Making Iced Tea & Making Do

My iced tea machine broke today. My new one, that I got for Christmas last year. It's July. I live in Chicagoland. And I need my iced tea.

The thing is, I'm pretty sure I sometimes made iced tea before I got the fancy machine. Sometimes. But I can't remember how I did it. It certainly couldn't have been as simple or as fast.

I started thinking, 'I sure was looking forward to that iced tea this afternoon. And there are people coming over tonight and those people deserve iced tea, if they so want some. But my machine just up and broke.'

Then I thought something else: I thought of the robin I saw this morning. He startled me as I stepped around the corner of our house to collect a bag of yard waste to put by the street. I was picking up the bag when I heard a splashing sound behind me. There, in a small amount of water that had pooled in the depressed lid of an old plastic trash can, was this male robin, rolling his roly-poly belly all around in that water.

I watched him for a few moments. He had no modesty, this little bird. He cared not at all that some lady was watching him. Nor did he care that he wasn't washing in a proper bird bath. He was making do with my rain-filled trash can lid.

Like that robin, I'm making do. I unplugged the broken machine, started the flame under my tea kettle and set some water to boiling. Once it was hot, I poured it over the tea bags in my fancy brewing pitcher. And I made iced tea. It didn't come as simple or fast, but it's made. And with a whole bunch of sugar added, it will be some good sweet tea for me and my company.


Inbox is at 35 - I'm going backwards!

Solitude

I'm on my own for the next three days. The kids are off for some fun with their second cousins out at Grandma & Grandpa's Lake House. Amusing Dad is mostly at work. So it's just me. Solo. Alone.

This fact was not lost on the Uber-Princess. As we were driving to their grandparents' local residence to drop them off for their trip, she suggested a puppy.

"You know, Mom," she explained. "Once I go to first grade you're going to be alone every day. You might get lonely. You need a puppy to keep you company."

No matter that first grade for her is still a year away. She was thinking ahead. And she was thinking of how I'll feel with her gone all day. It worried her. Need I say that this speaks volumes about the Uber-Princess herself? She is a social butterfly. The concept of being alone all day would be torturous to her. And of course, she wouldn't wish that on anyone.

I'm not getting a puppy any time soon. Being alone does not bother me. In fact, I sometimes rather like it. Like today. I did wake up early enough to see Amusing Dad and wish him a good day. But since then I haven't seen or spoken to another soul. And it's been grand!

There is more room for my thoughts in this empty house of mine. And space to relax. I've done some straightening in different rooms with the glad thought that they'll still be that way tonight...and tomorrow... and even for a while the next day. And I'm disciplining myself to hack away on some writing and speaking projects that would otherwise progress in only fits and starts with the children around.

Here's another odd thing, I'm listening a little more to my own voice. Not my spoken voice - I haven't heard it since I talked to Amusing Dad this morning (and I couldn't hear it when I was singing while out on an early morning bike ride because my headphones blocked it out). I'm listening to my internal voice, the voice of my thoughts. In writing, the big hairy objective that most new writers fail to achieve is finding their "voice", that is, getting the voice in their brain down onto paper. I'm wondering if I've found it. But it means getting time and space to listen. So that's what I'm doing today.

And my inbox is down to 20!

Aiming for the Illusive "Zero Messages"

A month or two ago I read a post by Michael Hyatt, CEO of Thomas Nelson, Inc. about keeping on top of email. It had me inspired and motivated to weed through the mess that had become my inbox and empty it out. Previously I had been satisfied to get it down to 50 messages. But Hyatt talks about clearing it out. Making it completely empty. As in zero messages.

I can't remember ever seeing my inbox say "0 messages". Not even the day I set it up (because, after all, you have to have someone send a test message and then you've got mail). However, once I read what Michael Hyatt does on a regular basis, suddenly zero messages had become the Holy Grail of email communication for me. I wanted to get my inbox empty. I needed to get that inbox empty.

Two months later and I'm still hovering around 50 messages. Sometimes (weekends) it zooms up to a hundred or more. Then gradually during the work week I attempt to whittle it down. One week I even had it down to 18 messages. Almost there, but not quite.

So I am going public with my quest. Shame me. Hound me. Do your part to urge me on to that illusive goal. I want to reach zero messages. The perennial procrastinator in me makes this a challenge, but I'm ready to purge the procrastination. I want to storm the inbox and obliterate the messages there. Only 38 messages to go. Can I do it?

Oh dear, do you realize what you've just done, Amusing Mom? You've just invited all these people to blast your inbox in an effort to thwart your quest. Or worse yet, you've caused all the lovely people you enjoy hearing from to shy away from sending you email. What to do? How to reassure them that you'll promptly delete all "spam"/fake emails and happily (& promptly) reply to any real email? Oh well, what's done is done - trust that your readers are ALL lovely people who will gladly continue to send you electronic missives. Now pick up that laptop and get off on your quest!