Minimus and Maximus

Myers-Briggs, Taylor-Johnson, Pearson-Marr..... noooo not the names of solicitors but of personality tests, those wonderful multi page, multiple choice questionnaires that we use to justify our less attractive attributes.   "It wasn't my fault guv honest, my Myers-Briggs Indicator made me do it !!" imagine how the joy of discovering my overwhelmingly sanguine personality had the longest list of positives was rapidly deflated on turning the page and finding we also have, by far, the most negative features.  in the perusing of a paragraph i plummeted from elation to self condemnatory despair.... sanguine to the extreme or what?   Considering the complexity involved in filling in and decoding some of them, completing the test itself must be an indication of a certain personality type.   the stick in there to the end, no pain no gain sort, noble souls with the Dunkirk Spirit who wouldn't dream of walking away from any task before completion.

After six and a half decades of sharing this planet with humans of various genders, nationalities and lifestyles it seemed time to simplify this categorising system so here's The Jeni Personality Measure.   People are either maximusses or minimusses,  simples !!!

The difference between the two species is apparent in every corner of our lives.   open the freezer door and what do you find?   neatly stacked, tightly lidded, matching tubs each marked with contents, date bought, date frozen, date to be defrosted and, naturally, stacked in order of use = minimus.   random unmarked, loosely tied, plastic bags stuffed into every crook and nanny = maximus.  look in kitchen cupboards and if you find every tin and packet within it's sell by date, in usable quantities, tidily lined up you are dealing with a minimus.   if upon opening the door rusty and dented tins in quantities capable of feeding the entire UK armed forces spill onto your head, you undoubtedly have fallen into the black hole in the universe of a maximus' home.   clothes work on the same principal.   socks paired and outside in, bras and knicks sets matched and in their appropriate drawer, tops and bottoms colour coordinated on hangers = minimus.   socks, bras, knicks resembling a mutant cat's cradle squished in together wherever there's a spare corner with the bottom of the draw popped out due to overfilling, tops and bottoms strewn on chair, floor or cat's bed = maximus.  

Fortunately most families are comprised of a min, max, mix, but where you find a household that's one hundred percent max the result will often resemble the set of Steptoe and Son, eclectic in it's contents and every surface dust free, simply because said dust has nowhere clear of stuff to lodge it's smutty feet so hangs in the air as if in a gravity free environment, a swirling vortex, hovering in hope of the momentary appearance of a landing pad.   a min dominated home in contrast, is a joy to behold for it's clarity and clean lines.   books will be ordered by colour or size.  of course there may not be any on display as the advent of the eBook was a minimus dream made manifest, since they lack all temporal form. 

My sister, who lives at the opposite end of the country, is a fully subscribed minimus.   back in the day, when flying 400 miles was feasible, i would stay in her lovely flat when visiting The Parents. empty surfaces, floors devoid of clutter, uninterrupted space was to me an epiphany.   the advantages were apparent at every turn.  easy to keep clean, no dust traps, an illusion of space, no trip hazards, no hunting under haphazard mountains of jumble to find the remote, it evoked in me a yearning for energy saving simplicity.   after every visit i made a vow to the universe that on returning home i would follow her example, have a major clear out, astonish my children, change my ways......  yeah right !

It would start well, one small section of a room would be transfigured into a little area of zen calm at which i would stand and gaze in rapt admiration at this character transformation encapsulated in a cleared corner.   self congratulation and solo back patting would ensue, smugness would settle around the shoulders like a velvet cloak to be sloughed off on turning and realising that this minimalism had only been achieved by moving the accumulated clutter to a shelf, that was now in danger of snapping in two under the added weight of transposed, treasured possessions too precious to be discarded.   within twenty four hours this maximus would have reconciled herself to the inevitability of admiring her sister from afar and failing to emulate her.

So.... are you a maximus or a minimus? is The Indomitable Fred cat a maxipuss?  at what point does feeling snug and secure among a rich environment turn into pathological hoarding?   is it within our power to change such a deep rooted character complex?  should we need to? put your answers on a postcard and send to me.  hopefully it wont disappear, never to be found again,  into the pile of leaflets, junk mail, garden implements, shoes, gloves and charity bags that festoon the mat at the bottom of the stairs.

Calorific Crime Scene

It was a Crime Scene Investigator's Nirvana, Christmas and Hanukkah all rolled into one.   every whorl, loop and arch delineated in a sticky  melange revealing the secret sins of the protagonist.  no alibi, defence or pretext could exonerate the guilty party in the face of such damning fingerprint evidence.   Dr. Black with candlestick in drawing room?   Miss Scarlet with gun in ballroom?   Reverend Mustard with lead pipe in study?   Nooooo.... jeni with tablet in kitchen !!!   

The remnants of every sticky, tacky nibble splodged onto the screen illustrated the true origin of a recent half stone weight gain.   no tummy tightening or bum bracing would survive a half hour interrogation in the light of those pesky prints, each one testament to a momentary weakening of calorific resolve.   of course a gentle rub with a soft cloth and a couple of weeks of judicious eating would sort the problem easily, though sadly not permanently, and nobody would be any the wiser. 
   

Later, snugged up on the sofa watching the last episode of Orphan Black and relating to it's themes of dereliction and redemption, whilst absent-mindedly erasing all evidence of surreptitious snacking from the screen with a fluffy yellow duster, i found myself lamenting the unsavoury fact that life's indiscretions can't be so easily washed away with a J Cloth  and spray cleaner with all misdeeds forgiven and forgotten like in the movies.  sadly, murky real life leaves tenacious stains that continue to adhere long after the event and no amount of scrubbing can totally erase the heritage of our transgressions.   

I can't be the only one who wakes in the night with heart hammering dismay as scenes from the past play back in full technicolour, refusing to lie down and sleep, reminding me of every ill spoken word, heartless deed and abject failure as a parent, friend, human being.  it seems impossible to silence the voices when their accusations are valid and the fallout of the past is still manifest today. i wasted too many years when younger trying to run from the less honourable episodes of my life, burying them as deep as possible, locking them away but finding no key to keep them quiescent.   not erased, simply hidden.

All that can be done with yesterday's demons is, like my manky tablet, hold them up to the light, expose them, confess them, own them and make a commitment to do better in future.   those murky, cosmic finger marks must be illuminated, without justification, before any absolution can be forthcoming.    in the same way those extra pounds laid down by unwise nibbling wont magically disappear unless i make dietary changes, or the screen of my Acer wont stay shiny without hand washing and regular cleaning, the failures of the past can only be expunged by making better choices in the future and hoping for forgiveness from those affected.