Stella sat enthralled. The flickers from the random ball of fire she found sitting on her dining room floor had finally died out. She thought it might be a good idea to call the fire department or NASA. Yet, Stella simply couldn’t bring herself to move.
She sat for hours listening to the sounds emanating from the alien rock. The pop, sizzle, pop, rat-a-tat she had heard originally upon entering the house had long since dissipated. Now, an ethereal and sonorous melody played with her imagination. Enthralled with the sounds, she lost track of time.
Hours later she decided to call her elderly mother.
“Hi, mom. I need you to listen to this . . .” >>
Today’s post is the second chapter of the continuing saga about “Stella’s Visitor.”
I composed this post last night while watching TV in bed. I created the image using the ArtRage app on my tablet. Then then I recorded the sound effects using an app on my Android phone. I am easily entertained.
What’s my problem? I think too much. I may not know much, but I sure do overthink about what little I do know. So much so that I have developed a compulsive behavior. It’s not smoking, drinking, or drugging. Nor is it bad grammar, yet now that might become a possibility. It is overthinking.
When does it happen? When I am faced with a decision or a deadline, my mind starts cataloging all the data necessary (and unnecessary) for my consideration. I get sucked into exploring too many options. For example, an overflow of data happens regularly during my day job where I am tasked with the layout and design of a professional periodical publication. How will I manage to fit 52 pages of content into 48? Which content can be bumped to the next issue? What’s the shelf life of the news item? I know the content will be stale, yet will there be relevant, historical value upon publication? Will the author ever forgive me if their content is edited for length or even dumped? Not to mention the constant e-mails, phone, calls, and other tasks that battle for my attention throughout the day.
How do I know it’s a problem? My mind races around non-essential tasks. When I’m in the drive-thru at Starbucks. Should I order the iced passion tea (no sweetener) or the flat white? Will the lack of caffeine today really provide me with the energy to focus and get the 48 pages layout finished by the deadline?
Why is it a problem? My thoughts begin to circle into a compulsive need to explain actions. Actions by me or others. My god, I feel I need to provide an explanation for anything, everything, and nothing. I turn molehills into mountains. Left unchecked, my simple concerns might evolve into unreconciled anxieties. Each decision-making paradigm turns into a decision-making paradigm.
Why should I care? Because I have a soul. I am (too?) empathetic.
How do I stop from overthinking? I breathe. I watch (too much) TV. I read. I write. I doodle. I walk. I think.
I drafted today’s post after considering the writing prompt, Hyperbole, by the folks over at Daily Post. You might recognize the image of the brain shown above. It’s from a previous post, My Twelve Minute Brain.
It?s that time of year again, literally. This go around, my heart beats at the same rate regardless of the clocks back one hour in our ?fall back, spring forward? dance. I?ve never truly understood this synchronic task.
The measurement of time does motivate many?trains, planes, school buses, TV programming and musical classes. How could we live in the digital age without the study of horology? My clocks all handily synchronize now. No longer am I spending an inordinate amount of time running around the house adjusting clocks to collect my once lost time.
So I saved time. Did I get paid interest from participating in this little ruse? Are the trains not going to make it across the plains? Are the planes flying faster towards their destination or away from their place of departure?
Time seems so flighty. I watch it take off and land. And I let it!
Standing still and enjoying the moment are two actions Stella has struggled with since she was a child. To pass the time, Stella kept herself busy. She figured she could accomplish anything as long as she kept her eye on the clock. Turning from task to task was just part and parcel to Stella’s life.
Her kinetic energy fueled her schedule. She worked two jobs during college. She kept fit by incorporating exercise into her routine. She walked or rode her bike to and from every shift, class, and social event. When she moved from the seaside to the desert, she simply traded her mountain bike for an elliptical machine.
Eventually, as the years passed, she married, and her family grew. Stella’s schedule provided less time for personal fitness and more time for the needs of others.
She found that her schedule ran smoothly as long as she skipped one particular task as often as possible—preparing a full meal. To wit, she served tasteless food quickly.
For Stella, cooking was one task that needed fewer details. Stepping through recipes and fiddling with fancy cookware was a burden. She liked to limit the time necessary from recipe to result. Preparations were best limited to rinsing the meat, rice, and vegetables before throwing it all into a pot with herbs, garlic and a glass of water. If a meal might take more than 30 minutes to cook, Stella considered options for takeout.
Timing was everything. Like any mother with a family and a full-time job, Stella found herself running from sun up to sundown. She stressed daily with dressing the kids, checking their teeth and bags, taking them to school, racing to the office, and processing words. As time rounded, her stress expanded for picking the boys up, fixing dinner, unpacking bags, washing clothes, and checking teeth before she slumped in to bed before the next day’s marathon.
Only on Sundays did she finally relax and refocus her energies. She found escape from her regular reality by filling up her day with someone else’s drama through TV, books, music, or art. Stella loved Sundays.
This particular Sunday she found herself gazing across her desk only to spot an old cookbook. Not the slick, spiral-bound booklet listing with over 100 ways to grill meat. No, what Stella glared at was a classical culinary collection known the country over to most women of a certain age.
She glanced at the clock and sighed, “I find no joy in spending hours tasked with sifting, separating, soaking, turning, boiling, or braising. I never seem to have all the ingredients or quirky tools. And who even keeps homemade, pressure-cooker chicken stock, well, in stock?”
Then the phone rang.
“Hi, mom,” she answered.
For the next 30 minutes, Stella listened to the myriad of meals prepared and activities accomplished by her parents during the past week. Upon hanging up, she considered herself fortunate. Stella realized time should be savored and not simply passed.
“Geez, what was I complaining about? For nearly 80 years, my folks have worked longer hours, raised more kids with fewer resources, yet they continue to find the time to enjoy themselves.”
Appreciating time all the more, Stella reached for the cookbook and opened to the recipe for joy.
I created the picture of Stella this morning on my laptop using ArtRage 4 and my new Wacom pen tablet. I wrote the story last night.
I have not written creatively for some time. My writing has been restricted to tapping out basic business bother. By the time I get home from work, my head hurts and my body aches too much to be creative. However, after an entire season (or two!) of the doldrums, I’m ready to stretch and start creating again.
Today’s post was inspired by memories of my mother’s cooking. To help me start writing again, I had to use a writing prompt: “Following instructions is really all about…” courtesy of Writing.com. If I wasn’t clear in my post, it’s “all about” learning how to savor time. Also, since this is creative writing, I should point out that not all told is true. I don’t even own the “Joy of Cooking.”