Emily Watts's Blog, page 2

The Cannery

Last week, Larry and I went to Welfare Square to help put up applesauce at the cannery. Our job was to put lids on the jars as they came down the assembly line on a conveyor belt after having been filled with hot applesauce. The machine filled six jars at a time, sent them down the line, and filled another six a few seconds later. We got into a pretty good rhythm, the four of us lid-puter-oners. We sat two-and-two across the conveyor belt from each other. Larry, who was sitting next to me on my side, would push the first two bottles down a little ahead of the others, and my counterpart across the belt and I would cap those bottles. Then Larry and his counterpart would do the other four bottles, and if any slipped through or the lids didn't get on straight or something, we would be free down the line a bit to take care of the problem.

Most of the time it just hummed along. It was easy to settle into the rhythm of grab a lid, whirl it on, grab a lid, whirl it on. But every now and then something would come up. Maybe the lid was a little bent and wouldn't "whirl" without some extra encouragement. Maybe a bottle up the line from us got its lid on skewampus and had to be redone. Maybe my counterpart turned away for a couple of seconds and missed her bottle. Whatever it was, sometimes the process had to be adjusted. A few times, I even had to grab my assigned bottle of applesauce off the belt and replace it farther back so I could have more time with it. Sometimes the other workers would have to do extra bottles for me while I wrestled with a stubborn one; sometimes I needed to fill in for them. But by and large, we got all the bottles done except one that accidentally got tipped over. (By the way, cannery guy, when I asked for a rag to wipe that applesauce off so that it wouldn't keep dripping on me, I didn't really want you to just hose it off, trading one kind of dripping for another.)

It struck me afterward that my life is kind of like that assembly line. Things go along relatively free of complications for a while, and I get into a pretty good rhythm. Then, for whatever reason, I get a bottle that doesn't just sail through. A work assignment ends up taking more time than expected. A loved one experiences a tragedy. My health takes a dive. Something happens, and before I know it, bottles are clattering down the line past me and I am panicked about how to get back on track.

Thank goodness for fellow workers, who see my dilemma and step in to help until I can get my rhythm back. And thank goodness for a patient Heavenly Father who understands when it's time to stop the machine altogether for a few minutes while problems are being sorted out, but who then gently reminds me that there is still work to do and that I am capable of doing it. My life doesn't always go on like a well-oiled machine, but I hope at the end of it to see a goodly store of well-filled bottles, most of which arrived there by the aid of others and the grace of God.

Seasons

I always knew life had seasons. I've participated in several things in my life that I thought I could never do without, and most of them are now things of the past. A choir I sang in. A group meeting I used to attend regularly. Certain job responsibilities.

So I guess it shouldn't surprise me that I had a season there when I just couldn't bring myself to blog. I don't know why it was, really. I'd been exhausted from a difficult summer, but I thought I had come back from that. My life wasn't particularly harder than usual. I'd gotten released from a calling that I never quite got properly into in the first place. I don't know what happened; I just sort of went into hibernation for a while, maybe to figure out some things, maybe to get back in touch with my own heart and brain, maybe just to rest.

And now I'm feeling a season of reaching out. I went to a Relief Society meeting on Tuesday and had a glorious experience. So many strong, faithful, fun, talented young married women have moved into our ward over the past couple of years–I felt excited to get to know them better instead of alienated that I wasn't one of them. I hosted a book group on Thursday and we had such a great discussion that ended up having so little to do with the book that I felt a bit guilty, but not really, because the book gave us the jumping-off points and the discussion was what we all needed more than anything. (It was The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart, in case you're dying to know, and we liked it except the ending was a disappointment to most of us.)

Most of all, things have happened over the past month that have made me realize that I had accidentally fallen yet again into the trap of letting work "take it all," meaning all my emotional resources, all my attention, all my energy. I thought perhaps I had that luxury now that all my children were out of the house for a while. Turns out it's not a luxury I can afford or even want.

It's not work's fault, I hasten to add. It's just that the job is always, everlastingly there, and it will take whatever I give it and rarely ever thank me for going farther and faster and harder at the expense of other aspects of my life. So I'm choosing differently this year. I'm fitting my work into my life instead of trying to squeeze in my life around my work. It's not that different an allocation of hours; it's more a mind-set thing.

And suddenly, I find that I want to blog again. I sort of hope somebody's still out there to notice, but if not, it doesn't really matter. This is my season of reaching out, and that's what I'm going to do.

Alarmed

I've grown accustomed to picking my way through the orange cones and around the concrete barriers in the construction zone that has surrounded my workplace for the past 3 years. I can live with the garlic smell that pipes directly into our ventilation system from the restaurant that has opened next door. I'm not afraid of the giant cranes anymore, even after one crashed through the window on the second floor here a few months back.

But the fire drills have got to stop.

Yesterday, for the third time in two weeks, the alarm sounded. "WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP! Leave the building immediately. Do not use the elevators. WHOOP, WHOOP, WHOOP!" Great advice, really, but I'm six floors up and my knee still hasn't recovered from when I biffed it on the Young Women hike up Ensign Peak last month, and the LAST thing I want to do is drop everything yet again and stagger down to the pavement, only to learn that construction dust has set off a sensor.

At least yesterday, which was the third time,  the fire department actually came. So maybe they'll get it sorted out now–I'll bet the stakes are higher. But my big worry is that we'll have an actual emergency, and I'll be so disgusted with the alarm that I'll ignore it and be swallowed up in flames. So I guess I'll keep obeying, even if I can't imagine there's a reason for it.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but my knee is bugging me, and I can't see it right now. Anyone else want to take it on?

1111 Things to Do?

So I happened to glance at the little number at the bottom of my e-mail inbox today, and it says I have "1111 items."

None of them are unread, you understand. I have paid at least passing attention to each and every one of those 1111 items over the indeterminate period of time in which they have arrived in my inbox. None of them are spam; I delete that immediately so it won't clutter up my inbox.

Here's what happens to me: If I can't decide in the moment what to do with an e-mail, and feel...

Incommunicado

So, I recently completed one of the most interesting and arduous experiences of my professional life. I had the exciting assignment to be the editor of President Monson's biography. To say that the task was daunting would be so much of an understatement it would not bear thinking about. Suffice it to suggest that I've been working for Deseret Book for more than 30 years and I have never had such a challenge.

But we got it done on time, thanks to a lot of really wonderful people and a good...

Hamlet's Dilemma

Well, I find myself in a predicament not unlike Hamlet's. Having accidentally flipped a spoonful of Mint Moose Tracks ice cream out of the carton onto my white sweater, and having had it roll down the front of said sweater, leaving its Moose Tracks all the way, should I just leave it, "suffer[ing] the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"? Or should I dash to the ladies' room and try to sponge it out, to "take arms against a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them"? Which is worse, a...

What I Learned at Young Women's Camp

I just got back from Young Women's camp, and would love to pass along the valuable things I learned: 

1. I hate mummy bags. Hate them. With a hate that will not die. By the third night I had to send my husband down the canyon to buy me a non-mummy sleeping bag. He went to FIVE high-end sporting-goods stores without success, and ended up finding one at Walmart. Go figure.

2. I can hike 5 miles, as long as you lie to me beforehand and imply that it's only going to be 3 miles.

3. Sometimes young...

Well, He's Off!

Elder Dylan Carter Watts, safely installed in the MTC yesterday en route to the Texas Houston South Mission.

It was a day we weren't sure would come. We hoped it would. We prayed it would. But we just didn't know if it would work out that way for him. He's 21, two years past the traditional missionary age, and yet we can see so clearly that this is exactly the right time for him to be going. I know that institutions have to put an "age" to things–driving and serving a mission are just two...

What Happens When Your Life Spins Out of Control?

So, what do you do when you have more to do than you can ever imagine doing? I've been there before, but never, ever like this. I haven't blogged for absolute ages, haven't checked my favorite sites, haven't done anything, it seems, but fall behind at work and try to orchestrate major family events and steel myself against the temptation to murder my Young Women. How do I justify spending time writing blog entries when the stacks of paper in my office approach the ceiling? How can I eke out t...

Happy Anniversary!

Yesterday marked the two-year anniversary of my very first blog entry. And, true to form (as any of my children will tell you), I'm celebrating that birthday a little late but with no less gusto than if I'd been on time.

Blogging has been an interesting challenge for me. I've felt the panic of going too many days without being able to think of anything to say. I've felt the urgency to share some things combined with a serious degree of skepticism over whether anyone was really out there being ...