Jump for Joy: Little Housemates

Oh please don't eat me!

Welcome to Jump for Joy, a new series on JTTG about small, simple ways to boost the joy in your life.  The series was inspired by the topic of this first post, a little idea that was so easy and brought so much bang for next to no buck.  

Last year, on April Fools Eve, I grabbed a black Sharpie and a set of white, circle stickers bought from the dollar store and anthropomorphized objects all over the house (full credit to Pinterest for the idea).  The next morning was greeted by the loveliest laughter as my daughters discovered our curious new housemates.  Bonus:  the "juice" cups in the photo above were filled with Jello, also a well-received surprise.  Nearly a year later, many of these eyes are still up around the house, and they continue to be a source of smiles.  For me, they serve as reminders to lighten up and have fun.  I mean, how can you stay grumpy when the bannister's looking at you like that?

Taking Some Space

Two spaces or bust.

When I was in high school, I took a keyboarding class.  I sort of wish now that it had been a music class that equipped me with the mad skillz to tickle the fake, plastic ivories of a Casio - or better yet a key-tar! - but alas, it was a typing class.  We used what were probably at the time (that time being the early 90s) already slightly outdated electric typewriters.  And I'm going to go ahead and let my geek flag fly and tell you that I kind of liked it.  At home, we had a manual typewriter that I used on occasion and for which I held a certain amount of affection, but those of you who remember these fine, vintage pieces will recall that if you made a mistake, you had to Liquid Paper that sonuvabeech outta there.  Which was a pretty enormous pain in the ass.  Well, I was happy to discover that the fancy schmancy school typewriters had a correction tape in them that would, at the touch of a button, back track and make all your errors disappear in a flash.  To a bookish Northern-Reflections-loon-sweatshirt-wearing half-pint, this was nothing short of awesome.

What I loved most about keyboarding class, though, was learning some of the style rules for correct typing (see above re. being a geek).  The big one was: the post-period double space.  The rule was that, at the end of a sentence, following a period, you were to type TWO spaces before beginning your next sentence.  And I remain, to this day, a hard-and-fast loyal champion of the post-period double space.  TWO SPACES UNTIL I DIE!  

You see, somewhere along the way between the early 90s and now, someone somewhere decided that we should get rid of one of those spaces and just get on with things.  As far as I can tell, this has become the new standard, but two spaces vs. one space remains a hotly debated topic in the writing and publishing world (none of us get out much).  I've noticed that Squarespace, the otherwise wonderful system that serves as the design and content management back-end for this site, has jumped on the one-space bandwagon and as a result, sometimes my two-spaced entries include unintended indents, like the one you see in the paragraph above before "And I remain..." (note to self: The UnIntended Indents...possible key-tar band name?).  I'll admit that it's mildly annoying, but not annoying enough for me to change my ways.

You see, I think the extra space is important.  Having two spaces allows a little more time to pause and consider the words you've just read, a little more white space to separate one sentence from the next, one thought from another.  It allows time to think and breathe.  And if you'll allow me to extrapolate wildly on this for social commentary, I think the death of the second space (or was it the first space?) is reflective of our society's increasing rush to get to the next thing.  We are constantly on the go, multi-tasking and Getting Things Done and pushing for increased productivity and efficiency.  And apparently we JUST CAN'T WAIT that one extra space to get to the next sentence, that five extra minutes to relax with a cup of tea before getting on with our day, that one extra board game with our kids before tackling the never-ending chores.  

I know I for one could use some more space to breathe and some more time to think, and I'm trying to find that space and make that time in all aspects of my life, to varying degrees of success.  Sometimes it's getting up a little earlier so I can have a leisurely breakfast with my girls before getting ready for work.  Sometimes it's letting the dishes wait (they're not going anywhere, sadly) so I can sit with my book for a few minutes.  Sometimes it's stepping away for a second to breathe so that angry, yelling Mommy doesn't make an appearance.  And sometimes it's taking an extra moment to listen, really listen, to what my four-year-old is whining about, because sometimes under the irritating wrapping is a genuine concern she needs me to hear.  

Time is precious and none of us have enough of it, but there are small amounts to be found and collected and turned into moments of peace and joy, if you make a conscious effort to look for them.  You can choose to take that extra time, and let the mad-dash rush-about crowd go on ahead.  Stay behind a moment.  It's peaceful here.  You can choose to savour the space and breathe.  And sometimes, you can even choose to make a full stop.  

Let the Plates Fall

This photo was taken in 2009. Pretty sure that was the last time we saw the sun around here.

Sometimes the snow falls slowly, flake by delicate flake, so slowly that you don't notice their accumulation.  Suddenly, it seems, the innocuous flakes that fell so quietly have blanketed the land, and you must bundle up and shovel your way out.

Such has been my life over the past few months.  As the literal snow has fallen down on my shoulders, so too has the weight of responsibilities, none of them so great as to be unmanageable on their own but suddenly, it seemed, they had accumulated and I needed to bundle up and shovel my way out.

Some time in late October or early November, I think, I stopped during a particularly bad moment and wrote down what I was feeling:

“I’m feeling a little like I’m on the verge of being overwhelmed, that one straw too many will be piled on and I will collapse. I can’t point to what, exactly, has me feeling this way. Just that I’m eroding, the cumulative effect of a natural force that I can’t withstand...I feel like I’m spinning a thousand tiny plates, losing a few at any given moment, too small to make much sound, too few to make a fuss, but the constant tiny failures undermine the constant tiny successes which must be there but they’re making no noise doing their spinning...This is a very undramatic way to fall apart - it’s not even falling apart, more like falling into disrepair, an aging, things breaking down and not working as well as they once did...How did I give so much before? How did I do this? What has triggered this slow avalanche?”

It seemed a good time, then, to stop and listen.  To step back from all that wasn't necessary so I could take care of myself and plan a better way forward.  I could feel the pull of my depression, which tends to test the foundation for cracks every year as the winter comes on.  I can hear its voice in some of the words above, the ghost writer to my most uncharitable thoughts.  (Holy metaphor city around here).

This is not to give the impression that all has been dire and hopeless.  On the contrary, the last few months have seen the beginning of some wonderful new storylines in my life.  New connections with old friends, new ideas for writing and other creative projects, progress made toward other goals.  Stepping back and intentionally allowing some of the plates to fall allowed me the time and energy to nurture those relationships and ideas and take those steps toward building the future I want, to get some of my most important plates spinning.  (I highly recommend doing this, letting the plates fall.  It is amazingly un-disastrous.)  I'm happy to say that I'm feeling much better.  And I'm ready to giv'r.  

So once again, with feeling: let's do this thing.