Tag Archives: challenges

Contemplation, Life, Native American Women

No Show

To the rest of the Friday afternoon Starbucks crowd I realize that I look just like another yuppish hippy girl ticking away at a teeny tiny keyboard enjoying a vente mocha but I  am not.  I am, in fact, a frustrated supervisor who had an interview scheduled to start half an hour ago.

I want to say that I am angry but I really am not.  I just wonder, you know?  I wonder about the people I hear who sit around complaining about their lives and who don’t do anything to actually change their circumstances.

She has a job.  I know she has a job because I read her application.  When I set the time for the interview she specifically asked for a time after her shift at her current job.  I think…wait, I thought it was admirable.  So many people just walk off the job leaving current employers hanging that it is actually refreshing to speak with someone who appeared to have some work ethic.  I suppose that this has not changed, work ethic she has….courtesy she does not, and here I sit.

There are a lot of people who say they want better jobs or better lives that can be attained by better jobs but I am just not so sure anymore.  Perhaps there are some people who really do need work and would like to have anyone meet them for an interview but not here, not today.

The coffee/frappuccino crowd wains and wanes, the professionals, the students, the expected and the “never thought he/she would enter this place” kinds of people purposefully and aimlessly order drinks as I sit here watching.  If I had any guts I would ask a few if they need jobs.  Afterall, I did come her to conduct an interview.

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Contemplation, getting in shape, Life, Me, Native American Women, Writing

Lost and Found Again

I work very hard at knowing myself.  Looking into all the nooks and crannies can be tedious at best and scary most of the time.  But there are times when I let myself get worn down and suddenly I find that I am empty.

It’s not the good empty when you release all your stress and can sleep soundly again.  It’s the empty that you feel right before you realize that depression is the next stage of your digression.  It’s not a comfortable feeling.  I don’t like it.

Then, as it has happened so many times before, the miracle to wake me up and help me focus again.

I was talking to my nephew on the phone last night.  He and I have stressful jobs in social services.  We compare our days and make our jokes and dream of winning the lottery so we can leave our stressful jobs behind.  I confessed that I have not written anything in months, no blogs, no stories, nothing.  Then the magical words, the miracle…”Auntie, you have to recommit”…simple, easy.  He excitedly told me of his newest writing project and let me know how much I would love to meet the elder he is working with and added that he had to do the same thing…recommit.  He sits down every day to write…even if  he only gets in 10 minutes a day.  Our normal hour and a half conversation was cut short as it was getting very late and he still needed to get his writing done.

I was exhausted last night when we spoke so I didn’t write then.  Today I wrote some reports and sent some faxes and made some phone calls.  These things are never done.  There will always be reports to write but this is not the style of writing that I like to do.  So tonight before I go to bed, as tomorrow promises to be as crazy busy as the days of the past couple of months, I will write.   I will be happy that I took the time to sit and let the words flow even if it was just for a little while.

I took the 21 in 21 Challenge this month, to walk 21 miles in 21 days.  A nice way to help rebuild that walking habit.  I wrote at least one report I was behind in each day.  I cleaned a spot in my house that I haven’t cleaned as faithfully as I should.  This ‘recommit’ theme seems more of a command than a suggestion for me.  I’m a life coach, I notice those kinds of patterns.

I am less frustrated with me now.  I am beginning to feel purpose again.  I will probably still only blog a couple of times each month but my stories will start making progress again.  Even as I write tonight, new aspects of the stories coalesce where only fog was present before.  Artwork that I need begins to seem ‘not impossible’.  The emptiness is filling up.

Thanks nephew for saying the things you are supposed to say!

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Contemplation, Life, Me, Native American Women

Skeins of Life

I wish that crocheting really was relaxing. I sit down with a skein of yarn and I dream of big things…pretty things…useful things. Truth be told, I know one stitch. The “granny square”. It’s a cool stitch to be sure but there are times when I would like to crochet a different pattern.

Rather than lament about my inability I will be glad that I can work that granny square into some pretty awesome afghans given all the modern colors they can do yarn in these days.

I listen to other women talk about how relaxing it is to sit and crochet. It is not so for me. I don’t know why but I attack the yarn, crochet hook in hand, with that same attitude I attack most projects I get involved in….keep going until it is done. My shoulders are a bunched mess of muscle, my fingers ache from holding the crochet hook in one hand that the yarn in the other. My eyes burn from keeping careful watch on the number of stitches I am whipping up as I go.

I took up some old broken tile that needs to be replaced to day, I walked two miles, I cooked three meals, I folded some canvas tarps that needed to be folded (those suckers are heavy) and I did dishes that equaled the cooking I did. After all of these chores were done I could finally sit down and had a chance to relax….but nooOOOooo.

Why do I crochet then? Good question. I like the yarn. I feel the challenge calling after I have taken a skein and rolled it into a ball. Giant-ass ball of yarn staring at me, daring me to make it into something.

I think all of my kids have afghans now, probably most of my grandkids and both of my dogs. I don’t know who needs this afghan but it will be here when the new owner walks into my house. I will feel good when it is done. I will know that I met the challenge thrown out to me. I will have used my talents to the best of my ability…limited as they are. It’s a granny thing, I hear……the making of afghans.

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