuff people, some of whom would seem dazed, some of whom would be crying uncontrollably and some of whom would seem to be at the wrong funeral. My wife has instructions, should I pre-decease her, to block this from happening at my funeral, or I have promised to haunt her. Read more

At a Country Funeral

Two of my friends have lost close relatives in the past few days. It calls to mind the following excerpt from “At a Country Funeral” by Wendell Berry.

What we owe the future
is not a new start, for we can only begin
with what has happened. We owe the future
the past, the long knowledge
that is the potency of time to come.
That makes of a man’s grave a rich furrow.

rest in peace, Bro. Al Bond and Mr. Neprud

leadership Autauga County

I’m heading back (as soon as I post this) from Auburn, where I’ve been attending the Leadership Autauga County initial session. They’ve been trying to get me to do this for about ten years, and I finally had the staffing at the office to make it happen.

Last night and today were mostly team building exercises (if you’ve ever been picked up by ten of your friends or beaten with foam sticks, you know the type), and future sessions will shape our agenda and annual project acheter kamagra oral jelly pas cher.

As a side note, do not, repeat do not read The Memories We Keep (former Songbird) or any other piece of literature concerning WWII, the Holocaust, or the French underground as bedtime literature.

So now I’m running on about 4 hours of sleep and heading to an orchestra rehearsal for tonight.

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Lost soles at the church property

Helped with the burning of some scrub at the future site of our church building. It involved dashing into some of the ashes to push wood into better piles. Apparently I wasn’t quick enough, as my boots, or at least the soles, are goners: Read more

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