Losing Found Time

Sometimes it’s a little embarrassing to realize that you’ve totally missed the point of a new discovery.

I realize this as I play with my favorite birthday gift to myself – my vacuuming robot. Yes, I was drinking wine again while watching one of the television shopping networks. But this time I was actually sober enough to notice something useful. And when my new little friend appeared on my porch today, I realized that life would never be the same.

This incredible little toy looks like a stack of paper plates and runs around the house and vacuums while I do other things. The point of this is so that I don’t have to waste time on silly things like cleaning floors, and instead I can work on books, client projects, family matters, and even paying household bills on time.

Now this all sounds quite grownup, doesn’t it? And yet, here I sit on a Saturday morning, watching Hazel (I’m trying that name on for size) vacuum my living room. My husband comes in.

“A real timesaver, huh?”

“Absolutely!” I agree with relish. I’d agree with a hot dog too, but it’s a little early in the day for that.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

Oh, I just thought I’d keep Hazel company.”

He is plussed. (I’ve always thought that if people can be nonplussed, they should be able to be plussed too.) “You do know that it’s not alive, right?”

“Of course. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need company.”

“Of course.” Yeah, I know he’s humoring me, but what do I care? I’ve got a robot vacuuming my house.

“So, you’re not going to do anything else with this ‘found’ time?”

“I was thinking about having a Bloody Mary.”

“That’s all you’re going to do with this free time?”

I nod. “You’re right. That’s just silly of me. I think I’ll also have a Mimosa.”

He shakes his head and retreats to the back of the house.

No, I don’t really drink that much, but it’s a great way to scare off a spouse who looks like he has a great idea of something you could do with your spare time. If God had wanted me to clean that kitchen, he wouldn’t have made old bread turn into penicillin.

Besides, right now I’m thinking of other uses for the robot. It’s diverting my cats’ attention away from forcing their way onto my lap while I try to type, so I’m thinking about attaching a tail to Hazel and see if I can get them to chase it around with dusting cloths on their feet. That could double the use of the cleaning time.

For Halloween, I think Hazel is going to be a bat. The ears and wings will be so cute and she can carry the candy bowl on her back so I don’t even have to stand up when kids come to the door.
And, the coup de grâce (or is it Coupe DeVille?) is that I can sit and watch Hazel and try to think of even more uses for her so I can avoid using my ‘found’ time to address work, family, and bill-paying.

Now, if I can just teach her that I prefer two olives in my martini.

NaNoWriMo

This is the countdown week to National Novel Writing Month.

On Saturday, November 1, you can join over 100,000 people in 80 countries as they attempt to slam out 50,000 words in 30 days. That's not so bad. It's less than 2,000 words per day. And they don't even have to be good words. Heck, you've read my columns, you know that most of my words aren't good words...

Think about it!

Check it out at NaNoWriMo.org and visit me in the Louisiana: Elsewhere region!

I've already changed my novel's plot three times. No idea what it will be by Saturday. But that's what makes this so much fun.

Doing It Again?!

Yes, once again, I am engaging in the insanity of National Novel Writing Month... and I couldn't be more thrilled.

I'll be serving as the Municipal Liaison for the Louisiana-Elsewhere Region and you are cordially invited to join us as we pound out 50,000 words in the month of November. Words... No promise of plot, quality, or even subject-verb connections.

Check it out at NaNoWriMo.org and join us for a month to write a book -- just because...

Christee

Presentation Tips Podcast

Oh what fun!

ASTD Press, the publisher who does my business and training books, has been hard at work creating webpages for its authors.

One of my pages is located at
http://www.astd.org/content/publications/ASTDPress/bookSearch/ManagerSkillsTraining.htm

It has info on some of my books, an interview with me done in San Diego and a neat little podcast that we did about the best way to end a presentation. If you'd like to check it out, you can listen by clicking below.

Click to hear Christee Atwood presentation tips MP3.

By the way, the golden voiced fellow who intros it is my hubbie. I can talk that man into anything with the promise of a peach cobbler...

There's a big storm a'coming...

Okay - No big blog today. It's my birthday, August 31, and I should have specified when I said I wanted a hurricane on my birthday that I meant "in a glass". So instead, we're battening down the hatches, girding our loins, and other official sounding phrases that mean we're getting ready to be blown away again here in Louisiana.

Wish us luck!!
Christee & her rubber chicken Elvis

Presentation Skills Article

I'd like to invite you to visit my friend, Shauna Roberts, at her blog today.

http://shaunaroberts.blogspot.com/

We did an interview on presentation skills that you might find useful and even amusing!

Have a great day!
Christee

Taking a Humor Inventory

You know how sometimes nothing seems funny? I find that this is the perfect time to slow down, put on a silly hat, and take a humor inventory.

A humor inventory is the process of reminding yourself of the stuff that’s funny to you. Sort of a spelunking mission to rediscover your sense of humor. Here’s how the process works for me.

First, I read the newspaper. No, not the depressing stuff -- mainly the headlines, unusual stories, and ads. I find headlines that make me giggle like these:

• Blizzard Hits Four States. One is Missing.
• Lawyer to Offer Poor Free Advice
• Grandmother of eight makes hole in one
• Police begin campaign to run down jaywalkers
• Squad helps dog bite victim
• Two sisters reunite after eighteen years at checkout counter
• Something went wrong in jet crash, experts say
  
  

Newspaper advertising has its own brand of humor:

• Classified ad: Dog, faded brown, three legs, one ear missing, blind left eye, broken tail, recently neutered. Answers to the name Lucky.
• For sale: an antique desk suitable for lady with thick legs and large drawers.
• Dinner Special -- Turkey $2.35; Chicken or Beef $2.25; Children $2.00.
• Now is your chance to have your ears pierced and get an extra pair to take home, too.
• We do not tear your clothing with machinery. We do it carefully by hand.
• Tired of cleaning yourself? Let me do it.
• Dog for sale: Eats anything and is fond of children.
• Stock up and save. Limit: one.
• Man, honest. Will take anything.
• Man wanted to work in dynamite factory. Must be willing to travel.
• A used car lot advertised: Why go elsewhere to be cheated? Come here first!
• Illiterate? Write today for free help.
• And now, the Superstore--unequaled in size, unmatched in variety, unrivaled inconvenience.
  
  

I often enjoy the acerbic humor of bumper stickers. It’s the mailboxes I take out while reading them that I don’t enjoy:

• As long as there are tests, there will be prayer in schools.
• I still miss my ex-husband, but my aim is getting better.
• My Hockey Mom can beat up your Soccer Mom
• If you can read this, I can slam on my brakes and sue you!
• Chaos. Panic. Disorder. My work here is done.
• Jesus is coming. Everybody look busy.
  
  

I also find examples of humor in unexpected places. Like statements taken from medical reports:

• By the time he was admitted, his rapid heart rate had stopped and he was feeling better.
• Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.
• On the second day the knee was better and on the third day it had completely disappeared.
• The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to be depressed.
• Discharge status: Alive, but without permission.
• The patient has no past history of suicides.
  
  

And so, these are the sorts of things that jumpstart my sense of humor. Well, these and a cheap box of wine. But these have fewer calories.

Being Happy Ruined My Life

Darn. I got the call today that every author dreams of. A nationally syndicated television show wanted to fly me out to talk about my midlife crisis.

It was my moment to shine. I was already practicing holding my breath to look skinnier and seeing if clear packing tape would hold up my extra chin long enough for the interview.

But then, in the phone pre-interview, the producer started asking me questions like, “What trauma made you realize how terrible midlife crisis is? Did you husband leave you?”

“What?”

He explained, “That’s what we want to hear about. Overcoming trauma to get through a midlife crisis.”

I was confused. “But if I think about it as trauma, then I probably haven’t really overcome it.”

He persisted, “But for the show we want to talk about the trials and tribulations, the problems of midlife.”

“But I’m really happy. I like talking to other people and realizing that I’m not alone in this midlife crisis thing.”

He was frustrated. “That’s not what we’re looking for.”

“You mean if I’m not depressed I can’t be on the show?”

“Well, it’s not our focus to see midlife crisis as funny.”

I thought for a moment. I could have run into the other room and asked my husband to leave me so I could be on the show. I considered it for a moment. A very long moment. After all, it is national television.

But then I thought about what I stand for. Yes, I’ve experienced the 3 Ds. Death, Disaster, and Dimpled thighs. I’ve also been depressed, flat broke, and had a bad hair decade.

And if I focused on those things, I could sound just as pitiful as any person who’s ever cried their way through an episode of Oprah. But that’s not how we in the south get through a crisis.

Maybe the national media needs to realize that the kind of survival that gets us southerners through hurricanes, deaths of loved ones, and yes, even midlife, is the kind of survival that says, “You get through it, you move on, and after a respectful amount of time, you make fun of it.” (Unless it’s a president you don’t like. Then you don’t wait the respectful amount of time.)

So I’d like to share my email to the producer with you.

Darn!! Wish I focused on my traumas a little more so I could be on the show!!!

But I can't -- that's the biggest emphasis of my midlife crisis. I have to find the humor in my trials and tribulations or I'd have gone crazy by now. Oh wait... I think that ship has already sailed... Never mind...

So, a healthy sense of humor, a good supply of Prozac, and my fancy car that goes from zero to sixty in just under a weekend -- and I'm good to go for midlife.

Thanks for talking with me and please keep me in mind if you ever decide to do a show on “Using humor to laugh your way through midlife” ... or “How to embarrass yourself in six easy steps.” I'm an expert on both of those...

So, yet again, I’m still one step away from the ‘big time’ – and all because I’m contented.

I’ve never been so depressed about being happy.

Check this out!

Here's a link to a website with some great information for the alternating joy and "@#$%^&*" of midlife crisis... Because we can all use a little help from our friends!

http://www.amidlifecrisis.co.uk"
target="_new">AMidlifeCrisis.co.uk: For some people midlife is a time of doubts and insecurity, while others sail through with ease. We offer expert advice to help you through any midlife crisis.

And, on another subject, is anybody looking for a speaker to come visit their group? It's hurricane season in Louisiana and thus, my favorite time to do speaking engagements in other parts of the world...

Christee & her pet rubber chicken, Elvis

The Sunday Afternoon "Will Cheat for Chips" Poker Club

On Sunday afternoons, a very elite club meets. It consists of my 94 year old father, my 39 year old mother (dog years), my husband (ageless), and myself (do the math at your own peril).

This club is the Sunday Afternoon “Will Cheat for Chips” Poker Club. Each meeting starts the same way. Daddy tries to explain the rules of poker to Mom and me once again.

And, once again, Mom and I will ignore those rules. After all, we know we have two perfectly good poker hands tacked under our sides of the table to be used whenever things seem too hopeless. Unfortunately those hands are from a different deck and quite obvious due to the cartoon illustrations on them. Daddy tends to ignore this fact for us. David tends to just smile and nod a lot. It’s a talent he’s perfected over 25 years of marriage.

The games usually go something like this.

Mom insists, “This is getting ridiculous. Who dealt this terrible hand?”

I respond, “Let me think. Oh yes, it was you.” I’ve never been known to be a kind child.

Mom ignores me. A talent she’s perfected over 60 some-odd years of motherhood. (Very, very odd years.) “Well, I’ll bet a red chip.”

David looks dubious. “Twenty five dollars on a terrible hand?”

Mom responds quickly. “Don’t worry. You’re not in the will anyway.” For a woman wearing a fake sunflower on her head, she’s pretty quick on those kinds of responses.

As you notice during all of this, Daddy has been very quiet. That’s because he’s the only one at the table who really knows how to play this game. He’s actually studying his hand while we’re arguing over cards, room temperature, and whose turn it is to go get pretzels.

We go through a few rounds of betting, which is a farce since Mom and I just bet color combinations, not actual denominations. We like patriotic hands with red, white, and blue chips. We tend to run out of chips pretty quickly.

Finally, bored with the slow pace of play, we move on to our Dr. Pepper round of play. This is where 10’s, 2’s, and 4’s are all wild cards.

You’ve never lived until you’ve seen a poker game where four hands are laid down and are: five aces, a royal flush, five more aces, and six kings. (Mom sometimes refuses to give up all her cards when she draws new ones. She feels it is a communist plot if she has to give up a king.)

Yes, we’ve realized at the end of our game that we’ve solved no world problems. We’ve not decided what color we’re going to paint the living room, which was our first discussion of the day. We haven’t even decided who will get up to go get the pretzels.

And that’s my definition of a really good day.