It began simply as most addictions do. Late at night, I was bored and while everyone was asleep I indulged. Before too many nights, I started planning my day around when I'd get a hit and soon I was scouring the day for times when I could fuel the fire.
Like many people, I thought I wouldn't fall so easily. I use to laugh at others who told me about their battles and I would laugh self-righteously at them. Now I know better.
Weekend like this one -- with cold, icy weather only makes me want more, more, more...
So this weekend I'll be camped out on the sofa, scarfing down leftovers and watching all the seasonal reruns of "scrubs" I can find.
I love J.D but Dr. Cox is my favorite. And Jordan! I love that character. I love the silliness and the mythical and literary references and I can get lost in my cable stations reruns.
Almost more than Law and Order but maybe not quite....
Friday, January 12, 2007
Friday, December 29, 2006
On my bookshelf
This New Year's I have a stack of books that I'm enjoying:
"Thirst" (poems by Mary Oliver)
"Traveling Mercies" (Anne Lamott)
"Keeping Faith" (Jodi Picoult)
"The Bourne Ultimatum" (Robert Ludlum)
"Moby Dick" (Herman Melville)
As long as I have books to read, it is a good year.
"Thirst" (poems by Mary Oliver)
"Traveling Mercies" (Anne Lamott)
"Keeping Faith" (Jodi Picoult)
"The Bourne Ultimatum" (Robert Ludlum)
"Moby Dick" (Herman Melville)
As long as I have books to read, it is a good year.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas Eve walk in my garden
I take a subscription to "Fine Gardening" which is the best periodical on the market for gardeners. I like it because it gives more than just glossy photos of gardens, it also gives a map of what makes up a great garden along with expert tips. Additionally, the articles transcend more than the usual garden "how-to's" even giving advice on creating what I call "sacred space".
Still, my favorite magazine arrives about the time I feel sucker-punched by my garden and this past week was no exception. Gardening is like parenting, wimps need not apply and I have been feely particularly grumpy regarding my garden of late. This past year was harsh because of the lack of rain fall and I have determined that I will add nothing to my garden this year until I have sufficient water that can sustain the life that I try to keep going.
I ignored the publication for several days, excusing myself because I was busy with holidays and such. But I was really angry at my garden for many reasons. First I was angry that it didn't look like the gardens in the magazines. My husband's reply didn't help. "What, you think I'd be mad at you because you don't look like the girls in Vogue?" I stomped outside to think about it some more.
I was mad at my garden mostly because of the tremendous disappointment it had become. After months and years of watering and care, this past year it looked weedy and untamed and I had given up in late June, cursing the moles and the bugs and the bermuda worse than ever before.
As I browsed the gardening magazine I came across a really terrific article that may help save me: "6 Essential garden elements" and as I read the article, I remembered that this is why it's good to have expert opinions to guide you -- when you are most discouraged is the time for someone who's been there before to help you along. Here are the Six Essentials:
1 - Shelters: structures such as arbors, pergolas, gazebos.
2 - Ornamentation: decorative embellishments such as sculptures, found objects or arranged beach stones.
3 - Pathways: areas used for passage that direct the visitor and influence the experience
4 - Water: features such as ponds, streams, fountains or birdbaths used to stimulate the senses
5 - Gates: garden entry points or portals that indicate a beginning and end.
6 - Borders: physical boundaries - such as fences, walls or hedges that divide spaces.
What is exciting about these components is that they can be on a table top or an acre of space. Gardens can be wherever they need to be and I'm a believer that there needs to be more.
Valerie Easton, author of "A Pattern Garden" also wrote in this article that a "garden is a metaphore for change" which is why I enjoy walking my garden at all seasons. Seasons are a benchmark for change and there is no better way to find that personally or organically than in a garden.
Still, my favorite magazine arrives about the time I feel sucker-punched by my garden and this past week was no exception. Gardening is like parenting, wimps need not apply and I have been feely particularly grumpy regarding my garden of late. This past year was harsh because of the lack of rain fall and I have determined that I will add nothing to my garden this year until I have sufficient water that can sustain the life that I try to keep going.
I ignored the publication for several days, excusing myself because I was busy with holidays and such. But I was really angry at my garden for many reasons. First I was angry that it didn't look like the gardens in the magazines. My husband's reply didn't help. "What, you think I'd be mad at you because you don't look like the girls in Vogue?" I stomped outside to think about it some more.
I was mad at my garden mostly because of the tremendous disappointment it had become. After months and years of watering and care, this past year it looked weedy and untamed and I had given up in late June, cursing the moles and the bugs and the bermuda worse than ever before.
As I browsed the gardening magazine I came across a really terrific article that may help save me: "6 Essential garden elements" and as I read the article, I remembered that this is why it's good to have expert opinions to guide you -- when you are most discouraged is the time for someone who's been there before to help you along. Here are the Six Essentials:
1 - Shelters: structures such as arbors, pergolas, gazebos.
2 - Ornamentation: decorative embellishments such as sculptures, found objects or arranged beach stones.
3 - Pathways: areas used for passage that direct the visitor and influence the experience
4 - Water: features such as ponds, streams, fountains or birdbaths used to stimulate the senses
5 - Gates: garden entry points or portals that indicate a beginning and end.
6 - Borders: physical boundaries - such as fences, walls or hedges that divide spaces.
What is exciting about these components is that they can be on a table top or an acre of space. Gardens can be wherever they need to be and I'm a believer that there needs to be more.
Valerie Easton, author of "A Pattern Garden" also wrote in this article that a "garden is a metaphore for change" which is why I enjoy walking my garden at all seasons. Seasons are a benchmark for change and there is no better way to find that personally or organically than in a garden.
Monday, December 18, 2006
My Parenting Top 10 List
(Author's note: This kind of list is only undertaken by the very brave or the very stupid or by those who have been up all night working deadlines and feeling a little fuzzy-headed due to too much caffeine and too much chocolate. There are no "parenting experts" and those that claim to be experts in the field of parenting have probably never had a colicky baby or a rebellious teenager. Nonetheless, I believe that all parents have a responsibility to share what they do know with the idea that better parents make a better world. With the idea that parenting is more mystery than fact, more art than science, I reserve the right to change my list as new "opportunities" present themselves.")
My Parent Top 10 - December, 2006
1 - Say "yes" as much as possible. Saying yes does not mean no limits. You can say, "Yes, you can have a cookie AFTER you eat your dinner." or "Yes, you can play with your friend AFTER you clean your room."
2 - Hold on loosely but don't let go. Sure, it's a rock song, but it really works in most relationships especially parenting. The goal of parenting is to make dependent people independent in every way: socially, financially, spiritually, emotionally. I like to think of parenting like a sledding slope. The first 5 years you are getting the gear out to do the gig. The next 5 years is the trek up the mountain, the next 5 is the trek down where it is all about just guiding and enjoying the ride and recovering from any wipe outs. The next 5 years is sharing the excitement over a cup of cocoa.
3 - Know the difference in covenant and contract. A covenant is an agreement based upon one person whereas a contract is an agreement based upon two people. Parenting is a covenant in the sense that love is there for children at no cost, expense or effort on their part. My children cannot earn my love, it is mine to give. There are things in the relationship, though, that need contractual agreements, not necessarily in the legal sense but in the agreement sense. "When you finish your homework, we'll go to the movie." and the like.
4 - My children are not "mine". I'm grateful I was a part of the process of creating my children but they are not mine. I do not own them and in fact, the role I have is to provide them the opportunity for them to be the "boss of themselves". They are a gift that I have been allowed to share for about 18 years.
5 - My children are not to carry on my dreams. - I want my kids to have their own dreams, not be burdened with unmet dreams of my life. That means that when they are on the playing field of life -- either metaphorically or physcially - my role is to cheer on my kid and their team. My kids are not there to struggle under my past no matter how glorious or pathetic.
6 - Speak truth into theier lives whenever possible - Parenting is like a great "reveal" where you can literally speak what can be into their lives whenever possible. Sometimes it may sound like a fiction story when you day, "I know you can accomplish _____ goal!" And sometimes it may be the impossible dream. The goal of dreaming is to create a new reality that can be accomplished simply by seeing possibilities over obstacles, the good in the bad, the possible in the impossible.
7 - Be a screw up - I believe that kids need guidance, not perfection. In fact, I believe the role of parenting is to create completion not perfection. Parenting, by divine design, is as much about parents formation as it is the kids. This humble approach to parenting is transformative in that parents will learn as much about themselves and the world through the process of good parenting as the kids will.
8 - Companion to #7 - Say "I'm sorry" quickly - I have no problem saying "I blew it!" to my kids when appropriate and the sad fact is, I blow it everyday. I don't have all the answers on any subject which is good because what my kids need to know is that I care and that I can listen and that together we can face the day.
9 - Have a partner - Whether married or not, parents need support. I am grateful for my husband of 21 years who is gifted in ways that I cannot ever be. There are days when I call and say, "Your kid needs you today." which is a way to say, "you're gifted in this area -- I am not." Especially as our kids have grown up I have been amazed at how my husband can untangle a knot with our kids. And there are times when my style of parenting is best suited to a given situation. This is not a competition but a team goal.
10 - Pray a lot - I believe that kids are part of a divine design with a creator that knows everything they need before they ever take a first breath. In fact that is my prayer in the murky days of parenting, "YOU know what they need, help them in spite of me."
This is a good time to say "you're the best" to a couple of people who make my world shine, my kids, Nathan (18) and Ellen (16) who are better people most days than I'll ever be. Thank you for the gifts you give me this season and everyday. Why God gave you to me is the testimony that He has a terrific sense of humor and endless grace.
My Parent Top 10 - December, 2006
1 - Say "yes" as much as possible. Saying yes does not mean no limits. You can say, "Yes, you can have a cookie AFTER you eat your dinner." or "Yes, you can play with your friend AFTER you clean your room."
2 - Hold on loosely but don't let go. Sure, it's a rock song, but it really works in most relationships especially parenting. The goal of parenting is to make dependent people independent in every way: socially, financially, spiritually, emotionally. I like to think of parenting like a sledding slope. The first 5 years you are getting the gear out to do the gig. The next 5 years is the trek up the mountain, the next 5 is the trek down where it is all about just guiding and enjoying the ride and recovering from any wipe outs. The next 5 years is sharing the excitement over a cup of cocoa.
3 - Know the difference in covenant and contract. A covenant is an agreement based upon one person whereas a contract is an agreement based upon two people. Parenting is a covenant in the sense that love is there for children at no cost, expense or effort on their part. My children cannot earn my love, it is mine to give. There are things in the relationship, though, that need contractual agreements, not necessarily in the legal sense but in the agreement sense. "When you finish your homework, we'll go to the movie." and the like.
4 - My children are not "mine". I'm grateful I was a part of the process of creating my children but they are not mine. I do not own them and in fact, the role I have is to provide them the opportunity for them to be the "boss of themselves". They are a gift that I have been allowed to share for about 18 years.
5 - My children are not to carry on my dreams. - I want my kids to have their own dreams, not be burdened with unmet dreams of my life. That means that when they are on the playing field of life -- either metaphorically or physcially - my role is to cheer on my kid and their team. My kids are not there to struggle under my past no matter how glorious or pathetic.
6 - Speak truth into theier lives whenever possible - Parenting is like a great "reveal" where you can literally speak what can be into their lives whenever possible. Sometimes it may sound like a fiction story when you day, "I know you can accomplish _____ goal!" And sometimes it may be the impossible dream. The goal of dreaming is to create a new reality that can be accomplished simply by seeing possibilities over obstacles, the good in the bad, the possible in the impossible.
7 - Be a screw up - I believe that kids need guidance, not perfection. In fact, I believe the role of parenting is to create completion not perfection. Parenting, by divine design, is as much about parents formation as it is the kids. This humble approach to parenting is transformative in that parents will learn as much about themselves and the world through the process of good parenting as the kids will.
8 - Companion to #7 - Say "I'm sorry" quickly - I have no problem saying "I blew it!" to my kids when appropriate and the sad fact is, I blow it everyday. I don't have all the answers on any subject which is good because what my kids need to know is that I care and that I can listen and that together we can face the day.
9 - Have a partner - Whether married or not, parents need support. I am grateful for my husband of 21 years who is gifted in ways that I cannot ever be. There are days when I call and say, "Your kid needs you today." which is a way to say, "you're gifted in this area -- I am not." Especially as our kids have grown up I have been amazed at how my husband can untangle a knot with our kids. And there are times when my style of parenting is best suited to a given situation. This is not a competition but a team goal.
10 - Pray a lot - I believe that kids are part of a divine design with a creator that knows everything they need before they ever take a first breath. In fact that is my prayer in the murky days of parenting, "YOU know what they need, help them in spite of me."
This is a good time to say "you're the best" to a couple of people who make my world shine, my kids, Nathan (18) and Ellen (16) who are better people most days than I'll ever be. Thank you for the gifts you give me this season and everyday. Why God gave you to me is the testimony that He has a terrific sense of humor and endless grace.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Quote for the day
"There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds."
---Tennyson
Believe me, than in half the creeds."
---Tennyson
Sunday, December 10, 2006
This week's movie
This weekend I saw, "Blood Diamond" and would recommend it first for the storyline and second for the acting. I generally am less attracted to films with big name stars because generally the story line is sub-par. This time, though, it is good story meets good acting, a welcome change of pace for holiday movies.
I've tried hard to not like Leo but he has won me over with the diversity of his movie roles and the ability he has to make likeable the most wayward of characters. In this way, he reminds me a good deal of early Pacino and DeNiro. I admire his ability to make the progression from child actor to actor well, a feat that is not easily accomplished.
I am also a big Jennifer Connelly fan because I love any actress that seems more concerned about her acting than her hair and appearance.
But the really good news about this movie is how it puts vapid american consumerism on display right smack dab in the middle of the season of excess with its story of global conflict and some of the underbelly of the diamond trade. After watching this movie and reading about the diamond trade, I think most will be like me, hesitant to wear anything resembling diamonds.
Google "blood diamond" and check out more about this with the movie's official web site.
I've tried hard to not like Leo but he has won me over with the diversity of his movie roles and the ability he has to make likeable the most wayward of characters. In this way, he reminds me a good deal of early Pacino and DeNiro. I admire his ability to make the progression from child actor to actor well, a feat that is not easily accomplished.
I am also a big Jennifer Connelly fan because I love any actress that seems more concerned about her acting than her hair and appearance.
But the really good news about this movie is how it puts vapid american consumerism on display right smack dab in the middle of the season of excess with its story of global conflict and some of the underbelly of the diamond trade. After watching this movie and reading about the diamond trade, I think most will be like me, hesitant to wear anything resembling diamonds.
Google "blood diamond" and check out more about this with the movie's official web site.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Who's in? Who's out? And who's keeping score?
I have a friend who recently converted to Judaism upon marrying her husband. She isn't jewish by lineage. Her mother is Catholic, she doesn't know her dad.
She was sharing with me recently that she had been told, by a conservative jewish woman, that she wasn't "really jewish" because she was not born into the faith. My friend told me all the details, most of which just hurt my head and most of which seem infinately trivial as most religious disputes tend to be. This allegation, of course, broke my friends heart and mine. While I am not jewish, I know all too well the stings of religious elitism.
The jewish faith holds no patent on this.
While business and social circles have well defined codes of conduct and long lists of "Who's Who" I find those much easier to stomach than the often subjective religious mandates. Most of the time, business, academia and social elitists can point to talking points printed on expensive papers on the entrance exams to their individual realms. However, there seems to be nothing so insidious as religious elitism which is often based on obscure and trivial points that when pressed hold nothing more than tradition vamping as doctrine. I often find that those most committed to their ideals are also least likely to be able to define them -- or defend them.
When faced with the cutting remarks of those whose arrogance supercedes their manners I like to remember these facts:
2/3 of what we call the bible was written by murderers (Moses, David, Paul)
Those who began "the christian movement" were yahoos living in caves, not cathedrals
God has used prostitutes, accountants, lawyers, even donkeys to achieve a purpose. Who, in God's name (literally) do you think YOU are?
Most of the characters in the christian bible are nothing more than deeply flawed individuals who, in spite of themselves, often found their faith through a bumbling series of accidents. While I have no illusions about the Abrahams, or the Paul's I find that their inclusive in a community of believers both deeply disturbing and deeply reassuring.
"The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty" - Anne LaMott
"I'll strive for excellence and leave perfection to God" -- Michael J. Fox
As I've said before in this blog, there are a very few things that I would take a sword for. Here is one of them: There is a God and I am not Him. And two, I'll let him decide who's on his list.
She was sharing with me recently that she had been told, by a conservative jewish woman, that she wasn't "really jewish" because she was not born into the faith. My friend told me all the details, most of which just hurt my head and most of which seem infinately trivial as most religious disputes tend to be. This allegation, of course, broke my friends heart and mine. While I am not jewish, I know all too well the stings of religious elitism.
The jewish faith holds no patent on this.
While business and social circles have well defined codes of conduct and long lists of "Who's Who" I find those much easier to stomach than the often subjective religious mandates. Most of the time, business, academia and social elitists can point to talking points printed on expensive papers on the entrance exams to their individual realms. However, there seems to be nothing so insidious as religious elitism which is often based on obscure and trivial points that when pressed hold nothing more than tradition vamping as doctrine. I often find that those most committed to their ideals are also least likely to be able to define them -- or defend them.
When faced with the cutting remarks of those whose arrogance supercedes their manners I like to remember these facts:
2/3 of what we call the bible was written by murderers (Moses, David, Paul)
Those who began "the christian movement" were yahoos living in caves, not cathedrals
God has used prostitutes, accountants, lawyers, even donkeys to achieve a purpose. Who, in God's name (literally) do you think YOU are?
Most of the characters in the christian bible are nothing more than deeply flawed individuals who, in spite of themselves, often found their faith through a bumbling series of accidents. While I have no illusions about the Abrahams, or the Paul's I find that their inclusive in a community of believers both deeply disturbing and deeply reassuring.
"The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty" - Anne LaMott
"I'll strive for excellence and leave perfection to God" -- Michael J. Fox
As I've said before in this blog, there are a very few things that I would take a sword for. Here is one of them: There is a God and I am not Him. And two, I'll let him decide who's on his list.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Season of Giving
We are officially snowed in, perhaps for several days. It's the kind of snow that makes for great holiday cards - all swirls and mounds and ice. Beautiful but deadly - I'm staying in until I can see the street again.
So today was a snowy day to hang out with daughter, talk about ACT scores and college visits. There was plenty of time to make decadent chocolate cookies, drag out the christmas decorations and watch "Gilmore Girls" until our eyes fell out of our heads. I have a major caffeine buzz, my head hurts with thinking so hard (she's way smarter than me) and my sides ache from laughing. A perfect day.
I spent the last few days collecting gifts for some area children. This kind of activity both inspires me and disgusts me. I'm inspired because of the spirit and resiliency of children who are surviving amazing situations. It disgusts me that so many of us give so terribly.
There is something wrong with our culture which can spend more on electronic gadgets for their music than they can for children without parents. I'm especially touched by those who profess some sort of faith but show up with used clothing and broken toys which no one would want. Sometimes I think this season of giving is more about cleaning out closets and salving our conscious than about giving to others. The sentiment seems to be, "Jesus loves you, now here's a torn t-shirt to wear. I was just going to throw it out anyway."
Giving is the quality that forces us to look out ourselves and see what we trust, what we value and who we are. And sometimes, what I see when I look closely is how much I have to learn about giving. I hope this upcoming year I can learn how to really give.
So today was a snowy day to hang out with daughter, talk about ACT scores and college visits. There was plenty of time to make decadent chocolate cookies, drag out the christmas decorations and watch "Gilmore Girls" until our eyes fell out of our heads. I have a major caffeine buzz, my head hurts with thinking so hard (she's way smarter than me) and my sides ache from laughing. A perfect day.
I spent the last few days collecting gifts for some area children. This kind of activity both inspires me and disgusts me. I'm inspired because of the spirit and resiliency of children who are surviving amazing situations. It disgusts me that so many of us give so terribly.
There is something wrong with our culture which can spend more on electronic gadgets for their music than they can for children without parents. I'm especially touched by those who profess some sort of faith but show up with used clothing and broken toys which no one would want. Sometimes I think this season of giving is more about cleaning out closets and salving our conscious than about giving to others. The sentiment seems to be, "Jesus loves you, now here's a torn t-shirt to wear. I was just going to throw it out anyway."
Giving is the quality that forces us to look out ourselves and see what we trust, what we value and who we are. And sometimes, what I see when I look closely is how much I have to learn about giving. I hope this upcoming year I can learn how to really give.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Thanksgiving at Philbrook
My daughter had a school assignment to view the "Studios of Paris: Willaim Boughuereau and his American Students" collection. After gulping down hot cocoa and spiced doughnuts (gotta love QuikTrip) we made our way there.
Art museums are great places to go during holidays because they are generally not as crowded and those that are there are generally more serious about art. So you can get lots of attention and lots of detail that would go missed in larger crowds.
My favorite piece is not one of Boughuereau's but one of his contemporaries, Robert Henri. My favorite piece in this collection is "The Model" which is Henri at his crossroads -- not yet giving up his traditional roots but not yet embracing impressionism. In fact, this portrait is a study of both the art world in flux as well as Henri. "The Model" has what appears to be two mirrors and yet neither capture her face, which we cannot see as she is turned from the viewer. The mood of this piece is somber, reflective, as if we've come up on the subject with her unaware. This piece drew me in and I stood there unaware myself of how close I had come to the artwork when a stuffy museum staff brisquely walked up to me and said, "Excuse me, we ask that you not get any closer to the piece than 12 inches."
It is times like this that I have an arsenal of witty comebacks but whenever my kids are in tote I try to be civil. How can one not get close to art of that magnitude and not want to touch it? My daughter, watching me closely waited until the staff member took her leave to say under breath in a sing-song voice, "You got in trouble...you got in trouble...you got in trouble.."
European Romanticism seems to be very in vogue these days -- from art collections to furniture to other influences. I heard recently that we generally embrace art that we feel fills a void in our lives -- for example, the chic modern style is generally embraced by those who may feel their lives are cluttered and boisterous. I'm not sure what this says about the current vogue with all its emphasis on old world charm and heaviness. Hmmmm.
I am still reading "Writing for Story.." and loving it, will reread a couple of times over thanksgiving break. Also, finished a writing deadline this week that will, no doubt, continue to fill my rejection box. It's the thrill of just getting something done that I work for. I am learning a lot about publishing and submissions and the art of not taking rejection personally.
I saw several books in the museum bookstore that I hope to find and read.
Art museums are great places to go during holidays because they are generally not as crowded and those that are there are generally more serious about art. So you can get lots of attention and lots of detail that would go missed in larger crowds.
My favorite piece is not one of Boughuereau's but one of his contemporaries, Robert Henri. My favorite piece in this collection is "The Model" which is Henri at his crossroads -- not yet giving up his traditional roots but not yet embracing impressionism. In fact, this portrait is a study of both the art world in flux as well as Henri. "The Model" has what appears to be two mirrors and yet neither capture her face, which we cannot see as she is turned from the viewer. The mood of this piece is somber, reflective, as if we've come up on the subject with her unaware. This piece drew me in and I stood there unaware myself of how close I had come to the artwork when a stuffy museum staff brisquely walked up to me and said, "Excuse me, we ask that you not get any closer to the piece than 12 inches."
It is times like this that I have an arsenal of witty comebacks but whenever my kids are in tote I try to be civil. How can one not get close to art of that magnitude and not want to touch it? My daughter, watching me closely waited until the staff member took her leave to say under breath in a sing-song voice, "You got in trouble...you got in trouble...you got in trouble.."
European Romanticism seems to be very in vogue these days -- from art collections to furniture to other influences. I heard recently that we generally embrace art that we feel fills a void in our lives -- for example, the chic modern style is generally embraced by those who may feel their lives are cluttered and boisterous. I'm not sure what this says about the current vogue with all its emphasis on old world charm and heaviness. Hmmmm.
I am still reading "Writing for Story.." and loving it, will reread a couple of times over thanksgiving break. Also, finished a writing deadline this week that will, no doubt, continue to fill my rejection box. It's the thrill of just getting something done that I work for. I am learning a lot about publishing and submissions and the art of not taking rejection personally.
I saw several books in the museum bookstore that I hope to find and read.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Books I'm reading
Sometimes I find books and sometimes books find me.
The latter is the case with two that found me this past week, both given to me by friends. I love it when someone gives me a book, it's the best present I could ever get!
"Writing for Story" by Jon Frankin is a book I cannot put down and I suspect it will keep me busy for awhile. It is a book that puts some flesh on the ethereal idea of what writing is really - lots and lots of work. It is the first book that I've read about writing that offers clear, concise idea on structure and how to get into writing. I plan to read it this week and follow its ideas.
"The Holy Man" by Susan Trott is a parable that challenges ideas on leadership and relationships. I am also reading it and re-reading it.
I hope more books like these find their way to me.
The latter is the case with two that found me this past week, both given to me by friends. I love it when someone gives me a book, it's the best present I could ever get!
"Writing for Story" by Jon Frankin is a book I cannot put down and I suspect it will keep me busy for awhile. It is a book that puts some flesh on the ethereal idea of what writing is really - lots and lots of work. It is the first book that I've read about writing that offers clear, concise idea on structure and how to get into writing. I plan to read it this week and follow its ideas.
"The Holy Man" by Susan Trott is a parable that challenges ideas on leadership and relationships. I am also reading it and re-reading it.
I hope more books like these find their way to me.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thank ye
Running into the store this morning to get some milk, I quickly realized that the thanksgiving season is now fully in swing which means that the rest of the holiday season is cranking up too. I'm a bit of a scrooge about almost every holiday. It comes from my "warped, cranky and bitter" disposition, according to one of my favorite comic friends. And she's right, in a way. There seems to be a lot of energy wrapped up in the holiday season, trying to be cheerful and thoughtful. I can usually manage at least a dowdy good will by christmas eve with some effort and lots of chocolate.
So I thought I'd try to write something that was thankful in spirit while also trying to give some nod to the reality of the season. So here goes. I have no idea how it will end up, which is a lot like most of my holidays. Sometimes the best of times are those things not planned.
I'm thankful for the bills that I pay because it means somebody, somewhere trusts me to pay them. While I may question their confidence in me, at least they are thinking about me and thinking that I really can do it. That's encouraging and ennobles me to keep working every day. I hate disappointing people, even those that I don't know.
I'm thankful for the backed up sink in my kitchen and the refrigerator that hasn't worked right for six months. I know people who don't own a home and having one, with all its responsibilities, is truly a gift.
I'm thankful for the quiet mornings that are left after the busy-ness of raising school age children. It means that my children are happily employed in the business of their lives and that they are doing exactly what they were raised to do, which is, to make their own messes and figure out the stuff that life teaches.
I'm thankful for my marriage of 21 years. I now know more about the inner workings of college football and basketball and the sacredness of ESPN. I am grateful for the familar presence of Dan, his quiet grace and his ever present refusal to let me be anything less than who I am. I am also grateful for the pile of books that I read while the score is being kept during all those game and the cat that persists to sit on my lap between my eyes and my book. Someday, I may not be able to see the small print -- or the cat for that matter. I'm grateful that I had a childhood that had a lot of books around for reading has been my personal paradise.
I am grateful for art of all kinds -- the music that I play everyday, the books that I can get for free at the library, the artwork that moves me when I visit the museum. Art is a necessity and there was a time in my life I had forgotten that. Without art, life is just a jumble of numbers and deadlines, making no sense, having no spirit or soul.
I am grateful for all my friends: the comics, the writers, the jesus-freaks, the doubters, the movers and shakers, the encouragers, the believers. I'm thankful for their rugged persistence in being my friend, for their kindness, and for their honesty even when I may not want to hear it. I am grateful that I have been given so many in which to learn about and from. I love laughing over food with them after a long day's work, of watching them on their individual "stages" where they perform in whatever it is they do. I'm honored to have been invited into their lives and to offer whatever I can.
I am grateful for the grief of this year's sadness. This year has been a year when so much has been lost and though the passing of good friends has left me stunned with understanding the brevity and preciousness of life, I am blessed to have known some truly great people. In fact, the question I am learning to ask is not so much as to why they are gone but why exactly was I given such a grace to know them and how can I be a reminder of what they have given me?
I'm grateful for hot earl grey tea on cold mornings after excercising. I'm grateful for coffee with lots of cream. I'm grateful for the smirk on my daughter's face, for the brief moments when she still lets me hug her, for my son's text messages. I'm grateful for deep feelings -- both elation and pain for it means that I am alive and able to experience life in all its many forms. I'm grateful for the chance to start over and the opportunity to try something new. I'm grateful for failure because it lets me know that I'm human and that striving for perfection is something best left to God. I'm grateful for victory because it teaches me about myself, but not as much as failure does.
I'm grateful for the breath of a new day and for this life filled with joys and disappointments for in these things I truly have experienced God.
So I thought I'd try to write something that was thankful in spirit while also trying to give some nod to the reality of the season. So here goes. I have no idea how it will end up, which is a lot like most of my holidays. Sometimes the best of times are those things not planned.
I'm thankful for the bills that I pay because it means somebody, somewhere trusts me to pay them. While I may question their confidence in me, at least they are thinking about me and thinking that I really can do it. That's encouraging and ennobles me to keep working every day. I hate disappointing people, even those that I don't know.
I'm thankful for the backed up sink in my kitchen and the refrigerator that hasn't worked right for six months. I know people who don't own a home and having one, with all its responsibilities, is truly a gift.
I'm thankful for the quiet mornings that are left after the busy-ness of raising school age children. It means that my children are happily employed in the business of their lives and that they are doing exactly what they were raised to do, which is, to make their own messes and figure out the stuff that life teaches.
I'm thankful for my marriage of 21 years. I now know more about the inner workings of college football and basketball and the sacredness of ESPN. I am grateful for the familar presence of Dan, his quiet grace and his ever present refusal to let me be anything less than who I am. I am also grateful for the pile of books that I read while the score is being kept during all those game and the cat that persists to sit on my lap between my eyes and my book. Someday, I may not be able to see the small print -- or the cat for that matter. I'm grateful that I had a childhood that had a lot of books around for reading has been my personal paradise.
I am grateful for art of all kinds -- the music that I play everyday, the books that I can get for free at the library, the artwork that moves me when I visit the museum. Art is a necessity and there was a time in my life I had forgotten that. Without art, life is just a jumble of numbers and deadlines, making no sense, having no spirit or soul.
I am grateful for all my friends: the comics, the writers, the jesus-freaks, the doubters, the movers and shakers, the encouragers, the believers. I'm thankful for their rugged persistence in being my friend, for their kindness, and for their honesty even when I may not want to hear it. I am grateful that I have been given so many in which to learn about and from. I love laughing over food with them after a long day's work, of watching them on their individual "stages" where they perform in whatever it is they do. I'm honored to have been invited into their lives and to offer whatever I can.
I am grateful for the grief of this year's sadness. This year has been a year when so much has been lost and though the passing of good friends has left me stunned with understanding the brevity and preciousness of life, I am blessed to have known some truly great people. In fact, the question I am learning to ask is not so much as to why they are gone but why exactly was I given such a grace to know them and how can I be a reminder of what they have given me?
I'm grateful for hot earl grey tea on cold mornings after excercising. I'm grateful for coffee with lots of cream. I'm grateful for the smirk on my daughter's face, for the brief moments when she still lets me hug her, for my son's text messages. I'm grateful for deep feelings -- both elation and pain for it means that I am alive and able to experience life in all its many forms. I'm grateful for the chance to start over and the opportunity to try something new. I'm grateful for failure because it lets me know that I'm human and that striving for perfection is something best left to God. I'm grateful for victory because it teaches me about myself, but not as much as failure does.
I'm grateful for the breath of a new day and for this life filled with joys and disappointments for in these things I truly have experienced God.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Three recommendations
I have been working on a "This year's best" of sights/sounds around T-town that are worth seeing and/or doing. Haven't made much progress, but here's a few suggestions on what's happening now..
First of all, if you haven't seen "Stranger than Fiction" make it a point to do so. I loved this fable of transformation and awakening. I loved everything about it -- I loved the actors (hey, can you see the "Sonic" guys in this flick?"), I especially loved the story and the imagery was amazing. The reason I loved this film is because you leave the theater thinking. It asks great questions such as "what story are you IN?" but it doesn't leave you with a headache from hitting you over the head with its messages. Participatory and entertaining it now ranks as one of my "top 10 best movies of all time" for me personally.
Best book I've read so far this year: "Squirrel Inc" by Stephen Denning. Again, a fable about the transformative power of various storytelling ideas.
Best cuppaccino: QuikTrip's Peppermint Cappuccino (all of .79 cents). Beats the big chains hands down. And where else can you get a chocolate chip muffin the size of your car?
Here are some other "Tulsa Best"...
Best burger in town: On Wednesday's, McNellie's (1st street) has $3 burger night. A real burger that is as big as your face with choice of fries -- either sweet potato or regular. Burger even has tomato, lettuce and condiments. Amazing value. And the bartenders make you laugh. They laugh at me because I am the only one at the bar sucking down an unsweetened iced tea (not the Long Island kind).
Best place to see a movie: AMC 20 (promenade) on Sunday afternoon - hardly anybody is there - I've watched a ton of movies by myself, like my own private screening room. I laugh, I cry, I throw popcorn at the screen.
Best Italian Food: Andolini's Pizza (Owasso). Great atmosphere, great prizes and it's authentic. I go every weekend and yeah, it doesn't hurt that my kid waits on me when she's working there.
Working on more "bests" for end of year, posted later.
First of all, if you haven't seen "Stranger than Fiction" make it a point to do so. I loved this fable of transformation and awakening. I loved everything about it -- I loved the actors (hey, can you see the "Sonic" guys in this flick?"), I especially loved the story and the imagery was amazing. The reason I loved this film is because you leave the theater thinking. It asks great questions such as "what story are you IN?" but it doesn't leave you with a headache from hitting you over the head with its messages. Participatory and entertaining it now ranks as one of my "top 10 best movies of all time" for me personally.
Best book I've read so far this year: "Squirrel Inc" by Stephen Denning. Again, a fable about the transformative power of various storytelling ideas.
Best cuppaccino: QuikTrip's Peppermint Cappuccino (all of .79 cents). Beats the big chains hands down. And where else can you get a chocolate chip muffin the size of your car?
Here are some other "Tulsa Best"...
Best burger in town: On Wednesday's, McNellie's (1st street) has $3 burger night. A real burger that is as big as your face with choice of fries -- either sweet potato or regular. Burger even has tomato, lettuce and condiments. Amazing value. And the bartenders make you laugh. They laugh at me because I am the only one at the bar sucking down an unsweetened iced tea (not the Long Island kind).
Best place to see a movie: AMC 20 (promenade) on Sunday afternoon - hardly anybody is there - I've watched a ton of movies by myself, like my own private screening room. I laugh, I cry, I throw popcorn at the screen.
Best Italian Food: Andolini's Pizza (Owasso). Great atmosphere, great prizes and it's authentic. I go every weekend and yeah, it doesn't hurt that my kid waits on me when she's working there.
Working on more "bests" for end of year, posted later.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Journey
Tonight, our old dog breathed her last. I knew it was coming, I had watched her hobble around all day, putting off calling the vet. I even made a list of those I should call - old and new friends who had known her. Of course, I wouldn't call for them, I would call for me.
Princess was 16 plus years, a sheltie and just a great dog. She loved the kids and they loved her and for Ellen and Nathan, they hardly know life without her.
I wish I were a delicate crier. I know many friends of mine who cry politely and neatly, almost beautifully. Not me. Even though I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she had a long, very happy canine life there was still this pinch in my heart where grief tends to collect and as I watched Princess take her last struggling breaths, that grief spilled out and I cried big, awkward sobs.
I came home and reached for the only thing that I know can speak to a broken heart - -poetry. The poem that seems most helpful is nothing at all about a dog or dying but it is a great poem and I'm grateful for people like Mary Oliver.
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/oliver/online_poems.htm
Princess was 16 plus years, a sheltie and just a great dog. She loved the kids and they loved her and for Ellen and Nathan, they hardly know life without her.
I wish I were a delicate crier. I know many friends of mine who cry politely and neatly, almost beautifully. Not me. Even though I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she had a long, very happy canine life there was still this pinch in my heart where grief tends to collect and as I watched Princess take her last struggling breaths, that grief spilled out and I cried big, awkward sobs.
I came home and reached for the only thing that I know can speak to a broken heart - -poetry. The poem that seems most helpful is nothing at all about a dog or dying but it is a great poem and I'm grateful for people like Mary Oliver.
http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/oliver/online_poems.htm
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Download
Today is November 1, time for National Novel Writing Month (www.nanowrimo.org). I, along with about a million other writers, will be hunched over laptops, strung out on various coffee drinks working to make 50,000 words in one month a reality. Last year was my frist year to do it and it was so rewarding to see that I could actually write a novel -- albeit a very bad novel -- in only one month.
But all novels begin badly, that is, they begin as first drafts and as Ann Lemott says in "Bird by Bird", very bad first drafts (and I'm quoting her loosely here).
The tough part about writing is not the writing. It's the rewriting. That's where you have to go deep, sacrfice precious ideas and concepts and find out that the novel really writes itself through your pen (or computer)and this thing you think is "yours" is really something else entirely. Scary stuff.
I plan to rewrite the very bad novel I wrote last year. Nanowrimo helps make writing a little more like a group effort because you know others are working on it too.
Here are snippets of what else is going on...
1 - Spent a day with my alma mater, advisory board meeting which was a thinly veiled disguise to spend time with Nathan, who, after eating the biggest sirloin steak in Payne County decided that college life is OK, after all. We went to Wal-Mart where we actually witnessed (and I'm not making this up) two OSU football players in the health and beauty aisle selecting body care. The irony of this scene is just too much and of course, I could not keep my mouth shut. These guys are big enough to make up at least two of me and I'm razzing them about their hygiene? I must be stupid. They were so very nice, so great to meet and so very tall and big. They looked like those inflatable floats in the Macy's parade coming down the shampoo aisle. When I shook their hands I had to reach up and I'm almost six feet tall.
After Wal- Mart, where I actually found a Jim Gaffigan CD (the absolute funniest comic working today) and a Natasha Bendingfield CD. Is it too trendy to say I have listened to that great song, "Unwritten" about a squillion times? Great lyrics, great energy, just a great talent. She tops my current playlist. Well, to be honest she IS my playlist. I just like to use the word "playlist" because my kids do and I like to think that I'm as cool as they are.
Best part about the day - just getting to hang out with Nathan and see how great he's doing. Sometimes you stand back and see your kids and think, "what God smiled on me to give me such a great kid?" and then I think, "and how haven't I messed it up yet?"
2 - Volunteer work - I will blog on this more later. Last year I made two big decisions: to get involved in meaningful volunteer work and to write. Both decisions have altered my life in big ways.
I saw the news yesterday about a mother in a local town whose trial is ongoing. Seems this mother thought her four year old should stand with 5 pound weights above his head for oh, about an hour. She failed to feed him and when DHS picked him up he was dehydrated, malnourished as well as covered in bruises (over 50 on his small, hungry body).
I cannot fathom what has gone so wrong that we are abusing our children in such deeply damaging ways. So each week I teach a class to parents at a local agency where every brain cell in my head gets a work out in trying to communicate to others the importance of doing the job of parenting better. I say this with every ounce of compassion I can muster -- parenting is the hardest job in the world and doing it well is something none of us are really any good at. We are all, it seems, selfish pricks who want to either make small little idols to ourselves to run around on sports fields where we can tell our friends "there goes my kid...and therefore ME." OR we are so horribly abusive that we do shameful things to our children as in the case above.
There just has to be more that a civilized society can do to teach teach people how to love their children in ways that don't perpetuate the cycle of abuse that continues to be the #1 way children in America die -- at the hands of their own caretakers.
It is difficult to imagine that we have more pet adoption centers than we do shelters for children.
I don't know what that answer is. I do know what it is like to be so exhausted as a parent as to know it is better to walk out of the room than to pick my own child up. I do know what it is like to look into the eyes of a teenager and think, "who are YOU and what have you done with that cute little middle school kid that use to inhabit your body?" I do know that being a parent is 100 times harder than any job I've ever tried to do, any test I've ever had to take, any project I've ever tried to finish.
I'm grateful for the work of the Tulsa Parent Child Center (www.parentchildcenter.org). whose sole purpose is to stop child abuse. We have a long way to go.
But all novels begin badly, that is, they begin as first drafts and as Ann Lemott says in "Bird by Bird", very bad first drafts (and I'm quoting her loosely here).
The tough part about writing is not the writing. It's the rewriting. That's where you have to go deep, sacrfice precious ideas and concepts and find out that the novel really writes itself through your pen (or computer)and this thing you think is "yours" is really something else entirely. Scary stuff.
I plan to rewrite the very bad novel I wrote last year. Nanowrimo helps make writing a little more like a group effort because you know others are working on it too.
Here are snippets of what else is going on...
1 - Spent a day with my alma mater, advisory board meeting which was a thinly veiled disguise to spend time with Nathan, who, after eating the biggest sirloin steak in Payne County decided that college life is OK, after all. We went to Wal-Mart where we actually witnessed (and I'm not making this up) two OSU football players in the health and beauty aisle selecting body care. The irony of this scene is just too much and of course, I could not keep my mouth shut. These guys are big enough to make up at least two of me and I'm razzing them about their hygiene? I must be stupid. They were so very nice, so great to meet and so very tall and big. They looked like those inflatable floats in the Macy's parade coming down the shampoo aisle. When I shook their hands I had to reach up and I'm almost six feet tall.
After Wal- Mart, where I actually found a Jim Gaffigan CD (the absolute funniest comic working today) and a Natasha Bendingfield CD. Is it too trendy to say I have listened to that great song, "Unwritten" about a squillion times? Great lyrics, great energy, just a great talent. She tops my current playlist. Well, to be honest she IS my playlist. I just like to use the word "playlist" because my kids do and I like to think that I'm as cool as they are.
Best part about the day - just getting to hang out with Nathan and see how great he's doing. Sometimes you stand back and see your kids and think, "what God smiled on me to give me such a great kid?" and then I think, "and how haven't I messed it up yet?"
2 - Volunteer work - I will blog on this more later. Last year I made two big decisions: to get involved in meaningful volunteer work and to write. Both decisions have altered my life in big ways.
I saw the news yesterday about a mother in a local town whose trial is ongoing. Seems this mother thought her four year old should stand with 5 pound weights above his head for oh, about an hour. She failed to feed him and when DHS picked him up he was dehydrated, malnourished as well as covered in bruises (over 50 on his small, hungry body).
I cannot fathom what has gone so wrong that we are abusing our children in such deeply damaging ways. So each week I teach a class to parents at a local agency where every brain cell in my head gets a work out in trying to communicate to others the importance of doing the job of parenting better. I say this with every ounce of compassion I can muster -- parenting is the hardest job in the world and doing it well is something none of us are really any good at. We are all, it seems, selfish pricks who want to either make small little idols to ourselves to run around on sports fields where we can tell our friends "there goes my kid...and therefore ME." OR we are so horribly abusive that we do shameful things to our children as in the case above.
There just has to be more that a civilized society can do to teach teach people how to love their children in ways that don't perpetuate the cycle of abuse that continues to be the #1 way children in America die -- at the hands of their own caretakers.
It is difficult to imagine that we have more pet adoption centers than we do shelters for children.
I don't know what that answer is. I do know what it is like to be so exhausted as a parent as to know it is better to walk out of the room than to pick my own child up. I do know what it is like to look into the eyes of a teenager and think, "who are YOU and what have you done with that cute little middle school kid that use to inhabit your body?" I do know that being a parent is 100 times harder than any job I've ever tried to do, any test I've ever had to take, any project I've ever tried to finish.
I'm grateful for the work of the Tulsa Parent Child Center (www.parentchildcenter.org). whose sole purpose is to stop child abuse. We have a long way to go.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Garage Detail
The day dawned crisp and cool as fall made its presence known. In the distance, we could hear the band warming up on the football field for what will be the first of many contests this year. And though we have spent many weekends at such contests, this will be the first year we don't attend.
Nor will we be driving early to basketball games now that our daughter drives herself.
Which leaves a lot of time for cleaning up the garage.
What is a garage, really? 21 years of married stuff that accumulates until it either bursts into flames, thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint or it just slowly begins decaying thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint.
But really, a garage is the remains of old projects, worn out phases of childhood and reminders of bits of life that have passed on.
This is what I thought as I stood off to the side of the garage watching my husband remove things from piles that I had painstakingly accumulated over a series of hours. Forget that I had told him six months ago that such piles would be made. Forget that I had pleaded with him and all the other creatures living in our house to find what they wanted and take it away. Forget that I had told him earlier in the week, "this Saturday is THE DAY!" so that he would perhaps take a stroll around the stuff that he calls "his".
As he stood bent over the pile he emerged with something. He held it up. "Why would you throw this away?" he asked angrily as he thrusts the "thing" up.
I looked at him with concern. In his hand he held a ten inch piece of old garden hose with two clothes hangers bent woven through the center. Not only did I not know what it was, I was certain that there was absolutely no function for such a thing.
I was at a loss for words. "I thought it was broken?" I hoped my question would reveal that I had every intention for thought and care. It did not have the desired affect.
Engineers don't get angry. They get quiet. Really, really, really quiet because their brains are working so fast on things to say and ways to passively derail you that they cannot move their mouths and talk at the same time.
I, on the other hand, have a different problem. My brain is usually not working on much at all when my mouth flies into action.
I then added, "What's a stupid thing like that doing in the garage anyway?"
Steely quiet followed with a look from my husband that I believe is reserved for those times when words cannot be formed to say how stupid I am. The kind of quiet that lets me know that the next few hours will be spent with me alone, forming piles of discarded skates and bicycles while my husband will be watching the college football games on TV.
Finally he spoke, very quietly and very slowly, which again is a sign of my lack of intelligence.
"THIS," he said pointedly, "is how I tie up the trees in the yard."
You would think that 21 years of marriage had taught me when to cut my losses and realize that nothing I said past a certain point could save me. But I am a sucker for lost causes and so I said (which made perfect sense to me at the time) , "But honey, we don't HAVE any trees in the yard."
I gasped at my own stupidity. In my attempt to get the garage clean and have this scintillating conversation I had forgotten of the care and time Dan had put into the trees on our property that had, for awhile, flourished under his prodding and care. I remembered the early summer days when he awakened to haul out the three garden hoses and hook them carefully together so that the trees would get water.
How could he have known about the weather this past summer. The summer that will no doubt go down into history as the "drought of 06"?
How could I have forgotten that even though engineers don't say much, they think a lot. And Dan had been thinking about trees and kids and jobs and other lost things.
I tried to make amends but he was inconsolable. He took the bent metal and rubber creation and laid it carefully on the work bench, piled high from clutter that had not had time to be neatly arranged.
Nor will we be driving early to basketball games now that our daughter drives herself.
Which leaves a lot of time for cleaning up the garage.
What is a garage, really? 21 years of married stuff that accumulates until it either bursts into flames, thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint or it just slowly begins decaying thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint.
But really, a garage is the remains of old projects, worn out phases of childhood and reminders of bits of life that have passed on.
This is what I thought as I stood off to the side of the garage watching my husband remove things from piles that I had painstakingly accumulated over a series of hours. Forget that I had told him six months ago that such piles would be made. Forget that I had pleaded with him and all the other creatures living in our house to find what they wanted and take it away. Forget that I had told him earlier in the week, "this Saturday is THE DAY!" so that he would perhaps take a stroll around the stuff that he calls "his".
As he stood bent over the pile he emerged with something. He held it up. "Why would you throw this away?" he asked angrily as he thrusts the "thing" up.
I looked at him with concern. In his hand he held a ten inch piece of old garden hose with two clothes hangers bent woven through the center. Not only did I not know what it was, I was certain that there was absolutely no function for such a thing.
I was at a loss for words. "I thought it was broken?" I hoped my question would reveal that I had every intention for thought and care. It did not have the desired affect.
Engineers don't get angry. They get quiet. Really, really, really quiet because their brains are working so fast on things to say and ways to passively derail you that they cannot move their mouths and talk at the same time.
I, on the other hand, have a different problem. My brain is usually not working on much at all when my mouth flies into action.
I then added, "What's a stupid thing like that doing in the garage anyway?"
Steely quiet followed with a look from my husband that I believe is reserved for those times when words cannot be formed to say how stupid I am. The kind of quiet that lets me know that the next few hours will be spent with me alone, forming piles of discarded skates and bicycles while my husband will be watching the college football games on TV.
Finally he spoke, very quietly and very slowly, which again is a sign of my lack of intelligence.
"THIS," he said pointedly, "is how I tie up the trees in the yard."
You would think that 21 years of marriage had taught me when to cut my losses and realize that nothing I said past a certain point could save me. But I am a sucker for lost causes and so I said (which made perfect sense to me at the time) , "But honey, we don't HAVE any trees in the yard."
I gasped at my own stupidity. In my attempt to get the garage clean and have this scintillating conversation I had forgotten of the care and time Dan had put into the trees on our property that had, for awhile, flourished under his prodding and care. I remembered the early summer days when he awakened to haul out the three garden hoses and hook them carefully together so that the trees would get water.
How could he have known about the weather this past summer. The summer that will no doubt go down into history as the "drought of 06"?
How could I have forgotten that even though engineers don't say much, they think a lot. And Dan had been thinking about trees and kids and jobs and other lost things.
I tried to make amends but he was inconsolable. He took the bent metal and rubber creation and laid it carefully on the work bench, piled high from clutter that had not had time to be neatly arranged.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
To Do List
I'm feeling rather cocky as my weekend "to do" list is narrowing. After weeks of having weekends that were anything but restful, I had a couple of days to catch up on some projects.
I'm most excited that on the one year anniversary of Nanowrimo (www.nanowrimo.org) I have not two working projects - one fiction, one non-fiction and this weekend I have been working on the proposal that I hope to have in some sort of finished place by end of year.
Speaking of finished projects, my friend Jordan Rosendfeld has a book coming out and a new article published.
http://pacificsun.com/story_archives/bridge.html
I'm most excited that on the one year anniversary of Nanowrimo (www.nanowrimo.org) I have not two working projects - one fiction, one non-fiction and this weekend I have been working on the proposal that I hope to have in some sort of finished place by end of year.
Speaking of finished projects, my friend Jordan Rosendfeld has a book coming out and a new article published.
http://pacificsun.com/story_archives/bridge.html
Thursday, October 19, 2006
$3 burgers and David Sedaris
Imagine this: 2400 people, sitting in the dark, watching a guy read from his books for 2 hours. Most performers would have to throw in some kind of body moves or move around the stage in interesting way to keep the show going. Not Sedaris. He can hold an audience spell bound with stories of Japan, Christmas in other countries and shopping with his sister.
I went with a friend of mine who is much more well traveled than I. She and her husband lived in Japan for a few months and she even speaks a little Japanese. She told me this over $3 burgers at a local pub where I had my very first beer. (I don't drink but I totally caved into peer pressure when the bartender said, "why'd you come into an Irish pub if you don't drink?" So I asked for a suggestion and he gave me "Fromboise beer" which has a raspberry blend to it. It was really good -- for beer -- and the best part is that I was able to stay sitting in an upright position on my bar stool, a feat that requires a lot of skill I discovered.
It says a lot about my strict religious upbringing to understand that I arrived at the age of 43, have conceived two children (now teenagers) and just now have had one whole beer. It will no doubt be my very last.
"Wow," I said to my friend as we finished our meal . "There must be a lot of people here going to the show."
"No, " the bartender interjected. "It's $3 burger night."
At the show, Sedaris was signing books to a crowd of people so I walked (ran, actually, trying not to attract too much attention) to get in line where I assumed the posture of an educated, literary observer along with the rest of the Tulsans who were in the same line. Having never really been around literary types too much, I'm always intimidated by them. I read 4 books a week and probably can hold my own when discussing the classics but something about that crowd just kind of freaks me out.
I had brought one of my books of Sedaris ( I have given away probably 100 of his books to friends, etc.) and I carefully took it out of my handbag so that I could have him sign it. The closer I got to him the more I began hero-worshipping so that by the time I was actually in front of him, I said something ridiculous like, "ohmygodmrsedaris, I love you sooooomuch, ihaveallyourbooks and.." I went on for a bit while he looked at me, somewhat fearfully, and said, "what's your name?" Since I couldn't speak, I held out the card the usher gave to me with my name on it. He smiled, stated my name and then said, "that's a good name for a writer", then signed my book and looked at my friend for her book to sign.
My friend was much more composed than I. Perhaps her time spent in Japan gave her a certain reserve that I was clearly lacking. She smiled, gave him her book and they struck up an instant rapport while I stood aimlessly by watching her Sedaris talk for a bit in Japanese, no doubt about me, while I stood limply at the side of the table.
I went with a friend of mine who is much more well traveled than I. She and her husband lived in Japan for a few months and she even speaks a little Japanese. She told me this over $3 burgers at a local pub where I had my very first beer. (I don't drink but I totally caved into peer pressure when the bartender said, "why'd you come into an Irish pub if you don't drink?" So I asked for a suggestion and he gave me "Fromboise beer" which has a raspberry blend to it. It was really good -- for beer -- and the best part is that I was able to stay sitting in an upright position on my bar stool, a feat that requires a lot of skill I discovered.
It says a lot about my strict religious upbringing to understand that I arrived at the age of 43, have conceived two children (now teenagers) and just now have had one whole beer. It will no doubt be my very last.
"Wow," I said to my friend as we finished our meal . "There must be a lot of people here going to the show."
"No, " the bartender interjected. "It's $3 burger night."
At the show, Sedaris was signing books to a crowd of people so I walked (ran, actually, trying not to attract too much attention) to get in line where I assumed the posture of an educated, literary observer along with the rest of the Tulsans who were in the same line. Having never really been around literary types too much, I'm always intimidated by them. I read 4 books a week and probably can hold my own when discussing the classics but something about that crowd just kind of freaks me out.
I had brought one of my books of Sedaris ( I have given away probably 100 of his books to friends, etc.) and I carefully took it out of my handbag so that I could have him sign it. The closer I got to him the more I began hero-worshipping so that by the time I was actually in front of him, I said something ridiculous like, "ohmygodmrsedaris, I love you sooooomuch, ihaveallyourbooks and.." I went on for a bit while he looked at me, somewhat fearfully, and said, "what's your name?" Since I couldn't speak, I held out the card the usher gave to me with my name on it. He smiled, stated my name and then said, "that's a good name for a writer", then signed my book and looked at my friend for her book to sign.
My friend was much more composed than I. Perhaps her time spent in Japan gave her a certain reserve that I was clearly lacking. She smiled, gave him her book and they struck up an instant rapport while I stood aimlessly by watching her Sedaris talk for a bit in Japanese, no doubt about me, while I stood limply at the side of the table.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Baby Boy and College
The call came, as I knew it would, almost to the minute in which I expected it. My son, a new freshman, called late Sunday just to say "hi". Uh huh.
As any parent will tell you, whenever a teenager that is living on your dime calls to "chat" about "nothing in particular" this is indeed cause for alarm. You see, kids don't call you when they bang up the car and are standing at the police station. They have friends for such emergency. Friends that help them get their game plan together before they call their parents.
Kids call parents to "chat" only when there is some major life change happening.
So I, of course, begin with the litany of questions. That is what mom's do. They nag, they ask innane questions and they, most of all, repeat themselves as they try to think what to say during the conversation.
ME: "Are you OK?"
SON: "I don' t know."
ME: "Are you bleeding?"
SON: "Not really."
ME: "What's her name?"
SON: Silence. Sigh. "I can't talk about it." Sigh. Sniff.
ME: "Where are you?"
SON: "Alone."
To my credit, I kept my eye on the road, my cell phone plastered to my head and though I considered pulling the car off Hwy 169 and making a deadbolt to Stillwater and right into rescue mode, I held firm. Sure, I had trouble seeing the road what with all the rain and my tears, but I kept going.
ME: "What are you going to do?"
SON: "I don't know. Maybe go work out. Do some homework." Now THIS was cause for alarm. A depressed, love sick teeanger doing homework? Where did this kid come from? I certainly hadn't taught him such stability. I generally cannot make it through a week without some kind of mental breakdown that commands a steady diet of coffee, chocolate, bad movies or reading Faust.
SON: "I'm not sure college is for me."
Now this is where many parents lose it. On one hand, we know what to say. We know to say something like, "Oh, you'll get through it. It's not so bad..." and do some sort of motivational speech where your kids see the value in sustaining the belief that a college education will somehow keep them off welfare and out of trouble. But, the parent in all of us -- especially if you're a mom -- cries out, "YES! I know! You must come home! Your room is all ready, clean and I'm making a great pot roast!"
I was silent as I pondered my options.
ME: "What do you think you should do?"
SON: "I don't know."
ME: "If you did know what to do, what would it be?"
SON: Silence. More sighs. "Just keep going?" This was said with such dread, with such sadness that I again, fought the wheel.
My urge to pontificate was so great at this point, I could see the climax of my arguments, I could see me bucking up his sagging spirit and us having a regular 7th Heaven moment. And I admit, I was tempted.
Stupid things went through my head. Things like "this hurts me more than you" made a pass through, as did "wish I knew what to do". Where do this colorless phrases come from and why do they make their way to the front of our lobes when we have nothing to comfort those we love?
Instead, I just sat there, listening to his sobs as I drove through the rain.
As any parent will tell you, whenever a teenager that is living on your dime calls to "chat" about "nothing in particular" this is indeed cause for alarm. You see, kids don't call you when they bang up the car and are standing at the police station. They have friends for such emergency. Friends that help them get their game plan together before they call their parents.
Kids call parents to "chat" only when there is some major life change happening.
So I, of course, begin with the litany of questions. That is what mom's do. They nag, they ask innane questions and they, most of all, repeat themselves as they try to think what to say during the conversation.
ME: "Are you OK?"
SON: "I don' t know."
ME: "Are you bleeding?"
SON: "Not really."
ME: "What's her name?"
SON: Silence. Sigh. "I can't talk about it." Sigh. Sniff.
ME: "Where are you?"
SON: "Alone."
To my credit, I kept my eye on the road, my cell phone plastered to my head and though I considered pulling the car off Hwy 169 and making a deadbolt to Stillwater and right into rescue mode, I held firm. Sure, I had trouble seeing the road what with all the rain and my tears, but I kept going.
ME: "What are you going to do?"
SON: "I don't know. Maybe go work out. Do some homework." Now THIS was cause for alarm. A depressed, love sick teeanger doing homework? Where did this kid come from? I certainly hadn't taught him such stability. I generally cannot make it through a week without some kind of mental breakdown that commands a steady diet of coffee, chocolate, bad movies or reading Faust.
SON: "I'm not sure college is for me."
Now this is where many parents lose it. On one hand, we know what to say. We know to say something like, "Oh, you'll get through it. It's not so bad..." and do some sort of motivational speech where your kids see the value in sustaining the belief that a college education will somehow keep them off welfare and out of trouble. But, the parent in all of us -- especially if you're a mom -- cries out, "YES! I know! You must come home! Your room is all ready, clean and I'm making a great pot roast!"
I was silent as I pondered my options.
ME: "What do you think you should do?"
SON: "I don't know."
ME: "If you did know what to do, what would it be?"
SON: Silence. More sighs. "Just keep going?" This was said with such dread, with such sadness that I again, fought the wheel.
My urge to pontificate was so great at this point, I could see the climax of my arguments, I could see me bucking up his sagging spirit and us having a regular 7th Heaven moment. And I admit, I was tempted.
Stupid things went through my head. Things like "this hurts me more than you" made a pass through, as did "wish I knew what to do". Where do this colorless phrases come from and why do they make their way to the front of our lobes when we have nothing to comfort those we love?
Instead, I just sat there, listening to his sobs as I drove through the rain.
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