Everyone But Fiorella

Fiorella doesn't understand how people can make  a living out of anything as unproductive as whacking a little ball around a golf course, across a tennis net, or out of a baseball park. Or by attacking another person in a boxing or wrestling ring. Or by tossing a ball into a high basket. But that's entertainment, which Fio, wierdo that she is, considers a wasteful use of time. Time, precious time, which Fio never has enough of.

Who, What, Why, When, Where

(1) Why is the Easter chocolate put out on the supermarket shelves the second the Valentine's chocolate has sold out? Can't Fio's diet be given a sporting chance?

(2) Who will show Fiorella how to move photos onto her blog again? She has a beautiful baby photo she wants to show off.

(3) How did the Austin American-Statesman screw up its comic section two weeks in a row, once last week by not including it in the paper, and again this last Sunday, by reprinting the previous Sunday's comics? Please--inquiring minds NEED funny papers.

(4) What is it about these people who are still posting nasty stuff on Facebook about the Obamas? Why aren't the hoeing their own political gardens? When will Trump's fans finally figure him out? What will it take for them to realize they've been taken?

(5) Where does all Fiorella's time go?  Why is she writing this post at 11:30 at night when she's half-asleep and feeling blue?

What She Lives By

Fiorella's Law:
Economy of motion=economy of time

Vacation Time

What is this thing called "a vacation?"  Fio understands children having summers and holidays off from school, but what is "a vacation" to adults?

From what people tell her, it involves going to a new locale--a beach or a resort or a city they're unfamiliar with and "taking it easy," which is a concept Fiorella does not understand because Fio is  always busy.  She cannot envision herself without a task at hand and several others scribbled on lists taped to the doors of the corner cabinet in the den.

So much to do, so little time.

Celebrate with Fio!

OMG, Fio finally has her lists organized!

Yes, those multiple paper tablets stuffed with ideas and comments and dialogue and poems and domestic to-dos and everything else under the sun.  It took her three hours, but she now has her conglomeration down to six sets of clipped pages--Phillipa, Lolly, Leah, Leah, Carolee, marketing, and notes--plus four sets of to-do lists she's taped to one side of the mantel and a reminder for tomorrow she's taped to the other side.

Now to dive in and accomplish everything she's committed herself to.

Consider . . . .

The big bang theory is real--yes, the universe developed from the explosion of a single point.  But what existed before that single point?  God is real.
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Fiorella has read that atoms are few and far between out there in space.  So, what's between them?  Multiple dimensions are real.
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Fiorella has had the experience of walking into a situation, suddenly feel very light and floaty, and knowing exactly what was going to happen next and that she could control it.  Time is not real.

Time Passes

Fiorella, as you know, has been extraordinarily aware of the irretrievability of lost time ever since childhood. Her personal solution is to make every minute count by (1) prioritizing and (2) multi-tasking.  Thus wherever she is in the house, she cleans up or rearranges things according to her aesthetic, while items that belong upstairs are stacked on the stairs for her next trip up and items that belong in the garage are stacked near the kitchen door for husband's next trip out. When Fio walks the dog, she is not only training her, but doing physical therapy to improve her own hip movement and posture, meanwhile checking out the property for landscaping solutions.  Yesterday, when Fio spent an hour on the phone with the repair shop as Paul fixed her address list, she completed her daily crossword puzzle and worked out the anagrams.

Smell the roses?  Hah!  Every minute wasted is lost forever.

Time Squeeze

Fiorella's mortal enemy, pun intended, is time.  She's never had enough. Too much of it has been taken up with dreary, mundane things like earning a living, picking up other people's messes, and sleeping.  If she had her way, her life would have come equipped with a bucketful of money, a full-time maid, and . . .  well, there's nothing she can think of to substitute for sleeping.  Besides, that's when her pop-up toaster brain works best.

What Fio's getting around to is that the hip operation is on Tuesday, and she wants to  make P of BB totally perfect by then so her agent can start pimping it to publishers as soon as possible.

Too much to do in too little time.  But then, when has there ever been time enough?

Time Capsule

Fiorella doesn't really multi-task--after all,she only has three hands. But she does dovetail extensively, like every morning when she brings in the newspaper, then opens her laptop and, while it is finding itself, starts reading said newspaper. When the computer finally bongs at her, she switches back to it to skim the news, check e-mail, and write to you, after which she finishes the newspaper, saving the crossword to do while she eats breakfast.

Her trips away from home always involve at least three stops, and she often pauses in a parking lot to jot down story ideas. Her meetings with friends always involve a meal too.

It's a sort of time management, manipulating her days, hours, and minutes to cram as much as she can into them, and Fio's done it since she was a child. In fact, she remembers being heavily involved in playing cowboys and Indians on Barbara Tromer's big side yard one day and suddenly getting a sick feeling in her stomach as she realized she had been unaware of how much time must have passed.

And she never wants to have that feeling again.

Relative Time

Fiorella didn't realize there was so much time in the world. You'll remember that her accursed Lenovo started flipping on her again so she took it off to Click to get data transferered onto her brand-spanking new Dell (blessed be the name). Since she won't be getting the machine back till Monday, she now has lots of spare time on her hands, which means a forest of cedars have met their doom and--wonder of wonders--Fio has started cleaning up her office/study. She spent about twenty minutes in there yesterday, and will give it twenty more today. Limiting her time commitment is Fio's technique for handling tasks she doesn't want to do.

It worked for sluicing out the guest room when Younger Son vacated after two years' residence.

Time Subjective

On Saturday Fiorella parked her car in Friend Kathryn's driveway and rode to the RWA critique session with her.

Fiorella survived the critique, but not the keeping-her-head-on-straight exam. On arriving back at Friend Kathryn's house, she discovered she had left her car keys at the site of the session, Friend Katie's house, an hour across town. So early this morning, Husband had to drive Fio back there to pick them up, then drive her back to Friend Kathryn's house to reclaim her car.

One hour plus one hour somehow equals two hours.

Along the way, they visited Fiorella's father in the nursing home, mailed first-of-the-month payments, and bought a nursery gift certificate for Kathryn as an apology for Fio's car hogging her driveway overnight.

Add another hour.

But they did not go to the grocery store today, a first. (Fio was surprised HEB didn't call to inquire if she and Husband were still alive--or at least about their hundred-dollar-a-week contribution to the Butt family's ever-increasing fortunes.)

Subtract an hour.

Then Fio and Husband collapsed for afternoon naps.

Subtract two hours.

Now it is supposedly four in the afternoon and Fio is not not quite sure where the time went. Obviously the clock is wrong and it is still mid-morning. We're having hamburgers for lunch. See you!

Hourglass

Only so many minutes in an hour,
Only so many hours in a day
Only so many days in every year
So little time, so much to do and say.

Clonerella

Fiorella is insane, as if you didn't already know that. At last she can spend all her time at home, and what does she do? Housework? Ha ha ha ha ha!

No, Fiorella is writing poems and novels and short stories, then wailing about not having enough time. And, after a millenium or two of barely touching the keys, she has taken up the piano again. And two weeks ago she unlocked the violin case and tightened and regreased the bow. And now she is contemplating designing and sewing her own clothes. Then there are the empty canvases patiently waiting for her ministrations. Yes, through the years, Fio has compiled has a list of portraits she wants to paint. When she has time, of course.

She also has considered cloning.

Theoretical Snippets

I'm not sure one political party is any better than the other. But it does seem that when any one party is in power too long, it starts concentrating more on aggrandizement while the other party starts getting more in touch with the people. Yep, time for a change.
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I have a theory that light and sound are basically the same thing, but maybe sound is slower. The reason I think this is that until I took a music theory class and had my ear trained, I could not tell if one pitch was higher or lower than another; my ear was quite good--I could discern quarter tones, but I perceived the differences between the various pitches as differences in colors.
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Another of my theories--not especially new, I guess--is that time does not always move in a straight line. Thus I think deja vu is actually a flash to the future, seeing the present as past. And think about those weird times when we actually know what is going to happen next, like when I stood at the door of a neighbor's house and suddenly knew I would win all the Tupperware party games--and I did.