listopia, listomania, listophobia, listophile . . .

I don't make lists like I used to. Compiling lists was, for many years, a regular part of the routine, particularly each Saturday morning so I didn't squander the weekend on the couch, eating bon bons and reading. A carefully crafted list gave me the illusion I was in control. If an item was on the list, it was as good as done.

Sort of. 

Of course, an important part of the list-making process was the inclusion of at least a handful of items I knew would be easily accomplished, that would practically get done as a matter of course, so that by Sunday evening, as I lay about reading, or more likely watching television, with my bucket of bon bons resting on my stomach, I could cross them out with a satisfying stroke of the pen. 

I once made lists of:

-- trivial to-dos
-- aspirational life goals
-- heartfelt, sometimes desperate, resolutions - New Year's and otherwise
-- pros and cons for whatever decision loomed (to divorce or not divorce, quit or not quit . . . )
-- food items and calories consumed in service of the perennial diet
-- things to do to take my mind off eating 
-- friends, to make me feel less alone
-- enemies, to remind me to watch my back 
-- books and stories I would one day write

what I wouldn't give to weigh 140.6 now . . .

or 152.5 . . . it'a all a matter of perspective; 138 did happen - for about two weeks in 2005

I don't do all this listing anymore, or rarely. And when I do, it's a half-assed effort. Two or three items on a grocery list that I wind up misplacing before I hit the market. When did I stop? And why? Is it because:

-- I'm old and with most of the kids gone there is less to keep track of 
-- I have more faith that I won't forget
-- I've figured out other ways to keep track of things 
-- It became embarrassing to list the same unrealized goals, resolutions, books to write etc., year after year 
-- I no longer sweat the small stuff, or, by appearances, the big stuff either

There's some truth to all of the above. Back in the days when I worked sixty-plus hours a week, had multiple kids at home and still hoped to make something of myself one day, it seemed important to keep it all straight. Looking through old journals, I came across one particularly methodical list from the years before I retired. It's a list of lists, separated into four categories:
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Physical, "superficial" Priorities (items on this list included getting a hair cut and learning how to apply makeup) 
Health Priorities (including the dreaded weight loss goal and ingesting a daily tablespoon of flax)
Family Priorities (to be more appreciative of my husband, to find the fun! and, interestingly, to begin collecting miniature chairs)
Spiritual and Emotional Priorities (banish self doubt, write - let the stories out!)

​I still haven't learned how to apply makeup, daily flax has gone by the wayside and the self doubt thing, well, who would I be without it? I did acquire a pretty decent miniature chair collection, though I can't now recall why that once seemed important. 
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what's left of the miniature chair collection - the frogs needed a place to sit . . .

a to-do list for an ill-advised novel I now use as a footstool . . . not really, it's just under my desk . . .