Details in Distraction 1/2/2022

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I am fortunate enough to have two weeks off for Christmas and New Year’s.  I know, it is not lost on me that most do not have the luxury of such an extended chunk of paid vacation.  This may fall on deaf ears for those who don’t get to enjoy such pleasantries, but I do assure you that these two weeks are flying at the speed of light with added rocket boosters.  I sit here writing and it’s already more than halfway gone and as much as it pains me to say it, once this blog publishes the entire two weeks will have vanished into thin air.  Oh, that was agonizing to write.  I know this is an extravagant amenity and there it goes, frittering away into nothingness. I had such hopes to get so much done these two weeks.  But here is where I have quite the confession to make.  I am terribly easily distracted. And when I say terribly easily, I cannot possibly stress this enough.  And while I have gotten some things accomplished over this vacation from work, I have, as you can guess, had distractions.

Often, when I’m trying to type, a large dark furred body flings itself with all its girth upon me. It’s usually on my left arm.  Then a serpentine tail covered in said same fur begins to nonchalantly drape itself across my keyboard. Now of course this tail could easily go anywhere else but don’t be ridiculous.  It wouldn’t be making its presence nearly as known if it put itself somewhere less conspicuous.  And, as if it sensed it was being discussed, that large feline mass has, as I type, plopped itself emitting something between a snore and a purr upon my left arm. And now, a large portion of my keys are covered in twitching black fuzz.  This cat is writing my blog about interruption and diversion for me. Oh, and may I just add that he just ever so casually reached over to the side table and gently, ever so gently, tippity-tapped by phone onto the floor.  The disheartening thud of screen splatting against wood is just ever so thrilling. Insert sarcasm here.  He is so very catty.  He is more than happy to live up to the stereotype that his species are often afforded. Yet and still, as I attempt to write, I am overwhelmed by the urge to stop what I am doing and nestle into fervent belly rubs.  It isn’t all my fault. He looked up at me and gave me whatever the cat equivalent is to puppy eyes.  He had expectations. Who am I to deny a dear kitty his expectations?

Though, I say that and then I can think of a few times where yes, the cat is denied.  Lord help me if I ever attempt to make a bed.  He can sense it from across the house and will come at full gallop to bound upon a bed that is being made. For whatever reason, he is unmovingly convinced that he needs to be nestled within the layers.  And do not think that he will move if he is plastered beneath a fitted sheet or the like. You would be mistaken. That lump with one twitchy end will sit endlessly flattened.  Now, I wouldn’t dare say that he will stay there purely out of spite because he isn’t that type of fellow, however, he is very, shall we say, unconcerned with any inconvenience he may cause. This isn’t because he is uncaring, he is just a cat. They remember they were once worshipped as gods.  A species does not just let that level of importance go easily.

Then, there are other, more human distractions.  While cooking holiday dishes, my daughter often wanted to help. Of course, I thought to myself. How wonderful! We will be getting dishes done as well as making lovely memories that we’ll hold on to forever.  Except, my daughter assisting in the process doesn’t always turn out the way my mind’s eye envisions.  First of all, my daughter is, well, a rather fervent stirrer.  While she is happy to help, one must prepare oneself that whatever mixture that she stirs, will soon have a significantly larger portion on the counter than actually in the bowl.  Not even to mention whatever will end up on her person.  Also, please do not expect her to be particularly helpful for a very long period of time. I suppose she is a classic 5-and-a-half-year-old and her attention span stretches to about one minute per year of her existence. 

And let’s not even get into the number of times that I must pause to hear a tale.  My daughter has the imagination of a movie director/novel writer so the stories I am audience to are things to behold.  There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to go into all the incredible and sometimes disconcerting detail, but I will leave you with this.  She told me she’d have to get a new husband because her old husband passed away in a (and I quote) “water moccasin incident”.  This statement was followed by a story which involved him off in war and in the line of fire, falling off a cliff into a river and other such intrigue. For those who don’t know, a water moccasin is a venomous snake we have here usually found near water so I am assuming the river is where the heart of “the incident” took place, but we’ll never truly know.  I will let you mull on that plotline and all it entails.  As you can imagine, on occasion when I am trying to get something done these interruptions can be less than ideal but they are most definitely entertaining at the very least.

So, I have taken you down the paths that are the trails of the rabbit, often deterring me from tasks at hand. I am here at the end of my excessive time off for a holiday break from the usual grind and I probably haven’t accomplished nearly what I should have. My attention has been pulled every which way one can imagine by all sorts of person and beast.  However, something tells me that some of those moments that didn’t produce as much productivity as I had hoped, did in fact produce things more valuable that I will be able to pull from for years to come. I may have had to sacrifice a bit of yield but what I may lack in output I have made up for with frozen moments in time, treasures that will last so much longer than any work to be done.