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Faster, Faster

Being ‘fast’ is the name of the game at my new job.

Apparently.

However, I am not a fast person.

I don’t know if I ever have been.

I don’t know if I ever will be, considering the fact that the older I get the slower I seem to get. Maybe that’s normal and how it goes with all of us.

When I was a kid and we’d be on a road trip I’d inevitably have to use the rest room whenever we stopped. ‘I’m going to run to the bathroom’, I’d say and walk to the building.

‘Run, Hannah!’, my brothers would yell from the car window.

I’d turn back to look at them and then keep on walking.

Everything seems to be timed.

‘Time is of the essence’, yes?

What IS the essence of time?

I’ve never been a fast person.

I’m slow, calculated, methodical, thoughtful. I know that being slow is ok because that’s the way God made me.

But living life at a slower pace in a fast-paced world is, or can be, difficult and challenging.

Isn’t life meant to be savored and enjoyed, just like a good book or a fine wine?

We are human beings, not human doings and yet in this modern, Western, urban, concrete world I find myself in focuses on the doing and not the being.

I asked my husband today if I could be let go from my new job if I’m not fast enough.

He said, ‘Eventually, maybe’.

Hmmmm….

I’ve never been let go from a job.

It’s not like I don’t try to be fast, it’s not like I sit there and twiddle my thumbs or dawdle in the warehouse. I’m working. I really am working. It’s just that I can’t find, in this mixed up, unorganized warehouse, this one item that this person ordered. Even if I ask for help it still takes time.

I’m being timed. I know I am.

I’m trying to not to put pressure on myself, but if I don’t, I know I’m going to hear about it from my supervisor.

And I did, today, like I knew I would.

Faster, faster.

It’s all about being fast.

There are other things to do besides pick orders (I know, I know).

When I worked at the Bread Co this fast-ness intrigued me even then.

During the lunch rush I wondered outloud one day to my co-workers, ‘Why is everybody always in a hurry?’

Because it’s all about the rush, rush, rush of the lunch crowd. In and out as fast as you can. They’ve got a time limit on their lunch break and want to make the most of it. Thirty minutes and you’re done.

It’s all about the speed, the production, the turn over, the orders, the work, the job, the money.

It’s all about the money. The more you get done in a day, the more money you make in the end. It’s all about the money.

I want to enjoy what I do, and yes, I do want to keep this job, but how the heck do I be fast and not completely stress myself out while doing so?

I haven’t figured it out yet.

I’ll keep you posted.

Road Trip Experiences

This past weekend my husband and I went on a road trip.

We had been invited to a wedding in Luverne, MN, so we decided to make a trip out of it. My husband also wanted to knock two states off his ‘States I Need To Visit’ list.

Friday we drove to Luverne, MN. Saturday we drove to DeSmet, SD to see the Laura Ingalls Wilder historic homes. Saturday evening was the wedding. Sunday we hiked in Blue Mound State Park in MN, then drove to Sioux Falls, SD to visit The Falls city park and then made our way to Omaha, NE. Monday we drove to Kansas City, KS to have lunch with friends then headed home.

It was a nice, relaxing trip, even if we did drive a lot (About 1,500 miles total).

I was in the middle of reading Andrew Peterson’s book ‘Adorning the Dark’, so I finished that while we were gone. In the book he talks a lot about Rich Mullins and how much Rich influenced his life and music. It had been years since I listened to Rich Mullins, but my dad really liked him so I grew up listening to his music. During the first day of our trip I had his song ‘Calling Out Your Name’ running in my head. Appropriate for the West, the prairie and the wide open space and skies we were visiting.

I’ve always loved and been drawn to the Western part of the U.S. The wildness, the free-ness, the untamedness, the openness, the aloneness, the beauty of SPACE…lots of open space.

I’ve also always been fascinated with Laura Ingalls Wilder, her childhood, her life, her writing. I’ve always dreamed of going to her homes in DeSmet.

On Friday night I was excited — tomorrow, a dream, realized…seeing DeSmet, seeing Wilder’s houses, her land, the places she experienced and wrote about.

The drive to DeSmet in the morning was interesting to me as we drove by Lake Preston and saw a sign for Lake Thompson and as we neared DeSmet we saw signs for the Ingalls Homestead.

DeSmet itself really truly is a ‘little town on the prairie’, even in 2021. There really isn’t anything to see there except Wilder’s childhood homes. With a population of a little over 1,000 residents, it’s kind of a nothing town.

But I so enjoyed myself. Taking the tour and being in the Surveyor’s House that Wilder and her family lived in their first winter in the Dakotas, seeing the schoolhouse she attended in town, enjoying the replica of the school she taught at, being in the house that Pa built in town and while Laura never lived there, she did visit. We also went to see the homestead they first lived on and saw the five cottonwood trees that Pa planted. It really was a dream come true.

Riding in the car back to Luverne I had a moment.

Feeling satisfied with what I just had experienced (I felt it was a sweet gift from God), I decided to play Rich Mullins ‘Calling Out Your Name‘ through the car stereo…and I nearly broke down crying…seeing the wild openness of South Dakota out the car window…realizing a childhood dream…traveling…the song bringing up memories of my dad…it was all I could do to hold back tears.

(One of the main reasons I didn’t was because I didn’t want to concern my husband, especially as he’s driving 80 mph down the road. Now is not the time to make a scene).

That part of the trip was very spiritual for me. Just traveling, being out West, seeing the land, feeling the sunshine on my skin and the wind whip around me as we walked around the Ingalls homestead, and then later hiking at Blue Mounds and seeing the dusky red cliffs there and even spotting the herd of bison that wander the park.

So, so satisfying to my soul.

Really, I don’t have much of a point to all this except I wanted to share my experience with you. They were moments in time that I hope will linger in my memory.

How to Destroy Someone’s Confidence

Blame them for something they didn’t do.
Make sarcastic comments (To yourself or others) within said person’s earshot — either about them personally or about a certain sitution in which said person was involved
Berate them in front of others for no reason (Whether to friends, family, co-workers or clients)
Don’t thank or praise them for a job well done
Be harsh or sarcastic in your critisicm of their job or performance
Expect them to do everything ‘right’ (What is ‘right’ anyhow?)
Interrupt them and don’t listen to what they have to say
Expect them to know everything about the job or situation, especially if they are just learning
Don’t give them grace in any area of job, situation or performance
Be very hard to please in any and all areas of work and life, ie, nitpick to the Nth degree

I’ve been a victim of most of said things above. Maybe ‘victim’ is too harsh a word, but when your feelings get hurt by someone else’s words or actions, you feel like a victim.

I, in turn, am by no means perfect. I am sure I am too harsh in my criticism at times, I defintely interrupt and expect too much from others.

But I definitely try to give thanks and grace to those around me, in work situations and otherwise.

I feel like I’m in this place again of judgmental, annoyed supervisors, who are overworked and overstressed about nothing in particular, or maybe everything,

I’m happy that I changed jobs (I’ve been at this job a grand total of three weeks and am learning SKUs for a butt-ton of products and the layout of a horribly unorganized warehouse), but this past week I felt like I was back at one of my old jobs that I hated. Cue the judgmental, annoyed supervisor who needs a chill pill, a long massage and a large, very large, dose of patience.

Since I feel like I’m in this place again of unrealistic expectations re: job performance I’ve been aware of how hard I am to please outside of work, mostly at home and specifically in my marriage.

I love my husband. He is a gracious, loving man who has a kind soul and works really hard. He is helpful around the house – he does the dishes, sweeps the floor, vacuums, keeps our plant children alive, helps with the laundry, keeps track of our finances (Mostly, that is a shared endeavor), is supportive in my creative interests and pursuits and sometimes he even cleans the bathtub…I could go on, but you get the picture.

Back up a minute to ‘helps with the laundry’. My husband is left handed. He does help, however folding it is not his strong point and coupled with the fact that he’s left handed sometimes strange items appear in my closet after he’s done folding…as in ‘That’s my underwear…??!??’ Although I am extremely grateful for his help my OCD sometimes gets the better of me and I have to re-fold my underwear or the cloth napkins because the patterned stripes are going the ‘wrong’ way and the edges are cockeyed.

After this past week at work and feeling a bit raw on the inside because of, according to my supervisor, not picking orders ‘fast enough’, laundry day yesterday was eye-opening.

Am I too harsh with my husband with how he folds?

It seems a silly question almost. It’s laundry, who cares, big deal.

But as I stand there re-folding some of his work, and he’s right there watching me, I feel like I am the overstressed supervisor who needs a chill pill, massage and a lot of patience.

Do I berate my husband too hard for how he folds?

Am I too particular about how my laundry is folded?

Because it’s laundry, who cares, big deal.

BUT…IS THIS why I feel like I’m back in a job that has a supervisor that is way too hard on her employees, especially new ones?

Do I need to learn a lesson here?

Did I not learn this lesson six or seven years ago, or longer?

WHY am I at this place again?

My prayer is, ‘God…really.…????’

Tomorrow…a Monday. I’ve never worked a Monday at my new job because I’ve just been learning the ropes and apparently they get a LOT of orders on a Monday and everything is over-the-top-super-duper STRESSFUL.

And, people, I’m SCARED.

I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.

I am afraid of being hurt, berated, of not being ‘fast enough’, of making mistakes, of getting flustered, of sarcastic comments by others, of my attitude and my potential anger.

I don’t know what your situation is. I don’t know where you work or what you do or your position in your company. Maybe you’re the top dog or maybe you’re on the bottom of the totem pole.

No matter what you do or where you work, maybe take a moment and think of how you can build someone’s confidence in your workplace and not destroy it.

Bestowed

I have a gift of writing.

A gift.

It’s a gift.

It was given to me by my Creator.

The one who made me, created me, caused me to exist.

It’s a purposeful gift.

Not random or arbitrary.

It was given on purpose for a reason.

I can see God giving us the gifts.

Bestowing them on his creation.

‘To you…I give the gift of writing…’

‘To you….I give the gift of creativity…’

‘To you…I give the gift of oil painting…’

‘To you…I give the gift of dancing….’

‘To you…I give the gift of…

administration…

encouragement…

sculpting…

drawing…

cooking…

entrepreneurship…

networking…

bookbinding…

dentistry…

math…

soapmaking…

photography…’

An endless array of varied gifts; given to each of us individually, on purpose, for a reason.

It’s all an art.

It’s all a craft.

It’s all a gift.

The gift can be honed, worked on, refined.

But it’s still a gift bestowed by a creator, to His creation, to be used for their fulfillment, joy, pleasure and His ultimate glory.

Gifts are to be used.

Don’t let yours sit there are dry, dusty and forgotten.

Pick it up, brush it off, use it.

To the World

I exist.

It seems that many times you don’t notice me, but I’m here.

Right in front of you.

I feel you don’t…see me.

DO you see me?

I feel invisible at times.

But I’m not.

I’m here.

I exist.

I feel looked over, passed over, ignored, left behind, outside, unseen, unheard.

I talk.

Do you not hear me?

I’m quiet, yes, but I do say things.

Do you not listen?

Is it YOU?

Or is it ME?

I’m not mute.

I’m not invisible.

I exist.

I want to be seen, heard, included, loved.

I am valuable whether you see me or not.

I am human.

I have feelings. dreams, visions, thoughts, hopes, desires, needs, wants.

I want you to see me.

I want you to hear me.

Whether you see me or hear me or not, I am here.

I exist.

Do I do enough to attract your attention?

(Probably not)

I’m not edgy, preppy, pretnetious, flamboyant, radical, outgoing, daring, flashy, gutsy.

I don’t necessarily want your attention, but I want to be acknowledged.

I’m quiet, commonplace, thoughtful, calculated, studious and I blend in.

But I am here.

I do exist.

Online Job Resume (Or I have no idea what I want to do in life, so I do a little bit of everything)

I feel like I’ve had a lot of jobs in my life.

So here’s the job rundown (And remember, this is mostly just me processing things/life).

My first ‘real’ job was at the public library as a shelver. I put away the books in their correct categories and places that had been borrowed then returned. I got very good at knowing the Dewey Decimal System. That has been very helpful throughout my life as I still love libraries. I worked at the library for five years.

Then I felt God leading me away from everything I knew to work on the mission field. So I joined Youth With A Mission and took their training courses, did outreaches, worked overseas (In a bookshop and other practical serving areas like groundskeeping and admin), etc. You know. The things you do in mission work. I did that for six years.

Then I worked for the St. Louis Bread Co., aka, Panera, for five years.

Then I got super burned out asking people if they wanted ‘Bread, chips or an apple’ with their meal and people complaining about their bagel not being toasted enough or too toasted (And I’m thinking, ‘Go home and toast it yourself!’) and people talking on their phone when they placed an order then complained when ‘we’ got their order wrong (Ummm, maybe YOU were distracted????) and the whole bit that goes with mediocre food service (Although I still enjoy the Bread Co. They’re cookie cutter, but the food is good, if the portions are a bit too small for my appetite, generally. And way too expensive. But the cinnamon rolls…oh, yum).

Then I worked in a warehouse temporarily (ie, six weeks) for a company that sold cheap Christian seasonal gifts. I really enjoyed this job.

Then I worked for a house cleaning company. I also really enjoyed this job for the most part. I found cleaning relaxing (Usually) and not super stressful and really liked my co-workers. The boss…well…we had our moments. The company itself though was solid.

The cleaning company was only a part time job, so I also worked part time at a local tea company. I worked farmer’s markets and events with the owner and another of her associates, as well as in her small tea shop. I packed tea and helped customers and made tea (And drank a lot of it too).

After almost four years at the cleaning company I moved on to working as a receptionist in a massage studio. One of the main reasons I moved on from cleaning was because I wanted to work in an industry that meshed with my interest in complementary and alternative medicine. I had gotten a Certificate of Aromatherapy through the American College of Healthcare Sciences a few years earlier and wanted to work in a field that promoted health and wellness. The company I worked for definitely did that well, I just didn’t enjoy the actual reception part (ie, my job). I got good at working with MindBody software, doing lots of laundry, organizing the basement, doing retail displays, checking people out after their massage, booking massages, data entry, phone convos, booking spa parties….you name it, I did it. I pretty much did everything in that place except give massages. I left this job more for emotional reasons than anything else. I never did feel like I fit in to the reception role specifically, although I ran into one of the therapists a few years later and she said that they were having trouble keeping receptionists (Not surprising. I think I trained at least five in the two and a half years I was there) and it made her realize how good I had been. But the job wasn’t good for my heart, my mind, my soul or my spirit. Highly stressful and I never felt like what I did was pleasing to my boss and I eventually left.

After I left the masage studio I started my own company, Ruministics. I am a maker. I love ‘making things’. I still do love the health and wellness industry and making natural products was a ‘natural’ (Haha) offshoot for me.

While starting my own company, I also freelanced by cleaning a few houses, babysitting and walking my friend’s dog on a regular basis.

A year ago my husband and I bought a house and I needed steadier income (Freelancing is great, but the income can be intermittent, depending), so I went back to cleaning houses part-time, only this time with a different — very different — comapny. I never really felt like I fit in there. I felt like I was being untrue to myself (Commercial cleaning products, crappy work, not enough time at houses, super stressful, lots of driving) by working there, although it came at a time when I needed a job since my husband was furloughed during the pandemic. I was thankful for pretty much any job and any income.

Now I’ve once again moved on. Back to working in a warehouse with a company that sells Hawaiian shirts (The long and short of it, although they have over 11,000 products, mostly beachy-type clothing. Very pretty I might add. Hawaii Hangover is the name, and remember, no compensation, but if you do buy something it does help to pay my salary).

I’ve done a lot of jobs.

This last switch feels like, ‘Here I go again. Switching jobs again. Why can’t I settle on one thing? Why don’t I have a career? Why can’t I have a career? Or CAN I?’

I’ve never been let go from a job, although I did try to become a shift manager with the Bread Co and that didn’t work out. Essentially they told me it wasn’t going to work after five weeks of training. But they didn’t fire me. They gave me choices of other things I could do with the company. I chose to quit. And I’m not sorry I did. I didn’t love working there and I felt I went on to something better with cleaning.

But sometimes I feel so all over the place with my jobs.

What’s my constant in life?

Jesus.

Really.

And my creativity. My biz. My bookbinding.

And the volunteer job I’ve been at since 2008; sorting clothing for refugees who come to the States.

I do have some constants in life.

It’s just not necessarily my day job.

To the Lady whose House Looks like a Museum

I really, really like your house.

It’s fascinating.

It’s ridiculously big, and when I first came to your house I thought it was super out of style, old-fashioned and stuffy.

Everything looked gaudy to me, antiquey, out-dated.

Like, people really live like this?

And why do you have so much crap?

You must have a lot of money to be able to afford a house this big, or else you’re really in debt because all your money is tied up in antiques (If you need money you can always sell some of it).

You were kind of particular about your house too; notes for the cleaning girls here and there about our cleaning supply bottles leaving marks on your marble bathtub and counters, or to make sure to Really Clean the inside rim of the toilet.

I got used to the notes eventually so much so that I didn’t really even see them anymore (They were the same notes every time we went anyway).

Over time I came to find your house very interesting.

I don’t know if I’d say I would feel comfortable there (The ceilings too high, too much empty space in certain areas, too much stuff, your style too elaborate), but there was a sense of mystery about your place.

Of secrets, of hidden treasures waiting to be found, of age and a life lived fully.

My imagination sometimes wandered while I cleaned, thinking I’d like to spend an afternoon or a weekend by myself in this big, huge house with all the antiques. To go exploring, to poke in your closets, to sift through your belongings and find interesting items, yellow with age, or coated with dust (Half your items we didn’t dust because 1. We didn’t have time and 2. You didn’t want us to), or old books, or unused crafty-type items or just…things…to explore all the interesting things…

One of my favorite places in your house and one that held the most mystery for me was, what I guess would be called, the foyer. If you happened to come in through the front door (Which we didn’t. Back door for us) you entered into a little entrance way, which led into a big empty space…a big huge room.

Half of this room was broken up into two formal-ish sitting areas on the far side of the room near the windows that looked out into your outside garden area.

The other half was almost empty, save for a big ornately carved mahogony table (With piles of stuff on it) in the center of your huge antique rug and a couple of equally ornately carved mahogancy chairs on a corner of this rug (There were other tables and chairs and stuff around the border of this part of the room, but nothing that really commanded the attention like the table in the center).

This foyer area fascinated me, mostly because the ceiling was high and open and you could see a second floor balcony area that looked down into the foyer. The ceiling on the second floor was painted a beautiful dark blue-green with gold stars, moons and suns. With the black iron railing around the second floor balcony, the alluring skyscape painted above, I could catch glimpses of shelves, full of books and, yes, antiques…beckoning me to come, to stay, to explore…

In all my times coming to your house I never did get to go up to the second floor. Only glimpsed, only daydreamed what it would be like up there, how the layout was, what lie behind the closed doors.

The foyer lent to my dreaming nature about ‘What if…?’ and ‘What was…?’ and ‘What could be…?’

There was an intrique, a mystery about the second floor that I could only experience while vacuuming this big, almost empty foyer area, with the mid-morning sun shining in.

Your antiques…glass, mostly…of china figurines, of minitures statues, of old, old maps all on the walls framed in heavy gold frames, your collection of tea cups and saucers, your many prints of animals (Also in gold frames), your collection of small Statues of Liberties lining your stairway, your old lamps that were tricky to turn on, your antique chairs, couches, end tables…all unique and timeless.

Your house was like a museum.

You, yourself, older, but cute, spry, alive, talkative, friendly (If picky and kind of a pennypincher). The lifetime curator of the museum you call home.

Part of me feels sorry for your children when you pass on; who will have to go through all your belongings (Or pay someone else to appraise it). I know you were working on paring things down, which was brought to the forefront of your mind by the death of a friend…no one lives forever. And you can’t take it with you.

I’ve moved on, never again to vacuum your antique rugs or see your collection of stuff.

And I’ll miss it.

I really will.

I’ll miss the intrigue, the mystery and the fascination that stirred my imagination.

To Baby Powder Boy

I’m not really sure aboout you.

You’re really, really friendly.

You have a good job working with coding and what seems to be cyber security and things of that nature (Things I don’t know about at all).

You’re thirty-something.

It appears that you are single.

And you’re living with your parents for a short time while your own house is being built and/or worked on.

Nine or so months later your house is still being ‘worked on’.

And, like I said, you’re really nice.

But then there’s…the baby powder.

Underneath your jovial nature there seems to lie a hidden secret, shrouded in baby powder.

We first noticed the baby powder in the bathroom…it was all over the place. I mean, like baby powder, dusted…All. Over. The. Place.

Over the toilet, the toilet paper holder, the baseboards, the floor, the blinds, the live plant used for decorating.

It was everywhere.

I didn’t notice much else except the baby powder in the bathroom for a long time.

And then, one day, I noticed a whole case of baby powder in the bedroom.

‘Wow…ok, he really goes through this stuff. Alright. Alright. No wonder it’s everywhere’.

My coworker took to calling him Baby Powder Boy.

And we wondered when his house would be finished.

And then, another day, I noticed the adult diapers in the bedroom.

Huh?

Um….OK…?

Like I said before, I’m not really sure about you.

You’re so upbeat about life, but…can we talk about the baby powder and adult diapers??

Winter came, went. Your house still wasn’t finished.

Then, this Spring, my coworker noticed the pacifier in your bed.

Ok, something is off here.

Uh, I think this guy has some sort of weird psychologial issue.

What am I missing????

The very last time I was at your house (For work, cleaning, mind you, just cleaning) I noticed the adult sized Paw Patrol nightshirt in the bathroom.

Ok, now I’m convinced there’s something way off.

Does this guy suffer from extreme Peter Pan Syndrome and ‘won’t grow up’?

I mean, this guy is an adult.

It’s not my issue, but I do wonder.

I really, really wonder.

I don’t know what will happen to you, Baby Powder Boy. I’ve moved on to another job and I am thankful that I won’t have to clean up your baby powder mess in the bathroom anymore.

I bless you as I go and may you resolve your inner issues.

Even if you don’t resolve them, stay friendly.

No matter what happens, stay friendly.

Thoughts from Your Cleaning Girl

I see everything.

I see your dried up, rotting fruit you got from one of those fancy meal-making delivery kits that you never actually used.

I see your makeup strewn all over your marble countertop.

I see the mold in your master shower.

I see the dog hair. All the dog hair.

I see the crumpled up blankets on your couch, the squashed pillows, the mugs of cold coffee left on the end table.

I see the dirty dishes.

I see the overflowing trash and recycling bins.

I see the dust on your ceiling fan and the streaks on your glass dining room table (Hide the dirt! Hide the dirt!).

I see your clutter. All of it.

I see your piles of magazines, your piles of newspapers, your piles of books.

I see your dirty laundry (And some things I shouldn’t see in the bedroom).

I see your newly remodeled kitchen.

I see the breakfast of eggs, sausage and cinnamon rolls on a plate you left out for your son.

I see your outdated bathrooms.

I see the open jar of peanut butter your son is hiding under his bed (Complete with knife), along with about 10 protein bar wrappers in his trash can.

I see your unused formal living room that haven’t been changed since 1985 with the exact same furniture you purchased when you got married.

I see the pee in the trash can that your son used as a toilet in the middle of the night (And yes, I dump that in the toilet).

I hear your conversations.

I hear your work meetings, your online school, your phone convos with friends, your communications with family members and next door neighbors, your favorite satelite radio talk show, your favorite news station.

I smell your fake candles, your air fresheners in your bathrooms and hallways, the food you’re cooking for lunch on your Foreman grill or your slow cooker meal you started before you left for work (Yum, yum!!).

I pet your dogs (And try not to get eaten by your cats).

‘Attention to detail’ is mandatory for any cleaning company looking to hire an employee.

I can attest to the need for that.

I see everything.

And I clean it all up.

To the Couple at the House with the Ten Bathrooms

Ten bathrooms.

Really?

Oh, I know.

You need one as your pool and movie theatre bathroom.

You need a downstairs guest room and workout room bathroom.

You need a bathroom for your upstairs study.

And an en suite bathroom for each of your upstairs bedrooms (They have a sitting area in each bedroom too. Luxurious).

You need a bathroom for your downstairs guest bedroom too.

You need a bathroom close to the living room, dining room, front sitting room and foyer.

You need a bathroom close to the kitchen and office space.

You also need a bathroom for your master bedroom.

Of course.

Also, thank you for being the cause of the 2020 Toilet Paper Shortage.