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A Matter of Time

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

My basement stairs were pretty dirty, so I finally hauled out the “big-guns” vacuum to take care of it. I was crawling down, hanging onto the railing with one hand and trying to manipulate the vacuum hose with the other.

Roy came along and watched me for a few minutes. We’re at the stage of our marriage where he doesn’t have to ask why I’m doing something—I’ll usually explain it. In fact, the more bizarre the thing I’m doing, the more likely that I will volunteer an explanation of why.

“I don’t want to fall on the basement steps,” I shouted over the noise. He nodded, that seemed reasonable.

“I could die, if I fell to the bottom, so I’m hanging on,” I continued. He nodded again.

“If I’m going to die, I don’t want to be vacuuming the basement stairs,” I concluded. This was as clear an explanation as possible, but now he looked puzzled.

I shut off the vacuum. This was an important point and I didn’t want him to miss it. “I read a book about ghosts. It said that if someone dies suddenly, they are likely to return as a ghost and keep doing whatever they were doing when they died.” He walked away shaking his head, but I am very serious.

It’s all a matter of timing. If I’m going suddenly, I want it to be from a massive systems failure while I’m stuffing myself with cookies and reading books. I could haunt a library or a sweets shop, but I’m not spending eternity sucking the cobwebs out of this stairwell!

I try to take the passage of time into consideration for a lot of things. I think it’s important to always be prepared. I love a smoothie in the morning. Therefore, I must always have a blender to make it. What if a morning dawned and my blender died? This would be unacceptable, so, in my closet, I have a brand new blender, still in the box, ready to go if my old one cashes it in mid-smoothie. It should be noted that along this line, I also have a brand-new microwave sitting on the shelves in the basement on the principle that someday, the microwave I have will cash it in. The “new” microwave is now officially four years old, but someday, it’s gonna come in handy! It’s just a matter of time.

Now, if you think my philosophy is a waste of time, you probably might have been joined by Roy in this thinking. It isn’t possible to plan for everything and sometimes, the timing is going to be off. However, I believe we might have made a believer out of Roy.

My morning is never complete without a cup of coffee. When I was teaching, the students knew that it was better to approach me with a problem after I’d had coffee. It’s all in the timing you see.

So, it was a bad moment for me when I managed to drop a cup (which didn’t  break) and shatter my coffee maker—the only one I have—on a late Saturday night. Where was my planning for time? Now, Sunday morning, I not only wouldn’t have a cup of coffee, but I’d have to wait until stores opened, to get a new coffee-maker. Why, oh why, did I not plan for this! What terrible timing!

I was in mid-meltdown over my loss of coffee time, when I looked up to see Roy standing in the doorway of the kitchen, with a sheepish grin and holding a brand new coffee maker. “Merry Christmas,” he said, handing it over to my astonishment.

Just like that, Roy understands my issues with timing. I don’t think he could have come up with a better moment to deliver my Christmas present than at the exact moment I needed a new coffee maker. Now that he understands that, I think I’ll go out and buy a new wash machine and dryer, just in case, and maybe I’ll get a new television as well…you never know!

And meanwhile, I am going to keep hanging out in tea shops and libraries, cause you know, it’s just a matter of time!

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Talk of the Town

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Jackie Wells-Fauth

“I need to get the clothes started in the wash early, because there are a lot of them. I wonder where the dog is. She was just here. I need a new pair of shoes; these are so worn out.”

This was the conversation I was having this morning and it’s pretty normal; just what anyone would talk about…except that I was alone and talking to myself. Go ahead, try and convince me that you’ve never done that! I talk to myself all the time.

“Mrs. Fauth, who are you talking to?” a student would come into my classroom and ask. “There’s no one else in here.”

“I’m talking to myself,” I would answer defensively.

“Don’t do that; it makes you look crazy,” they would chide.

“I love talking to myself,” I told them proudly. “I am the most sympathetic listener I have.”

I’ve always mumbled to myself, so it isn’t a symptom of old age, but my students and my grandchildren definitely think it could be otherwise. I was mentally arranging the things I had to do for the day in my head as I moved around the kitchen during a recent grandchild visit.

“Grandma are you talking to me?” asked my loving grandchild.

“Oh, no, I’m just answering the voices in my head,” I said, trying to make a joke. I’m not sure he got it and I’m also not sure he didn’t contact his parents that afternoon, asking them to come rescue him from the crazy lady!

The fact remains, however, that I have whole conversations with myself and they are usually the most satisfying! I can solve all of my problems and some of those in the world, just with a quiet conversation with myself over a cup of coffee in the morning. “If they would just put a stoplight on that corner, we would have no problems, you mark my word,” I observed one morning.

The dog, who was lying on the deck beside me, picked up her head and looked around for other people. None were there, however, and she is too used to my mutterings to be too worried about it. She went back to sleep while I continued, “I don’t know what to do about that bush. Should I trim it back, do you think? No, that would ruin the looks of it.”

Someone told me once that talking to yourself is not a sign of being crazy. However, if you answer yourself, then you have a problem. So, I have a problem. Because I answer myself all the time. Even worse, I get into arguments with myself…and occasionally, I lose them!

“You need to get that window cleaned, it’s filthy,” I will tell myself.

“I’ll clean that window when I’m darned good and ready and don’t tell me what to do!” I count that as an argument that I won.

Talking to myself in the confines of my own home is one thing, but I have been known to carry on conversations with myself in public places. If you see me out for a walk, I’ll usually be having a lively conversation, complete with hand gestures.

I don’t always know that I’m doing this, but occasionally, I will look up in some public place and see someone giving me a very odd stare and I’ll know that they were in on the conversation I was having about the best pain reliever to buy. Me, myself and I haven’t come to an agreement on that, so we argue it in public a lot.

The other day, I was driving the car down the street (I frequently compliment myself on my driving). On this day, however, I was having a heated argument with myself, and I don’t even remember the subject or which of me was winning. However, I was chattering away and as I raised one hand for emphasis, I noticed the person waiting on the corner for me to pass so they could walk. I quickly paused and indicated that they should go ahead. For a moment they looked at me and then turned around and walked the other way.

“Well, that was odd,” I told myself.

“Oh, I agree. What was their problem?” I answered.

Life is fun when you are the talk of the town!

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