There’s only one thing you need to know to avoid being late: In order to be “on time” you have to get there early.

I know:  it’s not fair.  And it’s not much of a “trick” either, even if it’s fail-proof.

The truth is, if any kind of commute is involved, you simply can’t time things to the minute, in part because there are so many variables.  Driving is just part of the equation; parking and walking from where you’ve parked takes time that is easily overlooked.  Depending on where you are going, security checks, unanticipated lines, and waiting for the elevator can be factors, never mind the glitches that happen when trying to find a place for the first time.

I generally give myself 25% more time than I think it will take to get me where I’m going.  That sounds like a lot of time, but it really isn’t, considering it’s only an extra fifteen minutes for an hour’s journey. I usually end up just a few minutes early, because invariably the trip takes longer than it “should.” For very little “wasted time” you, too, can give yourself a calm and peaceful commute knowing you’ll truly arrive on time.

Fortunately, another Slate article describes how to quickly and easily create super-strong passwords, as well as a system for making each unique.  While I try not to use the same password for everything, I won’t deny I do double-dip sometimes. I don’t know how much damage a hacker could do with my login at Lancome or the New York Times.  I also figure that if you have only unique passwords, it’s impossible to remember them all, and then the problem becomes  where to hide the password list. It seems practically any place--either hard copy or soft--is unsafe.  Digging out the list from a file every time you want to logon would be impractical. And I don’t like the idea of “remember me on this computer” because what if a computer is stolen?  Then the thief would have access to all the sites you use before you had a chance to change them.

I actually don’t have an excuse not to have unique passwords for everything: for the last couple of years, I’ve subscribed to a virus protection package that includes a password logon service. I can have as many passwords as I want, as complex as I want, and I don’t have to memorize them.  I logon to the service and whenever I go to a site that requires a password, the service logs me in.  Alpay doesn’t like this. He thinks it’s risky--that all a hacker has to do is hack that one site, and then they have all your passwords.  And that’s true.  I am rather putting my eggs in one basket this way.  But one of the things pointed out in the Slate article is that LinkedIn did not use standard, high-level encryption.  I trust that an undisputed leader in computer security would be able to keep their own site secure, but concede the possibility that I might one day rue this trust.

But I’m more concerned about plain human error.  Like:  I realized my LinkedIn password was the same as my logon service.  And so today, I changed all my logons, one by one.

A postscript:  Slate reporter Will Oremus addresses why only some LinkedIn passwords appear to be compromised.  We know that the compromised passwords were published as a list online.  Security experts hypothesize that those were the passwords the hackers couldn’t match with an email address, which is what they would need to confirm an account.  So if your password wasn’t on the list, it may not be because they don’t have it, but that they have successfully matched your password to your account. Maybe this weekend would be a good time for a password change project for everyone.

The particular expert doesn’t matter.  It could be a consultation with a physician, attorney, accountant, or designer.  It could be in preparation for a parent-teacher conference, a business meeting, or a visiting a professor during office-hours.  It’s rare to go to any such meetings without any questions.  What’s important is that those questions are written down and prioritized so that if you can’t get to them all, or at least the most important ones.  This seems self-evident, but I spent a lot of years wasting experts’ time figuring they’d run the show.  I was wrong.  When you call for an appointment, you run the show with your questions.

An Example

By way of explanation of the illustration above, I recently found myself in dire need of a linguist. After years of intermittent self-study in Turkish, and a fun-but-casual community-center class, I had a huge store of questions.  A few weeks ago, I finally looked up a local research university, found a professor, and emailed him, begging him for any leads on possible Turkish tutors who were grounded in linguistics.  When he replied that he could help me, I practically swooned for my good luck.  I got out my grammar book and looked for all the places I’d scrawled a big, frustrated question mark in the margin.  There were many, so I started a table, noting the page in case we had to refer to it our session.  While I tried to be succinct, I was careful to fully write out the question.  It’s important to prioritize the questions so that the ones causing the most problems get answered first.  Group similar questions together so that the responses can build off one another and thus save time. In terms of formatting, I find it helpful to leave plenty of room under each question to note the response. For the sake of legibility, type the list and  print an extra copy of your questions for your expert, so that he or she can follow along. 

I know it’s unlikely you will ever care about location words in Turkish; there’s a reason why I didn’t title this post, “Making the Most of a Consultation with a Linguist.”  But the steps above work well for any kind of expert consultation, and hopefully provide a simple and effective template to get your own expert-directed questions answered.

Twice in the last week, on occasions that couldn’t be more different, people expressed admiration for me being “so organized.”  This doesn’t happen often, so I thought it might be useful to try to figure out what I’d gotten right.

The first occasion entailed some dress shopping.  I’m of two minds when it comes to shopping for clothes: either I feel like it, or I don’t.  Mostly, I don’t.  My early years as a Shopping Optimist (this is fun! I’ll find something great!) have been replaced by a Shopping Pessimist, so that I’m sure anything I actually like will be in the wrong color or size and will go home, crabby and defeated. 

Last week, I didn’t have the option to wait until I felt like going shopping. I’d been invited to an event that required the purchase of my first, real, bona fide cocktail dress; a day-to-evening shift wouldn’t do.  After looking at styles at various places online, I stumbled upon something that sets Nordstrom’s site apart:  you could sort by “store availability.”  (Other sites have “store availability” buttons for any given item, but don’t have the pivotal “sort” function.) Thus hundreds of dresses were winnowed down to what I could actually see and try on--in my size and preferred color--at a local store.  I made up a list of possibilities by style number and color which I handed to the sales associate. That’s when she said, “Wow!  You’re so organized!” and I knew that even if I didn’t desperately need a dress, she would have made a sale.  Nothing butters me up more than someone claiming I have organizational prowess.

For my new focus on equating organization with ease and simplicity, the style list passed the litmus test: it was fast to do and made things a lot easier in the store.  Instead of wading through hundreds of dresses, I had a tight list of those that I’d seen on models, could guess at how they might fit on me, and were all my size.  I was in and out in less than an hour, thus re-igniting my Shopping Optimist.

Left: and the winner is: style number 239393!

What happened?  In the middle of last year’s Really, Truly, This Time I’m Gonna Do It! spring cleaning pledge, my resolve flamed out.  There have been times that the Quest has spurred me on and made me determined to tackle a particular challenge so I could share what I’d learned from the process.  At other times, writing, editing, and illustrating the Quest took me away from the goal stated in my tagline:  making room for the important things in life.  Instead of jumping in and doing what I could in bits and pieces until I was done, I got bogged down in things like before-and-after pictures and timing tasks so I could report how long such a project takes. Instead of streamlining, making things easier and faster to do, I’d created conditions that loaded on more steps and slowed me down. The system was broke and I didn’t know how to fix it.

I’m still not entirely sure how to fix it.  I’m still the organized-wannabe that I was when I started the Quest nearly four years ago.  Some of the positive changes I made have stuck; some are up for a re-do.  I haven’t given up, and I think that’s important: that when you want something for yourself or for your family, you ride out the bumps and keep moving forward.  During the last year, there have been times I’ve had insights I’d like to share, or took pictures of some fun project, but then I’d think, “I could just post these pictures of this really cool wire management system, but how random would that be?”  I’m writing to tell you, dear readers, that things might be a little random but I'm moving forward.  Quest on!

I knew at the time that this was our golden opportunity: how easy it would be to train them not to jump on furniture, since they didn't know what it was and showed no interest in it anyway.  The advantages were obvious: No cat fur on the sheets!  No knocked-down knick-knacks!  No claw marks defacing our still sorta-new furniture!  But then I thought of how nice it was to nap with a purring cat on the couch, or to cuddle on a recliner after dinner, and I came to my senses.  That first night, we picked the kittens up one by one and lay them down under the sheets to sleep with us.  They seemed to marvel at the softness and were very pleased indeed. 

Over the past three years, I've had plenty of opportunity to rue the day I showed Lickity how to spin my office chair around by jumping on it from the cat tree, or the fact that we're none too strict when they scratch the furniture.   There's a middle ground between oppressive and overly permissive; the key is  to replace unsuitable Objects-of-Merriment with inexpensive items or with products specifically designed to cultivate the urge to claw, gnaw, scratch, climb, and play.  Here are three things that have worked for us.

The Cat Tree

Okay I admit:  I balked at the price (over $200).  But this is one sturdy piece of cat furniture, having endured three years of punishing abuse and what's more: it's never tipped over, not even when both cats hurl their weight at top running speed, which amounts to a couple dozen times a day.  It gives them something to climb, something to claw, a place to hide (at the base) and a high place to perch and nap.  Dollar-for-dollar, this is the best investment in kitty acroutements we've made.

Above: Lickity tends to be a stretch-and-scratch kind of guy. We got this tree at Liz's Pet Shop (note: the website appears to be under construction, but the address and phone number are on the site).

The Smartykat Superscratcher

I don't know if it's the texture or what, but cats love this scratcher. Seconds after it's  opened, the cats pounce on it and scratch merrily away.  Better that than the imported, hand-knotted rug Alpay's mother gave us for our housewarming gift. 

  
Above: Snapdragon on the SuperScratcher.  We had to make some provisions and um, get a double-wide scratcher for the Dragon.

The Humble Cardboard Box

Having recently gone though several boxes of old files, I tossed this box aside to throw out.  Before I could take it to the trash, it had been annexed by The Boys as a combo hideout/fort/giant teething ring.  Lickity in particular likes to jump in it and gnaw away when he gets frustrated, which is often.  Sure, it's a little messy what with the cardboard shreds.  But it's also a no-cost option--you can't beat that!

  
Above: action shot of Lickity working on his box.  Below: He looks so innocent, doesn't he?

One day this past winter, I switched out my usual small shoulder bag for a tote, which I left on a dining chair.  Soon it was moving, which could only mean one thing:  Lickity was inside. 

This was not a surprise.  We've known now for years to check backpacks, bags, and purses before going anywhere, as such places are among Lickity's favorite hiding places.

 Above:  Lickity in a backpack last summer.  We almost took him for a ride!

What did surprise me was my sunglass case, the next time I pulled out from my tote.  It was completely, thoroughly mangled. 

 Above:  my poor, mangled case.

In The Big Scheme Of Things, This Is Pretty Small Potatoes, we can all agree.  Still, I felt vaguely uncomfortable everytime I reached into my bag and pulled out a case with teeth marks.  And so I went to Ebay to try to find a replacement case, to no avail.  Finally,on my yearly trek to Arizona to visit my Dad, I popped into the Scottsdale Nordstrom and made my way to the accessories counter, where I haltingly explained that I had bought my sunglasses at the store a few years before, and while they were still holding up great, there had been a little mishap with the case, which involved my cat, long story, but I was wondering:  did they have a case I could buy?  I took out my case and set it on the counter.  The sales associate--her name was Julie Dahms--gazed down at the clawed-and-gnawed markings for what seemed like a very long time, before turning around, opening up a drawer, and sliding a beautiful new Coach sunglass case across the counter.  "We don't have any Dior cases for sale," she said.  "But you can have this." 

I took my glasses out of the mangled case and put them in the Coach case.  It was a perfect fit.  "Great!"  I said. "How much?"  And to my utter astonishment, she said:  "Free."

I don't recall the explanation--that they weren't carrying them anymore, or it had been a promotion--but whatever the case, I was so completely floored and grateful.  It would have been hard enough to find a case to buy that would fit these particular glasses.  But to get one--so cool!--for free!  It was just such a nice and unexpected thing. 

This past week, in need of some accessories, I was able to call up Julie for a consultation and an order.  Next month, I'll be doing a Good Guys list of retailers and service providers, and Julie (and Nordstrom) is on the top of that list, but I didn't want to wait to tell this story. This time I was lucky, but there usually aren't Julie Dahms around to wave a magic wand and make pet-generated damage go away--for free.  A good deal of  agrravation can be avoided by providing appropriate products and places for your pets to vent their energy and chew, chomp, claw, gnaw, and climb to their hearts desire, which will be the focus of the next post. 

 Above:  my new case.  Thanks, Julie!

I found out a few weeks after we adopted The Boys that grooming wasn't going to be the easy task it had been with Mauie, our Maine Coon with whom we lived with relatively little drama for 19 years.  In contrast, even pros couldn't manage to clip all of Dragon's nails in one sitting. 

Then one day, visiting Shedd Acquarium, I learned how professional trainers play games that involve daily handling so that dolphins, whales, and other marine animals become accustomed to human touch and thus, are able to undergo medical exams and even procedures like blood draws without being sedated:

"Training provides the animals with mental stimulation, it gives them physical exercise and, perhaps most importantly, it teaches them to cooperate in their own care. With a simple hand cue from a trainer, a 1,700-pound beluga whale positions itself for a mouth exam or to allow a veterinarian to take a blood sample from its tail. Teaching the animals to participate in their own healthcare makes the regular medical exams easy for staff members. And it’s easy for the animals, too, because all training is conducted like a play session, with food, toys, or verbal praise as frequent rewards."
--Animal Care at Shedd

Well, shoot, if such an approach worked for a 1,700-pound whale, then surely it could work for a 6-pound kitten.  So I tried it. And it worked!      

Here's what I do: every morning at the same time, I go to the boys' blanket in the living room and call them.  They both have to come, or I get up and leave and nobody gets treats.  Usually they both come.  Then I choose one cat, and either clip a nail or two or I brush his coat or brush his teeth.  Sometimes I might even just look at each of their nails and not even do anything.  Afterwards, I announce:  Good kitty! I run to my studio and close the door.  I then hide treats in a variety of areas and open the door.  What's funny is that the cat who got "the treatment" that day almost always gets first dibs on treats--the other usually stands back.  But there's enough treats for everybody, and the cats enjoy hunting for them.  Afterwards I run a vacuum cleaner to get the crumbs, and everyone is happy.  And it's a whole lot easier to keep up with their daily grooming chores, that's for sure. 

 Top pix: The treat is on the hat box.  Middle pix:  Dragon sees the treat!  Bottom pix:  Action shot of the treat falling down.  Score!

Epiphany #1

• When giving a cat a bath, shut the bathroom door.  And have lots of towels handy.

Above:  A half-wet Dragon.

After three or four tries, I gave up on the Dragon and put Lickity in the tub.  Lickity may be the troublemaker, but he's the very model of mild mannered resignation on the grooming front, most of the time. 

 
Above: a none-too-happy Lickity.

And when Dragon sees Lickity endure some routine hygiene chore, he calms down because he knows he's not being singled out, and maybe he figures that if Lickity can survive the indignity, then so can he.

Epiphany #2

• If you have multiple cats, lock all in the bathroom together and give the tamest one a bath first. 

I was then able to catch the Dragon and  put him back in the tub. Having regained my composure, I remembered to comfort him with slow blinks and to praise him for his bravery, which he responded to by leaning into my hand trustfully.  We quickly finished off his bath with a minimum of fierce and terrifying growls.

Epiphany #3

• Baths are scary. You are the trusted guardian of your fur baby and it's up to you to guide him or her through frightening and unfamiliar experiences.  Compassion trumps impatience every time. 

Above: Fluffy, dry, and clean. Good Dragon!

A few (which is to say:  three) people have emailed me asking if I'm on Twitter, something I'd never before considered, but who am I to question such a mandate?  So I set up an account under the name Organization_Q, and installed a "follow me on Twitter" button in the column to the left, under the Quest banner and navigation bar.  I invite you to come and join the fun.  Right now it appears I'm the only one following myself, but I'm sure the other two people will catch up to us eventually. 

If you tweet, let me know in the comments section below.  It'll be fun to get to know readers and besides, I'm feeling a bit like the new kid in the cafeteria right now, with no one to follow except a celebrity organizer (Regina Leeds) and a pen store in New York that tweets once a month or so.