I try to be a professional person. Meaning on a good day, I will have brushed my hair, I will answer the phone at our stand and answer people’s questions efficiently, I will not speak in my stuffed animal’s voice to my mother while we’re in public (you wouldn’t believe how hard this is), and I will not pay for my weekly $25 of gasoline in all ones. Needless to say I don’t always succeed with all of these, but it gives me something to work towards. I absolutely love the feeling of taking control, knowing what I’m doing, and doing it well. When I was a waitress I never felt that way. Doing what I do in the summer, my confidence is built up.
This morning in the strawberry patch, after one of my cousins asked me a question, one of the other pickers who was observing looked up at me and said, “You must be the boss.”
“Not really,” I laughed. I mean, I’m really not. My mom is the boss. The Amish guy who runs the strawberry patch is the boss. I don’t have any authority, or I didn’t think I did. And yet I’m the one who gives orders without worrying about it, who drives the truck, and I’m the one who writes the check. I don’t know why. But I like this role I’m in; I like it a lot.
This afternoon I decided to take some of that deep desire to be professional and grown up and use it to tidy up my awful messy desk area. The plain fact of the matter is I have too much junk. Or too much paper. (I have this writing problem…) In trying to be office-like and pristine, I threw a bunch of stuff away, while my sister sits at her desk next to mine and counts her stash of greenbacks after just getting paid. This starts me to thinking, maybe I should keep my money in something besides the plastic mug it’s in…like the bank, for instance. Maybe a good idea? But I wouldn’t want to go too far just yet with this professional stuff.
P.S. I got new shoes for Colorado, which we’re convinced was a good idea since the only things I’ve been wearing are my cowboy boots or nothing. They’re the nicest shoes I’ve ever had, and I think maybe I’ll write a song about them.
(I realize I forgot to title my blog post last night…that might say something for my mental state. Don’t worry guys. I got a full seven hours in last night….if you don’t count all the times my cat woke me up scratching on the door to get in and out. But why am I telling you all this?)