The art of small talk

SMALL TALK
It is no easy matter to talk well. A man may read many books, and have a tenacious memory, and a sound judgment, and no small portion of critical acumen. He may express his thoughts in elegant language; he may season his discourse with wit, and be a living lexicon, and a walking encyclopedia; and yet, after all, be but a dull every-day companion. All the world don't read books; and all who do read, do not care about them; but every body loves to talk. There is something very pleasant in hearing the sound of one's own voice; and when we are wearied with toil, or tired with thought, we love to chat, to set the tongue in motion, to relieve the sense of weariness.

A Manual of Politeness, comprising the principles of etiquette, and rules of behaviour in genteel society, for persons of both sexes. 1837, published by WM Marshall & Co, Philadelphia (via google books).

We all know those people among our circles who are natural raconteurs; the ones who can describe a trip to the supermarket in such a way that we feel disappointed we weren't there with them. Often they will regale people they have just met with such tales.

But small talk doesn't come easy to us all.

The Manual of Politeness goes on to offer the following observation:

The mistake is common, though not for that reason less a mistake, to imagine that it is the easiest matter in the world to talk about nothing, or every-day occurrences: it requires an active mind, an observant mind, and no small share of that invaluable, unpurchasable, and unlearnable quality, good humour, to say something on every thing to any body. It has been sometimes noticed, as a remarkable and amiable trait in the characters of some men, of very superior minds, that they have been able and willing to make themselves agreeable to children; and not unfrequently has it been observed of great monarchs, that they had something to say to every body.

And perhaps that is the key? The art of small talk lies in being comfortable talking to anyone at any time. But how do we learn this skill?

With two girls in my household, there is usually no end to the chatter, but I was interested to hear the Principal of my youngest daughter's school outline that the school has a 'method' for teaching the children to be confident in interacting with others, particularly adults. They must:

• look the person in the eye
• respond to the greeting, and if it included a question, answer it with more than a 'yes' or 'no', and most importantly,
• follow up with a question of their own.

So a conversation with a teacher in the morning may go along the lines of:

Teacher: Hello Jessica! Did you have a good weekend?

Jessica: I did Mrs Teacher, I went to stay at my grandparents.
What did you do on the weekend?

And there you go, it's Conversation 101 for six year olds. The Principal went on to say that after a while, the students aim to be the initiator of any interaction so that they get 'their' questions in first!

Listening to older students interacting with their parents, I suspect those lessons may need to be re-learned. One-word answers seem to be the go with many young teens, and I don't know if it is shyness or disinterest, but I find few who initiate a conversation with an adult they don't know well.

Perhaps it is a lack of a shared knowledge and interests?

The Manual of Politeness says, "Let but the topics of the day be known, the last novel, or picture, or public singer, and all the conversation may be anticipated," but when you have to ask your fellow conversation-er for an explanation of exactly who Justin Beiber is, it is clear there are no longer universal "topics of the day".

Safe small talk topics here in Melbourne once included the football, free-to-air TV and the top stories in that day's Age. With a diversifying population those topics are no longer (if they ever were) known to all. Some people in this fair city don't even follow AFL football (I know! Shock!), television is delivered via a multitude of free-to-air and pay-TV channels and people obtain their news from a variety of mainstream and online media. We can't make assumptions, particularly in meeting strangers.

So how do we strike up those conversations? What are your sure-fire topics to get the ball rolling, or tips that help with the art of small talk?

How full is your letterbox?

December heralds for this household a special time - it is the only time of the year that significant amounts of 'personal' mail fill our letterbox. For most of the year, it contains bills, marketing materials and 'official' letters. For a few short weeks a year, there are also handwritten items wishing us seasonal greetings.

But I've noticed a trend. There was once a time when we'd receive around 100 Christmas cards. This year, I reckon we'll be lucky to get 50. I don't think it's that we're less popular than we used to be....I think it's just that less people send cards nowadays.

Before our time, the sending of a handwritten card through the mail was the accepted way to convey greetings and best wishes to family and friends worldwide.

The first commercial Christmas cards were commissioned by Sir Henry Cole in London in 1843. It was not an idea of totally altruistic origins however, as Cole had helped introduce the Penny Post three years earlier. Imagine the boost to the postal services Christmas cards must have provided over the years.

By the latter half of the 19th century, Australia and the United States had followed suit.

Nowadays however, there are many options for sending festive greetings: email, e-cards, text messages, a message on a blog or a Facebook wall. Phone calls are cheaper than they once were.

Some people don't even bother with any of the above.

I am a die-hard card sender, but mine don't always make it out before Christmas. I believe a card is as good in the New Year as it is in the week before Christmas.

Call me old-fashioned, but I love to receive cards from friends and family. I especially love the year-in-review letters and/or photos some people include - there's nothing like catching up on a year's news in a couple of minutes.

It takes time, but the sending of a card sends more than a piece of paper. It tells the recipient that you are thinking of them, and that they are still a valued part of your life whether or not you have had much contact over the previous twelve months or so.

But then again, an email could also send that same message. In these technologically advanced times, are the traditional cards' days numbered?

To card or not to card? That is the question.

RSVP grumpiness

While we're on the subject of birthday parties (it's birthday party season in my household), let's talk about the etiquette of RSVPs.

My six year old is having a birthday party this weekend. Written invitations were mailed four weeks ago with a clearly marked RSVP date (one week prior to the party) and two options for RSVP (mobile phone or email).

Three days out from the party and four children were unaccounted for. So, I followed up with their parents. One is going away that weekend, another is coming to the party, the third has been off school ill and will let me know closer to the date (fair enough - although the party is tomorrow and I haven't heard so far), and the fourth I still haven't heard back from.

Then this morning a child who was one of the first to RSVP in the affirmative said to me at school drop off that she was sorry she can't come to the party as she is going to a friend's school fair. As her mother had RSVP'd so quickly and so definitely, this confused me and when I happened to see the mother in the school carpark on my way out, I asked her about her child telling me she's not coming (although I didn't mention the school fair bit).

"Ah, yes," she said. "She's been sick, so I'm just waiting to see if she's well enough to come to the party. I'll SMS you first thing tomorrow morning. She really wants to come if she can."

Okay then.

Call me old-fashioned, but I treat RSVP-ing seriously. When I say yes or no to something I do so before the date on the invitation and in the manner requested on the invitation. Both my girls have been taught that once something has been accepted you don't then change your mind if a better offer comes up. My oldest in particular has had a couple of occasions this year where she's missed good friend's parties or sleepovers because she was already committed elsewhere.

Before our time, a written invitation would have necessitated a written RSVP. Heck, even in my time, I can recall writing endless replies to friends' parents for invitations to 18th and 21st birthday parties.

Another school mum who has much older step-children tells me that organising 18th and 21st birthday parties nowadays is a nightmare, as no-one RSVPs in advance. Parents are left wondering how many exactly they are catering for, while the younger generation watch their mobile phones in case a better offer appears in their SMS in-box.

But then, perhaps they were the ones whose parents didn't RSVP to six year old birthday parties either.

Tell me, am I just grumpy and out of touch with the etiquette of today?

Who sits where at your house?

DINNER BEING ANNOUNCED, the host offers his arm to, and places on his right hand at the dinner-table, the lady to whom he desires to pay most respect, either on account of her age, position, or from her being the greatest stranger in the party. If this lady be married and her husband present, the latter takes the hostess to her place at table, and seats himself at her right hand. The rest of the company follow in couples, as specified by the master and mistress of the house, arranging the party according to their rank and other circumstances which may be known to the host and hostess.

Isabella Beaton, The Book of Household Management, S. O. Beeton 1861

This is our dining arrangement.

I sit in the closest chair, husband in the chair near the door,

daughter to the left, son to the right.

When dinner is announced at your house do you (a) grab the nearest chair (b) sit in the same seat you’ve sat in for the last 15 years or (c) grab the piece of couch closest to the remote?

Perhaps the last time you considered seating arrangements was when you were wondering how to seat Aunt Maude and distant cousin Reginald at your wedding so they wouldn’t cause a scene. But there was a time when sitting down to dinner involved time-honoured arrangements about who sat where. Father at the head, mother at the other end, children seen but not heard sitting somewhere between – or in some houses, up in the nursery eating bread and butter.

In our house we have set places to sit. This has evolved over time but in every home we have lived the seating has followed a similar pattern. That is, I – being the primary cook – sit in the seat closest to the kitchen. We have a round table so there is no ‘head’ of the table but even if we sit at our rectangular dining room the four of us will sit in the middle seats, with no-one at the ‘head’. I think I may be the only one in the family who cares about this.

Last week, at breakfast, my husband prepared a bowl of Weetbix and went straight to sit at my place at the table - closest to the kitchen - instead of walking around the table to sit closest to the outside door.

Quell horreur!

I asked him to move around to his normal place. I stated (I may have puffed my chest at this point) that, as the primary breakfast-getter and the one with the least amount of time to eat my food on account of having made the school lunches, packed the bags and prepared the children's breakfasts, I should sit in the seat closest to the kitchen. If I was quicker of thought I may also have pointed out that if he was in a chivalrous frame of mind he would sit closest to the door should any undesirable attempt to enter the kitchen (like gentlemen of the past walking on the road side of the footpath).

Was I being a little pedantic? A little unreasonable? Why should I have special dibs on that seat? It isn’t even the best seat at the table (that had been ‘baggsed’ four years ago by the eldest child).

If I look back to my childhood the seat closest to the kitchen has always been taken by my mother and it was she who primarily prepared . It makes sense to me that the food-preparer sit closest to his or her means of production.

My husband, for the record, looked at me as if I was mad, rolled his eyes and stood his ground. I noticed, however, the next day he sat in his normal seat.

Do you have set places to sit at dinner? Does your seating arrangement mirror that of your parents? Or perhaps, like some families, you have a regular rotation of seats to avoid all-out sibling war?

Should we cast our nighted colour off?

Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off.

W. Shakespeare (1564-1616) from Hamlet. Hamlet's mother/aunt asking him to stop wearing his dark funeral clothing after the death of his father

Funeral wear is such a sombre topic for this time of year so I apologise for mentioning it however I have been to three funerals in the last 14 months, the most recent yesterday, and this is a topic that is front of mind for many attending these ceremonies.

Before our time attendance at a western Christian funeral was governed by a strict dress code which reached it's height during the Victorian era following the death, in 1861, of Queen Victoria's consort, Prince Albert. After this period full black mourning dress became essential for the upper and middle classes and their service staff. For immediate family this form of dress was not only for the funeral but continued for up to two and a half years after the death. Children were often spared this dress code but may have had a purple or black ribbon attached to their clothing instead. Queen Victoria famously wore her "Widows Weeds" for the rest of her life.

In the second half of the twentieth century the funeral dress code relaxed. Fewer people wore mourning dress other than for the funeral itself and other dark or sombre colours such as navy, purple or grey became acceptable provided the clothing was conservatively styled. Prince Charles is said to have worn a navy suit to Diana, Princess of Wales' funeral because it was a suit she liked him to wear.

Today funeral etiquette guides advise attendees to wear conservative clothing in accordance with the grieving family's wishes or belief system. However, what do you wear if this is unstated or unclear? With the relaxation of dress codes comes ambiguity. How many of us really feel we know what is right to wear?

Having attended three funerals recently, and following discussion with other funeral attendees, I found that many agree that funeral attire depends on the context of each death that is being mourned. As such I have developed a personal guide to what I would wear for each context. This guide assumes that no specific dress code has been requested (eg. everyone wear football colours) and that the funeral is a western-style Christian ceremony, perhaps in a church or cemetery chapel. It also assumes the deceased is an adult.

• Tragic, sudden unexpected death (eg. from an accident) Black or very dark conservative clothing. Minimal accessories. Minimal makeup and waterproof mascara a must. Black in this scenario represents a shared sense of shock.
  
  
• Tragic, but not unexpected death (eg. long illness): Conservative primarily dark clothing, perhaps a touch of colour - especially a favourite colour of the deceased.
  


• Death from old age, expected, lived a long and happy life: Dress in a dignified style that reflects the individual's outlook. Still conservative styling, this is not a dance but a dignified memorial of a life long-lived. I have said to friends that if I manage to live a long life and die in summer - hold a wake in the garden and wear your prettiest floral dress, zimmer frame optional.

It is harder to know what children should wear. At a recent mid-week funeral of a much-loved friend with a young daughter the presence of her classmates dressed in school uniform (most Australian school students have uniforms) was lovely and dignified and reminded we adults that life goes on. Yesterday the 12 year old son of the deceased wore his football uniform and this year's premiership medal, as did the rest of his team. His father was the team manager and this was a touching symbol of his involvement with his children.

This is one 21st century girl's outlook on funeral wear. What do you think? Are there occasions where we should cast of our nighted colour, or should we get back to black as standard funeral wear?

Packing for a holiday abroad

"When packing your bulk luggage, remember that it won't be available to you on the journey. Therefore, pack the items most urgently needed in a small handbag which will remain in your custody. Keep within the weight limits laid down for luggage, which, in normal circumstances, is 44lb. Don't exceed that limit unless you are prepared to pay excess."

Etiquette for Australians by Noreen Routledge (1944)

Next week, my husband, daughters and I are heading off on a plane for a holiday 'abroad'.

(Don't you just love the word abroad? It conjures images of European Grand Tours and Mediterranean sojourns, flying boats and steam trains - so much more evocative than overseas.)

Anyway, I digress. The fact is that we are journeying to another country via an aircraft. And I have started to worry about what I need to pack for three weeks which includes two cities - one of which has recently been experiencing temperatures in the high 20s, low 30s (Celsius) and the other of which hovers around 0-4 degrees for most of the day and drops below zero at night.

It's a difficult task.

So I consulted the wisdom of the past.

Noreen Routledge's Etiquette for Australians published in 1944 contains a chapter on travel by air, including a very helpful list (with weights) of suggested clothing to pack. (Click on the photo if you would like to read the list.)

Now keep in mind that this book was published in 1944. The Second World War was raging. When Singapore had fallen to Japanese forces in 1942, Qantas's thrice-weekly Australia-England flying boat services had ceased*. In 1943, Qantas (together with the British Air Ministry and BOAC) agreed to a plan to re-establish the Australia-England air link by establishing regular Catalina flying boat flights between the Swan River, Perth, and Koggala Lake, in southern Ceylon (now Sri Lanka).

The single Indian Ocean hop of 5,652km was to be the longest non-stop regular passenger flight ever attempted. Navigation was by the stars to maintain radio silence near enemy aircraft and each flight was limited to only three passengers and 69kg of diplomatic and armed forces mail. The flying boats took an average of 28 hours to complete the journey. By the time the operation ended in 1945, 271 crossings carrying 648 passengers had been completed.

It's not quite the same as a 747-jumbo packed full of tourists, backpackers and business people now is it?

Throughout the War, Qantas did maintain a modest domestic schedule (a Brisbane-Darwin service and a handful of minor Queensland routes) but air travel was hardly an experience for the masses.

Which perhaps explains some of the items on Ms Routledge's list: 1 costume, 2 dinner frocks, 2 silk frocks, 2 afternoon frocks...3 pairs of gloves...1 hat box, 2 hats...

Interestingly though, after all this time, and with significant changes in the type of aircraft flown, today's baggage allowance is identical to that of 1944. Forty-four lbs (or 20kgs) is still the baggage allowance for travellers flying economy class on an international flight.

Which, as far as I'm concerned, is about 15 kilograms too much to be lugging around into and out of hotels and taxis. I like to travel reasonably light. I can probably forgo the silk frocks and the hat box, but I know that in my enthusiasm to keep our suitcases light, I'm bound to leave out an essential item.

Tell me. What should I not forget to pack?


* Historical information about Qantas came from the Qantas website.

A thankless task?

“I am sure I need not add that the receipt of a present, however small, should be acknowledged at once, and the letter worded as graciously as possible.”

Etiquette in Australia by Mrs Erskine
published by William Brooks & Co, Sydney in 1911.

Speak to any person of the most mature years about the giving of presents and one of the comments they will inevitably make is that the younger generations never thank them adequately for their gifts.

In this age of letters, faxes, e-mail, SMS, instant-messaging, Facebook pokes and phone calls, what is the acceptable etiquette of thanking someone for a gift? And how do we broach the gulf in expectations and understanding between generations?

As a child brought up in an age when mail was the only reasonable way of communicating with friends and family members who lived some distance away, my grandmother would have, as a matter of course, written thank you letters on many hundreds of occasions. Thank you for your gift. Thank you for your hospitality. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your sympathy. It was the accepted way of acknowledging the effort and thought another person had extended towards you.

She, like many of her generation, therefore expects (and extends) written acknowledgement of gifts. And the acknowledgement should be prompt. I’ve watched her sit down on Boxing Day morning with a set of note cards, writing thanks for gifts she received on Christmas Day.

Her great-grandchildren, on the other hand, are natives of the digital-generation. For them communication with people half a world away can be instantaneous and can take a great many forms. Asking an eleven year old to sit down with paper and a pen and handwrite a number of thank you letters after a birthday party, is akin to asking them to pull their fingernails out one by one (and just as torturous for the parent concerned).

Yet, I persist in nagging my daughters to write thank you letters after their birthdays because to me, the very act of writing the note to the giver of a gift forces you to contemplate and appreciate the effort and thought that went into the selection of the present (or the writing of the cheque!) and communicate this appreciation.

I let the youngest cheat a little, by just asking her to sign her name on letters I’ve written for her. It’s not that difficult, but it does require some effort on their behalf, and they need to do it within a day (or three or four…) of receiving the gift.

I do however, have my own special 'thank you caveat'…I don’t make the girls write Christmas gift thank you letters, and I don’t write them myself. We thank people personally or ring them because let’s face it, who wants to spend the Christmas break forcing children to write letters when there are beaches to be visited, and icecreams to be eaten?

Perhaps I’m old-fashioned and out-of-touch to insist my girls send thank you letters through the post? Perhaps it would be just as acceptable for them to SMS their thanks? Or send e-mails? Maybe they could just phone everyone? Or instant-message them if they catch them on-line?

I worry though, that a pain-free and fleeting method of communicating a ‘thank you’, removes the contemplation time a written note involves. A ‘thank you’ can be casually tossed out verbally with very little actual thought.

Some of those methods may not meet the expectations of all of the givers either. Anything short of a handwritten envelope in the mailbox with a stamp attached may come up short of my grandmother's generation's requirements, and with gift-giving being a two-way process is it not disrespectful and inconsiderate to refuse to play the part that generation expects?

Maybe I need to develop a multi-tiered system of thank you categories depending on the age and expectations of the gift-givers? Handwritten letters for great-grandmothers, word-processed letters for grandparents and great-aunts, e-mails for anyone internet-friendly, and a casual verbal, ‘Thanks,’ for school friends?

What do you suggest? (But please, don’t expect me to handwrite a thank you letter for your advice!)

Halloween Scots-style

Here in Australia, we think of Halloween as being mainly a North American tradition. However, it actually had its origins in the Celtic culture over two thousand years ago. It was known then as the Samhain festival, and was a day on which the Celts believed that the souls of the dead and/or evil spirits could visit the living world and wreak havoc.

Eventually, the Catholic church made 1st November All Saints Day (possibly in an attempt to curb the Pagan Samhain festival) and the day before it became known as Halloween - the eve before All Hallows or All Saints Day.

As a Scottish-Australian, only one generation removed from the land of tartan, it is my Celtic duty to examine the Scottish Halloween traditions that date from before our time.

And who better to consult on these traditions than my own personal experts on Scottish culture, my Mum and my Aunt? These ladies were children in Scotland in the 1950s and I asked them what they remembered of Halloween traditions.

My Mum, who grew up in a small farming village in the South of Scotland said:

When we were young we used to carve out a swede turnip (they were the size of footballs). We would hollow out the stalk for the chimney. A candle was fixed in the bottom, a wire handle attached and we carried it out with us. The stink of hot turnip was unbelievable.

The end of October was very cold to be out walking at night but we never seemed to mind that. We went round the village dressed as witches, ghosts etc and received apples and homemade treacle toffee and fudge. The clever mums would make toffee apples--- and the occasional rich farmer would give us a shilling.

Most households would make the toffee and fudge in the days before the 31st. One year my mother had made all the toffee and put it on the cold floor behind the kitchen door to cool off and set. One of my brothers came in the back door and without looking stripped off his dung-laden wellies and tossed them behind the door. Imagine my mother's horror when she went to get the toffee and found the wellies sitting nicely in it! It was panic that year to get more made so that the children wouldn’t be disappointed.

If someone had a Halloween party, we would play games such as dooking for apples, or eating treacle-covered scones hanging from a string.

My Aunt recalled:

We carved turnips not pumpkins for lanterns and as you made the design you were careful to leave a thin layer of neep for the candle to shine through, not actual holes!

‘Guising’ was done from house to house and you tried to make yourself unrecognizable. You only went to houses where you were known and in order to gain a treat you had to entertain the household in some way.

I wouldn’t be taking my research seriously, if I didn’t at least attempt to carve a swede, but there’s a couple of problems with this:
a) swedes in Australia are around the size of a cricket ball, not a football, and
b) swedes are not currently in season here, being a cool-season vegetable.

However, in the interests of accurate experimentation I did it.

Before Our Time is about revisiting the wisdom of the past and evaluating its application to today’s life. So I have concluded that we would be better in Australia to start a tradition of carving Halloween lanterns out of an item which is large like a pumpkin, and readily available in October.

Ta-da!

Halloween melon lanterns.

A Scottish tradition that is a keeper, I think, is the fudge (or tablet) making for Halloween. My Mum sent through a recipe from The Home Book Of Scottish Cookery by Aileen King and Fiona Dunnett (1967) which I whipped up to send in to my daughter’s class at school.

The ingredients were just water, sugar, condensed milk, butter and vanilla essence. Torture on the teeth and the hips, but oh-so-delicious! (edit: see below for my version of the recipe.)

I wrapped it into individual serves with a spider sticker on each one.

If you know any Scottish bloggers, send them this way so we can get a more up-to-date analysis of Halloween Scots-style.

Happy Halloween! What traditions do you have for this day in your part of the world?

(Edited to add the recipe!)

Scottish Tablet or Fudge
500g white sugar
150ml hot water
60g butter
1 small tin condensed milk
1tsp vanilla essence

Add sugar to water in a saucepan over low heat. Stir until dissolved. Add condensed milk and heat, gently stirring all the time. When combined, add the butter in small lumps. Stir while waiting for each to totally melt before adding the next. Turn the heat right up and bring to the boil. Boil rapidly for around 5-7 mins until the mixture forms a soft ball when dropped into cold water. Remove from heat and allow bubbles to subside. Add vanilla essence and beat until creamy and thick. Pour into a lined 22cm x 30cm tin and refrigerate. Cut into squares when set.

Edited 11 Nov: It seems some people are having trouble getting the fudge to set. I'm no fudge expert, so I really don't know what is going wrong! I boiled mine really rapidly for the full 7 minutes, and it did start to turn streaky with a darker colour at that point - if that helps!

I'm just so busy being busy.

Well before our time, during the Victorian era, a leisured life was something to aspire to. The amount of time a Victorian gentleman could devote to unpaid pursuits was an indication of his social status.

Now, it seems the amount we do and the hours it takes us to do it are instead the status symbols. “Being busy” has replaced “being useful” as a measure of an individual’s self-worth.

I’ve noticed this particularly in the language we use to describe ourselves. Until fairly recently, the expected response to the question, “How are you?” would be something along the lines of:

Very well, thank you.
Fine, thanks, and you?
Not bad, mate.
or even,
Good. Accompanied by determined nodding of the head. (Let’s not start on the grammatical merits of this choice!)

There is however, a creeping tendency for all of the above to be replaced by:

I'm so BUSY.
Keeping busy.
You know, busy as always.

In fact, “How are you?” is also in danger of being made obsolete by the query, “So. Are you busy?”

Busy has become a highly desired state of being.

How many e-mails start with the line, “Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you, I've been busy with [insert appropriate activity here]”?

Busy is worn as badge of honour. There is a degree of smugness accompanying the use of the busy descriptor when it’s used to decline a request for assistance: "I'm sorry I can't help you organise Christmas lunch for 50 of our closest family and friends. I'm just too busy at the moment. How about I bring some Christmas crackers?"

The implication is, “I have important activities to do, and what you request of me is frivolous.”

Let’s face it, we’re all busy. We all have the same number of hours to fill in a day, and we all fill them. If some people choose to spend most of those hours watching television and sleeping, then they are still busy - with their own priorities.

Telling someone you are too busy to do what they request of you is an attempt to illicit agreement from the requester that your own activity is of greater importance than theirs, or to denigrate the value of the activity you have been requested to complete.

A more honest response would be, “I know that spending time with our families during the Festive season is important to you, but I have higher priorities at the moment.”

Try replacing the word busy with the term “out of control”.

Now, being busy doesn't look like such a desirable state of being, does it? It means you haven’t planned and prioritized your day.

So to test a pet theory, I devoted an entire week to declaring a state of non-busy-ness. Every time I was asked how I was, I replied that I was very well thank you, and had everything under control.

When my osteopath asked, “How's your week? Busy?” I replied, “No. Not at all.”

In doing so I discovered a sure-fire way to kill any conversation.

Try it out. Next time you’re asked, “Are you busy?” watch the tailspin the questioner goes into when you respond, “No, not at all. I have stuff on, but it’s all under control.”

It’s just unacceptable for you not to be BUSY and it leaves nowhere for the small talk to go!

When my daughters asked me to do something for them and I was otherwise engaged, I didn’t tell them I was busy, I said, “Sorry. I won’t do that right now. I am doing something else I would prefer to finish first.” This process really made me stop and think about which activity actually was the higher priority.

Without the catch-all ‘busy’ safety net to explain my actions (or inactions) I found I really had to examine my priorities.

The next time I’m asked if I’m busy, I may just reply, “No, I’m not. And how about you? Are you useful?”