Bony Fingers

ears ago, my piano teacher, Ralph Zitterbart, showed me the difference between my hands and his own. His fingers looked skeletal from so much piano practice, while mine still retained quite a bit of chubby flesh around the joints. Piano fingers are not very attractive. But I was struck by the idea that Ralph could see how much or how little I practiced piano at home just by looking at my fingers.

Vladimir Horowitz's hands

After that, I paid attention to the fingers of artists like Vladimir Horowitz and Artur Rubinstein while watching their televised concerts. I worked toward getting my fingers to look skeletal like the fingers of these virtuosos. I fantasized about some maestro meeting me for the first time.

The maestro's eyes would be inexorably attracted to the visage of my skeletal piano fingers. His eyes would fill with respect and gaze into my own eyes, which would reflect competence and the burning, passionate fire of the consummate artiste!

*sigh*

A young Artur Rubinstein

Bony fingers are the bees knees, thought I, back in the days when I dreamed of becoming a concert pianist.

Today, bony fingers are still to be desired. But instead of fingers bony from piano practice, I think of working my fingers to the bone through the tap, tap, tapping of a different sort of keyboard. I make my living through writing, but writing jobs have been few and far between.



Today was a great day in the annals of bony-finger days. Sunday may be a day of rest in the US and other parts, but in Israel, Sunday is just another work day. I finally nabbed a small freelance job, a bone thrown to my less-than-bony-fingers by a friend, the editing of a Powerpoint presentation for robotic software.

I was already thinking about setting my house in order to free me for the work last night, which is when I got the call to do the job. I right away set about separating laundry and making mental notes on how to fit housework and work-work into my day.

The job ended up taking only one and one half hours to complete, which is a pity. I enjoyed so much allowing my powers of concentration and creativity to overtake me. It was like being inhabited by a different, wonderfully purposeful body. I hated for the experience to be over.

It was a good feeling to not only throw myself head and shoulders into the work, but to order my entire day around this project. My whole day gained focus, flavor, and energy thanks to this little bit of work.

It was all over much too soon.

I always think I work too hard and need a vacation. But the truth is I LOVE work. I love it to bits! Work gives so much texture to my day and makes life seem that much more worth living. It makes me feel good to contribute to the household finances and to have and use my skills.

How do you feel about work? Do you wish you had more work? Less work? Do you long for retirement?

Of Secret Societies and Bureau Drawers

ears ago, there was in my town, a group of women who did self-therapy by straightening bureau drawers. I received a call from one of the members who invited me to join their ranks. I declined the offer.

For all I know, the group still exists. But it sounded kind of crackpot to me--she wouldn't give me all the details unless I agreed to join. And why anyway, would I need to join a group to straighten out my bureau drawers? I imagined that all these women had messy lives and minds. But not this woman! I thrive on order.

I needed no secret society to explain the connection between housework and resolving issues. There is nothing better for the soul than throwing the windows open wide to the fresh air and throwing one's self full force into housework: taking down cobwebs, scrubbing things with hot soapy water, polishing silver to a fine sheen, or straightening out a lingerie drawer. The smell of cleaning products, the snap of latex gloves...okay, maybe that's going a little too far, even for me...I dread housework as much as any red-blooded housewife, but I'm guessing I'm not alone in feeling vibrant and in the mode once I stop procrastinating and get cracking on a household job that needs doing.

And I'm guessing I'm also not alone in realizing that as people clean and mend, their minds are freed up for thinking about and resolving their life issues. You feel great when you look at a window so clean it looks open, even when closed, but you feel better about stuff in your life, too, once a cleaning job is complete.


The mechanical movements used in cleaning are mindless and repetitive. Your mind is free to wander and will tend to seek out and settle on outstanding problems. You scrub and run through the possible solutions to your biggest problems.

Chances are, you will keep finding things to clean until your mind comes to a state of resolve and can finally rest.

A major component in the process of cleaning house, both literally and figuratively is that it is a solitary process. It's something you do by yourself in peace and quiet. The solitude is healing, in and of itself: it's just you, the dirty object, and your cleaning supplies.

Got issues? Clean out your bureau drawers. But do it on your own.

It doesn't take a secret society, let alone a village. Just remember: you heard it here, first.