Where’s My Easy Button?

I had an epiphany today.

I have no easy button.

I did not come equipped with one anywhere on my body, in my brain or elsewhere in my environment. I can’t even order one. Sure I can buy the cheesy red one used on those T.V. commercials, but they don’t really work. They’re just for decoration. Go figure.

I am not joking when I say that this is news to me. Here’s how this epiphany unfolded – if epiphanies can unfold. For me they can because this realization was about…oh, I’d say… 30 years in the making. It did not happen in a thunderbolt to the brain like some epiphanies do.

You see, I recently auditioned for a part in a local theater. I had been in musicals in high school and college but had not ventured into theater as an adult. Having four children in five years can put a crimp in your own “extra-curricular” activities. I wasn’t looking to jump into theater quite yet, as my boys are still fairly young. But the perfect part came knocking on my door. Actually, it came seeping through my computer screen. And it wasn’t actually calling to me. It was more like me grabbing hold of the dream and pursuing this coveted role. The role of a woman whose story is much like my own.

As soon as I saw the call for auditions, I ordered the script, read through the entire thing at least four times and practiced the character over and over. When it came time to audition, I turned into some sort of Parkinson’s-esque woman, shaking my head this way and that. I was not trying to impersonate Kathryn Hepburn. I just didn’t know where to look, or to whom I should direct my monologue. I think I even skipped a line. Maybe two. When I heard one of the directors say, “Thank you, Lynn” when I finished reading, I knew that was the end of that. The “thank you” had a sort of Paula Abdul-ish tone to it. Like she was saying… “That is quite enough, you poor soul, who thinks she can act. But hey, you came and you tried and well… have a nice life.”

The thing is, I felt okay when I left. I didn’t feel like a loser. I didn’t even feel so desperate to play the part any longer. In fact it was as if God was saying I didn’t need the part of this woman because I had my own life to keep living.

That moment was the beginning of the awakening, the awakening to this epiphany. When a friend asked me about the audition a few days later, I told her the above scenario, and then I said, “You know, maybe if I had taken an acting class or two – or twenty, I might have been better prepared or maybe I would have actually known what to do with my bobblehead.”

And then I thought about the time I wanted to re-cover a little loveseat. I went to the store to pick out fabric and thought I would go home that day, fabric and stapler in hand and go at my little piece of furniture. But when the lady asked me how much fabric I needed, I was at a loss. I had no clue. I told her it was about this many feet by that many feet but there was wood on it, too, so the whole thing wasn’t fabric. It was clear I was an imposter so I left sans fabric and called my mom, who truly does know what she is doing. And yes, she did laugh at me but was gracious enough to do a beautiful job reupholstering my loveseat.

Then there was the time I wanted to learn to knit. When I arrived at the knitting lesson, an hour after everyone else, they only had one row of knitting finished. How in the world would I get a sweater accomplished if that is how slow it takes to cast on, cast off, perl something or other and all the other stuff you do with those needles. Bag that. I don’t have the time to knit one row for every hour I sit, especially when I rarely sit.

Then there’s the painting/drawing issue. I want to paint like Van Gogh or maybe like my very talented friend Kyle Ragsdale who, mind you, has been painting for years and has his work in studios across the country. Yet when I sit down to imitate the styles of a great painter, my work doesn’t look quite the same. Or even close. I try to add to the paintings later like a real artist would, making them better. But the truth is – I want to be done in one night. I want to get out my little tubes of paint and my brushes and create a masterpiece in the next hour, maybe two if I’m not too tired.

Of course, there’s the piano thing. My family is thanking God we got rid of our piano. After all, how much can one family listen to someone playing, “Here we go…. To and fro… to the birthday party” or worse, a one-fingered rendition of “The Battle Hymn Republic”?

Get the theme? I NEEEEED an easy button. Certainly, I could accomplish so much more if I could just press the button and enter in the appropriate category. Let’s say today it’s the “laundry” category, and then tomorrow it’s the “making a Thanksgiving dinner” category. Wouldn’t life be grand? Think of the possibilities.

I have to admit, I was a little skeptical in writing all of this as I am sure someone is going to try to steal my idea for a real, workable easy buttton. But that’s okay. I’m all for cooperation and sharing of ideas. Send yours along to me, if you wish. Collaboration is key. Besides, you’ll be hard-pressed to find me stealing your ideas as I am too busy signing up for the Indy 500 Mini Marathon.

Did I mention that I have never, I repeat NEVER, run more than one mile at a time?

Here’s an example of what the easy button could do for you… The first picture illustrates life WITH the easy button. The second picture – not so much.

chad-wakeboarding

Cousin with easy button engaged.

Below: Me, who clearly does NOT – as you may note by the white-knuckles – nor did my sister-in-law when it comes to taking photos.

lynn-wakeboarding

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Categories: A Day in the Life | 2 Comments

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2 thoughts on “Where’s My Easy Button?

  1. Tom

    I like to ponder about the easier, softer way (not). Thats my easy button mentality. My leaves don’t get raked, my business doesn’t run right, my relationships don’t grow, my body gets flabby, my spirituality goes flat, I feel sorry for myself. 100% of the time. Every time.

    By the way, thanks for helping me out Sunday night. I was wiped out after traveling and spent some time with my friend Dale and his wife Jacki. Jacki told me that the oncologist said he has months left on his life clock. It is hard not to dwell on this sad fact. All I can do is stay busy in their lives and contribute in any way possible to help both of them get through this hard time. They are so kind to let me be a part of this.

    Take the acting class.

  2. lynnhouse

    I’m so sorry to hear about Dale. Scott told me you all were over there on Sunday raking leaves. You’re a good friend.

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