Long Hollow

Time, Water and other missing things (plus Friday's Favorite Photos)

I walked at dusk, a tangerine glow still lining the horizon, not quite snuffed by the night sky. The wind blew hard, but it was comforting, like a friend's reassuring hug, and its roaring in my ear was a lullaby, soothing.

While the puppies hunted for lizards and rough-housed in the sand, I turned inward, flipping through my thoughts, trying to sort and organize and figure out why I feel so scattered, why I feel someone has stolen minutes from my day.

I just can't get as much done as I used to and I don't know why.

My brain feels as dry as the land around me, and that doesn't help. My words and thoughts are wilted, sluggish, thirsty for more writing time.

And yet, hasn't my time for writing always been like that, just bits and pieces shared by so many different projects that they're worn thin like tattered hand-me-downs, tossed aside into the nooks and crannies of my day? What's different now?

Maybe it's not the amount of time, but the rhythm of my day. Maybe it's the other things competing with space in my brain...things like jobs and money, dreams and reality, love and heartache, concerns about family and friends.

Maybe it's just the weather.

But the wind blew my cloud of melancholy away. Despite the heat, the drought and the horsefly circling me, preparing to strike, it was a beautiful evening and my blessings are too numerous to count.

Here's one... My sister Brenda got the okay from her doctor to put weight on her hip. She's back home again, with her husband and cat. I know she appreciates how Mama and Daddy embraced her and cared for her while she recuperated from hip surgery, but three months is a long time to be away from home and I'm happy for all of them.

Yeah, maybe I'm dropping things lately like so much loose change slipping through my fingers, but I've also taken care of a few to-do's that have waited patiently for my attention, such as finally posting (and selling!) stuff via Craig's List, starting back on writing my book semi-daily, cleaning up my hard drive to free up some space... um, maybe that's it. But that's something.

By the way, did you see the full moon this week? I always count it as a blessing, one that helps me put the trivial things of my life into perspective. I remembered to take a few shots of its progression - they don't do it justice, but they're still my Friday Favorite Photos picks, reminding me to stop, focus, breathe, be still.

Oh, and here's a favorite quote from the week. It has nothing to do with anything else I wrote - I just like it...

Preconceived notions are the locks on the door to wisdom.

Merry Browne

Hope you are having a wonderful Friday!

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Flying...or Not

 

A bird, whether it is tied down by a thread or a chain, still cannot fly.

St. John of the Cross

There are days I feel I'm a bird, hopping around on a branch, aching to take to the sky chasing the delectable dreams I see darting around, just out of my reach... But there's something holding me back, tethering me to that branch.

There are days I wonder if perhaps nothing is tying me down after all - I'm just afraid to let go, to leave the safety of the branch, to take that first leap.

There are days I wonder if I've been flying all along, but I've just been too nervous or preoccupied or too busy looking ahead to take a look around, relax, enjoy the scenery and notice how high I've actually flown.

What about you?

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Something happened this week to make me think that even if I'm not actually flying yet, I've at least moved up higher in the tree.

Wolf Pascoe, who chronicles his fatherhood adventures at Just Add Father, honored me yesterday by using a few of my photographs, including the one above, to complement "Number My Days," a very moving post about life, death and fatherhood.

Wolf isn't his real name, by the way. He uses a pen name to protect his family's privacy. (I'm sure my kids wish I'd done the same!)

He also writes about his job under his pen name - he's a doctor. But he's also a published poet/playwright under his real name (whatever that is!)

I can't remember how we bumped into each other in the blogosphere, but even though it would appear we don't have much in common, we've connected through our words and stories. I encourage you to hop over there - he's a very gifted writer!

Thank you, Wolf!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Close to Heaven (well, Writing Heaven, anyway)

It's quiet in here... just the hum of an air conditioner and the soft, sporadic click, click, tap of computer keys... the three of us spread out in this spacious computer room each drifting in our own little world.

TG is home for the summer, taking a class at the local community college. We have an extra car for her to drive, but it's been a year and a half since she's sat behind a wheel, and her last experience ended with her lying in shattered glass, the car flipped on its side, strangers reaching in to help her out and a policeman giving her a ticket.

Understandably, she's a little nervous about slipping back into that driver's seat. We'll get some practice time in before turning her loose alone on these wild roads again. (Although I dread it - I don't think the air conditioning works in the van. I'm menopausal and hot-flashy and we're already hitting triple digits in the shade here! Where's my mist-fan?) 

But for now, I'm Head Chauffeur, and I don't mind one bit! I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed this block of time away from home, sitting in a quiet room... empty hours of no distractions, no chores, no to-do lists... hours just waiting to be filled with writing.

My great-great grandfather's memoir sits nearby, along with the flashdrive containing my book-in-progress, waiting patiently for me to get back to work on it. I'm sure it's missed me as much as I've missed it!

So here I go, diving back into the past, moving a little closer to the end of this dream. Wish me luck and progress! I hope you've made progress on your dream today, too!

My backburner is getting crowded...

I fidgeted in the swivel chair -- the 'good' chair, the teacher's chair -- twisting it back and forth by swinging my crossed leg up and down.  Mostly unfamiliar faces stared back at me, except one or two I've known since their toddler-hood. But then, the whole high school felt unfamiliar. Odd, considering all the days I spent there not so long ago.

I spoke to the faces about writing, even though I know all of these kids could teach me a thing or two about writing. Ms. D taught my kids AP English and AP Literature, and I often subbed for her. She's very thorough.

But they listened politely and even asked a few questions.

Still, after ten years or so of annually reading my published essays to Ms. D's junior AP English class and giving them my tired tidbits of writing advice, I think it may be time to retire.

You see, Ms. D always introduces me as a 'published author' and while that's true, it's been a long, long time since I had anything published.

I'm not counting my newspaper articles. Those barely felt like writing - they weren't a part of me in the same way my essays are. (No offense to any newspaper writers out there.) And my blog - well, I just push a button! No approval but mine necessary.

Of course, it's been a long time since I actually submitted anything anywhere, and if you want to be published, it helps to submit your work. Your chances greatly improve!

It's just ... well ... I feel a little silly sitting up there hanging on to past glory. While reading A View from a Catwalk, it hit me I was just 31 when I wrote it, ready to set the world on fire with my writing.

Here I come, world!

That was 21 years ago! Wow. I discovered setting the world on fire with your writing is a lot harder than I thought, especially when you're just an above average writer at best (lots of rewrites requiring lots of time,) coming off of 13 years of shiftwork and your dream of being a stay-at-home mom with your three precious babies is coming true.

Along with Tom, they were the pot on the front burner that needed the most attention, and writing was pushed way to the back, right next to completing my college degree and hitting garage sales because we were now a broke, single-income family.

My most recently published essay is In the Aftermath of a Car Crash, about the head-on collision that nearly killed Tom back in 1998, and it was published eleven years ago in 2000.

Eleven years ago!

It's not that I haven't written since then. I was very disciplined the year following Tom's accident - with a published essay to show for it -  until the computer hard drive crashed, imprisoning several short stories, the first few drafts of two books and ideas for more. (I wasn't quite as disciplined about backing up my work, unfortunately.)

Tom salvaged some of it, but I haven't had chunks of dedicated writing time like that since that year. We started on our house, the kids' schedules got busier... and whoosh! here I am sitting in front of a class reading something I wrote more than a decade ago, because I have nothing newer that's been published ... or even completed anything enough to submit anywhere.

Sounds like I've already retired, doesn't it?

But  I'm not giving up on finishing and submitting my books or stories or screenplays someday. And I might not even give up my annual 'author' spotlight, if Ms. D asks me back again. Even if my credentials are getting dusty and my writing tips are ho-hum, I think I'm still very qualified to speak on never giving up on your dreams. I can vouch they keep pretty well on that backburner for a long, long time.

 

 

Thank you, BlogHer!

I think I've mentioned this before - I'm a book addict. I have boxes and boxes of books stacked in the boys' rooms downstairs, waiting for the library Tom has promised me  (and promised me... and promised me...)

(Okay, in his defense, he built this whole house ... even finished out my closet while he barely has a rod to hang his shirts on, so I understand a proper home for my beloved books isn't high on the priority list. Really I do. Sigh.) 

Anyway, back to my addiction...

Books fill windowsills and mismatched bookshelves that are scattered around the house. Books are stacked on tables, fill cabinets... you get the picture. I just can't throw a book away or resist "adopting" a homeless one (for the right price, anyway.)

But I think I've also already mentioned that I don't take time to read anymore - not books, anyway. Not often. I have good intentions and dream of reading all of the books I adopt, but the reality is they sit waiting, neglected, while I spend my hours trying to make money and chase the dreams I've put off for so long.

I miss reading a good book. There's nothing like it, getting sucked into the pages, caught up in the lives of the characters, becoming oblivious to everything around you, laughing, crying, getting mad.

Growing up I spent hours reading, and when the kids were younger we shared dozens of books over the years, 30 minutes at a time, every single night. When they got older, summers would find me next to the pool with a book in my hand while they splashed around with their friends.

Now they're grown up and I'm too busy trying to make money.

And that's why I'm so grateful to BlogHer - they started a Book Club and asked for reviewers. Immediately, I raised my hand. Not only would I be sent a book (for free!) but I'd be paid to read and write a review. Not much, mind you, but any little bit was enough justification to me.

The first book I read for the Book Club, Caleb's Crossing by Geraldine Brooks, is a historical fiction, a genre I love, but it's been awhile since I read one I enjoyed this much. It was tough to put it down! It's about the first Native American to attend Harvard, although for me it was more of a coming-of-age story about a young girl named Bethia who befriends him.

If you're interested, click HERE to read my review and others on BlogHer. (But if you decide to buy it, please come back here and click on my link!)

Now (thanks to BlogHer) I'm reading a memoir - A Jane Austen Education, by William Deresiewicz. After my adventure with Caleb's Crossing, I was tempted to jump into another novel, but this one called to me for some reason, and I'm glad I picked it. Stay tuned for my review later this month.

Besides giving me an excuse to read, BlogHer also recently gave me a chance to try some new dog food (well, for Belle to try some new dog food) and to give readers a chance to win a $100 Visa gift card.  I won't give any of the details away here, though ... if you're interested, click HERE to read my review on Purina Pro Plan Selects and see how to win.

Okay, I'll tell you this much - all you have to do is leave a comment on my review blog (not here) to be entered to win. (Although I love reading your comments, here, too!)

You'll also get to read a little about me and my dogs and see some cute pictures of them. And also find out how to increase your chances of winning!

Good luck, and I hope you're having a great week!

Grandma's Eyes

 

We parked in front of Grandma's tiny home and piled out of the car, the grownups heading straight for the porch. I lagged behind on the footbridge with my cousin; Poo swore she was not going to step a foot closer to that spooky place.

Grandma's house was gray, the gray of a dead oak branch still clinging to a tree full of green. That's what it reminded me of, because it sat nestled in the middle of her fig trees, her rose bushes, her gardens. To say she had a green thumb was like saying Jesus was a good swimmer. Grandma could grow anything.

Grandma was also blind. Someone had strung a rope between her flower beds so she could feel her way around to tend them. Heck, she might have strung it up herself, somehow. I only knew her then as a child knows a great-grandmother, which means about as much as you can know about a story from looking at the outside of a book, but over the years I learned she was smart, proud, stubborn, and unafraid of hard work. Unafraid, period.

While the grownups climbed the rickety steps and disappeared into the darkness of the fragile house, I tried to convince Poo it wasn't haunted.

I understood her wariness, though. It was hard to believe anyone lived in that weary place. If any paint had ever brightened those gray boards, time and weather had long ago stripped any evidence of it. 

And I knew the inside wasn't much better. Unlike Poo, who lived far away, we lived just over the Ship Channel, and every few Sundays we'd drive through the tunnel to pay Grandma a visit. I dreaded it because of the smell of gas and old that slapped you in the face when you first stepped through the door, and the tiny bugs I could see crawling in and out of the old-fashioned key holes. We had cockroaches hiding in the dark places of our home (like everyone else in that area, including the rich) so I wasn't judging her. I just didn't like it.

Also, Grandma was blind, but not bashful. Merly, she'd say to my mom, how old is this girl now? Then using her hands she'd give me a thorough checking out (wink, wink) to see if my development matched my reported age.

Oh, another thing. Grandma dipped snuff and kept a spit jar handy.

Yes, I dreaded the visits.

But, still, I knew it was safe to go inside, and I knew we should at least make an appearance. She wasn't a soft, sweet-smelling, gushing-over-grandchildren kind of grandma - her cover was pretty worn and ragged, her face full of angles below a wild nest of white hair, her eyes cloudy yet intense - but she was our Grandma, nevertheless. Well, great-grandma, and great-great grandma, respectively. 

There wouldn't be much to see once we crossed the threshold. I only remember three rooms: a bedroom to the left, a kitchen straight ahead, and the main room you step into from outside, and all I remember about the main room is a table where Grandma's record player sat (along with her spit jar.) The Lighthouse for the Blind sent her an audio record of the complete Bible, and my mother told me Grandma listened to it every day.

(I didn't know this at the time, but my older sister used to visit Grandma separately, sometimes taking her friends along. They loved visiting with this feisty old lady who'd outlived a whole century. I kick myself now for not spending more time with Grandma myself.)

These thoughts and memories popped into my head yesterday when my eyes began to ache. I had been staring at the computer screen for hours. That's not unusual. I stare at the computer screen for hours every day, sometimes up to 15 hours, with small breaks in between.

And my eyes start aching every day; sometimes they twitch and spasm, and that reminds me to do my eye exercises, staring out the window at something far away, focusing on objects at different distances... but more and more it reminds me of Grandma. Of her blindness.

I'm not sure what caused her to lose her sight. I've heard she was an avid reader, just like me, and would devour books by gas light. Family legend said that's what did it, reading in dim light, but modern medicine has taken away that excuse.

Could it just be heredity, some stray renegade gene? I hope not. Don't want to think of that.

Aside from my eye exercises and trying to eat healthy, I don't think there's anything I can do to prevent it anyway. My job requires me to stare at a computer screen for hours, and in my spare time I'm a writer, staring at yet another screen. And that's that.

I can only hope that, if I do inherit Grandma's eyes, I also inherit her spirit that refused to let her blindness keep her from the things she loved.

 

This post is my response to the Red Dress Club’s memoir prompt of writing about a memory and what it means to us.  At first I couldn't think of anything meaningful, but that's the beauty of these prompts - they start you thinking. And writing. Click the button below to read the other writers' contributions.

 

Nests, Webs, and Blue Drumsticks

These arrived on our doorstep a few days ago...

I have no idea who sent them. Tom says it wasn't him ... he thought I ordered them for myself.

I swear when I said "will someone send me some blue drumsticks?" I never expected anyone to actually do it! From now on, I know to be careful what I say on here!

But to you, my Mystery Friend, right now I say thank you very much! They are beautiful, as you can see - a rich, royal blue - and when I'm banging away with them, I'll remember you!

...whoever you are...

(I hope you come out from hiding so I can thank you personally.)

 I had another sweet surprise this week - Hilary of The Smitten Image recognized Winter's Breath on my Confessions blog as a "Post of the Week". Each Wednesday she highlights several blog posts in different categories on her blog, and I am truly honored that she chose one of mine! 

I urge you to click on the badge below to see all of her choices from this past Wednesday - better yet, once there, click on the links you find there for some wonderful reading.

Thank you again, Hilary!

And speaking of Wednesdays (sort of), all week I've been pondering this quote... 

It's Jillsy's latest prompt for Prompt Me Wednesday. (Fortunately, we have a week to ponder and post.)

This quote has been in the back of my mind as events of the week unfolded, trying to figure out what it means to me.

I've pondered the drumsticks, the Post of the Week award, and especially my friend Carl's passing in relation to these words, and this is what came from all my pondering...

Like birds, humans have nests, cozy homes for our families. Like spiders, humans toil to gather food and produce beautiful works of art. But unlike birds and spiders, humans have a larger network beyond the nest and web - a support system for those times when our loved ones leave us alone in our nest, or when we're no longer able to gather food for ourselves or our passion for our art has been lost.

The bird a nest, the spider a web...

Man friendship. 

Our shelter, our safety net, our inspiration.

What does the quote mean to you?

Share in a comment or link up your own blog post below (you have till Tuesday!) Next week's prompt is "A Treasured Gift".

 

 

On Secrets

Can you keep a secret?

I can. 

I don't always like it ... Secrets can be heavy, weighing on your mind, sometimes your heart, especially when someone asks you to help them carry a secret full of pain, but then forgets to let you know when everything is fine and dandy again so you can toss it aside like they already did a week ago or so ("oops, didn't I tell you?") while you've been left carrying this festering thing that's growing larger and getting heavier by the minute as it feeds on your concern and worry about them...

Ahem. Sorry. What I learned from that experience was that it's okay to tell Tom about things that weigh on my heart so heavily ...    

But, oh man, if I weren't such a sealed vault, the stories I could tell! Talk about a top blog and bestselling memoir!

However, I've read blog posts and memoirs that made me cringe in embarrassment for the (ex?)friends and family members of the author. Sure, it made for exciting, titillating reading, but at what price?

I'd rather risk obscurity as a writer than hurt (or lose) my family and friends by sharing stories that also belong to them and that they aren't as keen on sharing.

I'm pretty much an open book - but I realize I'm kind of weird that way.

But even if we're 'open books' about our own lives, we're still full of secrets, aren't we? If we're married, have children, belong to a family, have friends ... if we've shared experiences or opened our hearts to others, or allowed others to open their hearts to us ... we have a collection that's sacred and valuable, and the care we give to that collection is an indication of our character.

I'm walking a fine line as I write my great-great grandfather's story, a story that at one time was a family secret, so secret that my grandmother and her siblings were only aware of scandalous bits and pieces.

But it was his story, after all; he chose to tell it all those years ago, and now it's part of the public domain. But I still feel protective of it, as if it were still a family secret, and so I'm driven to fill in the gaps, to make sure the points he was trying to make in the telling are what get heard before anyone else gets their hands on it and twists them around. I can feel my grandmother and her mother, her father, her grandmother and grandfather and aunts and uncles, all keeping an eye on what I write. I can feel the weight of the secrets and the responsibility of what to share and what to keep in the vault.

It's pretty heavy. But the good thing is I'm not carrying it alone - I have other family members who help carry the weight of those secrets, and who will help me decide what stays in the vault.

And that's why I don't mind when others share their secrets with me, and why I'm so grateful for the friends I have who I know will seal up anything I share with them in confidence in their vaults. It lightens the loads. And that's what friends and family are for, isn't it?

"My whole silence is full of prayer."

~Thomas Merton

 

 

 

This is my contribution to the very first ever Prompt Me! Wednesday, hosted by Jillsy, where (in her words) "...one prompt produces free flowing expression from blog to blog... any medium is excepted - words, music, photography, or anything your creativity stirs up! However the prompt moves you, go with it! There will be no wrongs or rights... "

Click on the badge below to go to Jillsy's blog and find out how to join in the fun or to see the other contributions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cool TV and other Random Thursday Thoughts

I remember when MTV first aired. (That's how old I am.)

I would just watch and watch and watch, one music video after another, mesmerized. Even when I was forced to leave the room for some reason - to eat or sleep or take a potty break, for instance- I would keep it on just to hear the music. 

When I was pregnant with my firstborn, we bought a foreclosed house and moved. We opted not to connect to cable in our new home; Tom was a returning college student, so we were down to a single income and wanted to save money where we could - we were about to become a family! And all that stuff they showed on cable - lord have mercy, we didn't want our kids watching that!

I missed those music videos, though, so you can imagine how excited I was when Tom recently discovered Cool TV! It's just like the old-time MTV, airing one music video after another, including some of the old ones we watched almost 30 years ago - except it's on network television! It's free! 

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The next best thing to having your own work published or promoted is seeing your friends succeed, and this weekend I get to witness the work of my friend Amory Casto come alive on the stage of Salvage Vanguard Theater. Yay! Congratulations, Amory!

Check out the promo... and if you're in the Austin area, come see it!

Small town love isn't as simple as it should be. Charlotte is a quiet girl, who wants nothing more than to simply love and be loved by her boyfriend Gabe, a recent jailbird who wants nothing more than to walk a straight line. Charlotte soon discovers that he has returned a different man than the one she fell in love with. Heartache turns to fear when she decides one day to meet Finley, a wondering optimist in an open field.

Tickets are $12 and can be reserved online at www.hydeparktheatre.org. Once on the HPT website, click on "See full Long Fringe schedule". Scroll down the page--What You Touch is Gold is second from the bottom. Then reserve them tickets!! (All tickets must be paid for in cash/check at the box office before the show)

What You Touch Is Gold, a new play
Written & Produced by Amory Elizabeth Casto
Directed by Lindsey Sikes

Starring:
Erica Heidepriem
William Buchanan
Dane Seth Hurlburt
Megan Minto
Alexander Hilary
and Charles Devany

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My eyes are itching. Click HERE to find out why.

Damn juniper, cedar, whatever you want to call it...

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The past few mornings our walks have swung down to our pond. We've had a visitor lately and I'm trying to capture him/her with my camera. But it is just too dang sly and fast for me...

Can you see it hiding from me in the weeds? When I took this, it was in the gray of dawn and I was standing pretty far away. I could barely spot its eye through the weeds and just hoped when I snapped the shot that I was capturing something in the frame.

Here... I'll zoom in a little more for you...

About this time, Belle and Max spotted it and headed closer. The jig was up and the heron decided to scram... I started snapping and, considering I was yelling "No Belle! No Max!", and it was still dark, and I was moving and still pretty far away, these didn't turn out half bad...

Dang heron. I'll get a good photo of you yet...

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If you had ten extra free hours a week, what would you do with them?

Thanks to the economy I've had to wrestle with this issue this past week (much better than having to wrestle with the issue of No Job At All, that's for sure!)

This is what I've packed into my two extra hours per day:

• slept longer
• banged on my drums
• made a little progress on my book
• caught up on laundry
• kept my desk cleaned off
• took longer walks with the puppies
• wrote a Confessions post for the first time in weeks

And that's it. But that looks like a lot to me. Right now I'm kind of enjoying that extra time and I'll try to remember this tingly feeling when I take a look at my paycheck tomorrow...

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All this time I thought I had a Facebook page, and it turns out it was just some sort of Insights Page. (Why?) Anyway, now I have a Real Facebook page, so if you're on Facebook, and you're so inclined, look me up! (Long Hollow website)

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I came across this video on Recommended Daily Dose and it cracked me up because I love ridiculous stuff like this. I had to share it in honor of my friend Mary Kay, even though she never reads my blog. She's a huge Josh Groban fan (he touched her hand once at a concert and she didn't wash it for a week! She's also in love with Matthew McConaughey, but that's another story...)

Happy Thursday!

 

Free

No, I'm not giving these books away - I just got them!
They cost me $1 apiece.
Almost free.

I picked these up yesterday from our community library Book Sale room ... the "back room", where I go to cheaply satisfy my severe book addiction.
(Please don't judge me; as far as addictions go, it's one of the better ones, don't you think?)

Anyway ... I believe even if books aren't free, they hold the key to freedom.

"Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." ~  Frederick Douglass

"A book must be the ax for the frozen sea within us." ~ Franz Kafka, 1904

"The ability to read awoke inside me some long dormant craving to be mentally alive."
~  The Autobiography of Malcolm X, 1964

"The more that you read, the more things you will know.
The more you learn, the more places you'll go."
~ Dr. Seuss, "I Can Read With My Eyes Shut!" 

"Oh, magic hour, when a child first knows she can read printed words!"
~  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, 1943

(This is my contribution to Jillsy's One Word Wednesday. The word is "Free"! Click HERE to read the other contributions or to learn how to play along.)

 

A Nose Update, No Sleep, and other Thursday Tidbits

The Nose

I can't imagine - don't want to imagine - how it feels to have big chunks of plastic shoved up your nose filling up the entire space so that you need to breathe through your mouth but your throat is in red, raw agony from the trach tube shoved down it a week ago and every breath you take hurts like hell...

...So when Tom's blowing and snorting and getting up and down wakes me every hour or so, all night long, I remember how miserable he must feel right now. I don't even think of complaining. 

(Well, there was that one night when I went, sssshhhhhh....)

(But that was just one time, one night, and other than that, I've been really sympathetic. Really.)

Poor Tom.

The stents come out tomorrow - hallelujah!! We're both looking forward to getting some sleep this weekend.

The Lens

Tom bought some special glue a week or so ago, intending to glue that broken piece back onto my injured lens. He had stored the teensy, tiny black piece of plastic between the lens and the lens cap. Somehow, sometime between the breaking and the intended fixing, the piece disappeared.

I thought that was it - no hope of using that lens ever again. So I got creative with my zoom and discovered I could actually do a lot with it.  I would just make do with it until (way, way off in the distant future) we could afford a new mid-range lens.

But guess what? It turns out you can order a whole new mounting piece - that's the part that chipped upon impact with the concrete floor. (If you don't know that heartbreaking, I mean, lensbreaking story, click HERE.)

Tom placed the order two days ago, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed the lens arrives before the weekend, when I'll be reconnecting with lots and lots of faces from my past. If it doesn't, I'll just make due with the zoom again. 

One thing's for sure, ... either way, I'll be snapping lots of photos!

 

Early Morning

During the week, I head out to walk the dogs as soon as it's light enough to see my feet. That way, I time it just right to catch something like this...

And this is really how it looked one morning this week, too - no color saturation or playing with tones, light, shadows or anything. 

It almost makes it worth getting up that early... almost.

(I posted several more "Fire in the Sky" shots on Confessions last night. If you want to see them, click HERE.)

 

When I have time to read...

I started reading a new book last week. Well, it's actually an old book, and I've read it two or three times already, but you know what I mean.

I'm not sure why I started it - I'm already in the middle of a handful of nonfiction and fiction books, including Cold Mountain, which I just can't seem to get into, despite loving the movie. I'm just plodding along through it, not eager at all to read the next page. And I have stacks - no, boxes - of books I've collected with the very real intention of reading them someday. Just a week or so ago, TG and I hit the book sale room at our local library and I left with 15 books ($1 a piece, and the funds go to Friends of the Library - how could I resist?)

Anyway, it was pure impulse that made me search my bookshelves for C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy - "Out of the Silent Planet", "Perelandra", "That Hideous Strength" - and dive head-first into volume one. 

The first time I read them, I was dubious. I didn't think I cared for science fiction. (I have no idea why I thought that -  I saw "Star Wars" 5 or 6 times the first week it was out in 1977! This was only a few years later!)

But Paula, a woman I worked with at the chemical plant, could not believe I'd never read them. She insisted I give them a chance, loaned me her copies, and assured me I would love them.

She was right. 

I eventually found my own well-worn copies in a Goodwill or at a garage sale or somewhere, and even convinced one of my kids to read them, despite the cheesy '60's style paperback artwork. And he liked them, too. When he saw my nose in Out of the Silent Planet this weekend, he told me he wants to read them again when I'm finished.

But anyway, what I wanted to say is, I recommend these books ... even if you don't think you like science fiction or fantasy, I think these are worth reading. They're really very thought-provoking - the kind of book that sticks in your brain for years.

If you try them, let me know what you think.

Besides C.S. Lewis, I read some wonderful blog posts this week. Two stood out enough that I want to mention them here, even though they are by bloggers I wasn't familiar with until now. If you have a few minutes,  I recommend reading these, too.

The first I came across on BlogHer - "The Red Underwear: Gifts and Giving". Every woman should read this one.

(I mean it. Do it. Now. You'll thank me.)

The second is one of the most beautiful posts I've ever read: The Gift, by Bossy Betty. I think both men and women will be touched by this one.

I was directed to it by Hilary at The Smitten Image. I don't know how she does it, but every week she scours the blog world for the best posts and photographs, and lists them for the rest of us on her Wednesday Posts of the Week feature. I still haven't even had time to read all that she listed this week. But thank you, Hilary!

 

A Good Quote

I came across this one today, and it took me by surprise, in that weird way like when you feel someone has read your mind, because I had been thinking of all the books I've read in my life, and how even the ones I didn't care for had affected me in some way, and gee, can't that apply to the places I've been and the people I've met as well? 

Thomas Wolfe said it much better than I did just now, though: 

I am a part of all that I have touched and all that has touched me.

And that includes you. Happy Thursday!

A Happy Holiday Blogtastic Shout-Out to Jillsy Girl

When Kate at Recommended Daily Dose invited me to participate in this year's Happy Holiday Blogtastic Shout-Out, I immediately thought of Jill and her blog, Jillsy Girl.

I really can't remember how it started ... did I leave the first comment or did she? However it happened, I know I'm the one who has benefited most from the friendship.

And yes, I said friendship. Despite what my daughter and others say, that you can't really be friends with someone you've never met face-to-face, I consider Jill my friend - and I don't toss that word around lightly. 

Friend (noun): someone you know, trust, and like; an ally in a fight, cause, or struggle; a patron or supporter.

Jill made it a point to comment on my blog almost every day - it bothered her that I didn't get many, if any, comments, and she was determined I'd get at least one. (It bothered me, too, and made me doubt myself and question why, oh why, I spent so many hours composing a post that would just drift into a void, seemingly unread, because without comments or feedback, that's how it feels. The answer, of course, is that I did it for myself - but it still bothered me.)

She would also email me ideas on how to make it easier to comment (she was brainstorming for me!) and give me shout-outs on her blog ... all in the hopes of increasing the number of comments I elicited.

Just knowing she thought my posts should garner more readers and comments made me feel more confident and less alone in the huge Blog World, which you might not realize can be a lonely place at times, full of cliques, until you find a comfortable niche of your own. (Kind of like junior high.) Despite two years of blogging under my belt and quite a few blog friends, I still felt on the outside looking in until Jill reached out to me. 

She had plenty of readers, her own circle of well-deserved fans, drawn to her beautiful photography, poetic words, and loyalty. She didn't need me, yet still she reached out to me and pulled me up, and not just with my blog, but also with my photography: through her invitation to a FlickR group, I found a new network of support and encouragement that helped ignite my latest obsession... 

...which led to Confessions of a Photography Addict. Go ahead - click over there for a second. See the photograph at the top? It's mine, but Jill took it and created that beautiful banner.

I didn't ask her to - she just did it.

That's a friend.

And a few days ago, she sent me an email with marketing ideas for my Silpada jewelry business. Can you believe it?

The thing is, I suspect I'm not the only one she supports like this. She is an amazing woman. I don't have to meet her face to face to know that. 

But I hope to someday, anyway. 

Thank you, Jill! I doubt you know just how much your friendship has meant to me the past few months.

Now do yourself a favor and click HERE to check out her blog, and while you're there, be sure to click on the link to JG Studio Cards. I can vouch for the beauty of Jill's cards, all created from some of her own amazing photographs.

And be sure to visit A Recommended Daily Dose (another wonderful blog) to find links to the other shout-outs! Thanks so much for hosting this and inviting me, Kate! I'm glad we've connected here in the Blog World, too!

 

 

 

No Red Moonbeams for Me ... A Long Hollow Update

"It's starting to feel more like Christmas to me. The temps are staying low, there's the smell of wood smoke in the air, my tree is up and decorated, cards are trickling in, and TG is home."

I wrote this several days ago - just one of many posts that wither on the vine because I run out of time to finish them before they're outdated. Those low temps are a mere memory for me now ... today might have been the first day of the winter solstice, but it felt like shorts and flip-flop season here again.

Even so, I do feel Christmas with all of the twinkling lights, the Merry Christmas wishes everywhere, get-togethers with friends, and the anticipation of having all of my kids back in the nest in just a few days...

And though it's not much, I've gathered a few gifts for others - just thinking of giving helps bring on the Christmas spirit, doesn't it? 

I think it's the power of the Christmas spirit that has kept me from caring too much about my camera lens or worrying about replacing it or being too upset about all the cloud cover that kept me from witnessing red moonbeams last night during the lunar eclipse.

I captured a few okay photos of the moon, some before the eclipse started and a half dozen during the partial, but during the total eclipse, the paparazzi clouds crowded around so close I couldn't even get a glimpse! I'll post the ones I snapped on Confessions later - and I'll resist tinting them. (Well, I might play with one or two, but I'll 'fess up about it.)

Meanwhile, here's a quick Long Hollow update:

....We're officially in a drought again - the bill has arrived for all of those beautiful, sunny days we've been blessed with the last few weeks, I guess. It's hard to believe just a few months ago the creek and ponds were flooding, and now they're drying up by feet a day.

In the mornings on the back deck, I can still hear the little waterfall, but it's barely a dribble now and will soon be gone. There's no promise of any significant rain for months.

....Rocks have appeared on the side of the damn dam - not just piles of rocks, but orderly rocks, reminding me of the old stone bridges in Virginia. If the stonework is continued all down the side, it wouldn't be such a sore sight. Still not as beautiful as the pond we had before, but not quite the scar we've had on the edge of our property, either.

....There are still a few small flowers blooming along the road...or at least there were a couple of weeks ago when I took these. I've been walking in the dark lately!

....The bad news is, these vicious burs are also growing, in the field where Belle and Max like to chase mice. We pulled dozens and dozens out of Max's fur a few weeks ago - like velcro on velcro!

....We're heading into Cedar Fever and Major Allergy Attack Season here in Austin. Juniper berries are ripe, waiting for the pollen explosions that look like a tree has caught on fire - poof! These warm temperatures just feather that love nest along.

My challenge this year is to capture one of those explosions on my camera. Tough to do! You never know which one is about to blow! And part of the challenge will be keeping my camera focused while I'm sneezing!

....The rest of this week I'm just focused on Christmas, though - on the simplicity of love and of giving, exemplified by the birth of Jesus so many years ago. I'm going to send cards out to those who I know look forward to them (and will forgive me if they arrive a day or two after Christmas Day), wrap up a few gifts that I hope will bring smiles to faces I love, and tomorrow I get to visit Hope House again, witnessing and recording the youth of our church bringing smiles to the faces of others - of strangers - with pizza, gifts, a few off-key carols, but mostly with the proof that someone cares.

I hope you have a beautiful Christmas week, simple and full of love.

 

 

I Love Boxing and other confessions

I love boxing.

There. I said it.

I'm a pacifist - I hate arguments, much less fighting, but for some very strange reason, I've always loved watching professional boxing matches. When I was little, I watched every match that came on TV. My favorites were Cassius Clay and his alter ego, Mohammed Ali, as well as Sugar Ray Leonard.

Now here's another confession. Tom and I discovered tonight that we have two copies of Cinderella Man for some reason, but neither of us remembered watching it.

Turns out, we hadn't. So we did. And oh my gosh, I love this movie! Have you seen it? Of course you have, because it's been out for ages! 

But bear with me because I just saw it for the first time. It's my new favorite Russell Crowe movie, knocking Gladiator to second place.

I love it because it gives me hope - Tom and I are broke, but this reminded me how bad things got for people during the Depression...at least some people. I think my relatives were already pretty broke and they were farmers, so they tightened up a little, but it wasn't such a drastic difference.

And yes, I realize this is just a movie, and I'm sure it's dramatized, but it's based on a true story, and I appreciated how Jim Braddock and his wife stuck together, didn't let the bad times drive them apart. They held on, stayed optimistic, did what they could to make it through each and every day.

I also appreciate what a wonderful screenplay this was, written by Cliff Hollingsworth; I had heard of Max Baer (remember Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies? He was Max Baer's son, and I was a champion at Trivial Pursuit back in the '80's) but I had never heard of Jim Braddock. The screenwriter counted on this and led me down several realistic paths even though I know the usual tricks of the trade, so I was biting my nails, wondering how it was going to end.

And then there was the boxing - I had forgotten how much I like boxing matches. They never show them on TV anymore, at least not regular TV, and I couldn't tell you who the champs are today. I'm still stuck in the 60's and 70's. But tonight I questioned myself...why the heck do I like to watch guys pounding on each other in front of an audience so much? It just doesn't make sense...but I do. There you have it.

Is there anyone else out there who is a pacifist at heart, but enjoys watching a good round of boxing? Let me know, and also let me know what you think about this movie, if you've seen it (and of course you have!)

Poetry, Music and definitions of Success

Last Thursday I sat in a small club with friends listening to a harmony of poetry, guitars, a bass and a mandolin...

The music and words danced together...took me by the hand and pulled me along on a journey...

They reached into my heart, triggering long-lost memories and emotions.

But then, out of no where,  I also found myself thinking about success and failure, and what defines either one.

I was at the Saxon Pub for the first time ever. It's a small nightclub, an intimate setting between the musicians and the audience. The Shake Russell Trio performed, joined by Michael Hearne...my first time ever to hear him.

Shake and Michael have written some wonderful songs, separately and together. Both are poets and musicians with loads of talent.

Shake Russell's voice, music, and poetry captivated me years ago, but to my surprise, he never made it 'big'...not by Nashville, New York or Hollywood terms, anyway. From the first time I heard "Deep in the West" 30 plus years ago, I expected to hear his distinctive voice all over the radio.

Never did.

A couple of big names recorded some of his songs, but their voices don't compare to his, especially when performing his songs. Why didn't some music executive jump on the ones he recorded himself and promote them?

Maybe it was Shake's choice.. Perhaps he would have had to conform, fit into a niche created by someone else, and it just wasn't worth it.

I really don't know.

But I realize it's a possibility. What is the definition of success anyway? Winning awards? Making a lot of money? Maybe to some, but not to everyone.

Next to me Thursday night sat Debbie, a girl I haven't seen since high school...and didn't know well back then...but thanks to my blog and Facebook, I didn't feel a stretch of years between us at all. That in itself is enough to make me feel my blog is successful - helping me connect to other people, even if I don't have hundreds of readers like other blogs I come across.

Why do I even keep comparing?   

I guess success can mean different things to different people. Shake has certainly touched a lot of lives with his music and poetry - when we had our house concert last April, we heard so many stories from friends about what his music meant to them. They wondered, like I did, why they didn't hear his name or music more often.

He has recorded tons of songs on CD's and sold many of his songs to other artists (one is on the radio now..."The Girl Just Loves to Dance", recorded by Gary P. Nunn. Request it on the radio so Shake and co-writer Michael can make some money!)

Maybe it's a matter of timing - of having the right person hear you...of producing the right material... at just the right time. 

Maybe it's just that he hasn't promoted himself enough. I've gotten to know Shake enough lately that I can see what a gentle spirit he has. I know the part I hate most about writing is sending out queries, pieces of my writing, like bait on a fishing pole, hoping someone will bite and I'll reel in the big one. 

That only happens if you put your hook in the water, though, and for some of us, it's tough. We don't like fishing - we hope someone else mans the pole so we can spend our time writing, not promoting ourselves. Maybe we're just afraid nothing will ever bite, so we're afraid to cast that line to begin with...

 If we can't promote ourselves, though...if we don't believe in ourselves and our gifts...how can we expect anyone else to?

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?”

  --Marianne Williamson. 

Shake is still young enough - I think his time is coming. Maybe it's all going to come together soon for him. I hope so. 

I've been in a bit of a slump myself - even this post has been tough, sorting my thoughts, trying to get my words right. Maybe it's from not having as much time as I'd like to devote to it, split between my book and work and life. Maybe I'm just tired. Last night I chose working on my book and sleeping...tonight I'm determined to finish this one and move on.

It makes it easy for those renegade thoughts to slip in...it's all a waste of time, but underneath, I can hear this other voice telling me to keep going.

"We must travel in the direction of our fear." ~ John Berryman 

Someone posted that one on Facebook last week. John didn't explain why we needed to do this, but I suspect it has to do with either growing stronger or getting lost and fading away.

Inspirational quotes keep popping out at me, encouraging me. Tom and I stopped at Panda Express Sunday night on our way in town from our visit with my parents. 

"Discover the talents within yourself," my fortune cookie told me. It's pretty sad when your fortune cookie is having to cheer you on, but I do appreciate it. I take all I can get.

And I spotted this motivational speech on success by Kevin Spacey last week. He makes some good points, but in other spots gets a little vague, and I'm not sure what the heck he's trying to say. If you have time, listen to it and tell me what you think...

 

 

Yeah, I think success and drive need to come from within, but I still think there are other markers of success, like enough money to pay the mortgage, and ward off worry for when you're older. I think if you can make a living and pay your doctor bills off of your dream, that's success.

But maybe success comes before that. Maybe it's as simple as that point when you decide it's a worthwhile goal, worthy of your time, energy and lack of sleep.

Or maybe it's when someone tells you they enjoy what you're doing.

Here's another quote I came across last week. (I'm telling you, they were jumping out at me!)

There are those of us who are always about to live. We are waiting until things change, until there is more time, until we are less tired, until we get a promotion, until we settle down — until, until, until. It always seems as if there is some major event that must occur in our lives before we begin living.

George Sheehan
American columnist, 20th century

I'm trying my hardest to live now, in this moment, every moment...and not wait for a "better" time...because, quite frankly, I'm sitting smack dab in the time I've been waiting for. Or maybe I just realized there isn't ever going to be any better time. If this isn't it, it's not coming.

I just wish it was a little easier... I'm really tired.

What about you? Have you started "living" or are you still waiting? Are you following your dream?

Are you successful? Please tell me what that means to you.

Meanwhile, here are some photos from Thursday night...

Dee (Shake's beautiful wife and my sweet friend), Debbie (from high school who has a beautiful smile even though she hasn't learned to keep her eyes open in a photograph...I'm not giving up on her!), and me...

The musicians and poets...Mike Roberts, Shake, Michael Hearne, Doug Floyd...

Kevin (Debbie's husband), Debbie and Tom...

The circle widens...my new friend Helen with Dee, her longtime friend...

 

Friday Favorite Photos - Still Running and Playing

I pick these two photos as my favorites because take a look at Max - in the first one, he's running! And in the second one, I caught him mid-prance, playing with his puppy, Belle (you can see a bit of her in the foreground.) It hasn't been more than a month that we thought his running days were over - he was limping so bad. We just knew he was on a downhill slide to being totally lame, thanks to his elbow dysplasia (ununited anconeal process). 

He's still limping, but would you believe the cooler weather has helped? Most days, he's frisky and, at least once on our walk, he initiates a game with Belle, letting her pounce on him, bite his leg, and play the way dogs play.

I have to turn and walk away. Just like I did when my oldest son and his friends pulled out those dang boxing gloves.

But there's another reason I chose these photos as my favorites...but it will take a little more explaining...bear with me, please...

The rain surprised me this morning...a pouring rain that washed through the Hollow. I thought our walk was washed away with it, but moments later it had slowed to a drizzle.

A drizzle the puppies and I can handle, so I grabbed an umbrella and started down the road. I never even opened the umbrella, though - by the time I hit the road, sunlight and gray clouds were battling it out in the sky.

As it so often does, the sky mirrored my turbulent mood...sunlight struggled behind the clouds, illuminating the edges, try to break free of the persistent gray veils...doubt, worry and questions blocking my view of answers, resolution and peace. 

They're the same dark clouds that pop up every now and then, trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with my life. What should I focus on with the little amount of "dream" time I have? Is it enough to accomplish anything with? What is my dream, for that matter? What should it be? I'm 51 and still trying to figure it out.

Oh, some days I know. Some days I'm sure of it, full of confidence and determination. Then other days, like this morning, I wake up wondering if I've just been wasting a lot of time.

A friend thinks I should focus on photography, start promoting myself as a wedding photographer or take portraits. It flatters me that she thinks I could possibly do this...but I know enough about photography now that the glitches in the idea glare down their noses at me: I don't have the right equipment; I can't afford the right equipment; I don't have the knowledge. I don't have the time to gather the knowledge. 

(I subscribe to half a dozen photography newsletters that I neatly file in a folder in my email inbox, for later...when I have time to read them...)

But the thing is, that's not my passion. Photography is an obsession and a stress-reliever and I want to get better and better...and if I can make money at it without a huge time investment, that's great, but my dream has to do with writing. 

Most of my writing time I spend on this blog. I love blogging - it brings in a little bit of money, plus it's my old-time hobbies of journaling, scrap-booking, and letter-writing all rolled into one. But I'm left with just a small portion of time for my book, which is supposed to be my Big Thing.

But when I look at other blogs...oh, geez, it makes me wonder why I even bother! Should I just quit and focus on my book? Or should I give up the book altogether and focus on my blog? Then I stop to pay bills, and think, should I forget them both and just focus on finding a second better-paying job to help us get out of debt?

(Is your head spinning yet?)

My faith steps in here...I truly just want to do whatever it is I'm supposed to do. If I can figure out what that is...

(Lord, I'm listening!)

I didn't fall into total despair, don't worry. I'm used to this battle - I've gotten pretty good at stepping to the side as a bystander.

It's a good thing, because the sun and clouds took turns all day, both inside my head and outside. I still haven't heard any trumpets or a loud voice announcing clear instructions. And at this point I don't expect to.

Last night two friends told me they enjoyed reading my blog, and I believe them. I have friends tell me that sometimes and I know they don't really read it. Some of my best friends don't read it. That hurts a little, but reading blogs takes time. I don't get to read all of the ones I enjoy every day, either, so I guess I need to cut my friends some slack.

But through my blog I've met some fabulous people and discovered some wonderful blogs. I believe it's a path I'm supposed to continue along, at least for a little while. 

I really don't believe in coincidence anymore...I think I'm supposed to trying to juggle all of these things, my blog, the book, photography...even my drums..although I don't see the benefit of it. Perhaps the end goal isn't my success at any of it, in the world's sense of success, but just the path they lead me along...the people I meet along the way, the lives I touch, the lives that touch me.

So that brings me back to the photos of Max. In them I see a dog who ignores a handicap to go after something, still believing he can catch it. I see a dog who ignores his pain to play with his puppy because he knows it makes her happy, and because of that, it makes him happy. 

Don't give up the chase. Make others happy.

Damn, he's a smart dog.

Thanks, Max.

 

 

 

"The Chase" (performance and choreography by Max and Belle)

 

Act 1

After it!

 

Act 2

Hmmm...where did it go?

Act 3

Mom knows everything - go ask her!

Ah, those dogs. Constant entertainment! And so creative!

Today I'm grateful for the sunshine (once again) and the chance to live out here where we can walk along dry creek beds and deserted dirt roads, and my dogs can run (relatively) free.

Friday Favorite Photos... Autumn Leaves, Pond Fairies and more

The falling leaves drift by the window
The autumn leaves of red and gold
I see your lips, the summer kisses
The sun-burned hands I used to hold.

Since you went away the days grow long
And soon I'll hear old winter's song
But I miss you most of all my darling
When autumn leaves start to fall.
 

Originally a French song, "Les Feuilles Mortes", with lyrics by poet Jacques Prevért. 
Recorded as "Autumn Leaves" by Johnny Mercer and many others...

This is such a melancholy song, but the lyrics are so visual and just go with the season, don't you think? For me, autumn is a time of reflection, and if not for the sunshine, I would easily drift into a melancholy mood. I'm dramatic that way. And yet it's still my favorite season...

Autumn is taking its sweet time moving into the Hollow. Changes are evident each morning, but they are subtle...as if an Artist slips in at night, painting one tree at a time...

And that's fine with me - it means a protracted Autumn Leaf photo season. I hope you're not sick of them yet, all of these fading oranges and yellows and browns. Soon enough, everything but the live oak and juniper branches will be bare. 

So my favorite photos this week are from a walk Tom and I took with the dogs last Saturday. I had a long list of things to do, but heck, the sun was shining, the blue sky was calling me...how could I resist? (for more shots of our walk, click HERE. For more signs of autumn in Long Hollow...if you're really not sick of them...click HERE.)

I only allowed myself two "autumn leaf" photos. It was tough trying to choose, but I picked this one of a vine, because I don't think I've ever noticed autumn colors on a vine before... 

...and this baby oak tree, just because it's so cute! 

Despite the clear signs of autumn, we still have plenty of yellow blossoms lining our road (and a few lingering purples, too!) I love getting in close and seeing the amazing details.

In a way I dread the coming days of no color, but I suppose we should be grateful for them as well; otherwise I wouldn't appreciate the color so much...

We lingered awhile beside a pond, letting the dogs swim and explore. I was mesmerized by the dozens and dozens of blue damselflies darting here and there and everywhere on the surface...going so fast it was hard to capture them in my camera! From a distance, I could imagine them as tiny blue fairies...

And last but not least, I love this one of my Baby Belle. It's rare to catch her this still...she's as energetic as those damselflies, but you can tell she's growing up...childhood just goes by way too fast, so I'll put up with her pouncing and jumping and chewing, because I know it's not going to last forever.

For two posts now, I've neglected to mention what I'm grateful for (although I am listing them on Facebook, so I haven't completely forgotten to be grateful!)

Tonight, I'm remembering to add them here...

*I'm grateful for hot coffee and cold mornings and the chance to enjoy them both on my back deck...in the rocking chair I got from my sweet friend Gwen. I think of her every time I sit in it...

*I'm grateful for the glorious sunshine pouring on us the past two days, but I'm also grateful for the rain on Wednesday...not just because we need it, but because if it weren't for the gray days, I'd take these sunshine ones for granted.

*I'm grateful for the wonderful writing I came across today...two blog posts that are so wonderful that I want to share them with you. Take the time to read Thanksgiving Comes First by Cricket (it really should be spread nationwide!) and Go Gently, Speak Kindly by Aileen via The Magpie's Fancy. You'll thank me, I just know it. This is the kind of writing that inspires me and makes me jealous all at the same time. Sigh.

*Oh, and I'm grateful I get to see my middle son this weekend and spend time with good friends I haven't seen in a while.

What are you grateful for today?

 

Oh, when the saints go marching in...

I'm a genealogy nut. I haven't devoted any time to research lately, though, because it's too addicting...one name leads to another and to another and to another...next thing I know 10 hours have flown by with my nose in a book or my eyes on a computer screen, pencil clenched in my fingers, nothing to eat but a Snickers bar from a vending machine.

I just can't afford the time or calories right now.

Mostly what I love about genealogy is finding out about the lives of my ancestors, imagining what their lives were like based on the few tidbits of information I gather from census and land records. I love reading about the times they lived through, the obstacles they overcame. It inspires me, makes me realize my little piddly problems are nothing compared to what they survived.

I collect photographs of my ancestors and family members. Surround myself with them. It's probably no surprise those are my favorite heirlooms, followed by anything handmade or handwritten. I peer into their faces and beyond into the background of the photographs, looking for clues, imagining the moments just before and after.

I examine their letters, caress the doilies and quilts, and wonder how, in a world of automobiles, no Walmarts, no electricity, they had time to produce anything like this for fun or beauty?

Right now I'm focused mostly on one ancestor, my great-great grandfather. Every day I pore over his words, try to imagine his voice narrating his story, try to fill in the gaps between his words, interpret what he's telling me.

His is a violent story - he didn't sugar-coat the past, but pulled back the layers exposing all the ugliness. And boy, was it ugly.  Sometimes it's tough for me, having to put myself into it, walk in his shoes and see through his eyes.

There's sadness and remorse in his story, but also joy. I know from my grandmother's memories of him that he exuded fun and excitement. Thoughtfulness. Love. He loved his granddaughters.

He was a poet - writing about the beauty around him, the turbulent times he lived in, the aching in his heart from great loss.

And yet he was a violent man, living...well, fighting to survive...in a violent time. Somehow I have to meld the separate parts together. I have a responsibility to him, my grandmother's memories of him, and the honor of my family to ensure the lessons he learned from his life are heard clearly in my telling.

When I converted to Catholicism 15 or so years ago, I learned about All Saints' Day (today) and All Souls' Day (tomorrow). Per Wikipedia: ...Catholics celebrate All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day in the fundamental belief that there is a prayerful spiritual communion between those in the state of grace who have died and are either being purified in purgatory or are in heaven (the 'church penitent' and the 'church triumphant', respectively), and the 'church militant' who are the living.

I'm not here to debate whether there's a communion between the living and the dead, but I have to admit, I like the idea of having relatives in heaven praying for me. I think of my g-g-grandpa up there, along with my other loved ones who have passed, cheering me on, praying for encouragement and tenacity and understanding for me as I plod along...which reminds me of my favorite lines in "When the Saints Go Marching In"...

We are traveling in the footsteps 
Of those who've gone before 
But we'll all be reunited 
On a new and sunlit shore.

So especially today and tomorrow, I'll think of them, these multitudes who's blood and genes and DNA I share (who gave me the thin hair??) and say a prayer for their souls, may they be resting in peace. I'll tell them thanks...I really don't hold a grudge about my hair...and try to live my life in a way that honors their memories and their hard work.

We thank you, O God, 
for the saints of all ages, 
and for those known and loved by us, 
who have passed 
from this earthly fellowship 
into the fuller light of life with you, 
where you live and reign, 
Father, Son and Holy Spirit, 
for ever and ever. Amen.

- Anonymous

P.S. Tomorrow is Election Day. If you're like me and haven't voted yet, make sure you VOTE! Don't take this right for granted. I admit, I'm glad this day is finally here...no more sappy, hateful television ads or automated phone calls! I wish the elimination of those were going to be on the ballot!

And P.S.S. Today is the first day of National November Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo), where writers support each other in writing 15,000 words in one month, essentially a whole novel. I've never tried it before (who decided on November, when there's Thanksgiving and Christmas preparation, for goodness sake?) but since they haven't changed the month yet, I think I'm going to give in and try it. I haven't yet decided to sign up officially, because I'm not starting a new novel, just trying to finish the one I've started. I'm hoping this will be the motivation I need, even without official backing. We'll see. Wish me luck! I'm off to write 1500 words before bedtime... 

Hmmm, it's already 9:30...yes, please wish me luck. Obviously, I'm going to need it!

 

Getting Started...

Breaking through that initial barrier, the first few words... that's the toughest part. The trick is not being afraid. You gotta walk right up, look it in the eye. Size it up.

Look for weaknesses, chinks, footholds. And then go. Plant that first word, even if it's not the perfect one - give yourself permission to toss it out later, but use it now as a starting step to get you up and over that monstrous wall of your own making.... formed from your insecurities and doubts and distractions.

After that, the words come easier, one by one at first out of no where, and then in larger groups, at times tumbling over each other in their hurry to get on the page...

It's similar to a dance, where the first couple on the dance floor isn't necessarily the best, just the bravest, paving the way for the others to step out of the darkness and join them, moving to the music of the story, until finally the dance floor - the page - is full.

And then you start all over again the next night...

 

 

 

On Writing, and the Pros and Cons of a Late Night Shopping Trip

I realize I've been spoiled the past, what, 20 years since I quit working at the chemical plant to be a stay-at-home mom.

Before you get the wrong idea, first let me tell you that being a "stay-at-home" kicked my butt, especially at first. It's the toughest job I've ever had, and I was the toughest boss I've ever had. I had all of these ideas about time - as in, I thought I'd have plenty of it to do everything I wanted to do,and for years I had dreamed that, if I could only "stay home", I'd have a sparkling clean, organized house, write a bestseller, be a gourmet cook, get my degree, learn how to sew, and play with my kids 24/7. 

I was wrong. Within a week, I was exhausted! I had to learn to pace myself, take breaks and just let some things go. But by the time my kids were all in school, I was swimming in the co-mingling worlds of Mom and Volunteer. I cooked, I handicrafted, I room-mothered, I PTA'd and chaperoned everything. There were meetings during the day, meetings at night, with reports and research and phone calls in between. Before too long, and for a very long time, I was in way over my head.

When we needed money, I substitute-taught for years and even "librarian"-ed full-time for one. I added two or three other part-time jobs... data entry, newspaper reporter and substitute church secretary.

There were some long days in there. But the thing is, I was still in control of my day. I could say yes or no... if there was something else I needed to take care of... a birthday present or some Christmas shopping, or even just a friend I needed to meet for lunch... I did it with no guilty feelings whatsoever. My family, my connections, came first.

Life has changed. No one really needs me to be that flexible anymore; the greater need is for a bigger paycheck, which means working more hours, and thank goodness my boss agrees with our bank account and I have that option.

Back in my chemical plant days, I worked 12 hour shifts. I had to work two weekends a month. On the up side, Tom cooked and took care of the kids on the days I worked... except when I worked the night shift and would wake up early to pick the boys up from daycare, needing to spend a little time with them before heading out again.

When I became a stay-at-home mom, I took it all on... the housework, cooking, shopping, bill-paying (we traded off and on with that one, but I've had it most of the time), the doctors' visits (and there were a lot, with three asthmatic kids), the insurance, the medicine, the calendar, the... you get the picture. Tom helped (he has always been Mr. Amazing) but he was mostly in charge of the cars, most of the outside work, and "large projects"; when he moved to Austin ahead of us, I had to add mowing our huge corner lot and pool care to my list.

Meanwhile, I was also taking a college class every semester, and writing... in my spare time.

The writing is what I sat down to write about here.

Twenty years ago I took my first writing class... had my first essay published... but in the years since then, my writing has been like this piece of fluff, above, flying here and there at the mercy of whatever else was going on in our lives that took precedence... landing every once in awhile long enough for me to scribble another essay down or start this blog, but then lifted by yet another breeze/priority and forgotten. 

This week I'm changing that. I'm trying, really trying, to work on my book every day, no matter what. Because I'm working a "real" job again, one without the flexibility I've enjoyed for twenty years, I'm having to learn to fit the pieces of my life together, and it's tough. It's such a give and take.

The thing is, I'm stubborn. I want to do it all... I want to continue everything I've started, like my work-outs and my morning walks and my get-togethers with my friends and being available for my kids whenever they need me and my blogs and my photography and my drums...

And I want to write my book.

I came across a quote by Meryl Streep this week; she seems to be talking straight to me...

"Put blinders on to those things that conspire to hold you back, especially the ones in your own head. Guard your good mood. Listen to music every day, joke, and love, and read more fun fun, especially poetry."

By golly, Meryl, I'm going to do it! But... that means something has to give. The reality... the hard, wooden boundary I'm having to work within... is that there are only 24 hours in a day. I've juggled those hours around, tried different combinations, tried to work out systems, but the truth I can't get away from is, if I want to write this book within my lifetime - if I want to finally finish something, go all the way to the end with it - I have to carve into my sleep.

Yes, I know it's not good to skimp on sleep for a number of reasons, but when days go by and I haven't had a chance to work on my book or play my drums, and I'm getting behind on my blog and have to rush my words and lose my thoughts or just give up on publishing a specific post, period, something turns gray inside of me. That can't be good, either, and I don't like it. 

So for now, for this time in my life, for these dreams I've carried in my heart for so long, I'm going to sacrifice a few hours of sleep... however many are necessary to get what needs to be done, done, work on my dreams for a little while every day, and try to include the things that color my sky. It's the only way it's going to happen and no one can do it but me. 

I apologize in advance if, next time you see me, I mumble incoherently or doze off mid-sentence. I'm sure I'll be using a lot of eye cream and concealer to cover up dark circles and bags under my eyes.

I'm going to try hard not to mention this again or complain about not getting enough sleep, because it's my choice and I'm blessed that I have even this much flexibility to make it ... and also because my mother worries about it and Tom grumbles about it, but only because they both love me.

Well, we'll see how long I can carry it out. Who knows, I might give it up by next week and start scrambling for a new plan of attack. But the past two nights haven't been bad - I told myself I'd turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and I listened to myself. I seem to function pretty well on 5 1/2 hours of sleep.

But tonight I had to go to the grocery store when my work day was done. And poor Tom fell ill and went to bed before I left (please say a prayer for him!) so the unloading of the groceries and the putting away into the cupboards fell to me, by myself (there are 42 uphill steps to the car - I had never counted them before!) I used to do it by myself all the time... during the daytime. At 10 pm, it's a little tougher, especially when I know I still have work to do on the computer.

However, the night captivated me, turning a chore into a blessing... we park in a small clearing with a wide view of the sky. It was a soft navy color tonight, sprinkled with stars, with a half moon standing guard. I stood still, looked straight up, and thought about how truly insignificant I am when compared to the vastness of the universe... how piddly my little problems really are... how magnificent the hand who created this intricate world is...

I let myself soak in the night music... a chorus of insects singing from the trees, with solos by cars on the highway in the distance and the wind whispering through the treetops and in my ears, the breeze cooling me after my climb from the house. I didn't want to move... just wanted to stand there all night... but then Belle's collar jingled, pulling me back to real life and I remembered I would need to feed them for Tom, besides put all the groceries away, before I could get to work here on my blog and on my book. 

But even feeding them didn't feel like a chore - I rocked on the back deck while they ate, sipping a glass of wine, listening to the little creek down below us playing on its way down to Lake Travis; that half-moon had hopped around to the back and now kept me company, sitting just above the silhouetted tree line directly ahead of me. 

And so finally, here I am in the middle of the night, sitting at the computer, preparing to work on my book, at least for a little while. I'm not worried about being too tired or uninspired - that's what writers do... write when they can, not necessarily when they have huge chunks of time or feel in the mood or inspired. You just sit down to write, and write.

So here I go. Sweet dreams to the rest of you!

 

 P.S. I finished writing this at 1:30, but didn't hit "Publish" because I know better than to post something I've written impulsively in the middle of the night without a quick perusal with morning eyes, albeit blurry ones.

Tom is really, really sick. He's staying home from work today - that doesn't happen often, let me tell you. We're thinking maybe it's the flu. Please, please, keep him in your prayers!

 

 

 

What a weekend! Where do I start?

I think I'll start with today, a Monday which has redeemed all prior Mondays in my eyes (even though it's not technically part of the weekend) and move backwards for a change. 

No, I didn't win the lottery or anything. We're still as broke as ever.. monetarily, anyway. And no, I didn't get another Monday off from work. But this has been a really, really good day.

I think part of it is I've taken John Lubbock's advice on priorities to heart and it's working! I haven't become super-productive or anything, but I've noticed a subtle change in my attitude, more purpose to my actions now. And attitude and actions are what count, right?

I couldn't help but have a good attitude after this: yesterday I posted on Facebook that I still had raffle tickets available for my church's Oktoberfest with a link to a post from last year about our St. Vincent de Paul Society, one of the beneficiaries of the raffle ticket proceeds (click here to read that post.) Right away I had responses from friends wanting to buy tickets... including one who wants to buy 100 - yes, you read it right - 100 tickets!

I can't do much myself monetarily to help St. Vincent de Paul, so that request made me sprout wings; I've been soaring like one of my jewel-colored dragonflies all day, knowing that my request initiated a response like that.

See? It never hurts to ask!

Now to Sunday... that's when I really took John's advice. I slept late because of a late Saturday night. I knew I'd regret it if I didn't. I went to Mass, not just because I knew I'd regret it if I didn't, but it's true I would. I tackled the laundry pile, the desk pile, the promises-I-made-to-other-people pile. I posted that request on Facebook. 

I took time to think about my Grandmother Annie B. - yesterday would have been her 104th birthday.

We took time to call Tom's brother Steve, the Montana brother, who I believe turned 52.

I worked and worked and worked on my book, even opting out of a walk with Tom and the puppies, knowing when it was all said and done, I would regret not working on the book more than not going on a walk.

Even when Tom came running in telling me about a huge spider down near the pond, I let him run back out alone with the camera. I admit I was a little sorry I didn't take this:

(I finally asked Mr. Google what it was - it's just a female Yellow Garden Spider. Such a plain-Jane name for something this splashy, don't you think?)

After working on my book, I played with my photos from Saturday... lots and lots of photos because it was our annual University of Texas Longhorn Football Game, courtesy of our generous friends, Saint Mary Kay and Saint Joe. We can't afford tickets ourselves, but thanks to MK and Joe, we get the full Longhorn experience once a year. (They share the love with other friends on the other game days.)

We started out the game tailgating in their son's apartment, part of a wonderful old duplex on a dead-end road near a creek, just blocks from campus! I love those old houses.

Hanging out, wishing we were college students instead of paying for our kids to go there... MK, Peggy, Jeff and Tom...

After stuffing ourselves on BBQ and fresh fruit, we walked those few blocks to the music hall, where we snagged some photos with MK and Joe's son, a member of the Big Bertha team... 

...and then on to the stadium...

MK and our bunch in our corner.. Jeff and Peggy, both UT grads but this was their first game! MK and Don, one of her first bosses. He's recovering from cancer; this game marked his 50th consecutive UT Longhorn opening home game - his doctors didn't think he'd make it to this one so soon after surgery, but he was determined. Where there's a will, there's a way, right?

We proceeded to watch the UT band and Big Bertha team (once a band mom, always a band mom)...

...and, oh yeah, the Longhorns kicked Wyoming's rear end. I actually did watch the game and took lots and lots of photos, of course, including some of actual football players. You can see the rest here, at Confessions of a Photography Addict.

Now on to Saturday morning... 

Another turtle! Belle discovered this one, but she didn't hurt it, thank goodness, just dug it up and brought it up to the porch. I traded it for a dog treat and put it in the bathtub until we could carry it down to the creek. It didn't seem very appreciative at all, even after Tom stepped ankle deep in mud to release him!

Turtles are awful grumps, aren't they?

I can't remember what else I did that morning, but I do know I took care of a lot of stuff I'd regret if I didn't!

I do remember that I slept late, because, once again, we were up late Friday night. We introduced some friends to the Hootenanny! There weren't as many musicians this time, but the music under the trees was still magical.

Keeping John Lubbock's advice in mind, I said 'yes' when Jim asked me to play the cajon box drum. I'd never played it before, had no idea how to play it, but I did it anyway, because I knew I'd regret it if I passed up the chance. 

Here's Eric on it later. I paid attention so I'd know what to do next time.

Oh, you see the photographer there next to Eric? That's Bruce Coville, one amazing photographer. Take a look at some of his Hootenanny shots here.

 

When you're around someone who is so much better than you are, you can either slink away, or you can take advantage of their presence to improve. I felt a bit intimidated, photography-wise, with Bruce and his muscle-camera's presence, but keeping John's advice in my head, I decided to take impromptu photography lessons that night, instead of slinking away. 

While I was at it, I took belly-dancing lessons from Liane, too. (no pictures!) Drums, photography and belly-dancing under the stars! Now that's a Friday night!

I didn't take many photos that night, but here are a couple I like of Triana and Robert Castaneda, married musicians extraordinaire... one 'normal' photo and one 'artsy' (in other words, no flash)... I think you get a sense of Robert's energy in both of them. That man can play the flute!

Now that's a weekend! How was yours?

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Saturday Blog Hop Report

I intended to follow my friend Jillsy's lead and post links to my favorite blog posts of the past week every Thursday. Well, last week my neighbor decided to pump his nasty water into our pond - needless to say, I missed the Blog Hop. And I've been chasing this week for days - always a step behind!

I have a feeling it's going to be hard for me to keep to a regular Blog Hop schedule - for one thing, I haven't had much time for blog-reading! But there were several good ones from this past week that I wanted to share here...

Time
by Jillsy

...look at my post yesterday and you'll see why I picked this one. Time is on my mind, and Jillsy nailed it.

Some Kind of Battle IV
by Gina

...Gina has published a series of posts about battles, the kinds most of us encounter at some point in our lives. Since we're in the middle of our own battle over property issues, and she even included ours in one of her posts, I've really benefited from these. I recommend them all, but I loved the last sentence in this one. Gina nailed it, too.

A Lot to Think About
by Bossy Betty

...I found this one via Jillsy's Blog Hop. It's a wistful wandering back through memories of parenthood, through the eyes of a mother, beautifully written. A definite favorite for me, for obvious reasons.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I did! I'm off now for some unplugged time with longtime friends. Have a beautiful Saturday!

 

Blog Hopping!

When I first started blogging, I saw it as 1) therapy 2) good writing practice and 3) a way to let friends and family know what we're up to without having to send so many emails and make a lot of phone calls. It was a multitasker's dream come true!

It has been all of that but so, so , SO much more! I've discovered some intimidatingly wonderful blogs... some that teach me... some that challenge me to think in new ways... some that comfort me, make me laugh, make me cry... some that are so full of beautiful words and images that I'm tempted to just give up, but instead let them inspire me to raise the bar for myself.

I've also made some wonderful friends. One of these is Jillsy - a generous soul who has given me so much encouragement and support in my writing and photography, even featuring me on her own blog at times to try to round up more support (and comments!) for me. And I'm not even the only one she dotes on - somehow she finds time to drop in on and help promote several others. I feel blessed by her friendship.

Inspired by another blogger, Jillsy has declared Thursday "Blog-Hopping Day", where we post our 5 favorites of the week, and because I'm so grateful for all she has done for me, I'm agreeing to try it. My problem is finding the time to read my favorites, but this will be a good excuse to make time. There are so many beautiful blogs out there...

So here goes, my 5 Favorite Posts of the Week...

Tender is the Morning...

Jillsy@ Jillsy Girl Moments That Make Memories

Caveman Plantains

SpanishEyes @ Between USA and Spain

It's a Dog's Life

Kathy@ Mrs. BizWhiz

Too Soon and Yet Right on Time

Lynn@ L2's Point of View

My Hometown

Kirby@ Life is Beautiful

I'm going to cheat and add one more. It was posted on July 17, not this past week, but since this is my first Blog Hop, I felt it was okay to bend the rules. It deserves to be mentioned...

Why Didn't She Tell Anyone?

Gina@ This Moment

You'll be able to see from my list that I have eclectic taste in blogs. But that's the beauty of blogging - there are no hard and fast rules about what it should or shouldn't be. It's all about individuality, baby!

Take a few minutes and visit these. I don't think you'll be sorry! And please share your favorites or a link to your own list in the comments below...

Happy Blog-Hopping! (click here to see Jillsy's favorites)

 

One Weekend, Two Theaters, Tons of Talent

I can't believe I forgot my camera. I can't BELIEVE I forgot my camera. I CANNOT BELIEVE I FORGOT MY CAMERA!

That's all I could think about when we arrived at One World Theater Saturday evening for the Linton Mancilla CD Release Party/Concert. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the Tuscany-Meets-Texas-style villa perched on a hillside in Austin, I thought, oh, how gorgeous... I want to get a picture... and that's when I knew... I just knew without even looking in my purse: I had forgotten my camera.

I probably started twitching, and as soon as we entered the room, I glanced around in a desperate hope that someone had an extra camera they would let me borrow... oh, yeah, what are the odds? I even started asking around. People were probably elbowing each other, pointing at me, noting the crazy look in my eyes.

I'm sure I felt the same ache a smoker feels when she taps her pack and only stray flakes of tobacco fall out, teasing her. Got an extra cigarette, mister? How about a spare camera?

Persistence pays off, though. Turned out, Lunchbox the the bass player had a camera (his name is Larry but they call him Lunchbox and I have no idea why) but he would be on stage and couldn't use it. So not only did I score a camera, but I would be doing someone a favor by taking lots and lots of pictures!

I have no idea how the photos turned out. Probably not very good - the theater was dark except for spotlights on some members of the band and there was a no-flash rule, and I was using an unfamiliar camera. But I blissfully shot away, making sure I snapped several of Lunchbox.  I love digital.

Even though the concert photos are probably nothing more than blurry shadows and light, I did get some good ones of me and Liane, and a few of Alan "Bones" Davis, another friend of ours, who played the pre-concert show in a better-lit room downstairs of the theater.

I hate to complain, but the camera I snagged was a pretty simple point and shoot. Soon after the concert started, I spotted a hefty Nikon right on the front row. When it was over, I slipped the photographer my email and blog addresses, begging for some of his photos to post here. (Tom didn't even get my contact information until our 2nd meeting! But then, I don't think he showed me his camera right away.)

Oh, I guess I should mention how wonderful the concert itself was! Jim and Eric are the framework of Linton Mancilla, but on any given Friday Night Hootenanny at Jim and Liane's house, there are half a dozen other gifted musicians, and many of them played with the band Saturday night, coming and going on and off the stage. Saxophone, penny whistle, mandolin, violin... even Bones on the harmonica, blending with guitars, keyboard, drums into an eclectic collection of songs... jazz, rock, latina, folk.

Afterward, we climbed the backstage stairs up to a walled terrace that was caught in the beam of a full moon to soak up the view of Austin and hang out a bit with the band members and other friends. What a glorious night! 

Alas... no photos from the concert have popped up in my email from Lunchbox or David (Mr. Nikon) but I do have this one of Jim serenading us at a Cub Scout campout at Inks Lake years ago...

Needless to say, when I left my house the next day, heading back into Austin to Hyde Park Theater for a reading of my friend Amory's play, I made sure my camera was snug in my purse.

I had never been to Hyde Park Theater or to a play reading - two new experiences at one time... very exciting! And I hadn't seen Amory since our screenwriting class ended over a year ago. But I know from her updates on Facebook that she's been busy writing... at least two screenplays and this play, plus a short film and I can't remember what else. So much talent and drive! Did I mention she's also an actress?And so cute to boot!

 

I'm not sure what I expected, but I admit the theater surprised me. It's much smaller than its website implies! It didn't look like much from the outside, except for this one fantastic typical-Austin-painted wall, but when I stepped inside, I knew it was all about "theater"... as perfect for plays as One World Theater was perfect for musical performances... small, intimate seating, focused on the stage.

It was déjà vu, the play reading... just like sitting in class with some of us reading the parts and then commenting/critiquing afterward. Except here, the readers/actors sat in chairs in a row on the stage, and stood up when their characters were "on stage". 

The play was great. The actors were great. And it was all free! Mostly, I feel so fortunate to have been there, to be able to be a part of the process of Amory's play. I can't wait to see it produced... because I have no doubt someone will pick it up and produce it. It's that good. And I'll be able to say, I knew her when... 

  

Adjusting the Focus - starting a Gratitude Journal

I started a gratitude journal this week... an idea I stole from my friend Nancy. I've kept one before, making lists of the things I'm grateful for each day, but I get too busy or too distracted and the next thing you know it's been months since I've taken the time to write them down.

I think about my blessings every day, when I'm walking the dogs, right before I go to sleep and often in between. But, as Nancy pointed out, thinking of them is not nearly as therapeutic as writing them down.

And let me tell you, I need the therapy! Lately any positive thoughts I have are like the hummingbird I saw buzz up to the back deck yesterday... beautiful and amazing for an instant, but easily spooked. They disappear as quickly as they come and you're left wondering if your imagination was just playing tricks on you.  

My negative thoughts, on the other hand, are like the nasty little gnats that invaded our house last week, getting in my face and my food and my cheap Pinot Noir... tainting and tenacious!

But when I write my blessing down, it's like setting up a tripod for my camera so I can really focus on that hummingbird... I can snap some shots that will last forever... proof it existed.

Each day I'm going to think of three things I'm grateful for. Three different things. By not repeating myself, I hope to move beyond generics and generalizations (my kids, my husband, my family, my friends, my health... ) and get into some nitty-gritty details that I've overlooked and taken for granted.

Since I'm being a copycat anyway, I'm following Nancy's lead and also listing 3 things I accomplished during the past 24 hours. Most of the time I feel like I'm slipping farther and farther behind in my to-do's; this way I'll focus less on all of the many things on my list(s) that I never got around to that day - instead, I'll see that my day wasn't completely wasted. 

I've added another section, so it's not a complete rip-off of Nancy's version - I'm listing the three things at the top of my prayer list that day.

I thought of an easy way for me to keep track of my journal, so it doesn't go the way of my written journals, scrapbooks and photo albums (in other words, shoved off onto another to-do list. I know myself too well.) I compose each day's entry in an email to myself, collected in a folder (named "Gratitude" of course.) It's always accessible, as long as I have Internet access, anyway.

For each of these sections, I could list more than three things once I got going, I know. And I might at times. The rules are pretty loose. But the idea is to make it quick and easy so that I'm more likely to keep up with it. 

My Gratitude Journal couldn't have come at a better time...

Yesterday morning I received a call from my sister Brenda letting me know Daddy had called an ambulance for my mom. They were already in the emergency room and Brenda really didn't know anything else at that point, but promised to keep me posted.

As soon as possible, I requested prayer everywhere I could - on Facebook, through emails, the church prayer line, text messages and phone calls. The result was overwhelming - such a flood of responses, offering prayer, love and support... more than I could ever have imagined.

By that afternoon, I had talked to my mom in her room at the hospital, even joking and laughing with her like we normally do. She was waiting on the doctor to see her and for more tests to be run, but she wasn't in the Intensive Care Unit - a very good sign!

I'm feeling optimistic, like this is a blessing in disguise and they'll be able to figure out what dozens of doctors haven't been able to so far... why she can't breathe and why nothing helps.

So last night's journal entry was easy...

... I'm grateful that my mom is better, that she's in good hands and having tests run, and I'm so, so, so grateful for the tidal wave of love, support and prayers that have been focused on her. 

Thank you all so much! And please continue to pray!

Happy Anniversary, Long Hollow!

It's hard to believe, but today is the second anniversary of my blog!

I'm hanging out in a college computer lab, passing the time until the Girl gets out of her hours-long summer Physics class. I'm her chauffeur since we're down to just two working vehicles; the other 7 or so are just for decoration. (Just teasing, Tom!)

I wasn't sure I could use these computers, so I didn't come prepared to work on my book. But I will next week! Even though I haven't taken classes in over a year, my old ID still works, so here I sit getting caught up on e-mails, Facebook, my Flickr group and blogs (mine and the ones I follow but haven't had time to read lately.) Hmmm... I have a feeling I'm not going to mind this chauffeur gig one little bit!

Out of curiosity, I took a trip back through my archives to find my Very First Blog Post Ever, appropriately named "Finding my voice..." and (surprise!) I saw that I wrote it on June 3, 2008. Perfect timing!

It's weird, though... I barely remember writing that one. The ones I traveled through to get to it, also written that June of 2008, are still pretty fresh in my memory, but that first one... all I can remember is being so nervous about putting my words out there in Cyber-land that I'm sure my fingers were shaking as I typed. I knew hardly anyone would be reading it, but still, inside it felt like a game of True Confessions, like I was baring my soul, exposing myself as someone other than what people expected me to be (and not in a good way.)

I wasn't sure how the whole Blog thing worked or even what I wanted to say. So I just said what was on my mind. And that's how it started...

(On a sad note, I noticed that tomorrow will mark the second anniversary of Frankie's friend Ruthie's death. I just hope I never have to write a post like that one about Frankie.)

The Moon, the Hourglass and the Holy Trinity

Sitting low on the horizon, the rust-tinted full moon kept me company all the way home from the grocery store last night. And there he was again this morning, sitting on the railing right outside the French doors, waiting for me it seemed.

Full moons mesmerize me. I could spend hours just sitting still, staring at it, the thoughts in my mind darting around like kids on a playground.

So driving home last night, I continued thinking about this imbalance or restlessness I wrote about yesterday. It's like there's an hourglass just on the edge of my line of vision, and I'm racing it, trying to "do it all" before the last grain of sand hits the ever-growing pile at the bottom... 

I think Tom is feeling the same way lately. He has hobbies he doesn't have time for, too, thanks to the monstrous mound of projects in front of him he has to climb first. And there's the "will I ever get to retire?" question, thanks to never-ending money issues weighing on him. Maybe part of it is we're not passionate about our jobs (except being passionately grateful we have them!) I pray my kids recognize their passions and find a way to make a living at them early on.

In all honesty, I realize part of my angst is the double-edged sword I'm playing with now. Tom and I have been on the go for several weeks now - one fun weekend after another - and my calendar shows the party isn't ending anytime soon. Fun can ease stress, but it can cause it, too. There's only so much time and something has to give.

But I'm not about to cut out any of these special times we have planned with friends and family if I can help it - those times are too precious, the salt and pepper and cayenne that spice up our days - I'm just going to have to keep it all in perspective and not sweat about what I'm having to leave out. After all, these are the things we haven't had time for until now.

Yesterday morning I hit on something that I think will help, if I'll just remember it. Lately, instead of "Hail, Mary, full of grace..." on my walks, I find myself spouting baby talk to Belle and Max, and Frankie when he joins us. So I began reciting the Rosary out loud to stay on track. 

When I came to "Our Father...", it hit me that Jesus was listing things that would help me maintain balance: I should give thanks and praise his name; I should ask for what I needed, but pray that his will be done, not mine; I should forgive and ask forgiveness; I should ask for his help with my weaknesses rather than depend on my own supposed strength; I should ask for protection from evil. 

Gratitude, worship, humility, forgiveness. 

Today I remembered another clue he gave us for maintaining balance: the Holy Trinity. The Father, Son and Holy Spirit... the mental, the physical, and the spiritual... all parts of us that need to be nourished. (I wonder where Social fits in? I'm sure it does somewhere!)

Ah, it all sounds so simple when I write it out like that, but I've got years of experience with myself that tell me it's easier said than done, especially with that dang hourglass sitting over there.

Be Still. Balance. Breathe.

 

Stand still, planted in the meadow. Breathe in. Breathe out. Listen. Hear the birds kreee-kreee across the pond, Belle and Max munching grass near my feet. Feel the minute. Close my eyes and really feel it... feel my heartbeat counting off the seconds...

"On the tightrope of life, only one thing allows us to move forward, and that one thing is balance. Without balance we fall into chaos, we fall behind, we miss out on what true choices we have in life..." -Laura Kangos

I started this post a few days ago, but that's as far as I got. I've truly been off-balance and am having a hard time trying to even things back out. I'm down to this basic question - with the little bit of free time I have each day, do I sleep or do I write? That's what it's come down to - everything else is whittled down about as far as they can go. 

I know, no matter which I choose, I'll still be out of kilter.

Lately I've chosen sleep. Still not quite eight hours, but more than the four or five I was trying to survive on, when I thought I could squeeze "everything" into one day.

The lack-of-sleep brain-fuzzies have cleared, but now piles of crap are building up in there... to-do's that can't get done. I'm ignoring them... trying to, anyway... but I fear they'll soon swallow me up. The result is the same - my brain is scrambled. I'm forgetting things.

And then there's the lack of solid time for writing. I'm a table with a leg missing. No wonder I'm letting things slip!

Yet, despite the imbalance, today I felt a seed of peace inside, a seed of acceptance for this hectic life of mine that doesn't allow me as much time as I want (need?) to pursue things I've put off for so long. It is a good life. I know that.

I think the full moon planted the seed, when it peered at me through the French doors first thing this morning, looking just like one of my critters waiting patiently for me to come outside and play. The moon reminded me of the constancy of life. The beauty of life. The day begins and the day will end, no matter what I do with the time in between. I'll find my balance, sooner or later. For now, all I can do is live it minute to minute, as fully as I can.

 

Goodbye to LOST

 

It's sad - very sad - but I made sure I left my parents' house by 1:30 this afternoon so I could be home in time to watch the whole LOST finale. 

My son Tommy doesn't understand our fascination with LOST - he says it's silly, that they never answer any questions, just keep creating more, and I can't argue with him. I've said the same thing myself. 

So why am I so hooked?

Well, for one thing, I'm a geek. I'm a sucker for the mysteries, the allusions, the symbolism. I'm a Lord of the Rings, Narnia, Ender's Game fanatic. Add Sawyer's cute dimples and shirtless scenes, and there you go. 

But here I am at the end of the series, and I'm so disappointed. The last 30 minutes were like a flush of a toilet. Like the writers just got tired and said to hell with it all, we can't fix it.

But I forgive them. It's just a television show, after all. They gave me so many hours of entertainment, kept me on the edge of my seat, had me wondering what the heck was going on - for years now - so I'll cut 'em some slack. 

Because when it's all said and done, they gave me characters - characters that were layered, layered, layered. Characters that were believable because they were so flawed. That's what's kept me coming back every week, waiting to see what happened. Despite their weaknesses, they learned to pull the best out of themselves. They loved each other, they connected, they believed in each other. They learned to believe in themselves. To forgive themselves.

It's been a lesson in writing...  a lesson in characterization, story and plot. 

But more than that, it's been a lesson in life.

Loose Ends, Apologies and Clarifications

I owe my kids an apology. I implied in XOXO Nina Barbara that they were slackers in the Mother's Day department. I didn't intend to, but nonetheless, reading back over it now, I understand why my sweet Tommy slipped a pressed flower into the card he sent me with a note explaining "I couldn't let Nicole out-do me, so here's a flower."

It's a pretty little flower, but the gesture was totally unnecessary; he, Daniel and the Girl chipped in for something I've been yearning for ... another pair of Chaco sandals. I splurged on a pair in Gruene two years ago (our anniversary served as the excuse that time) and have practically worn them out. Chaco Flips don't look like anything special, but they fit and support these old aching feet of mine perfectly ... and match my wardrobe! If you have plantar fasciitis, you need to try a pair. Trust me.

Thank you, sweet kids!

I also felt, after writing yesterday's post  about the hospital time warp, that I should mention all of the wonderful caretakers we met there ... the nurse who scrounged up a pair of scrubs pants to make my dear one more comfortable ... the emergency room doctor who thought outside the box when test results weren't fitting together ... the admitting surgeon who did all he could to avoid surgery, covered all the bases and seemed reluctant to let us go without knowing for sure what it was ... the "mother nurse" who came by to visit, to answer questions and put my dear one at ease about the potential surgery and ended up inspiring both of us with her story: she suffered a stroke several years ago - wasn't supposed to even be able to walk again - and decided life was too short to not go after a passion. She took a class in making jewelry and started a business.  Scrambling for a name for her new business, the perfect one hit her: MySCAL (My Second Chance at Life). She wore an example - a beautiful fused glass pin. 

Some other loose ends ...

*At the Texas Music Awards in Marshall last weekend the Shake Russell Trio won Vocal Group of the Year. I still believe Shake should have also won Entertainer of the Year, but I'm happy the group was at least recognized. Click here to see all of the recipients.

*My sister sent me this link about Guinea Fowl after my last post about Frankie and his strange behavior. If you're a Frankie fan, you should read it. It turns out, they mate for life and can die of broken hearts. Poor Frankie.

*Don't forget BlogHer has these fantastic give-aways where, just by commenting on a post, you're entered into a random drawing for hundreds of dollars in gift cards. I have one on my reviews/contest blog right now! Click here and tell me who in your life is the yin to your yang for a chance at a $100 Visa gift card. The contest ends June 3.

*As if taking care of my family, working, blogging, writing a book and practicing my drums weren't enough to fill my spare time, I've joined a Flickr group - "The Blog Camp 365 in 2010 Project."

What that means is I'm taking photographs, playing around with the editing, and uploading one to the group page every day. Oh, and I'm looking at everyone else's photos, commenting on them and learning tons and tons about photography while I'm at it. I'm trying to figure out how to add a link to my "One-A-Days" on this blog, but for some reason, I just haven't had time to do it yet. Keep an eye out for it, but in the meantime, I'll just post a few of mine here ... 

  

 

*The latest edition of my missionary friend Jeannie's newsletter arrived this week. In it she writes "...without electricity I eat cold food, take cold showers, have no internet or TV - in short, nothing in my house works but my cell phone, which I keep charged up, just in case. I also shower at night if I have electricity, to avoid a possible cold shower in the morning if there's no power. I've learned to do things at a slower pace and to adjust to a life with uncertainty." She goes on to say "... we're in what's called a false winter here. That means the weather is acting like the rainy season, even though it's a month early. Farmers have to decide whether to plant now or at the traditional time. They're both risky, but they have to make a decision. Many are out of food provisions for the year and an early start means they will have food sooner, if the rain keeps on. If it doesn't, the newly sprouted corn will dry up and die and they will lose this year's crop..."

I've tried getting her to convert her newsletter into a blog format, but she has too many she needs to mail it to. Plus, she's kinda busy ... So I'm trying to figure out a way to post her newsletter on my blog, just to help get the word out about her work. Keep an eye out for it, too!

*And last but not least, I spotted this on the news this week - a 94-year-old woman earned her college degree. That means there's still hope for me!

     

Grateful for #53

Tom turned 53 today. If you've read much of my blog, you know I never take birthdays for granted, but I'm especially grateful for each one of his we get to celebrate. I've spent too many hours sitting in hospital waiting rooms praying for him ... come too close to losing him too many times. I know there are dozens of close calls I'm not even aware of, times I'm sure his angels kept him from falling off the roof or wrecking the backhoe, the motorcycle, the car ... 

And then there's his heart, the time bomb in his chest that he inherited from his grandpa. The grandpa who died of a heart attack at 56. The father of Tom's aunts who died from heart attacks before their 50th birthdays.

When we were in our twenties, 56 seemed so old.

I'm grateful Tom listens to his body and doesn't hesitate in seeing a doctor when something is wrong. We wouldn't be celebrating his birthday today if he hadn't insisted ten years ago that the pain in his chest was more than just a pulled muscle, even though a stress test and EKG said otherwise. Hallelujah! his wonderful cardiologist listened to him and ordered an arteriogram. She saved his life! An arterial blockage hid in the one spot a stress test couldn't find it. They popped in a stent and sent him on his way - with plenty of prescriptions and requirements for yearly blood work and check-ups, of course.

I support his efforts to take care of himself ... to eat right and exercise. I buy the things he should be eating, not ice cream or cookies. I make sure we have plenty of raw fruits and vegetables on hand.

What I wish I could do better is help him with stress. He worries, and not without reason, over finances, retirement, our kids, our cars, our land, our house. Mostly over finances.

So I wasn't surprised when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday and he said: "Don't get me anything. Just pay off the credit cards." 

I'm trying. I've made progress. Substantial progress. But it's a constant tug between needs, wants and finances, a battle we're intimately familiar with - we've been a mostly one-income family since soon after we married, when he quit work to go to college. We just switched places after our youngest was born. 

Now that we're Empty Nesters, I've doubled my "paid" hours. The catch is, without a college degree, my pay ... and my choices ... are limited. I try to make up for both - the pay and the fulfillment - with my writing. Blogging brings in a little bit of money; my play and my book, not so much ... yet. I joke that they're our retirement plan - once they're finished, I'll make a million dollars and we can both retire. But the only way that can happen is if I write, and the trick there is finding time to write. Between the 'paid' job and life, there's not much time left without dipping into my sleep, and when I skimp on sleep ... well, I'm back where I started, full circle: Tom worries. About me.

But I haven't given up. If being broke and juggling finances for years has taught me anything, it's to be creative and frugal. Being frugal just gets so tiring. But Tom's worth it. 

I feel bad that I won't be able to give him what he asked for this year, but I'll do my best for #54. I have a feeling he'll be asking for the same thing, anyway. 

(If anyone has any time-saving, juggling, management ideas, send them on! I've probably already tried them, but you never know!)

Happy 53rd birthday, sweet Tom!

 
 

Why I Blog

I talk to high school students every year who are preparing to take the AP exams or write college entrance essays. I tell them "Make every word count. Read back over what you've written and if there's an adverb, yank it out and use a better verb. If you see "is", yank it out and use a better verb."  When word count matters, I point out the advantages of semicolons over 'and' and 'but'. Other good tips: vary sentence length and formation; avoid repetition of specific words (these jump out at you if you read your work out loud.)

Now after spouting all of that, I admit my blog doesn't always reflect what I preach. I've written essays and newspaper articles; my blog is neither. It's the dumping ground for my thoughts. A practice arena before the Big Game, the book I'm writing. Sometimes my post just pours out of me, similar to the stream-of-consciousness morning pages Julia Cameron recommends in An Artist's Way. 

More often, it's a conversation with friends. A sharing of something I learned or read, or a memory. Sometimes a confession. It replaces the journal I kept for decades, the letters and photographs I used to send to friends and family, and even the hours I used to spend on the phone with loved ones. It's where I clear the jumping beans from my brain so I can get down to the business of my book, much like sorting the junk mail from the bills that need to be paid on my desk. 

It's not that I don't care about what I write here. I do, or I wouldn't bother. I pour my heart into my blog. It's a therapeutic obsession.

But my blog is a daily journey, a river constantly flowing, never a destination. I don't have time to dwell in one spot  - it's always pulling me farther downstream,  with yesterday's post fading into memory. 

But that's just me. And that's the beauty of blogs - there's not a one-size-fits-all voice or style. 

(I should mention this post began as a comment to a post on BlogHer on writing with authority. As usual, I got carried away ...)

Hey Sonny, Who's Your Cher?

In other words, is there someone in your life who brings out the best in you? Someone who makes you better in some way?

Now, once you've thought of someone in particular, try to explain how this person makes you better ...

That was easier said than done for me, when BlogHer asked me to answer the same question for a new contest sponsored by Gain to promote how well their detergent and fabric softener work together.

Right away I knew that my "someone" was Tom. There is no doubt in my mind that he brings out the best in me and vice-versa. But when I tried to explain how, I found myself floundering for examples. It was a pretty upsetting experience to say the least, after so many years of marriage.

But I refused to give up ... finally, finally, the ways we make each other better came to me. What a relief! 

If you want to know my answer to the question, click here to read all about it on Long Hollow Conversations, my reviews and contests blog.

While you're there, tell me in the comments section who your someone is and why (a quick answer is fine) and you'll be entered to win a $100 Visa gift card as well as a set of Gain detergent and fabric softener. There's also information about how to get six more chances to win, including a chance to win a Grand Prize $300 Visa gift card.

Even if (for some strange reason) you don't care about winning any money or detergent, I urge you to take a few minutes to answer these questions anyway, just for your own benefit. It's great therapy for a marriage or friendship or any other kind of partnership you have, forcing you to think about things - or someone - you've perhaps begun to take for granted.

 
 
  

Author. Who, Me?

She treats me like a celebrity, this woman. No...scratch that. She makes me feel like a celebrity.

Every year, for the past nine or ten years, she has invited me into her classroom to talk to her juniors, her AP English Language students, about writing. If for some reason our schedules don't mesh, she has me double up the next year and talk to them as seniors.

She ignores the fact that I don't have a college degree. She ignores the fact that, apart from some newspaper articles, I've only had a handful of things published, as in, got paid for them. She ignores the fact that she herself has guided dozens of students to win writing contests and scholarships, acceptance to big name colleges, trips to Washington D.C. Her students consistently ace the AP exams.

She ignores all of that. When I walk into her classroom, you'd think I was the one who taught her everything she knows.

"Class, this is our guest author, my dear friend, Mrs. Shallue."

I look around the room, filled with kids I know from scouts, from subbing, from church. My kids' friends...my friends' kids...and in some years, even my own kids. I know to them I'm just Mrs. Shallue. Barbara. Mom.

"She's an Author," Mrs. D. repeats.

I fight the blush creeping into my face, try to look like an Author. What does an Author look like?

This year felt different. The school itself felt different. My kids are gone, moved on; my volunteer and subbing days are fading from memory. There were still a few familiar faces, but mostly just strangers.

But it's the same routine. After my introduction, I sit on a stool at the front of the class, give a little background on my first essay, A View from a Catwalk, put on my glasses and read it aloud. They follow along - Mrs. D. has printed out copies for each of them.

I emphasize that I wrote it with the help of others in a writing class; I spent hours on this one essay, and then became gripped with a fear of failure after it was published. What if I never wrote anything good again? What if everyone decided the first one was just a fluke? I had to learn to step off that ledge of success and at least try, even if it meant failure. I knew I'd regret it forever if I didn't. It doesn't matter if there are tons of better writers (or whatever you love to do) out there, because what it boils down to is doing the thing you love and just trying to be the best you can be at it, not worrying about being the "best", whatever that means.

I explain that success is mostly effort, not talent, and it's not just okay, it's important to get help from others, to continue trying to learn more. I slip in a little encouragement about staying in college, about not becoming a drop-out still chasing a degree in their 50's like me.

I give them little tips that they probably already know from Mrs. D.'s lessons: read what you've written out loud to catch errors; substitute passive verbs with active verbs; avoid adverbs - you can usually just find a better verb; keep your audience in mind, but write for yourself; revise, revise, revise; and the King of them all ... Show, Don't Tell.

I tell them that learning to write is important even if you don't want to be a "writer" - it's good therapy, for one thing. And besides the need for good college application essays, one day they might need to write a love letter or a letter to the editor of the newspaper to complain about something or a letter to their child's teacher ... learning to express yourself with the written word is an important life skill no matter what you want to do when you grow up.

If there's time, I read my other essays. One year, a girl got up in the middle of A Time for Moving On and left the room. When class was over, Mrs. D. explained that the girl's mother had died of cancer. Well, that essay is in large part about my grandmother dying of leukemia! I could feel my heart jump straight up into my throat. That poor girl, having to sit and listen to me read words that must have felt like razors tearing away scar tissue from a wound that hadn't completely healed.

But when I was subbing for Mrs. D. a few weeks later, this girl pulled me aside and thanked me. She said she had taken my advice about writing for therapy and started writing about her mother, about her mother's death, and how she felt about it. It had been very healing, plus she had come up with a wonderful essay she could use on one of the scholarship essay contests Mrs. D. had told them about.

Mrs. D. likes for me to read In the Aftermath of a Car Crash, hoping it drives home to these kids that she cares so much about the importance of safe driving, especially on the dangerous, serpentine, hilly roads surrounding us.

Most of her students are better writers than I am. I know because I've read some of their stuff. In fact, I interviewed one of the girls in this year's class for a newspaper article a few years ago - she had an essay published in Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul ... when she was in middle school! I mention it and she groans ... but there's a pleased smile trying to hide on her face. Nothing can ever take away that feeling of seeing your words in print.

But I let them know that no matter how good you are at something, no matter how much talent you are born with, you need to keep working at it, learning, practicing. And if you don't have that natural talent to begin with, but you have the drive and determination to get better, you will, and chances are you'll pass up the others.

They were a sweet bunch of kids - they asked good questions, showed interest, showered me with complements and applause. When I left, I was fired up, ready to sit down and take my own advice.

I felt like an author.

(I think that's a sure sign of a great teacher. Thanks, Mrs. D.)

A Typical Evening in the Empty Nest

By the time I get home from work, after a quick stop by the grocery store for bananas (for tomorrow) and the makings of a salad (for tonight), my husband Tom has the steaks on the grill. The scent drifts around the corner of the house to greet me as I come down the walk to the front door; Hello there, my stomach growls back.

While he keeps an eye on the steaks, I prepare the salad. Eight years ago he was a heart attack waiting to happen. An arteriogram detected an artery that was 95% closed; he received a stent and now I do my best to get him to eat healthy. We usually have chicken, but he gets a little fussy if we have it too many days in a row. So tonight, it's steak. In moderation, of course!

I thought it would be more of an adjustment, this working outside of the home for hours and hours each day thing. At this point in our lives - the Empty Nest Years - I expected to be a full time writer, finishing up my degree on the side, not being gone all day and trying to squeeze my writing into the leftover scraps of minutes, but I know it could be so much worse, if I didn't have someone like Tom beside me.

We've gotten into a routine. He gets home first, so he starts dinner. After we eat, we clean up the kitchen together. I move the laundry around, maybe fold some clothes, pay some bills, then I write. And write. And write...until time to go to bed.

At first Tom complained about only seeing the back of my head every night (no laptop for me - I'm relegated to a corner of the livingroom.) And he worried that I wasn't getting enough rest. But once I explained to him how important it was to me to continue writing, especially since my job is one of those you take so you can pay the bills, not one that fulfills a dream, he understood. 

At fifty, you take inventory...what you've done, where you are, what you still want to do. Your dreams are looking a little faded, a little dusty...a little desperate. You're starting to think you're running out of time - they're sifting through your fingers. 

He must have seen that desperate look in my eyes. Now, he helps me move the laundry around, sweeps the kitchen, unloads the dishwasher...whatever he sees that needs to be done so that I have more time for writing.

While I'm glued to the computer, he heads downstairs to watch television and work out. We have our own little mini-gym, thanks to Craig's List, and I can hear him right now, pedaling away on a stationary bike. What I don't hear is the television, which would have to be blasting right now for him to hear it over the bike, because he rigged up some earplugs to the audio on the television. He knows that the sound of the television distracts me from my writing. He's sweet and thoughtful like that.

We live in an unfinished house and I know he would much rather be working on one of the zillion projects staring at him, taunting him, than pedaling away on that bike. The unfinished projects grate on my nerves, too, but I'm glad he chooses the bike instead of a paintbrush or hammer. His grandfather died of a heart attack at 52 - Tom's age now. I can't imagine losing him now, when we finally have this time all to ourselves again. So the only nagging I do is about him exercising and eating right. The house and the projects? All in good time. I want to make sure we have good time and good times aplenty.

View from a Catwalk Revisited

My first thought was to write a murder mystery set in a chemical plant on the Houston ship channel, with a back story about a teenage-girl college-dropout who becomes a hard-hat-wearing fire-fighting chemical plant worker. "Write what you know" and all of that. (Not the murder part - just the "teenage-girl college-dropout chemical plant worker" bit.)

When Chapter 1 turned into a long, tedious, rambling saga with no end in sight, I realized writing a book wasn't as easy as I thought.

So I squeezed a once-a-week continuing education class in Creative Writing into my already tightly packed life. At the time I was working 12-hour shifts and pregnant with my third baby. My sons were around two and five and my husband...hmmm, I can't remember if Tom was finishing up his degree or if he had just graduated.

Walking into that classroom on the first night was scary enough, but then, when we told a little about ourselves, I realized I was surrounded by real writers, including a teenager who wrote fabulous science fiction and an older woman who had already published a book.

I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. Writing is very personal - your words are a part of you, and tossing them out for everyone to see is scary. Each week we started by reading our work aloud. Without fail, I cried when it was my turn, blubbering through whatever I had written. It didn't matter if it was a description of my sleeping baby boys or just a car driving down the road...I cried!

Gradually, I learned to separate myself from my words. Even when it was something very personal...say, the death of my grandmother...I learned to push it away from me, separate the thing from the words about the thing. I was able to open my words up to criticism without taking the criticism as a personal attack on me. And in that way I was able to learn.

That's how I ended up writing "A View from a Catwalk" - the first essay I ever wrote...the first essay I had published. An essay that was chosen to be in a collection of essays, squeezed between the words of famous writers. An essay that was chosen this week to be syndicated on BlogHer.com, twenty years after I first decided to describe what it was like to work at a chemical plant.

It seems surreal that it was chosen. The tiny critic inside wonders if that first will always be the best, if I'm just wasting my time, spinning my wheels with everything else I write.

But seriously, who cares if it is? Here's the thing...I'm not the "best" writer, not by a long shot. But I enjoy writing...I'm driven to write. I had hoped that by now, by this time in my life, I'd be a full time writer, not just someone who hogties her thoughts and corrals them into groups of words.

Life doesn't like to work out according to plans, though, and with the limited number of stolen minutes available to me for writing each day, I'm doing good to just form them into some kind of coherent order. There's no time to edit and edit and edit as I did on that first piece (except on my book, that is.) I nip, tuck and rearrange these little essays, but then I have to let them go and move on...to another post...to my book...to my life.

Still, I know that my words have made a difference to other people and it feels pretty good. It also feels good knowing I have written something in my lifetime that someone thought was good enough to publish and re-publish and re-publish.

I believe it's time that little critic just gets the hell out of here. I'm not listening anymore.

If you want to see "A View from a Catwalk" in its third life, just click here.

I'd Like to Thank...

I'm kind of an award-aholic, as anyone who knew me in high school will tell you. Unfortunately, I don't think I've won any awards since "Miss Deer Park High School 1977"...until this week, that is! Now I'm the proud recipient of the Kreativ Blogger Award, thanks to Jill at Elemental, my dear. Thank you, Jill!

I really do feel honored - there are some very, very creative blogs out there (including Jill's...you need to check it out!)

As part of this award, I'm supposed to reveal seven not-so-well-known things about Me...a bit of a challenge because I think I've already told way more about myself than anyone really wants to know!

But with the help of my man Tom, I've managed to come up with seven that I might not have shouted out to the world yet. Although I probably have. Here goes, anyway (drum roll, please)...

1. Even though I'm technically right-handed, I deal cards left-handed.
2. I've been to London, Paris, Rome, Venice, Florence, Innsbruck, Saltzburg and Madrid...but not Los Angeles or New York City.
3. I've never broken a bone...never experienced wearing a cast covered in colorful signatures and smartass comments.
4. I have an ancestor who fought in the Battle of Hastings in 1066 (this one sentence reveals I'm a genealogy nut and a history nerd.)
5. I have a license to drive a forklift (long expired, of course.)
6. I have eaten on a tugboat.
7. I love full moons and the smell of campfire smoke.

And now here's a bonus trivial fact about me...I have college credit in Fire Fighting! Here I am way back in March 1979 at the Lamar University Fire Training School in Beaumont (I know...we all look alike. I'm the one on the nozzle.)

Now I'm going to pass the award along to four creative blogger friends who I enjoy reading regularly...their blogs never fail to inspire me, challenge me, make me think or make me laugh...

Annie Lockhart

Gina Calvert

Lynn Lowrie

Pete Grassow

Tag, you're all it! Spread the love!

Skirting the Eddies

Have you ever been tubing down a river?

Imagine yourself nestled in the inner tube, feeling the balance of hot sun kissing your shoulders and cold water freezing your rear-end...you lean back and watch a few clouds drift by in the bluest-blue sky above you....

You are doing nothing (except perhaps sipping on a cold drink)...just enjoying the ride; the river does all the work, gently carrying you downstream past trees...cliffs...green lawns...campgrounds...

Then you come to some rapids...you have to paddle a bit to avoid slamming your shins or bottom into a rock, but otherwise you just hang on and enjoy the ride...you're moving fast now and it's exhilarating!

But then you hit a dead spot. You're stuck. If you move at all, it's sideways toward the bank or even backwards, back where you've been. You hold your drink with your knees and start paddling hard...your shoulder muscles start aching and that tender skin of your underarms is stinging from rubbing against the rubber tube...but if you're lucky and you work hard enough, your tube slips back into that forward-moving current once again. Ah, you can relax for a bit.

Until the next eddy captures your tube.

That's what writing this book based on my great-great grandfather's memoir is like for me; there are times I'm moving fast...in some parts he's given me a lot of details and it's easy to put myself in his shoes, imagine how it was, only needing to add a touch here or there. The framework is there, at least. I pretty much just lean back and enjoy the ride of my imagination.

But sometimes...like right now...I get caught in an eddy. Right now it's a "Civil War battles" eddy - he skims right over his enlistment, his training and, I think, a few battles before mentioning the one where he gets wounded.

I need more framework! Details!  How long did your training last? What did you eat? Where was your first battle? Were you traveling by foot? Horse? Wagons? What kind of gun did you shoot? Did you miss your parents?

Details require research. And research to me...okay, nevermind that "eddy" analogy...research to me is quicksand...I become mired in details, descriptions, stories and other characters...I lose track of time, forget what it is I'm even searching for! I am a history and research maniac! (I just wish I could remember half of what I read!)

So I'm forced into self-discipline...I'm having to pull myself back and stay focused on specific quests - not allow myself to get sidetracked by the scenery - because as fun as it is, as much as I love research, I want to move on!

I'm getting better, slowly but surely. Those paddling muscles are getting stronger. But I sure hope the next few chapters are just swift downstream currents. I'm ready to lean back and enjoy the ride for awhile.

Crazy Heart...Who Dat!

Sometimes it amazes me how a weekend, as it's depicted on a calendar, can have so much white space on it, yet when it's time to live it, it has become a too-small suitcase that you've over-packed and now you're sitting on top of it, bouncing, trying to get it all to fit.

Needless to say, I didn't get many things scratched off of my dusty to-do lists this past weekend. But thank goodness happiness doesn't depend on "getting things done."

I know it doesn't because, other than finally cleaning our shower (it had moved to the top of the list and was screaming at me...otherwise it would have been ignored again) and grabbing some groceries when I took the Girl shopping, I didn't get anything on my list done! Tom even made the brownies for us to take to the Super Bowl party Sunday afternoon. (I'm such a slacker sometimes.) But I had a wonderful weekend anyway!

It started Friday...Daniel came home for the weekend. I only had time for a quick hug and kiss, though, because it was also another movie/dinner night with the girls to see "Crazy Heart" in celebration of my friend Cheryl's birthday.

Ah, Crazy Heart. My new favorite movie. The big question on my mind is: why, why, why wasn't it included in the Academy Award "Best Picture" nominations? Granted, I haven't seen all of the nominees, but I have seen three, including "Up in the Air" and (in my opinion) "Crazy Heart" has it beat all the way around.

It's just a beautiful movie...it has tragedy written all over it...yet it's hopeful and uplifting. It's a glass of wine and a visit with an old friend...a laugh and a tear. It's a song on the radio....tender, heartbreaking. It's faded photographs in an old album. Bittersweet memories. It's a quiet sigh, a smile and a kiss on the cheek good-bye.

No one applauded at the end. It was one of those you just don't want to end. You have fallen in love with the characters and don't want them to leave. They are people you know...friends, relatives...real people you care about despite their human frailties. Maybe because of their human frailties.

Saturday was when my suitcase started bulging. First, a relaxing lunch with my cousin Patricia, long overdue. Despite living so close, we hadn't seen each other since this time last year! We have vowed to spend a weekend or two this year exploring cemeteries and courthouse records in hopes of digging up more family history. There are still too many irresistible unsolved mysteries.

After lunch I headed downtown, scooped up the Girl and spent a few hours shopping...just groceries and some college supplies this time, but it was fun just spending time with her. A bonus...she showed me around the sorority house and introduced me to the house mother. (Is it wrong to live vicariously through your children?)

Once I delivered her and her bags back to the dorm, I headed for my friend Darla's house. Our mutual friend Annie (the author of Objects of Reflection) was in town for a quick visit and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her...and get my copy autographed! The three of us feasted on shrimp and asparagus, drifted from the past to the present to the future and before I knew it it was midnight.

Sunday was, naturally, late Mass. It's impossible to squeeze eight hours of sleep into my routine during the week, but it's a priority on the weekends! Afterwards I caught up with Daniel, did a little writing and laundry and cleaned our shower while Tom baked the brownies.

What a perfect way to end the weekend...gathering with friends to watch the "Who Dat" Saints win the Super Bowl.

Yeah, it was a fast and furious, over-stuffed weekend and I'm STILL working on Chapter 8 and behind on my to-do's...but I'm smiling! 

It's a Girlfriend Thing

Let me first say that I love my husband...I have fun just hanging out with him, he makes me laugh, we have great discussions, I can talk to him about anything, he's my best friend, blah, blah, blah...

With that out of the way, let me second say that I love my girlfriends, too...and I don't get to see them nearly as often as I'd like...

...which is why last Saturday I jumped on the chance to spend the day with my friends Mary Kay and Karen...attending a University of Texas women's basketball game, dinner and a movie ("Up in the Air" with George Clooney...good, but not as good as I expected) with a little shopping squeezed in between.

...and it's why, even though I was heading out of town the next morning, I left my poor, sick husband home alone this past Friday night to meet my friends Darla and Leslie (and Larry and Roy, but this is about GIRLfriends...no offense, Larry and Roy) to hear the Rhythm Dawgs play in a smoky Round Rock bar. Darla is in the first days of a new relationship and I just had to see her floating on air with my own eyes. (I wasn't disappointed.)

Thank goodness Tom understands about girlfriends - and even about non-girl friends like Larry and Roy. Many man don't. But that's one reason why I'm so crazy about him!

My trip to Pasadena was all about family this time, not girlfriends. I spent time visiting, remembering, laughing...watching "Inglourious Basterds" with my parents, brother and niece...being entertained by the squirrels and birds who have taken over the backyard and keep my parents hopping...

...but I did slip in a quick detour to meet my sister and her husband at my friend Rae's Mexican Imports garage sale on my way out of town Sunday...I needed to drop off a plastic container she had left at my house in October when everyone came for our friend Ann's birthday celebration. (I only bought the two pairs of earrings at the garage sale to be polite. Okay...it was also because they were gorgeous and such a great deal!)

While we're speaking of girlfriends...specifically Ann...I am so excited that my very own copy of her book Objects of Reflection was delivered today. It was a girlfriend thing that made me cheer her on the past few months as she worked on it...it was a girlfriend thing that I ordered it and spread the word about it here on my blog...but after flipping through it, reading some of her magical poetry, believe me...it will not be just a girlfriend thing that makes me read it.  It's a beautiful piece of art in itself. Way to go, girlfriend!

Going backwards...

I'm a proud owner of Objects of Reflection!

Me, Darla and Leslie toasting new love, new beginnings at the Roadhouse Bar and Grill...

 
Me, Mary Kay and Karen having fun even though our team lost...

Fingers Crossed for Fame and Fortune...

...for my friends, at least. If I can't have it myself ("yet" - I haven't given up!), I can at least celebrate and shamelessly promote my friends. Last night I placed orders on Amazon for two books published by friends from high school...

Ann is beyond just a friend to me...our relationship is timeless...our souls have become soldered over the years since we first met (click here for more on our friendship story.)  She has poured her heart into this first book, Objects of Reflection: A Soulful Journey of Reflection. Don't be fooled - it's not just another "how-to" art book. It is full of her beautiful, eclectic, original art, yes...but it also includes passages of her thoughtful, poetic writing. It can also be purchased through Etsy on her blog, Isla. Ann will soon be traveling to Haiti with Artisans for Haiti, a group of artists who will use art as therapy with the earthquake victims. (The website is just being developed...keep checking.)

Gina is one of my rediscovered friends, reconnected thanks to Facebook. We worked together on our high school yearbooks, but she was a year younger than me and I lost track of her after my graduation. I think we've become better friends in these last few months of chatting via Facebook and reading each other's blogs than we were in high school. What a wonderful surprise to find out she had written a book! From Gravel to Glory: Becoming a House of God is about her spiritual journey...specifically (from her website) she "digs deeply into her own difficult spiritual journey to demonstrate how every experience we have is related to being a house of God." The book is just part of Gina's Stone's Throw Ministry...plus she's a personal coach, Christian speaker AND writes one of my favorite blogs: simply "Gina Calvert". It's enough to makes me step back and wonder what the heck I've been doing with my time these past 30+ years!

While I was ordering and feeling a little under-accomplished, I was tempted to buy another copy of State Lines - a collection of essays which includes one of mine, "A View from a Catwalk" - but seriously, how many copies do I really need? Instead, I tossed a few Elmer Kelton historical novels and and one on the history of the Texas Rangers (Lone Star Justice: The First Century of the Texas Rangers by Robert M. Utley) into the virtual cart to use as references for my book-in-progress.

Yes, I'm a history nerd...on my own journey back into Texas during the 1800's. These friends of mine are giving me the encouragement I need to stick to it...to follow it all the way to the end. So now it's time for me to mosey on down the trail...in other words, get back to writing, so I can see my own book on Amazon! Happy Trails!

I bet my "funny holiday road trip" story is better than yours!

...and I'll even sweeten the bet with $200! Well, technically Blogher and Sprint will. I've partnered with Blogher to write for their product reviews program and the first assignment was to write about a funny holiday road trip.

That was easy...I wrote about the trip we took to my husband Tom's youngest brother John's wedding in Huatabampo, Mexico, at Christmas time in 1998...about how Tom and his dad changed our route at the last minute and we ended up crossing through Mexico's Sierra Madre mountains on twisty, curvy, pot-hole ridden roads in the middle of the night...the pitch-black night. You can read the complete story on Long Hollow Conversations by clicking here.

Blogher and Sprint are sponsoring a contest and the winner gets a $200 Visa Gift Card. (Confession...my story isn't eligible for the contest.) All you have to do to enter is share your own funny holiday road story in the comments section of my story, "A Feliz Navidad to Remember". You can read the complete contest rules there as well.

Well, what are you waiting for? (Good luck!)

How'd they know?

I started dumping my thoughts and memories on paper when I was 8 years old and continued for years, on through high school, mostly in those little 5 year diaries with the flimsy locks. I ignored the boundary lines that were supposed to separate yearly entries...I sometimes used up several pages for one day. Sadly, when I moved out of my parents' home, I threw them away. Why? Why? Why?

I would love to go back and read the thoughts and perspectives of my younger self. But I was too honest - I wrote totally for myself with no intentions of anyone else ever reading what I scribbled. When I started packing up my belongings, preparing to move into my first apartment, I feared my boyfriend at the time would see them and read them. It seems crazy to me now that I worried about it...or that, if I was that worried, I couldn't come up with a creative solution. Geez!

I stopped writing for years. But when I met Tom, I felt compelled to write my feelings down again, and have continued to do so for the past twenty-eight years...first in pretty hard-backed journals, later in the kids left-over spiral notebooks. I started journals for each of the kids, too. Yes...for awhile I was keeping up with four journals. (Let me tell you...it's great therapy for a parent... "You were such a little fart today! What got into you?"..."One day you'll understand why we were upset when you didn't call and let us know where you were. We were so worried!"..."Today you gave me the sweetest hug and kiss...")

Anyway, as the kids got older, it got harder and harder to keep up with the journals. Writing had become a stress-reliever for me, and when I don't write...well, I get stressed. I can feel something building up inside of me. I get grumpy (Tom might call it something else...)

And then there were the letters. I used to write dozens of letters every week - cousins, grandmothers, friends. I was so good about making copies of pictures for everyone. What happened?

Blogging has been a way to take care of all of these things...sharing our current events and my feelings about them, all at the same time! But it was scary at first - what would people think? Would anyone read it?

I write for myself, but at the same time, I feel, when I'm blogging, that I'm talking to a friend, sharing what's on my mind. When I don't get any reactions at all, I start to wonder if what I'm writing is any good...does anyone understand it? Does anyone connect with what I'm saying? Is anyone even reading it?

And then someone will send me a message...like this one yesterday:"...I just wanted to tell you that you write beautifully and really need to think about doing it for a living..." or today: "Barb, I really enjoy your writing..." and "Your blog is indeed very inspiring Barb...keep up the great work." Just when my determination drops, just when I need it the most, it never fails that someone tells me they are reading my words...they enjoy my words.

Who knows if I'll ever make any significant money with my writing? I would love to, of course, but the main reason I write is to get my thoughts down on paper...to play with words...and perhaps inspire, entertain, or just connect with other people. When I get comments like these, it makes me feel like I'm not totally wasting my time...I'm not just talking to a wall (or a computer screen)...that someone out there was actually inspired, entertained, or somehow felt a connection to me, enough to let me know it. That's enough to get through a few more days, weeks, pages...

Thank you for taking the time to let me know.

"If storytelling has a positive function it's to put us in touch with other people's lives, to help us connect and draw strength or knowledge from people we'll never meet, to help us see beyond our own experience." - John Sayles Thinking in Pictures

Connected by Words

I didn't want to drive Tom's car to work Friday. My free trial period for XM Radio was on the eve of termination and I wanted to listen every minute I could until it was gone. At $12 a month, I didn't care about it enough to subscribe, but I wanted all the 'free' I could get.

But Tom needed to change the oil in my car and we were heading to Houston as soon as I got home. 'Nuff said. I climbed into his car, resigned to the situation, and turned up the radio. What a surprise to hear a familiar voice on the radio...a distinctive Texas twang talking about sunsets on Lake Travis and a black bird. It was a writer friend, Frances Nail, reading one of her essays on National Public Radio.

Frances had been on my mind lately - I hadn't heard from her in a while and wondered how she was doing...if she was still writing. She's around my dad's age and one of my inspirations - she didn't start writing until her sixties, but when she started - whoa!- she churned out essays and memoirs at a rate that made me green with envy! It seemed every week I saw her name in the Houston Chronicle's Texas magazine's State Lines column. She would have three published before I could even finish one!

We met because of one of those first essays she wrote almost twenty years ago...she quoted a few lines from one of my favorite poems, "Little Boy Blue" by Eugene Fields. She had 'lost' the rest of the poem (the essay was about things she had lost.)

Right away, I typed out the entire poem and sent it to the editor, Ken Hammonds, asking him to forward it to Frances. Soon, she wrote me herself from her home in Lakeway, thanking me. Not long after that, we moved to the other side of the lake. She had published her first book, Crow in the House, Wolf at the Door, a collection of her essays and memoirs, and invited us to the book-signing in an old house downtown. That was our first face-to-face meeting.

When her second book was published, we had our second face-to-face meeting. I sat in the audience of  a panel at the Texas Book Festival she was in with Liz Carpenter and Leon Hale, both college friends of hers and successful writers. Afterwards, I said hi to her and she introduced me to Leon Hale, a dream come true for me - I had been reading his column in the Houston Chronicle for as long as I had been able to read.

We emailed a little after that, but it's been a while since I'd heard from her. I'm not sure what made me think of her recently, but hearing her voice on the radio was like an answer to a prayer. If I had driven my car, if I had left a little bit later, I would have missed it. I just love "coincidences" like that.

Shakin' Things Up

I headed off for my walk before the sun even kissed the tops of the trees in the hollow today. The full moon started the magic of the morning...when I emerged from the bedroom, I was greeted with moonlight that splashed across the back deck and reached into the house through the French doors.  I hurried to the doors to catch a glimpse of it, but it hid from me behind the roof line, just out of my line of vision. It was already cold in the house, so I decided against stepping outside for a better view.

It was when the horizon turned pink above the treeline that I decided to change up my routine: mornings are now for writing, evenings for working out. By the time I get home from work in the evenings, my brain is tired, my creativity has long given up on me and curled up somewhere for a nap. And once it's asleep, it's hard to wake back up, believe me!

So instead of my work-out, I headed out for a walk with the critters earlier than normal. They were all excited, invigorated by the cooler weather. Even Frankie came with us!

As we walked the sunlight steadily worked its way down into the hollow. It was actually cool enough to see my breath wisping away from me. Along the way a vulture swooped low twice and each time Frankie scurried for cover in the trees, making a high-pitched squeal and trill...different enough from his usual chatterings and chirpings that it caught my attention. I'm glad I know his distress call now.

By the time I plopped down in front of the computer, my brain was refreshed from the fresh, brisk air, the sunshine and the singing of the little creek, and in that next hour I spent with my great-great grandfather, the words came a little easier than they had been lately and I was able to move him further along in his journey.

Unfortunately, my body isn't going to like this new routine. It's had way too much time to dread the upcoming work-out and think up excuses...like needing to finish a blog post started earlier today. How could I fall for that?

But I'm onto its tricks now - time to sweat! I hope there's something good on TV...

Writing...and not writing

I expected a stormy afternoon. Instead, blue skies and a brisk wind greeted me when I stepped outside after work...invigorating weather that makes you want to forget about to-do lists and go hiking in the woods. So that's what I did when I got home - I joined Tom and the boys for a walk down to the damn dam (another several tons of dirt have collapsed into our pond and a big chunk is breaking away, ready to fall.)

Next, we headed across our own dam and down to our little pond and waterfall. I love watching the water rush over the rock ledge into the pool...love the rushing, cleansing sound of it. We spent some time down there, peering downstream at the overgrown brush. I could tell Tom's brain-wheels were turning -  he has decided to focus on the creek, clear out the brush, build some little paths so we can enjoy that part of our property, rather than the big pond, to take our eyes and minds off of the damn dam.

We wandered back to the house, ate dinner, cleaned up the kitchen. He headed up to work on his car and then down to exercise and watch television. I started some laundry then headed to the computer to find information for a new post on our Jobs4Autism  website, check emails and catch up on Facebook. I took a break to watch the Office, move laundry around, load the dishwasher and now here I am again, at 9pm trying to toss my loose thoughts onto this blog so I can work on my book. About the time I finally get going on it and start losing myself in the story, bedtime taps me on the shoulder. A few years ago I would have ignored it and kept writing, but that's getting harder and harder to do the older I get.

I know, I know....there are a few ways I could squeeze in more time for writing. Perhaps ignore Facebook or skip The Office. But really...I don't watch much television to begin with, and keeping in touch with people on Facebook has been a real blessing. And my blog not only clears my head and serves as warm-up writing, but it's therapeutic. Ain't touching that!

Well, I'll just keep chipping away in 30 to 40 minute increments every night and hope for more time down the road. Eventually, a book will emerge.

It helps that I have friends who believe in my writing. My friend Rae gave me this pencil box and it sits on my desk in front of me as I write...a reminder (thank you, sweet Rae!)

Making progress, one word at a time...

The moment comes when a character does or says something you hadn't thought about. At that moment he's alive and you leave it to him. (Graham Greene, Advice to Writers)

No, I'm not at that point yet. But the words are coming quicker...I can close my eyes and pull the world of my story around me, see the events unfold, hear the sounds, smell the smells. I'm not quite a mere spectator, observing the story as it unfolds before my eyes, but I'm getting closer and closer to that point.

It takes practice stepping in and out of a story. I'd much prefer to have a huge chunk of uninterrupted time to just dive in and walk around (remember Burt and Mary Poppins diving into Burt's sidewalk chalk picture? I love the very idea of that!) but my reality is I need to work, not write, for huge chunks of time; I can only spend small sessions in my story - mostly in the evening when my brain is already numb from spending hours in front of a computer. It helps to remember that most of the successful writers first wrote in snatches of stolen time, surrounded by family and noise, or in the quiet hours before their day really started, writing rather than sleeping. It was only after they succeeded that they won the luxury of writing in solitude. And sleeping.

I admit I'm no longer willing to give up much sleep for my story. Cleaning the house? Cooking? Doing the laundry? Yes. Sleep? No.

Thank goodness my teacher is turning out to be pretty understanding. She extended my deadline for the first chapter, knowing I was headed out of town this past weekend. I finally finished it tonight - the first, most important chapter is officially written, all 1075 words of it. Even in this chapter I could see my character stirring, giving subtle hints about where the story should go. I think by this weekend he'll be taking over and together we'll be able to meet the next assignment deadline - three more chapters by next weekend! I think he - I mean I - can do it...

Playing Teacher. And Student.

My first class is behind me, thank goodness. I really didn't know what to expect, even though I'm the teacher as well as the student.

Actually, I didn't know what to expect because the teacher-me still hadn't quite figured out how it should go...

Should I spend the entire time writing? If so, how much and/or for how long? Will my writing goal be based on chapters-per-week, or should I make it so many words a day?

And what about reading? I really should review some of my writing books, and then there are all of the historical reference materials I've gathered...should I include time for that during "class"? I could call it the "lecture".

Or should all of my reading be considered homework?

Sigh. 

By the time class started, I still hadn't ironed it all out, but I knew I couldn't waste time worrying about it. I would just start writing.

And wouldn't you know...it took two agonizing semesters, but my writing mentality seems to be thoroughly set in "screenplay" mode now. For months the biggest obstacle I faced in writing my screenplay was 'too much detail' where I didn't need it. The kind of detail that goes into books, but isn't necessary, and in fact, gets in the way of a screenplay. I had to cut, cut, cut.

Now I've got to work my detail-muscles back into shape - characters, setting, etc. And I've got to jump out of the present-tense back into the past.

What was I thinking? Why did I think I should switch from screenplay to novel?

No, I still think it's the right decision. My old habits aren't gone - just tucked into one of those folders stacked on the desk in the library. And it's good for my brain to have to switch back and forth - it'll keep those gears turning smoothly, and (I hope) make me a better writer all around.

By the time class ended tonight, I had read over pages and pages of story notes from the past two semesters, waded back into the facts and mused about the parts in-between that I get to make up, typed, deleted, typed, deleted, and finally managed to churn out (almost) a whole first chapter.

It's not much, but it's a start. I've spent three months away from the story, and I'm surprised how much I've forgotten. I'll need to spend almost as much time reviewing and researching as I do writing at first, and it's easy for me to get lost in the research. I love stepping back in time, following other trails that are fascinating but have nothing to do with my story. Now that I'm really limited on time, I'm going to have to keep a tight rein on myself and stick to searching only for relevant information and not get carried away, especially now in the beginning when I just need to get the story down. 

And I know, before too long, I'll once again be lost in this story. My characters will remember me...they'll forget their shyness and take over the telling. Then I'll be able to step aside and just type.

"Writing is like hunting. There are brutally cold afternoons with nothing in sight, only the wind and your breaking heart. Then the moment when you bag something big. The entire process is beyond intoxicating." - Kate Braverman

 

Finding the Right Balance

Something about the start of a new school year always fires me up - I find myself making resolutions, setting goals, and getting organized as if it were New Year's Eve!  I think about starting projects that have been pushed from season to season and ultimately ignored all year, as if I have to get them done right NOW!

Maybe it's leftover from childhood, this excitement, this sense of a new beginning. No matter what went wrong in the previous year, a new school year was a chance for a fresh start.

Right now I'm mostly fired up about my Number One Goal - writing my book. My "class" starts tomorrow, so I've been trying to straighten up my "classroom", which means sorting through all the crap that has accumulated around the computer and the piles of odds-and-ends on my desk in the library (it's just a door on sawhorses, so it makes a great place to temporarily put things that are then promptly forgotten.)

I've come across at least four books I started reading this past year, napkin-bookmarks waving at me optimistically from quarter points. When was the last time I finished a book? I really can't remember. That's another one of my goals: read more. I'm determined to finish ALL of these books. Maybe one night a week I'll set aside just for reading...

Two of my mother's photo albums are sitting on the desk...I brought them home with me several months ago, intending to scan all of the pictures, return them and bring back two more, and so on, until I had them all saved in my computer. One of those summertime projects that just drifted along, in no hurry to be done. I bet if I spend thirty minutes or so every evening after work, before I start writing, I could get them all scanned in no time...

On the other side of the library four big boxes are stacked against one wall, and several plastic bins. It sure would be nice to move those down to the storage room, but it's already so full...boxes and boxes of arts and crafts supplies, dress-up clothes, and no telling what else ... all summer I've been meaning to get down there and go through all of the boxes to see what I need to keep and what can be tossed...maybe...

Focus, Barbara!!

Well, it's clear I'm my own worst enemy. I'm going to have lots of distractions, even with the kids out of the house. I can't just ignore everything else around here - obviously, I'm going to have to find some kind of balance, and that if I want to have a completed novel under my belt by the end of this semester, the balance will have to lean toward my writing. Wish me luck! You can see I'm going to need it.