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Lean Two - yesterday's art
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I got my first job at 14, washing lobster slop off of wooden stairs while unwittingly flashing my keister out of the back of my short shorts. It took me over a dozen years to know why the owner of the restaurant would laugh and roll his eyes, "Oh my god!"
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Before you could count staircases, I was promoted to restaurant busser, then waitress, with a navy blue polo shirt and long Bermuda shorts to boot.
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I had no idea what I was doing.
For someone who may have something akin to ADHD, my first Sunday breakfast "in the weeds" was so overwhelming I cried, smack dab in front of the line.
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5 tables wanted coffee, 3 meals were up, I had to pour orange juice, a bloody Mary was up a flight of stairs, the cook (who looked and acted like John Belushi) was sweating and yelling while tossing full and empty flats of eggs around. Dishwashers whooshed. Bustling in every quadrant. The lights were bright.
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I couldn't keep the tables straight, A1, B4, C2...
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Being a child, I went wild-eyed and froze, crying.
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Ginny, maybe 8 years my senior and perfectly seasoned, looked at me wtf-style annoyed.
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On our side of the line the servers were responsible for making toast. Supposedly for our customers, but poaching toast from the pile was an art form. If you wanted to set up the thieves just right (while being called a team player), you'd over-make toast, slathering it from a 5lb block of crusty butter, cut it into triangles to build a caving-centered tower of buttery bread under the heat lamps.
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When "your" eggs and home fries hit the line, you'd grab 4 triangles, toss them on the plate and get the hell out of there.
I had so much to do "out there," I was sobbing.
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Ginny said with a pointing arm, "make toast."
I spent the next 30 minutes making mountains of white, wheat, and rye with a warming face from the heat lamps. The weathered waiters were psyched: no one had to do another slice until noon, when the whole thing was over. I had no idea what else was going on: the Bloody Mary must have been snagged by someone else.
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"Now, go pour coffee."
I ran around the dining room with a brown-rimmed Autocrat pot in my right hand, and an orange one in my left. (regular=right). And yes, it really was decaf (in fact it was probably all decaf – who would want the bustling room of post-church folks to be any more snappy than they were?)
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"Take care of B4."
In light of my mom moving last week, and all the challenges of helping an 80-something year old get newly acclimated when all her routines have changed, we both quietly cried wide-eyed: in the laundry room, at the funny new lock, in the kitchen. I know I had the urge to hide, or snap, or boss, or freeze.
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I remembered Ginny. I remembered a way out of the weeds. And we've been doing one thing at a time, with mom, ever since.
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Warm, buttery towers of comfort to you this week, and singing songs of birds for your ears on a beautiful day.
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More Text & Images
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A Term of Endearment post with whiffs of ritual and how to help multi-dimensionally on difficult days. My mom is moving. Moved. The last few days consisted of keeping her occupied while my brother and I tried to recreate a familiar feeling of home one town over. She mostly asked questions while we unpacked and placed objects in a new …
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Categories: Family, Mommess, Spiritual Mechanics, Uncategorized
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I know how overwhelming it can be to switch a business name, finances, website hosting, 301 redirects, domain names, audiences, branding collateral, social channels, and not lose sales or income... So I shared this text with a friend to help her when I couldn't, I'll now share with you. It's a mindset you can adopt which informs the order and …
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Categories: Mommess, Uncategorized, Web Marketing
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You received this email because you signed up here, or I thought you might find this interesting and added you to my weekly roundup of text & images. You may unsubscribe at any time at bottom. Your replies, questions and comments are welcome. |
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In the days of AI and excessive optimization, mess is leading edge.
Some content here is political, some personal, much of it philosophical, and all of it meant to shine some light into the lives of my readers, because it was written to shine light into mine.
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I hope my work stirs your soul, ignites your creativity, and helps you feel connected to all the good things this life can offer. If it doesn't, please promptly forget it!
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POLITICAL ACTION AREA It's likely best to plug into your local groups, and show up in the ways you can. Peaceful crowd sizes matter, as does your positive energy and adherence to non-violence.
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