Setting your own deadlines--or OCD

My neighbors came for happy hour tonight, and Jay was telling me that Susan had trimmed back the ivy growing up my wall. I protested that Greg, who keeps my yard, could do that, but she shrugged and said, "I was already there." Jay said she was compulsive, and a bit later I confessed to something that indicated I too am compulsive--which I guess everyone who knows me is already aware of.
But my self-imposed deadlines struck me again tonight with a bit of humor. I had dreaded a long weekend with nothing to do. Happy hour took care of tonight, and I invited a friend for supper tomorrow. Then I decided I have to cook an Irish supper, so I'm doing a Reuben casserole (now there's an experiment!) and an Irish potato salad. This means two trips to two different groceries, which I had planned anyway, but the potato salad recipe says, "Best prepared the day before." Well, I can't do that, but I can cook it in the morning. That makes a very busy morning. I had planned to drop some things off at another friend's house, but I emailed her that my plate was full tomorrow and I'd get them to her next week--and that's when it struck me. My plate is indeed full, but with self-imposed deadlines. Nobody else cares. If I greeted my guest at the door tomorrow night and said, "I didn't cook. Let's go out," she'd say, "Fine. Where do you want to go?" But of course I won't do that. I'll have individual casseroles waiting and that blasted potato salad. And somewhere during the day I'll set out dishes for dinner for 12-13 on Sunday (I don't have to cook, just make a fruit salad--Jordan is making an enchilada casserole for her own birthday dinner).
My first thought is how silly is that to have filled my empty weekend to the point that I feel busy?. But I thought about it some more and realized there's an upside to this. A friend wrote me the other day saying she admired my energy and enthusiasm. Well, I think energy comes from doing the compulsive things I do, from keeping busy, reaching out to friends, loving the world around me. If I'd have left the weekend empty, I'd probably have a pity party of one. So tomorrow, much as I've enjoyed sleeping late with the time change, I'll probably pop out of bed and get to the store, so I can make the potato salad--and I'll fret because it hasn't really sat overnight. Being compulsive can get silly sometimes, but it ain't all bad.

The holiday weekend

Have you noticed that when you go back to work or out in the world after a holiday weekend, everyone asks, "How was your weekend?" I've thought about that, and my answer this time is that it was busy, but it was busyness of my own making. One of the women in my office said, "That's a really good thing," and I agreed. Last night my neighbors and some other friends came for a potluck barbecue--there were six of us and we had enough food for 15. But it was a lovely, convivial evening on the porch--casual, interesting conversation, good food, a tad too hot but who cared. I thought once again how blessed I am by friends and neighbors. And with everyone taking their serving dishes home and having used paper plates, cleanup was a snap. (Okay, I do try to save the environment and not use disposables, but there are some times when it surely is a blessing!).
One thing I learned this weekend, a lesson learned over and over, is that both cooking and yoga are hard work. I cooked for two hours yesterday morning--puttered really, but I did some freezer work (and need to do more), made a black bean salsa (soooo good!), brownies with chile powder and cinnamon added to the Ghiardelli mix (that mix is very moist and maybe the best I've ever had--and the spices were pretty good), and a baguette stuffed with pesto cream cheese, chopped sun-dried tomatoes, parmesan, and chopped spinach--good but messy and hard to deal with. When I got through I was really tired and ready to sit down. And then in the afternoon I did some of the yoga exercises Elizabeth is teaching me--and I was tired again. Today, as so often happens after a weekend of cooking, I had aches and pains that I usually don't have--but my feet didn't hurt.
The weekend was made even better because I really got into a P. D. James mystery--Devices & Desires. British mysteries are hard for me--they're slow to engage when I went the quick action and drawing into the scene of an American cozy. But when I force myself to persevere and stick with James or Martha Grimes, I find I really am hooked and want to keep reading. But, always, my own mystery--number two in my great series of unpublished--rattles around in my brain, and I have what seems like absolutely great ideas. I wrote some today and will do some more tonight. The plot that I thought was minor seems to be taking over, while what I thought was going to be the main story, is moving more into the background. Fun to see how it develops. I'm thinking of calling it No Neighborhood for Old Women, with a bow to Cormac McCarthy, because if it comes out as I envision, there will be a serial killer stalking old ladies. I doubt that, should I find a publisher, I'd get away with that title, but I think it's fun for now. I'm trying to keep a careful list of what agent and when I query, so I can follow up. They're pretty rude about not answering if they're not interested.
Meanwhile, the idea has come up that maybe Colin and I should go to Scotland this fall. My good friends from Omaha were planning for us to take a Santa Fe trip, but maybe Scotland will over-ride that. It's just a vague thought at this point, but I'm going to email him some places to google tonight.