What I Learned from Obama

Barack Obama sticks to his daily schedule and gets things done. Whether you agree with him or not, that man sure makes good use of time and tackles every single issue dividing our troubled nation.

We all have challenges. I set a goal at our last New Directions meeting. I said that by tomorrow nite I'd get a good start on the Guest Column I was writing for the local paper. I also chided myself for volunteering to write the article. It's been maybe six months since my last story and I don't know if I'll remember how to write.

This is the way I think. Editorials are hard for me to write. They're factual, not colorful. So every nite I'd go to bed and worry about this darn article. But I couldn't begin writing it cuz I had too many other things to do.

Today was a free day. I made my oatmeal and fruit, plopped it down on my computer desk, and set my kitchen timer for one hour. I'd called my friend Carolyn who, each month, recites a different timely quote on her answering machine.

Carolyn, I said, can you find me a quote about spring?

"The earth laughs in flowers," by Ralph Waldo Emerson, she said.

That was my lead. Spooning a mouthful of oatmeal in my mouth, I began to type. Oh, it was so lonely. I put on some music. This is what I listened to: Bach's Goldberg Variations by Glenn Gould. Every time I get some grant money I go out and buy new CDs. So Glenn is tinkling away on his piano and I'm tinkling away at the computer.

When my timer goes off I've written half the piece.

Gee, I say to myself, it wasn't even hard!

Then I go at it again, and finish it off. I revise as I go along.

I go into the kitchen and look at my phone list. Who can I call to read it to? I have a premonition that no one will be home. I go down my list: Carolyn is in the mountains with her husband celebrating their wedding anniversary, Freda tells me to call back in an hour, Marion's answering machine is on, so are the machines of Mary, Judy, Cynthia got a job, Helene is out, I go down the list.

Time to go outdoors and do a little yardwork since no one's home.

The phone rings. I read it to Helene. "Beautiful," she says. "Don't change a word."

I call up the editor. It's 11 words over the limit I tell him. Send it on over anyway, he says, I'll fix it so you won't even know I changed a single word.

Alan, I say, I pared it down so there's not a word to spare.

Dyou realize how lucky I am having an editor who wants my stuff?