Books imprint me like a newly hatched duckling when it sees its mother.
For instance, I read the biography of Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell. In 1849, she became the first woman in America to earn a medical degree. Inspired to be like her, I followed her example. To keep herself awake and studying, during medical school she splashed her face with cold water. For decades afterward, I emulated her by splashing my face with cold water in the morning or when I paused to refresh. I never studied for the medical degree, and the splash is too cold these days, but her determination stuck with me
In junior high I read “Cheaper by the Dozen” by Elizabeth Gilbreth Carey. It’s a biography of her family. Both her parents specialized in studies of everyday movements to improve industrial manufacturing rates, find the best construction of new products and design efficient buildings. Her parents helped develop the layout of letters on manual typewriters and the touch typing system. All 12 children had to learn to use the touch type method. No inefficient hunt and peck was allowed in that household. The first child that learned received a typewriter of their own. It has all white keys without any letters.
“You know how to touch type, you don’t need the letters,” her father explained.
Gilbreth obsessively analyzed everything for efficiency, including everyday activities. With 12 children and one bathroom, the situation begged for efficiency. So after some thought and research, with his clothes on, Gilbreth climbed in the tub and demonstrated the fastest way for the children to get in, wash their bodies, get out, clean the tub and dress with the least motions.
One year he had a movie camera recording as each child had their tonsils removed. He aimed to find the most efficient way for surgeons to remove tonsils. The study faltered when the camera operator grew too nauseated to continue.
Efficiency. Cut out excess motions. Save time. The idea grabbed me by the neck and remains to this day. Sunday I popped lunch into the oven to cook. I had at least 15 minutes to wait. I started to go sit down and wait for the bell to ring. Instead I looked around the kitchen. I could spend the time preparing food for meals. I picked up a knife and began cutting. By the time the oven dinged, the food was ready.
In the morning, while waiting for the microwave to cook oatmeal, I clear the counter, put away dishes or pull out ingredients for baking. Before walking the length of the house, I look around asking myself, “What needs to be carried to the other end of the house?”
Efficiency reigns until I come home super exhausted after shopping, that is. I have to force myself to drag the frozen goods to the freezer before I enter the house. (Frequently, I find a pantry item beside the frozen peas when I have more energy to sort.) After grocery trips, I drop everything else on the counter before flopping on the couch to rest promising myself, “I’ll take care of all that later.”
I wish I could be like the woman who, no matter how late it was, she assiduously hangs up and puts away all her garments. Her husband urges her, “just let them be.”
“I will just have to hang them all up in the morning,” she answers, reaching for another hangar.
I may be lax in some areas of housekeeping, but the Gilbreth efficiency mindset affects me, until the Time to Rest bell dings. Then it is every man for himself; I am not doing a thing, not even splashing my face with cold water to keep going when I have reached that point of exhaustion.