Tag Archives: time


It’s the middle of the night in New England but I am at the Daytona 500. My menopausal self awakens and discovers my body in our overheated bed. It’s no longer warm from our laps around the track. Instead I am flush red, and there’s a pit crew in my head, taking the blankets on and off as fast as they can. The flurry of activity finally helps me cool down and get back on track to sleep. 

I am dreaming of the finish line although there are hundreds of laps ahead.  I want this race to end, so I can earn the trophy back. 

Time is of the essence

I watched the clock like Cinderella monitoring midnight. At a coffee shop near my upcoming interview, I  awaited the exact time to run down the plaza steps. Showing up a little early, but not too early, is key to the start of a successful interview. For Cinderella, it was the difference between a coachman and a mouse.

Twenty minutes. I’d always heard a candidate should arrive early but not by more than twenty minutes. No more. Never more. 

Precisely twenty-two minutes before  my interview time, I arose from my mocha sofa to walk to the front entrance I’d been watching with my vanilla chai for the past half hour. I added at least two extra minutes to register with security and take an elevator to the third floor.

I presented my license to Roland, the security guard, whom printed my ID and pointed me toward the elevator bank marked 1 – 15, where a quarter of the building rush hour was coming and going for lunch.

As I turned toward the elevators to beam me up, a man probably named Scottie and holding a Panera bag pushed the arrow button. I glanced up and noticed this cove of elevators was also marked “A” through “F”.  Right away, I heard multiple electronic bells as three of the doors opened in unison and a very fast paced musical-chair-like activity ensued all around me. Everyone was moving to their elevator of choice. It reminded me of when people run to their favorite horse on a carousel. I knew the elevators all went up and down, I just didn’t know which one to choose. Since my interview was on the third floor, I didn’t panic when I was involuntarily herded onto elevator “C”.  My anxiety only increased when I noticed there was no number panel, to make a floor selection, on the inside of the elevator. I hoped I was either on “Candid Camera” or “Let’s Make A Deal”.  The doors opened, we all got off and I was on the wrong floor. There was no Allen Funt – only the word ‘Zonk’ in my head. It was the 11th floor.

I knew I was still in Boston but I felt like I had arrived in Munchkin land. All the citizens of my elevator quickly disappeared, hidden behind secured glass doors. I stood there, as alone as Dorothy. I took in my surroundings, turned and noticed a clear bubble in front of me. A plastic translation panel was centered between the elevators. Entering a floor number translated the elevator letter. I’ll refer to that kiosk as Glenda. I was now on my yellow brick road.

I pushed the down arrow, waited for elevator “A” to open and properly arrived on the third floor. I was personally greeted by a phone on the wall. This time I knew the code. I dialed the extension for the internal recruiter, whom said she’d be right out.  I posed outside my elevator carriage and awaited my escort. The ball was about to begin. 

Or so I thought. 

The recruiter arrived, peeked slightly outside the door and said, “We’re not quite ready for you yet.” 

She added, “Can you go back to the lobby and come back in fifteen minutes?”


Now I really was in the land of Oz. I had to wait to see the wizard.

I went back downstairs to gather some courage, find heart, and use my brain.

And oh yeah, watch the clock.


Friday’s are a reward at the end of a week but they also make me assess my time management.  This morning I wondered if I’d hesitated on an opportunity?  Should I have already completed more projects?  How many items did I knock off my home to do list?    Was I being fair to myself?  Investing enough in my family?  Were my goals aggressive enough? Did I spend my time in all the right ways? Where was I supposed to be?

Anxiety, yes, but I’ve learned to call these lapses in confidence ‘needless’ anxiety. Though knowing the feelings are unnecessary, still accompany a very conscious effort to let go.  I try to offer up the angst.  I remind myself that I do everything for a reason.

Today I wondered if I tried to do too much?  Had my strategies become inefficient?

Was I taking care of myself in the process?  Did I find the joy in every day?

The thoughts started to flood and I knew I needed to move on.  So, I read my ‘God In Every Moment’ calendar.  I find every quote to bring calm and perspective to my day, regardless of the circumstance.  I hoped for a quick fix of reassurance as I read April 8:

“Love God and accept where you are – it’s exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

It reaffirmed my faith and I accepted my Friday reward.


Third time wasn’t a charm

If I wanted DVD’s or belt sanders, the third stop could have been a charm. It just wasn’t worth the time to go out of our way. However, we went over one more block and our arrival proved to be very timely. I bought an hour glass for $2.


After the side detour, we went to the local flea market before driving to the next town.

It was getting hot and I needed a drink of some sort.

I started out by buying an empty bottle.  I spent $1 for one from our childhood:


We used to go to the soda factory to watch the conveyor belt. We’d also bring a case of soda home. They are a great memory and also resell at the local stores for $5 to $7. In other words, they help pay the rent.

I figured the empty mug I found would too.  The store it advertises is very popular with the kids and is on The Vineyard:


We got back to the car and I downed a ginger ale my mother had packed in her cooler.

She opened a root beer for herself and we drove away…

…The root beer opened up on me when we turned a corner.

Evidently, cars didn’t have cupholders back in the day. My mother had put it on the floor. I shook off my foot and helped navigate to the next yard sale. When we turned left again, the sofa spilled a second time.

The car was literally a root beer float, my sandals were sticky, the floor mats were carbonated and it wasn’t charming.