I have been thrown into the world of work, and I have noticed that Being in this world is no different to Being in the world of home. In fact the world of work has rather imposed itself on my home. Maybe I've invited it.
Change is afoot at the Family Paintball Site: husband originally started it with a friend. They set up a limited company, became directors, and set about directing things. A change of circumstance for friend meant he needed to ease himself away from the business a little so he sold ten percent of his shares to another friend who works as a marshal for us. Now a further change for him has seen him take the decision to resign as a director and sell another twenty per to us. This will be a good thing for us if the place ever makes any money. Currently husband is the only director but we have the paperwork for second friend and me to be added to the list.
What this means for me is: I will take charge of the 'books' (sadly they don't have rhythmic syntax or obvious narrative), and do a lot of this:
The paint in paintballs is oily and gets on everything, so we use microfibre cloths to wipe down guns and masks during and after play. Someone has to launder them,
and these snoods, which have padding to protect your head from flying paintballs and their content.
And the armoured gloves which protect hands.
We give customers overalls to wear to protect their own clothing. Our washing machine can't cope with them so they go to a laundry. However, they tend to get torn, guess who fixes.
We also have padded tabards: more protection for customers, more sewing for me.
Another thing I do is check all written material for readability. The confirmation of booking form has just been subjected to my will, the website will be my next victim.
My job seems to be to keep things clean and tidy, and to keep playing customers safe by ensuring they don't remove their masks whilst guns are 'live.' Thirty years of housewifery hasn't been for nothing. Husband is director of managing, Ben is going to be director of operations and fun, I wanted to be director of interesting things but it looks like, whatever I call myself, I'm going to be director of mothering.
Job number two (or is that three, or four?): I've been getting ready for tonight's women's group:
We need tablecloths for the café area so have each been asked to bring one along, of course I didn't have a clean one.
This job has given me lots of fun things to do and think about. I have: photocopied some short stories and typed up some poems to take along as examples for the ladies to look at; gathered a pile of colourful postcards, some artifacts and my writing journals to give them some examples of how I generate inspiration in myself (it's unfortunate, but not having access to the minds of other writers I can't show how they do it); written stuff on index cards; worked out a plan for a short semi-formal workshop and, what I think could be the piéce de resistance:
Alesa suggested magnetic poetry and I just happened to have some gathering dust on a shelf along with a magnetic blackboard lurking in the attic.
This will, I hope, act as a variation on the index card theme: I'll remove my paltry effort and provide a starter line then invite everyone to add another line. Hopefully by the end of the evening we'll have a 'women's group' poem.
Thanks for all your suggestions and tips, those I don't get a chance to use tonight will get aired at a later date, hopefully.