The Fine Art of Putzing

I am a putzer. I almost feel like I am saying this in the same way that I say “Hi, I’m Linda. I am an alcoholic.” Both seem to have been inherited and drinking was certainly a way to putz through life for about twenty years. Putzing, however, is also the way that someone with slight to moderate attention deficit disorder (or in my case – “oooh, look at the pretty yarn!!) gets through life.

Some of you may not be familiar with putzing. I did a search and found a definition on the Free Dictionary that describes what I am talking about. The definition I am referring to is number three (which comes after a couple of rather colorful Yiddish definitions) – “To behave in an idle manner; putter.”

I learned how to putz from my father, Robert Little. I think he took great pride in putzing and I have found the same joy in my own putzing.

Putzing is usually done on a weekend morning when there are no other demands such as a work schedule and appointments. It does not require a written To Do, list but there may be a subconscious list of little things that haven’t been gotten to during the course of one’s more structured time.

My dad would start his putzing by getting up and starting the coffee pot at around 5:30 or 6:00 a.m.. I am not that dedicated of a putzer, but I do understand the inclination. He would take his cup and walk around the house, both indoors and out. It was sort of as if he was scouting out his day. He would go to his workshop and do a little hammering, sawing or sanding and then have coffee with my mother when she got up ( a little earlier than she would like due to the sanding, hammering and sawing). I remember their breakfasts vividly. It consisted of a full pot of coffee, a pile of toast with jam, and a lot of conversation.

The putzing would then start in earnest. A little work here, a little work there, another cup of coffee, a ride into town, a stop for coffee at the corner diner, maybe a stop at a neighbors, a little more work here and a little work there. A lot was usually accomplished by the end of the day but you didn’t see it actually happening at the time. The house would be rewired, cabinets would be made and, at the same time, all of the news of the day was discussed and gossip was heard (though my father would never admit to being a gossip).

I love to putz on the weekends. I get up, settle at the computer and do my socializing. Then I get a cup of coffee or tea and do all the little things that I don’t get to during the week – clean the litter box, wipe down the bathroom, change the battery and brush on my toothbrush, water the plants, check out the news on the web, sort out my knitting bag, pick up a little clutter, brush Boo, and call a friend. None of this is done purposefully. I would call it more of a meditative mode of mindless idleness that ends up being productive. Projects like laundry and vacuuming only fall into putzing if they are done with other little things rather than at a designated time for cleaning house. Cleaning can be done while putzing but putzing is not done while cleaning if the cleaning is intentional. I usually do my intentional cleaning on Friday evenings so I have more time for putzing on Saturday and Sunday morning.

It is very important to note, though, that doing nothing is not putzing. There has to be some action in order to actually be putzing. Putzing starts with the first movement towards some small task, even if it is just washing a dish. There is momentum in putzing that carries me through the day.

Errands are a part of putzing as long as there is no pressure. I love having errands on Saturday morning. Recycling center, grocery store, post office and library are all places to putz to while listening to Saturday morning NPR as long as the putzing leaves room to veer off ab chosen task when something else gets my attention i.e. “Look! A farmer’s market! An alpaca farm!! Ice Ceam!” and the aforementioned magnetic pull of a yarn shop.

I am usually thinking great significant and philosophical thoughts while all this putzing is taking place. I ponder on the current political scene, wonder why cats only throw up on carpets and not tile, question design flaws on the human body (really – why do we have ear wax?), and plan for more structured activities for later in the day. Putzing allows for spontaneous phone calls to grandchildren and friends, naps, internet shopping, a little yoga, and writing blogs without deadlines, and has no measurable and achievable objectives. Putzing is an end in itself and the finished results are really means to the end!

Remembering My Angel

Spring is a bittersweet time for me. I love all the reminders of new life but it is also a time when I remember someone who is no longer a physical part of my life. Five years ago this weekend, my dear friend, Diane, became an angel.
I met Diane when I was doing my graduate school internship at Norfolk Community Services Board. She had been there as a substance abuse counselor for a while and I was drawn early on to her office. She had a number of Native American objects and I asked her about her heritage and life. We quickly became close friends and she was my mentor for much of the next ten years.
Diane taught me a lot of things. She taught me that you should never judge a person by appearances. She looked like Mrs. Santa Claus, but when she was riled up she could swear like a trucker on steroids. I adored her.
She came into my life after a very bad period. I had spent the past twelve years trying to pull myself together after a divorce that had caused a rift in my relationship with my parents and I h was just coming off a relationship that had my head spinning for about ten of those years. Diane saw that I was wounded and she approached me with the care that one would with a suffering child.
Diane had her own wounds. She was a recovering alcoholic who had about twenty years of sobriety and was still dealing with the tragic death of her husband. Diane had survived beyond what many of us could and there was still more to come.
I think that Diane made me her project in the most loving and caring of ways. As a counselor, Diane felt that her goal, when all else failed, was to love someone back to spiritual health. She was determined to do that with me.
She gently tugged at me to join in on her family holidays and activities. I had spent quite a few Thanksgiving and Christmases alone and she was determined that I would find some joy in the holidays. It was hard not to feel her joy for the season. She often had three or four Christmas trees in her home and they were up until well into February. I think she would have kept them up all year if it had been possible.
She also loved yard sales. I have a whole line up of farm animal salt and pepper shakers that she found for me at various yard sales. She also did her Christmas shopping all year round. The only problem was she often forgot where she put the gifts by the time the holidays came around. I remember a couple of years when I had to wait until a few days after Christmas for my gift because she couldn’t find it or I received a gift in February because she suddenly found something she had bought for me the previous June and had forgotten about.
Over the course of five years Diane had a quintuple bypass, knee surgery, a hip replacement, lung cancer, and a number of infections due to her reduced immune function. I watched her health ebb and flow and was greatly concerned about her.
We spent Mother’s Day 2004 together. I took her to the Norfolk Botanical Gardens determined that we would find a way for her to be able to enjoy the full scope of the gardens even though she was unable to walk very far. She was very vain so she was not too keen on the idea of using a wheel chair. I did, however, convince her to take a ride on the trolley that traveled throughout most of the garden. We saw the rose garden, the azaleas, the ponds, egrets and geese. She was tickled and it showed.
A few months later she was feeling well enough for another outing so I told her we were going blueberry picking in Pungo, VA. I had her bring a stool and a bucket and when we got to the blueberry farm I had her sit with her bucket near a bush that was bursting with beautiful berries. She picked to her heart’s content and enjoyed the sun. We followed it up with a long ride through the countryside and saw a mare and two foals on a horse farm that we passed. It was a beautiful day.
Those are my some of my best memories of my Diane. She also accompanied me to our Unity church on many Sundays and was my greatest cheerleader when I would either play the keyboard (she would clap and get everyone started even though we rarely clapped after the music was played during the offering) and she smiled at me and nodded her head when on a couple of occasions I gave the Sunday talk.
Diane was also my Twelve Step sponsor. I did my fifth step (sharing my fourth step inventory of my life) and when I finished my list of all my failings and character defects she looked at me and very kindly said, “Now let’s talk about all the good stuff that you are and do.”
In September of 2004, Diane found out she had lung cancer. She had a rough winter the year before and they had been running a number of tests. She spent that Fall having chemotherapy and it was hard to watch her health slowly deteriorate. It was especially hard since she had recently retired and bought herself a lovely little house that she had plans to renovate. During her chemotherapy she had to move in with her daughter, Rachel, rather than enjoy her retired life doing what she loved most – digging in the dirt and planting a garden.
She completed chemotherapy and the tumor had shrunk to a point where it seemed she was on the mend. However, all of the operations she had over the years and her general poor health contributed to making her more and more susceptible to opportunistic infections.
Diane died on the first day of Spring in 2005. I was at her bedside along with her daughter. I was very grateful that Rachel had called when the hospital nurses told her that Diane would probably not make it through the night and she asked that I be with her at Diane’s side. We spent the whole night holding her hand and talking to her. I believe she knew we were with her.
I miss Diane’s physical presence in my life. She used to kiss me on the cheek and call me her “baby girl.” She also made me laugh on a regular basis with her antics and cussing. She was, and continues to be, my angel. There are many days when I can feel her presence and she often rides with me in the car as I travel the roads of New Hampshire. She was also with me in Nepal and Tibet in 2007 and she was thrilled when I got my new job here in Concord. I didn’t play the cello when she was alive, but I often play for her now. I know that when I am celebrating a success, she is right there with me, applauding and rising to her feet. Sometimes I can still hear that lovely giggle or her cackling laugh right before she says, "way to go, baby girl."

Sunday with a Dash of Spring

It’s a quiet Sunday morning. I am not sure I have anything to write about this morning and, in some ways, that is a good thing. It means that life is in balance at this moment. There is no angst or drama and I feel pretty calm and content at this particular moment. There is something very peaceful about sitting on my couch with a purring cat while I look out at the blue sky.
I went for a good walk yesterday. Actually, it was an excellent walk. I had been in a conference in Boston for a day and a half and my brain was ready to explode. I left a little early and came back home so that I would have time to enjoy the wonderful weather. I didn’t really have a plan. I just put on the walking shoes and walked out the door. I was soon walking down the road and knew that the SPCA was exactly a mile from my apartment. I set that as my goal and did not worry about how long that would take me.
Up until the past year moderation was not really something I had developed and as I was walking yesterday I had a few little negative voices berating me for considering a two mile walk an acceptable goal. I started thinking of the days when I would not have thought twice of running ten miles in the morning and then going on an extended bike ride in the afternoon, followed by a weight training session. That was twenty four years ago.
These days it is more important that I get the fresh air, sunshine and the moderate exercise than it is for me to set goals that I just can’t accomplish at this time. I envy people who have managed to maintain their healthy lifestyles for years, running marathons at sixty, climbing mountains at seventy and beyond. I realize, however, that because of my former inability to do anything in moderation I need to set reasonable goals that challenge me but can be accomplished even in the face of the damage I have done to my body by living a life of excess. Oh, what I forgot to mention (or maybe was just choosing to withhold) in the paragraph above is that a lot of my exercise was done before or after a night of heavy drinking. That is what I mean by living a life of excess.
So here is what I know for sure – walking is very important to me and if I can do it in the woods and near water – all the better. Yoga is a necessity because it keeps my muscles from contracting after a walk and I am able to walk more often. Yoga also keeps me mindful of my body and what it needs. My theme for exercise needs to be “listen to my body.” The best exercise goal for me is to just do it. If my body says we need to do a shorter walk today, then that will be it. If it feels loose and energetic, then a longer walk at a quicker pace will be the plan. If it wants to just be on the floor doing gentle stretches, then so be it.
I hope to eventually be able to apply the same philosophy to food. I have already done that in some ways. I realize that I feel lighter by no longer eating mammals and fowl and by incorporating more vegetables into my diet. I also know that I am ignoring my body’s messages about wheat products and sugar. I am aware of what my body is telling me but I am still ignoring it. I think the next step will have to be a gluten free diet and I am not sure how I feel about that.
After a month of being in a flu coma I have finally resurfaced at the time when Spring seems to be making an early appearance. I hope it isn’t just a visit and that it plans to stay awhile. I think the sunshine will do us all some good.