This past week, we had our own version of Cash in the Attic — or more honestly — BOXES in the attic.

When we bought this house (a year ago), we were told that one of the attic spaces was not suitable for storage (truthfully they both are — as the other attic space if filled to brimming with insulation).  I’ve never really been one to want to store things in an attic and frankly if it doesn’t have pull down stairs, I’m not going up there anyway.  So, we pretty much forgot about the access hole and moved right along with our life.  Until we decided that it would improve Prince’s life if he had a network cable in his office.  In thinking about how to run this cable, in which various solutions were offered like “use the laundry chute”; “you will not run a cable up my stairs”; “what if we just traded offices”; and the ever popular, “why is it you want a cable again?”, we decided to check out the possibility of using the attic as a way to run the cable between floors.

I need to digress and explain one thing about when we moved into this house — the people who lived here before us left a TON of stuff.  They had lived here for 25+ years and were downsizing to a condo.  Despite having every kid, spouse, grandchild, and perhaps great-grandchild helping, they were still rushing to be out on time.  Beyond the stuff they left per the contract (which all quickly became Craigslist fodder), they left everything from half-used cleaning supplies; towels; pictures on the walls; food in the fridge….you get the picture.  We spent the first few days cleaning out after them and selling stuff online.  To say I was annoyed is an understatement.

Back to accessing the attic.  Prince dutifully pulls out the ladder and opens the access point and I hear a string of cussing.  I look up to see boxes just inside the attic.  There was this wave of “What the…I thought I’d finally gotten rid of those people….”  And I hear… “There’s about 10 boxes up here.”  Ok, in my mind, 10 boxes to the street isn’t huge, then we know we are done.  Prince comes down the ladder to reposition it to start hauling the crap (and we knew it couldn’t be more than old Christmas decorations or such) out.  Off-hand he says, “There better be money up there. I’m so sick of this.”

Well, there was no actual cash, nor was there any sort of antique coin collection, but what we found was 10 boxes of late-70’s comic books.  Most of them were Marvel (I’ve done a full inventory and they number about 1075, give or take a few).  Most of them in decent condition (certainly given that they were in an attic for a bunch of years).  There were a few other odd things in there too, the front page of the newspaper from when Reagan was shot (headline: Gunman Wounds Reagan); a 1975 PSAT Student handbook; a note from a teacher that their daughter had not been bringing her homework folder back and forth to school; a year’s subscription to Pro (some sort of football magazine that appears to be team specific as these are the “Brown” editions); a few beat-up copies of Hawthorn and other required high school reading; and a few copies of National Lampoon’s Magazine.

I’ve done the inventory, I’ve checked price guides, I’ve read and re-read the various grading guides and I’m still hoping I’m getting it right.  I have two or three that are in the “wow, that’s shocking” price range; I have a few more that are in the “not too bad” range; and I have a bunch in the “well, they’ve held their list price — at least we have a LOT of them” range.  From what I read, that’s totally normal.  I’ve contacted a couple of dealers to attempt to sell the lot — frankly, I want them gone and don’t want to sell them of in little bits.  I hope to know more in the upcoming week as to how much money we just found in our attic — right now I consider it a gift from the old homeowners for forcing us to clean up so much in the beginning.

Lately, I’ve been all about the plan making.  (The plan doing has been a harder thing to grasp and hold on to.) But I’m so into the plan making.  Now to be fair, I’ve been pretty much making plans since um, birth, and haven’t slowed down much.  So, I wouldn’t say the the sheer making of the plan is the mature part here.  But there is a shift.

You see, it isn’t the PLAN itself, it is the GOAL of the plan that shifts my focus.  I was pretty frank the other day when I lamented over the fact that I couldn’t just grant myself all my wishes in the world.  I was an economics minor in college — and the very definition of economics is “balancing unlimited wants with limited resources.”  Wow, sound like anything we’ve talked about recently? Which leads me in a very roundabout way to my point.

A few days ago I was talking to a neighbor and she was stunned to learn that not only had I gone to college, I had a degree and in fact I’d spent a number of years working for VERY large companies making VERY good money.  That conversation has rocked me to my very core.  It isn’t my neighbor’s fault that she didn’t know of my resume — since I’m not one who speaks of it, my diploma hangs in my office that no one sees, and since her connection with me is Cub Scouts and our kids, how would she even know that I work?  And while I have no desire to announce to every person I meet “I used to BE somebody.” I’d really like to know that someone isn’t shocked that yes, I did in fact get a degree.

This has lead me down a spiraling road about where exactly is Point Z.  When I was 6, I wanted to be a policewoman and lock up all the bad people in this world.  By the time I was 10, I wanted to follow in the footsteps of my hero (and favorite President), Thomas Jefferson, and become an architect (bet you thought I was going to say President, right?) By the time I was 15, I wanted to own my own catalog company. By the time I was 30, I stopped having a clue what I wanted to do when I grow up.

Alas, there is the need to figure out what is Point Z and build a plan to get from here to there.  At church yesterday, my minister was talking about this very idea of what is the goal of man.  Oh, sure there is the Sunday School answer that the goal of man is to glorify and worship God, but he was talking about what do we DO with that.  You know, when Sunday School answers become application?  Well, he offered up a few questions to really ask ourselves:

1. What do you LOVE doing? What is it that brings you great joy, that you drop everything else to do, that your whole world lights up when you even talk about it?
2. Is that thing legal and moral?  (His point is that if you are very good at being a cat burglar, perhaps that’s not God’s calling in your life.)
3. Then seek it and do it.  Because it is most likely your calling.

Now, I’m pretty sure that I’m not called to sit and watch TV, avoid all housework, eat bon bons, or go shopping — though all of those things make me incredibly happy.  But this question has lead me to wonder about what exactly is this thing(s) that I could love so much. I want to tell you that I’ve figured it out, but I haven’t.  What I’ve figured out is that I might not really need to know where Point Z is yet; maybe step 2 in the plan is just prepping to find out.  So, I built my new plan — in parts

PROFESSIONALLY

1. I’m going to go back to school.  Wow, that looked as odd in type as it felt when I called Prince up and told him this is what I wanted to do.
2. I’m going to focus on two things that interest me most; they work together a bit and I think I’ll figure out what works best once I’m in it.  Both areas of study are good skills to have both for some future job/career; my current job; and for things I want to do personally.
3. My goal is to be taking classes again by the fall.  At first, I’m not seeking a degree — though I’m leaving myself open to this.

PERSONALLY

1. By the end of 2010, I intend to have the pile of stuff I’ve wanted sold and out of my life gone.  I’ve sold quite a bit off on eBay, and I’ll continue to.
2. By the end of 2010, I intend to make at least $1 on something crafty I’ve made.  I love to craft, I doubt I’ll make a fortune at it — but I can not use all that I make; I want to share them with the world.  To this end, you see that tab at the top that says “Products” — well, watch that space — it will be filling soon enough.
3. By the end of 2010, I shall finish my photo project.  I have a ticker to the right that is charting progress.  It is based on the guess that there are 25K photos to deal with — as I get further and get a better idea, I’ll update that number.  Once per week, I’ll update the photo count of completed.
4. By the end of 2010, I will dedicate a week (though I want to do it for a month), to cooking everything from scratch.  I want to try to eat nothing pre-packaged for an entire week.  I will have more on this as I get the plan together — as you will probably walk through that week with me.

What I’m not planning on having by the end of 2010?  A known Point Z.  I’ve gotten to the point that I think Point Z will become apparent if I just start taking the some steps. I’m pretty sure that not all of my ideas will pan out and be home runs, and some may simply be the learning experience that I don’t need to keep that pipe dream any longer.  I want to turn my focus away from figuring out the exact way all this turns out, to the process of getting there.  I want to focus on sorting through my pipe dreams to find my own personal reality.

By this theory, I’ve just aged 10+ years!

So, here’s the deal.  In January, my laptop died.  I mean DEAD.  It does not boot, it doesn’t make noise, there is nothing that comes out of that laptop at all.  Thankfully, I had Time Machine up and running and was able to restore my whole personal life onto my iMac that now does double duty.  This is not an ideal solution, mostly because I spend more hours in my office now than in my family room — but it is working, with only minor complaints.

Now the first question is “why didn’t you run to the nearest Apple store and replace your beloved MacBook Pro?”  Well, have you watched the news lately, there is this recession thing and money is um, tight.  We have been slowly working towards a place where we will not feel the pinch and have been doing ever so good with it.  We’ve lived on a budget, a tight one, for a long time and while I could have just run out and bought the new machine, I felt that the more responsible, the more grown-up thing was to use the perfectly acceptable machine in my office for awhile.

The next question, “So, you have to have a plan, right?”  Well, yes, yes I do.  You see, I did a cash flow analysis (shut up) and saw that we’d be in a better spot for the big purchase in July and that would make a bunch more sense than in January.  See also, July isn’t too far away and I will be able to do this and maybe my feeling and requirements will change.  I’m also looking at a smaller machine, in an effort to be more frugal.

Then it happened.  First, there was a massive hard drive enclosure failure.  The drives themselves did not fail (thankfully), but nearly every photo that we have taken since 2000 was on those drives and when the enclosure failed, I cried.  I feared the worst.  We backed up all we could and began to frantically research solutions with redundancy and back-ups and ways that we’d never have to worry about this again.  In the process, I got this wild hair (well, truly it had bugged me for a very long time and I’d been putting it off for sheer laziness — which truly only make the problem worse) that we needed better organization to said photos.  I dream of having books printed of our photos, of the years of Duke’s life, of us to force our friends to sit through — you know the fun.  So, while Prince researched photo storage, I researched photo organization.  We downloaded and tried out several bits of software — please note, this is a Mac household and since Macs come with iPhoto, it appears very few people are willing to write great photo organization software for the Mac — iPhoto was NOT our solution.  I fretted when my top contender seemed to be too unstable to handle all our photos (numbering at least 10,000, but perhaps as many as twice that — the final tally is still waiting to be counted).  We finally settled on iPhoto’s big brother, Aperture.  While not free (or cheap), it solved most of our problems and worked within the needed framework.

So, last night (as our free trial was ending), we made the pilgramage to the Apple Store to buy copies of Aperture (yes more than one, because we have two people and ultimately 4 computers that will use this program).  While we waited, I took to moment to make sure that my earlier decision to downsize the screen on my future (JULY) laptop was the right one.  And then I did the stupidest thing I could do — I picked up one of those dang iPads.  I was instantly in love. I was instantly thinking of all the things I could with it that I can’t do today. I was thinking how it would make my life perfect and complete and I was ready to run away into the sunset with my new iPad.  But then that rational, adult voice came into my head.

It said:

• The iPad is new, you want to wait until the next generation is out.
• Remember the price drop on the iPhone? You don’t want there to be an upgrade or price drop shortly after you purchase.
• You REALLY need the new laptop, the iPad is a nice to have, but won’t solve your problem.
• Don’t forget, you and Prince don’t share well, so this isn’t a single iPad purchase, but two.
• There’s this recession going on, you really have been working to a noble goal and you are on your way, don’t stop now….

My adult, rational brain SUCKS.

So, we left the shiny Apple store (and I ought to note, in the interest of full disclosure, that they were out of stock and thus I could not have bought one if I wanted to).  We talked it through.  We both tried to marry our adult, rational sides with the “I want it” sides — to this is there is no middle ground.  I have put them into and out of my cart on the Apple site so many times you’d think I was doing the iPad Hokey Pokey.  I decided to sleep on it and see how I felt in the light of the morning.

I dreamed about my new iPad last night.

This morning, I put two iPads in my cart. I put a refurbished laptop in my cart. I fainted at the thought of the price.  I walked away. I told Prince I was going to buy the laptop and *MY* iPad.  I walked away again.  I cleaned up a bit; I did a load of laundry; I checked back on my cart and it was all still there waiting for me — waving at me, saying how much it wanted to come live here with me.

Then I did the hardest thing. I closed the Apple window and I walked away.  I had a plan. It is a good plan.  It is a plan that will meet all my needs when they need to be met and I do not need to be swayed by something shiny.

I want to be proud of myself for doing the adult thing, for delaying the gratification until the time is right, for being responsible; but I’m sad.  I’m sad because I can’t have everything I want when I want it (which is NOW). I’m sad because my plan takes time and waiting is really, really hard. I’m sad because sticking to the plan is not much fun.

So, now I think I’m going to work on organizing some photos.  I’ve made myself a new deal – I can buy the iPad ONLY after every photo is tagged and organized based on our new system.  This will probably take me the better part of the summer — as I’m only at 2600 photos thus far and can only do a few folders a day.  I have a major project and don’t need the iPad to distract me.  (I’m still getting my laptop in July.)

In the city I was a child in, when spring sprung, literally the whole city was afire with color.  I can vividly remember feeling like overnight we’d go from dead and lifeless to SPRING!!!  The azealas would bloom, all the bulbs would bloom at the same time affording you the joy of watching the daffodils and tulips compete for glory.  You would see the Magnolia’s in full color along side the Bradford Pears and Apple and Cherry blossoms.

I grew up convinced there could be nothing more beautiful.

I moved to the tropic south (note the lack of capital letter) for about 14 years and learned more about heat, humidity, and tropical thunder storms.  There was little color outside other than green.  And because outside was generally always available (and the number of bugs), there was never any joy in actually going outside.  I joke with my friends here that I never understood why anyone would want to actually eat outside — eating outside was like the children’s table to me — the place you were forced to eat when eating would be a mess.

Then Winter happened here.  Months of gray. Months of snow. Months of stark.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not jaded yet.  I thrilled over the simple and small changes that winter holds, how water melts even in sub-zero weather; how the white snow makes the cardinal families pop red; and how quiet everything is.

More slowly than when I was a child and the world warmed seemingly over night, the ground warmed.  The sun shone again, all bright and yellow.  I’d peek outside and see greens and living things popping up like “Look at me, I survived the winter.”  We didn’t live in this house last spring, so I’ve been marveling at what is coming up and perhaps what the squirrels have relocated.

Slowly here, color is unfurling.  The bulbs bloom in stages, and right now the color is all yellow.  The daffodils are in full bloom, but the tulips are slowly coming up behind them.  And just like those bulbs who are uncurling their leaves, I’ve been shedding my winter skin and heading outside to warm up in the sun too.  I may be longing to lay on a blanket in the grass (something, I assured I’ve never wanted to do in my life); I’m spending more hours outside than in these days — just soaking up spring.  I’ve marveled at the noise of it all.  My birds are nesting and talking in their ways.  Some of my favorite birds are returning.  Today alone, I’ve watched the bunny population frolic (for there is no other word for it) in our yards.  I’ve heard the call of kids long silent in the snow calling to play to run and jump and get dirty as kids ought to do.  I’ve felt the soil in my fingers as I’ve planted new plants — little glimmers of hope that winter really is behind us and the warmth of summer is ahead.

I’ve fallen in love with this spring process, the slowness of its beginning, the glory of its splendor, the delight in how there is literally hope in every corner of nature.

I may be a transplanted Southern girl — who will always be Southern no matter how far above the Mason/Dixon I live.  But I could seriously embrace this kind of spring.  This spring isn’t Southern Belles with flashy bonnets and hoop skirts — this spring is liking watching a baby wake up in the sun light; at first she’s scrunchy and a little fussy at being woken, but the sun warms the face and the smile begins and you can hear the giggles at the sheer joy of not missing the fun— that is truly Yankee Spring.

Oh, did you want photos? ]]> http://insnarkville.com/2010/04/05/yankee-spring/feed/ 1 http://insnarkville.com/2010/03/25/give-a-man-a-fish/ http://insnarkville.com/2010/03/25/give-a-man-a-fish/#comments Thu, 25 Mar 2010 14:03:19 +0000 The Queen lecture slides powerpoint taught expected repeat groups http://insnarkville.com/?p=693 Last night I did something I’ve never done before — I taught a class.  Not just any class mind you, I taught a class that the idea I came up with on my own, I wrote the plan, and I built the amazing PowerPoint that ran said class.

And in a word it was the best thing I’ve done in a long time.  Now, if you know me at all you know that I’ve never been scared to stand up in front of any group and speak.  Small groups scare me to no end — I’m have limited skills at small talk, I have an insane habit of saying stupid, random things that I then try to explain (digging hole deeper) and then spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what brought me to the point where I said something so stupid.

A long time ago, in some flash of introspection, I realized that speaking to larger groups or even acting on stage was far less scary than meeting people in a small group where you were expected to have spontaneous conversation with them.  I’m a scripted girl.  I realized that I exposed far less of myself in when I’m in front of many people than in a small group setting.  It helps that I adore being the center of attention, that I feed off the eyes on me and literally am energized by commanding the attention of the room.

So, when I got the call that my class would be three people, I panicked. This was TOO small.  I need a lecture hall when my voice can be loud and there would be no questions to interupt me.  Then it slowly dawned on me that not only would I be expected to speak publicly, but I’d be expected to TEACH them something.  Something I knew and they didn’t and I had no idea their skill set nor the their abilities.  I began to hyperventilate.  Deep Breaths.

I built the slides I needed, I prepped the outline, I practiced in my car when I was alone.  I walked Prince through the slides and asked for advice.  And then the next fear hit me, I had to TEACH for TWO whole hours — and I had 30 minutes of material max.  More DEEP breathes.  More talking to myself.  More prayers that I would not bore, forget everything, and would live through this.

The appointed hour came.  I walked in and set-up.  My three students arrived and I began.  For 45 minutes, I presented my lecture.  We stopped to answer questions and I never lost my stride, I was bonding and doing it and enjoying it.  Then my lecture ended and it was time to start up the computers and walk people through the how to do what I just did.  This is the part that scared me most — I am GOOD at what I was teaching, but I take short cuts (learned over time), I move quickly and I do things that can’t be seen when I’m projected my screen on the wall.  I reminded myself to slow down and be willing to repeat and repeat.  And I began.

And I learned one thing — it was ok that I instantly didn’t know an answer because we could find it together and somehow that was better.  It was ok to slow down and show people how to something a few times until it clicked.  It was ok to spend a little time playing around and making something awful to prove a point.

But then at the end, my hardest student, the one who wanted to know the most; to move from unsure to confident, looked up and said something magical.  “This makes me want to go home and just play with this more and more.”  I did it.  I somehow, without trying, swept away the fear of the unknown, fear of ‘doing it wrong’, fear of not making it perfect and gave her the chance to play.  We learn these programs only by playing with them, we learn because we think “there has to be a way to do ____” and we look to find it, we learn when we can get to the point just beyond being afraid of it.  And that was a more than my lesson could have ever hoped to impart and yet somehow that was the take-away.

I taught a class on how to use the power in PowerPoint for good presentations and not bad ones, and I ended up encouraging productive learning through playing with the tools/toys within the program.  I taught three people to change the outlook on the program and they taught me that I can teach something period.

I am still high on the experience last night, I wrote a note to the director thanking her and telling her I want to do more.  I thanked Prince for pushing me to even give it a try. It was more than I expected it to be.