The Manly Art of Ironing

Has a small decision in your life ever been a real Eureka moment? Say, instead of doing something the usual way you decided to do it another. And then, seeing that the new way was better, you saw a slew of other things that called for changing too. Not just new ways of doing things, new styles of inner architecture.

 

My adventure started with a lovely pre-loved flannel shirt with two pockets whose flaps needed pressing. I'd acquired so many shirts that I'd already started to dread future cleaning bills. Now and then, I'd think wistfully of buying an iron and ironing board--but I was a man. Men don't iron. Yesterday, though, on my way to the dry cleaners, I stopped. How hard could it be to learn the fundamentals of ironing shirts? And what would the cost be, compared to dry cleaning some 65 shirts every year?

I decided to test my ingenuity and skill, starting off with a visit to Target. I found a dozen-odd irons to choose from and an array of ironing boards. My determining factors:  studio-friendly size...a brand name that I trusted...cost.

I left with a small Sunbeam steam iron:

                              
And, to go with it, a countertop ironing board:

                                


My total cost was less than that of dry cleaning just 30 shirts. But I still didn't know how to iron!

Thumbs up to Sunbeam for clear instructions on the use of and care for the iron. And the ironing board mounted flat on the kitchen countertop. I'd learned I could use the steam function with tap water--not distilled, as I'd guessed. Or I could dry iron if I pleased. I pleased, for my initial run at least. And I'd start with the flap-wild shirt pockets and collar.

It sounds silly to make a big deal of this, yes. But as an exercise in mastery, there's nothing silly about it. Next: what were my options for ironing a full shirt? I could fine-tune, as I pleased, but were there agreed-upon basics? Did I need a book to learn this or should I ask everybody I knew? No, I'd learn this privately, with a little help online.

The online friend I've learned to trust for all masculine matters is The Art of Manliness. And there I found just what I needed:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0EpinulvKTA

Now the great ripple effect was in motion. I began to think of other ways and modes of thought that needed changing.

Writing:
1) To gain speed, I don't necessarily need to compose more quickly. I do need, though, to dictate my handwritten drafts into Dragon Naturally Speaking regularly as I go.
2) I need to make better use of the promoting services Amazon offers now that I have a modest hit in The Big Bopper. (50-plus 4 and 5-star reviews.)
3) I should look into approaching Kirkus for a review of my WIP, which is strong and offbeat.

Job search:
1) I need to follow my original plan to sit tight until mid-March when I've made full use of my medical/dental benefits. But instead of doing nothing, I need to prepare.
2) Preparation includes touting the certificate I've received from an online course in medical terminology.
3) I should also buff my resume to justify the higher salary I'm worth.


And so on. You catch my drift. Your own adventure can begin with anything...including a neatly pressed shirt.

The August Assault: Introduction

We all have 10 weeks until August 1: time enough to mount our siege on the dream that's eluded us now for so long--and whatever has kept us at bay.



It could be anything, really.

Year after year after year, for instance, you may have sworn upon your soul to show the world a beach bod:




Or you may have sworn to quit smoking:





Or have you dreamed less and less of writing a great break-out novel?




I'm sure we're all on the same page now. No matter what we've accomplished, there's something we've lost on the way. Something that's eating away at our souls and making us feel incomplete. And, regardless of gender or color or age, our starting point remains the same. We need a sense of urgency--and not a mild one either. For our failed dreams fester within us. And with each excuse we make we rot a little more.




Do not think for a moment that your lost dream was childish or is unworthy of you now. And do not give a moment's thought to anyone's opinion. If you've sworn for years to do something, failing again and again, be assured of this: in one way or another you have been paying the price.

What I call the August Assault resulted from a nasty fall I took on April 5. Nothing was broken, but I'd suffered deep tissue damage in my right pelvis and hip, along with severe back strain. I ended up taking a long-planned vacation, including a round-trip cross-country train trip. But I was in agony all of the way and those I met in Buffalo--a sister and a friend I hadn't seen in many years--were shocked by my condition. I looked and felt like a tired and beaten old man. Back in Seattle, my misery grew: I couldn't exercise or do anything, it seemed, but eat. And I hated how I'd come to look.

But:




Today I'm here to tell you, though--even with my cane--that all of this was good. One morning I awoke with a white-hot sense of urgency: I could no longer live with the "me" I brought to Buffalo, old and whipped and beaten. I needed to return to the fabulous condition that I used to be in when I lived in San Francisco in the early 80s.

Urgency! No dallying!

Slowly and painfully, I returned to my home workouts.

I began making green smoothies and eating mostly raw.

And, to fuel my commitment, I promised online to produce a limited edition photo postcard revealing the results by August 1.

I have ten weeks and miles to go. But I'll share my results with you because we're all in this together. Each of us has a lost something that cries out to us for completion. Join me, friends, with your own August Assault.

Two Great Weights Off My Shoulders

The 'alternative funding' referred to me in my last post, The Thousand, came through. And it was joy to know that the upcoming move to Seattle needn't be by the seat of my pants--and that I could repair the laptop that crashed last December.

Today as I was walking, though, I had to stop cold in my tracks. I wasn't only tired, I was sick and tired of lugging around so much stuff: a courier bag with my laptop and Fire, pages of a WIP, mouse, AC adapter, headset...plus handled carry bag with gym clothes, extension cord, notebooks, energy drinks, spare glasses, flash drives, oversized paperback workout book, check book, umbrella, etc., etc., etc.

Not only that, any time that it rained heavily, I had to call a cab to protect my Fire and laptop.

Enough! Today! Here and now!

The entire move to Seattle, for me, has been about learning new footwork...mastering the Quickstep...traveling more lightly. And here I was, lugging stuff, bowed over and huffing for breath. I decided to invest a portion of the money toward putting more bounce in my step.

An hour later, I stepped out of Dick's sportswear with a colorful, XL, water-resistant backpack. Pockets within it for all that I need. All neatly squared away.

Checkbook? Here.

Gym key card? Here.

Flashdrives? Look no further.

This is cool in itself. Cooler still, though, is that bank shots are already bouncing off of this first insight. Where else, I wonder, am I still weighted down by stuff and simply habitual footwork?