The Art of Procrastination

I still have Christmas lights up. The strand above my tv cabinet in the living room depicts falling snowflakes so ... they can stay up for awhile. Maybe I'll take them down in March when spring begins to peak up its head. But on two other walls? I have two strands of colored Christmas lights on green cord...and several sections of lights are burned out.

It's been that way for about a week now. I'm thinking if I write about it, get it out there in the open that my procrastination to take these lights down has hit a ridiculous low, I will find the motivation it takes to actually...you know...take them down.

I have always been a procrastinator. But Roy? He doesn't even begin to know the meaning of the word. If something needs to be done, do it. Now. The earlier the better.

Who does that?

He takes after his mom that way. I've never met his dad so I'm not really sure how he operated in daily life when it comes to the procrastination gene. But his mom? If something needs done, she is on it like white on rice. When we lived in California and had Ciara, she had to take Dilantin--seizure medication--every morning at 10:00. We were told to administer the medication in as timely a manner as possible. Of course, this was in the day well before cell phones with reminders on them and so we simply had to remember. And that isn't exactly my greatest strength. There is this Shel Silverstein poem where he laments that he's lost his head and can't find it. And so, he says, he'll just sit on this rock and rest awhile. The picture reflects him sitting on the rock which is, of course, his head.

That's me.

Anyway, when Madeline would come to visit, I can assure you that Ciara got her Dilantin promptly at 10:00 each morning. Not a minute late, not a minute early.

But that's not all. She would practically wrestle a glass out of our hands if we were drinking a glass of water so that she could wash it. When we were eating lunch, she would ask what we wanted for supper and begin cooking it as soon as the last dish was washed, dried and put away.

It's clear that Roy comes by his motivation to get things done genetically. Lately he's become rather obsessive with the dishes. He can't stand unrinsed dishes in the sink. So every time he passes the sink, if he sees a plate or bowl or even silverware in it, he stops to rinse it and set it neatly on the side. He doesn't actually throw it in the dishwasher, but it does always look like the dishes are neatly arranged on the counter ready to be loaded. For awhile it annoyed me every time I heard the water running and Roy rinsing something. He thinks I'm not keeping up with my job! And then? I figured I should embrace it. If he's happy to take the time to rinse? Well, so am I. So now I just figure...Why worry about this plate that has remnants of dinner on it? Roy will take care of it. I have other things to do! And so off I go to knit or read my latest book ... or whatever else I can think of that I enjoy much more than rinsing dishes. And it isn't long before I hear the water running...

Sometimes I think I should be a bit more motivated; I should fight the inclination to procrastinate. But then I think...eh...I mean really. I'm 47 years old. I've done just fine. Besides, if I wait long enough...

Roy will do it.

Hey, Roy. When are you planning on taking down these Christmas lights?