... Busy is as busy does ...
March 9, 1999
5:40 a.m.
"I could use another weekend day right now," Lisa said to me yesterday morning. I just nodded ...   It all started, what, six months ago? The school wanted volunteers, and Lisa, being the dedicated sort she is, put her hand up. She was promptly goven the task of chairing the publicity committee for Brigid's school's major fund raiser--an American Girls party, meant to draw people from the community toward the school. For those of you who don't know what an American Girls party is, think of it as getting about 150 young girls and their mothers together for about four hours, all dressed up in their nice fineries, for a dose of history and the opportunity to play games and do crafts that young girls have enjoyed through the ages. They actually did two of these things--one Saturday and the second on Sunday. But the most important thing to know is that it takes a huge amount of work to make it all happen. There's programs, and there's advertisements, and there's arranging radio and television spots. There's dealing with the facility, and the foodstuff, and the materials (what are crafts without the materials, eh?). Then there's the event itself. Scheduling and arranging the script, working with the students of the school to arrange a series of shadowplays. There's dealing with scheduling between other events, and dealing with kind-hearted, but sometimes less-than-helpful people who are supposed to make the facility work, but somehow missed a few items along the way. Me? Well, I was the light man. Not nearly so important as Lisa, or about anyone else, for that matter. Anyway, Lisa started putting aside a day a week back when it all started, figuring that would be enough. Har. Let me say here, that Lisa does not fancy herself as being very good with people. She thinks herself harsh and judgemental and too quick to get angry. Sometimes, of course, she's right. After all, she's only human. But I think this event proved me right when I say that Lisa is a wonderful coordinator. Through the months, she arranged stuff. She finagled interviews, managed to get radio and television to cover the event. She worked diligently with the local newspaper, which proved to be resistent to giving her much help at first--but she hung in there, pleasantly wriggling through their system until she happened upon someone who put forth a little effort themselves. She worried every step of the way, of course. She fretted that they wouldn't sell many tickets. That it wouldn't make any money for the school. She got grumpy about specific episodes and occurances. But through her worry, she never stopped working. She never let the bastards get her down so far that she couldn't do her job. Finally came the weekend. There I was, Saturday morning at about 10:00, standing beside the light switch and watching a ballroom full of young girls and their mothers having an incredible time. They sat in groups of eight, and the party started with each person telling something about a pastime that they enjoy(ed) as a kid. Through the discussion, I heard a story about metal roller skates that brought back memories of my own childhood, "speed skating" around Audubon Elementary's parking lot. When the woman was through, she was chuckling to herself, and the other mothers wer smiling, remembering their own steel skates, I'm sure. Girls cried "I dit it! I did it!" when they got things accomplished. A really darling little girl, maybe five years old in a green dress won the big raffle prize. Turns out she had come all the way from Cincinnati--over two hours away. And it went on from there. Brigid helped, too. As a student helper, she passed out craft materials and helped girls learn how to play with them. The show was perfect. The food was excellent. The people there seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves, and I've got to say that by the end, I was filled to bursting with the energy that just buzzed around the roomful of girls. I remember looking across the room, watching Lisa as she strode through an aisle. There was color in her cheeks, a confident glow that told me she was in her element, in that state of chaotic control that rushes around you like white water funneled through a gorge, and so pleased, perhaps even amazed, to see this happening. In the end, the reporter Lisa worked with wrote a glowing article in Sunday morning's paper (accompanied by a large color photograph), and the Sunday afternoon show was packed to the walls. We talk about writing, and we talk about writers' block. We talk about the psychology of what it takes to keep putting words on the page, regardless of all those demons that whisper into our ears about how the story is likely to be no good, how our dialog is stilted, or whatever. I was at Brigid's school a month or two ago, giving a talk about publishing stories. One of the girls there asked if I ever get blocked, and if I did, how did I get out of it. I answered that no, I don't get blocked, but I do get stuck. And when I'm stuck I look for something to inspire me. Today, I don't have to look any further than the kitchen table. But this morning, I think Lisa was really dragging. The natural energy lag hit, you know, that dead band that happens after you've had adrenaline coursing through your veins for two full days. She's got a book to finish for Ballantine. And she's got some paperwork that needs doing to close the event. So, there's no rest for the weary. It's really a shame, too. Because after seeing how wonderfully the event went off, I've got to say that Lisa really deserves a few uninterrupted hours. Congratulations, Cutie. I'm really proud of you.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"This isn't what I do best." Lisa |
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