Oodles of Fun
Tomorrow I teach. As much as it terrifies me, the public speaking part, I find it one of the most exhilarating and fun things to do. I remember only a few years ago going completely numb at the very thought of standing up in front of a group of people and talking; today I feel excited. I know I will stumble my words, I know I will say something embarrassing at least once (ho ho ho wood!), and I know I will get through it just fine.
I simply cannot wait to begin teaching classes here in the studio. I know I've been saying this for months, and you're probably wondering what's taking me so damned long to get this show on the road, so to speak, but it's a matter of storage. There's so much stuff in the studio that really doesn't belong there but is there because no one, including me, knows where to put it! The long clothes closet in the hallway is jam packed, and the step closet (no, not like 'step-child', but a real step closet -- it's the bottom half of the stairwell that used to lead from the 1st floor of the old mansion to the 2nd -- it is blocked off with fragrant cedar boards about 1/5th of the way up, leaving the steps as shelved storage space) is in such disarray to the point that when the door is opened, the contents fall out in comic fashion right on top of your head -- a sock dangling from the right ear, a baby bib from the left, and a pile of towels and pillow cases snuggling at your feet. That's what happens when chores are delegated, people hear a literal translation in their heads when you say, "Just stuff those blankets in the step closet," because that's exactly what they do.
Once the step closet is cleaned out (who needs 50 pillow cases anyway?) and put back in order, there will be room for the pile of folded blankets, curtains and sheets currently residing in the studio. Unfortunately, the deal with the red velvet 1920s sofa fell through, so nada on that 'look' -- for now anyway. Still trying to get the dude living in the basement to bring up the butler's pantry door. Asking is getting tedious. It validates the old saying, 'If you want it done right, you gotta do it yourself'. Maybe if I put a lock on the outside of the basement door and refuse to open it until I have verification that door is coming up the stairway . . .
I simply cannot wait to begin teaching classes here in the studio. I know I've been saying this for months, and you're probably wondering what's taking me so damned long to get this show on the road, so to speak, but it's a matter of storage. There's so much stuff in the studio that really doesn't belong there but is there because no one, including me, knows where to put it! The long clothes closet in the hallway is jam packed, and the step closet (no, not like 'step-child', but a real step closet -- it's the bottom half of the stairwell that used to lead from the 1st floor of the old mansion to the 2nd -- it is blocked off with fragrant cedar boards about 1/5th of the way up, leaving the steps as shelved storage space) is in such disarray to the point that when the door is opened, the contents fall out in comic fashion right on top of your head -- a sock dangling from the right ear, a baby bib from the left, and a pile of towels and pillow cases snuggling at your feet. That's what happens when chores are delegated, people hear a literal translation in their heads when you say, "Just stuff those blankets in the step closet," because that's exactly what they do.
Once the step closet is cleaned out (who needs 50 pillow cases anyway?) and put back in order, there will be room for the pile of folded blankets, curtains and sheets currently residing in the studio. Unfortunately, the deal with the red velvet 1920s sofa fell through, so nada on that 'look' -- for now anyway. Still trying to get the dude living in the basement to bring up the butler's pantry door. Asking is getting tedious. It validates the old saying, 'If you want it done right, you gotta do it yourself'. Maybe if I put a lock on the outside of the basement door and refuse to open it until I have verification that door is coming up the stairway . . .
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