When you live with people you live with expectations. You're generally expected to do something more productive with your days than sitting around eating bon-bons and watching soap operas.
I spend too much time at the computer. Sometimes it has to do with productivity. Other times I'm keeping up internet relationships. Either way, my family finds it annoying. If they were in charge of planning my day, they would put more emphasis on other activities.
I read. In the morning I read inspirational books and magazines. In the evening, I'm more likely to turn to fiction (if I can get away from the computer). Again, those who observe my life most closely seem annoyed to find me reading while they're doing other things, even though I seldom read anything beyond the newspaper between my morning reading and bedtime.
I have a garden. There is very little productive about gardening the way I do it. I have 20 4X4 raised beds and work them by hand. I don't use commercial fertilizers and don't end up with a bountiful crop. One bed is in alfalfa, four have strawberry plants, two others are growing flowers. Once strawberry season is over in early June, my main harvest consists of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. I hope to increase the productivity of my garden as I move into the empty nest years. (There's something wrong with that picture -- finally having enough time to cultivate a productive garden when those who would eat the produce move out of my life.) For now, however, I garden more for pleasure than for produce. I like to work in the dirt, to break up the soil and plant seeds, to knock Japanese beetles and potato bugs into a jar of ammonia water. There's something very relaxing about sitting out in the garden pulling weeds, seeing the contrast between the bare ground behind me and the weeds ahead. The actual crops are just props for those other activities.
What amazes me is that no one seems to mind the time I spend in the garden. Don't they notice how little there is to show for my work? Don't they worry about the things I'm not doing while I'm out in the garden? Aren't they annoyed that they have to track me down when the phone rings? Shouldn't I be cooking their meals or ironing their clothes or ... something?
When I'm reading people want to talk to me. When I'm sitting at the computer people want my attention elsewhere. Those same people would be perfectly welcome in the garden. I could chat while I weed. I wouldn't mind if they sat and watched. The cat shows up consistently, knowing that the garden isn't really a good use of my time and that it's a good opportunity to claim my lap and my attention. But the people mainly wave as they drive past the garden unless a phone call comes in for me.
I'm certainly not complaining here. I greatly enjoy my time in the garden. I'm just not sure how I can get away with using my time so frivolously with so few complaints. How does playing in the dirt pass for real work so much more easily than, say, updating financial records?
This is a good deal.
I spend too much time at the computer. Sometimes it has to do with productivity. Other times I'm keeping up internet relationships. Either way, my family finds it annoying. If they were in charge of planning my day, they would put more emphasis on other activities.
I read. In the morning I read inspirational books and magazines. In the evening, I'm more likely to turn to fiction (if I can get away from the computer). Again, those who observe my life most closely seem annoyed to find me reading while they're doing other things, even though I seldom read anything beyond the newspaper between my morning reading and bedtime.
I have a garden. There is very little productive about gardening the way I do it. I have 20 4X4 raised beds and work them by hand. I don't use commercial fertilizers and don't end up with a bountiful crop. One bed is in alfalfa, four have strawberry plants, two others are growing flowers. Once strawberry season is over in early June, my main harvest consists of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes. I hope to increase the productivity of my garden as I move into the empty nest years. (There's something wrong with that picture -- finally having enough time to cultivate a productive garden when those who would eat the produce move out of my life.) For now, however, I garden more for pleasure than for produce. I like to work in the dirt, to break up the soil and plant seeds, to knock Japanese beetles and potato bugs into a jar of ammonia water. There's something very relaxing about sitting out in the garden pulling weeds, seeing the contrast between the bare ground behind me and the weeds ahead. The actual crops are just props for those other activities.
What amazes me is that no one seems to mind the time I spend in the garden. Don't they notice how little there is to show for my work? Don't they worry about the things I'm not doing while I'm out in the garden? Aren't they annoyed that they have to track me down when the phone rings? Shouldn't I be cooking their meals or ironing their clothes or ... something?
When I'm reading people want to talk to me. When I'm sitting at the computer people want my attention elsewhere. Those same people would be perfectly welcome in the garden. I could chat while I weed. I wouldn't mind if they sat and watched. The cat shows up consistently, knowing that the garden isn't really a good use of my time and that it's a good opportunity to claim my lap and my attention. But the people mainly wave as they drive past the garden unless a phone call comes in for me.
I'm certainly not complaining here. I greatly enjoy my time in the garden. I'm just not sure how I can get away with using my time so frivolously with so few complaints. How does playing in the dirt pass for real work so much more easily than, say, updating financial records?
This is a good deal.
No comments:
Post a Comment