Becca's Byline

The Byline Moves to Wordpress

2008-01-28T07:58:00.000-08:00

I've moved the Byline to Wordpress -- click here to follow me there, and don't forget to update your bookmarks and blogrolls!

Sunday Scribblings-Miscellaneous

2008-01-26T20:17:00.000-08:00

Helloooo....anybody out there?

Oh, there you are! How kind of you to stick around after I've rudely ignored you all for the entire week. I do apologize for neglecting this space - in all honesty, I've been a bit consumed with that new blog of mine. You know how it is with fresh toys, they're new and exciting, and ever so much fun. That's how it is with Bookstack, and if you haven't been there yet, you should go! Really, you should.

But I promised myself I would not neglect the Byline. If Bookstack is my place to blog about all things bookish, well the Byline is for blogging about...well, everything else! All the miscellaneous and sundry things that happen in an American woman's Life in General. So thanks Sunday Scribblings, for giving my muse a well needed push in the proper direction.

A couple of my regular blog buddies have written about their efforts to incorporate exercise into their lives, and so I've been thinking a bit about "healthy lifestyles." We're on a bit of a health makeover at our house these days too, instigated largely by elevated cholesterol levels (both of us) and a recent diagnosis of pre-diabetes (just Jim).

I've had varying degrees of success with weight loss programs. Probably my most successful initiative was just after my son's birth, when I lost about 45 pounds, and then managed to drop an additional 15 over the next several years. But after midlife, I've found weight is much harder to lose. I get frustrated very easily at the lack of progress.

So, I'm approaching this a different way, trying to adopt better eating habits and an exercise program as part of an overall plan to improve general health and well being. (And who knows, perhaps I can trick my body into thinking I really don't care if it tones up or not.)

Yesterday morning, I went walking, and it felt wonderful! The air was cool and crisp, I was all alone so I could clip along at a good pace, swinging my arms merrily, watching the herons tiptoe around the edge of the ponds. Great stuff!

Along my route, I pass the community's fitness center, where stationary bikes and treadmills are arranged around the perimeter of a large bay window overlooking the main lake, providing a view of the sparkling water as you pedal or trudge away. From the corner of my eye, I can see legs busily pumping, arms swinging, wires from headphones trailing along in rhythm.

I've been one of those people on occasion. But you know, I sometimes think about the absurdity of the whole concept of "working out." Perhaps it's because I'm only one generation removed from farmer's, people who walked miles every day in the regular course of their daily life, who got plenty of upper body toning in scything and hoeing, and did their riding on horseback, actually going somewhere in the process. How they would stare in disbelief, my grandfathers, at these automatons in their shiny workout clothes!

And I think the only way an "exercise program" can work for me is if it comes naturally, is almost intrinsic, like walking or dancing. Bike riding is great, because it involves forward movement, and I like that-gives me the sensation that I'm doing a lot more than I really am. I have trouble with exercise equipment that just "stands still." I guess I'm not a stationary kind of girl.

I hope to keep up my walking and biking, although it's much more difficult in the frozen waste-oops, I mean wonderland-that is Michigan in winter. Harder yet is keeping my husband on a lean diet. Who would have believed a grown man could react so childishly to mashed potatoes and Oreo cookies (or more precisely, the lack thereof).

There, I think I've effectively taken a broom to the stray thoughts that have been circling in my mind, and gathered them up into a neat little pile for you to read.

Hope you enjoyed the miscellaney!

Working for A Living

2008-01-21T15:05:00.000-08:00

Though I don't talk much about it, I do have a real job (other than reading blogs and penning these little morsels for your perusal). I work in a small office of medical case managers, and my job position morphs between technical writer/executive assistant/receptionist. My attitude about my job duties undergoes a similar course of shape shifting, although most of the time I enjoy them (well, perhaps that's not the right word). At least I find them pleasantly tolerable.

By far the best aspect of my job is the people I work with. In the six years that I've been here, we've seen a lot of personnel changes, but the core group that remains are really neat women. There are also some women who no longer work there, but that I continue to socialize with on a regular basis.

The owner of the company is a woman just slightly older than I - her two daughters work with her. There is no sense of entitlement about these young women, they are bright, energetic, and hard working. Oh sure, they get a few extra perks, but I'd do the same for my kids if I were able.

So, we have a good time at the office. We get our work done, we commiserate about our partners, we gossip about our clients (shh, don't tell!), we go out to eat once in a while. It's about the most fun you can have and still get paid.

What I'm getting around to saying is that I like working. And it's a good thing, really. I recently received a little statement from the Social Security Administration. You know, the one that tells you how much money you'll receive if you retire at age 62, age 65, and now, age 70.

Naturally, if you work until you're 70, you get a lot more money.

So.

A couple of years ago, my dad went back to work. Nearly 80 years old at the time, and status post two angioplasties, back surgery, and most recently colon cancer followed by six weeks of chemo. He said he needed the money, and I really don't doubt it. The cost of living in Naples is pretty high, after all. But I was upset about it. The thought of an elderly man, once a respected and successful business owner, now working in Walmart to make a few extra bucks -well, it bothered me.

But you know what? After two years, I notice he's standing up straighter, his thoughts seem a lot sharper, he always has some stories to tell about how much better he could manage things over there (and I don't doubt he lets them know it either!) And I remember how much my dad loved working at his business, meeting people, getting the job done.

Sometimes, working is good. It keeps us motivated, helps maintain our sense of integrity, and gives us a feeling of accomplishment that's important to maintain, especially as we age.

While some might think -work until I'm 70?? No way!! I tend to think - work only until I'm 70??? What then?

How about you? How do you feel about your job and working for a living?

If It's Sunday, It Must Be Jane

2008-01-20T16:38:00.000-08:00

A reminder to all you Austenites - Masterpiece Theater airs Northanger Abbey tonight, the next episode in its series of Jane Austen novels. I don't believe this novel has ever been dramatized, at least not recently, so I'm anxious to see what they make of dear Catherine Morland and her Gothic fantasies.

And stop over at Bookstack before the show for a Jane Austen giveaway.

Sunday Scribblings-Traveling Companions

2008-01-19T08:09:00.000-08:00

While I'm not averse to traveling alone (and in fact often prefer my own company to being in a crowd of others) I've become more appreciative of good traveling companions, especially when setting off on a new journey. Two years ago, approaching a landmark birthday, I decided to embark on a creative journey, to take up the practice of writing once again. I ventured into the blog world, clueless and wide eyed, wandering aimlessly for a while through a totally foreign landscape.

Before long, however, I encountered the outstretched hands of fellow travelers, eager to share their own tales of the road and graciously enthusiastic as I offered mine. We've traveled quite companionably on this creative journey, never interfering in one another's plans, supportive of each one's desires, encouraging flagging spirits when the road gets rough.

Small gifts along the way have served to enhance our relationship, friendly notes, occasional packages and photos, and public recognition for faithful friendship and inspiration. This week I was fortunate to be gifted with two such gifts, both Bella and Marcia extending this lovely acknowledgement to me:

And so, in turn, I'd like to pass the honor along to some of my new traveling companions on this creative journey. I've just recently met these ladies, and I'm so glad our paths have crossed.

Sherry meets life head on with a joyous exuberance and enthusiasm, as well as a deep well of creativity, which she shares in both her daily blogs. Her posts and comments always stir my emotions with laughter or (sometimes) tears.

Bella Rum relates her experiences in caring for her aging father with compassion and a good dose of humor as well. She inspires me as I travel through this rather daunting task of caring for the elderly in my life;

June's pithy informative posts, gorgeous photography, and "on the mark" poetry always brighten my daily reading.

And a nod of thanks to everyone on my long list of daily reads, only about 1/3 of which are listed in the Byline's blogroll. (How do I ever get anything else done???) You all make the daily journey more interesting and satisfying.

Godspeed to each one of you.

for more tales of traveling companions, go here

Domestic Life

2008-01-18T11:59:00.000-08:00

Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. The staples of domestic life. Whether you're single or attached, childless or parent to one or many, these things never go away, do they? Someone has to be in charge of keeping the home fires burning (once a very literal task requiring a body-usually female-to go from room to room and rekindle the flames in the fireplace or woodstove).

I've been "keeping house" for almost 32 years now - keeping the same house, actually, so we've both grown a bit frayed around the edges together. I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper - certainly nothing like my mother in law, who kept this house before me. She worked full time outside the home, yet devoted every spare remaining minute to cleaning. Washing windows, buffing the basment floor every Saturday, removing the light fixtures weekly. She was the type of woman who would make up my father in law's side of the bed if he got up in the night to go to the bathroom (and I'm almost not joking about that).

My mother was quite the homemaker too -it was her full time job from day one, and she took it seriously. When I was a toddler, my grandparents lived with us, and most of my memories are of my grandfather and I playing together while my mother and grandmother cooked, cleaned, and decorated.

Well, that sure isn't me. When I was younger, and the whole housekeeping thing was new, I was a lot fussier. I wasn't working outside my home at the time, so I had plenty of time and energy to invest in domestic life. But raising a child quite effectively cured my penchant for neatness, and I decided early on that it was better to play with my son than worry about whether the sink sparkled.

Nowdays, domestic life just plain makes me tired. It's so endlessly dreary - the same floors to sweep, the same furniture to dust, the same bric a brac to shuffle around from season to season.
And the grocery shopping-my god, don't even get me started on how much I hate the grocery shopping.

I have completely lost my heart for all of it.

One day not long ago, I was leaving my mother's house after one of our marathon trips to the market. It was a typical cold, wet, Michigan winter day. My sinuses were clogged, there were huge dark circles under my eyes, and I'm sure I resembled death warmed over.

My mother looked at me and I could see her eyes fill with tears.

"You know, I didn't want this for you," she said softly.

And it struck me that of course she had other plans for me, a bright child who came of age in an era when women were not only encouraged but expected to have more than a domestic life.
Perhaps she envisoned me a doctor or lawyer, with a large home and servants to do all the work for me. Or maybe she supposed I would live a single life, and be responsible for no one but myself.

For the first time, I wondered what her dreams for me might have been, for if she had them, she never shared them with me when I needed to hear them. And while she may have hoped my life would be different from hers, she wasn't able to help me see the potential, or allow me the freedom necessary to find it on my own.

And so I have lived a largely domestic life.

But though domesticity may have occupied a fair portion of my time, it has never been the essence of my existence, as it was for women of previous generations. For as long as I can remember, books, writing, music - those have been the things that fed my soul, irrespective of dust on the table tops or dishes in the sink.

How thankful I am, for that has been my oasis in the desert of domestic life.

Write on Wednesday-I Am Writer...Hear Me Roar!

2008-01-15T17:16:00.001-08:00

My friend Michele at Writing the Cyber Highway honored me with this award, and I'm so pleased and grateful!

Of course, since Michele is all about encouraging aspiring writers, the award comes with an assignement. I'm supposed to share three writing tips that will make your writing powerful.

1) Keep a journal or a notebook of some kind and write in it every day. Writing "morning pages" each day are the way I jump start my writing. Sitting down every morning and writing whatever comes into my head is something like the warms up we do in choir, or the stretches a runner does before a marathon. Some days it's nothing but drivel, but other days, some really good ideas come out on the page.

2) Read fiction, poetry, biography, essay's. Find authors who inspire you, and study their descriptive techniques and the way they construct sentences, and create dialogue.

3) Write what you know, write what comes from your heart, from your experiences and feelings. That's the only way your writing will be meaningful to the people who read it.

So, how about you? What do you think it takes to make your writing roar?

Feel Like Laughing?

2008-01-14T19:29:00.001-08:00

Who doesn't need a chuckle on Monday?

Check out this post.

This blog has become a regular on my list of daily reads. I think it should be on yours too. Bella Rum writes about life in general in a way that always piques my interest and grabs my heart.

You should visit her.

Sunday Scribblings-Date

2008-01-13T14:07:00.000-08:00

Whole worlds of them are stuck in my mind, and pop up at the oddest moments. Dates of birthdays - November 5, August 21, October 21, my junior high school boyfriends. Dates of events - February 2, March 21, December 19, musical performances that were meaningful. Of course, all the truly meaningfull dates are etched in memory. Dates of joy -May 8, February 23, my wedding, my son's birth. Dates of loss-May 15, February 9, September 11, grandmother, grandfather, beloved dog.

Another anniversary of loss is approaching - January 31, the death by suicide of a special young man, a former student, who was likely the most intelligent young person I've even known. Book smart, yes, but also a young person whose mind worked differently, with incredible lightening speed. Looking into his eyes while carrying on a conversation was like glimpsing the inner workings of a supercomputer, for you could almost see the sparks flying, brain synapses in rapid fire.

It's been two years this month, and when the date of his birth (September 1 - that's another one I remember) and the date of his death approach, I recall the waste inherent in this loss. But I also recall the memory of his laughter, his wit, his outgoing eagerness to make friends with everyone (which he did, with unerring grace). It troubles me that a man like this cannot live in our world, for it is men like this whom the world so desperately needs.

In a recent conversation with his mother, who has been working to attach his name to a memorial archive at The University of Michigan, where he was editor of the Michigan Daily, she said with what sounded like desperation, "I just want people to remember him."

Of course she does. She wants people to remember that his presence on this earth, although far too brief, was not in vain, that his life counted for something more than just another statistic.

And so dates on the calendar become small blessings, reminders of people who should not be forgotten.

January 31 -a date I remember.

Postscript: It's late Sunday night, and I just had a phone call from the brother of the young man I wrote about in this post. He's asked me to set aside another important date- October 3, his wedding. And he's asked me to play piano for the occasion. Can you guess that I'm smiling?

for more about dates, go here

Is It Friday Already?

2008-01-11T17:51:00.000-08:00

My, how time has flown this week, my first week home and back to real life in all its general glory.

I feel extremely lucky that (1) the weather since we returned has been unseasonably mild, most likely thanks to the effects of global warming that will eventually result in the early demise of our planet, but which for now I'm rather enjoying; (2) nothing devastating happened to anyone or anything I left behind, proving once again that although I might think I'm indispensible, I'm really not; and (3) life is actually rather quiet at the moment, and I can gently ease myself back into all my various roles and resposibilities.

So I managed to cross a number of things off my to-do list this week -and all you other list makers out there certainly know what a relief that is. I've yet to do a complete shop - grocery and sundry shopping, that is, but I suspect I'll complete that chore over the weekend.

And speaking of the weekend - I have NO plans. Zip. Nada. If I were in my twenties (or even my thirties) that would be a tragedy of the utmost magnitude. But since I'm practically in my dotage, it's absolutely marvelous.

I'll probably delve into one of those bookstacks I have lying around here. I've signed up for a reading challenge, which you can read more about here. And isn't that just what I need -another reason to read :)

I been thinking about going to the movies -in a real theater, even. Usually I just wait for the DVD, especially now that we have our lovely 47 inch high def flat screen and comfy leather sofa.
On second thought, I'll just wait for the DVD, so I can stay home and wear my jammies.

I'm ready for the weekend.

How about you? What big plans do you have for the weekend?

Monday Musing

2008-01-07T04:51:00.000-08:00

"What is the answer? There is no easy answer, no complete answer. I have only clues, shells from the sea. The bare beauty of the channelled whelk tells me that one answer, and perhaps a first step, is in simplification of life, in cutting out some of the distractions. But how? Total retirement is not possible, I cannot shed my responsibilities. I cannot permanently inhabit a desert island. I cannot be a nun in the midst of family life. I would not want to be. The solution for me, surely, is neither in total renunciation of the world, nor in total acceptance of it. I must find a balance somewhere, or an alternating rhythm between these two extremes; a swinging of the pendulum between solitude and communion, between retreat and return."
~A Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Finding balance between the needs of others and ourselves - this has been a key factor in the lives of women for generations. I had forgotten how perfectly Lindbergh expressed this concern in her little book, written just about the time I was born, a time when women's lives were definitely less complicated, a time when society proscribed a woman's role in such a way that any swing of the pendulum, any deviation from the norm was considered peculiar.

I first read Gift From the Sea in the early 80's, when I was a young mother trying to adjust her expectations and find a balance between total immersion in family life and still maintain some "life of the mind." Her words echoed in my heart, and I was comforted by the realization that I was in a company of women seeking the same sense of equilibrium for their lives.

Coming across this excerpt today, I realize how timeless this quest truly is. My circumstances today are quite different from those of 25 years ago. My nest is empty, I have fulfilling work and recreation, I have gained a sense of confidence I didn't have upon my first reading.

Yet I continue to struggle with that question of balance, continue always to ache for more time to explore my inner life, to immerse myself in books and music, to be able to study everything about this wide world in greater detail.

"And yet I cannot shed my responsibilities. I cannot be a nun in the midst of family life. And I would not want to be."

For better or worse, this is life ~ the marriage, the home, the family that needs you, the workplace, the church ~ these are the true things, the things that filter our experience of the world and make it real.

But I am most definitely a seeker of balance, and I covet that resting state where the pendulum stops naturally, where my body, mind, and heart will feel at ease.

Friends and Books

2008-01-05T21:27:00.001-08:00

It's Buy A Friend A Book week.

Go here and discover how you can become the friend I buy a book for this week.

Go on now. You know you want to.

Sunday Scribblings-New

2008-01-05T21:20:00.000-08:00

At our church, Epiphany Sunday is celebrated with the distribution of stars. Baskets filled with gold cardboard stars are passed through the congregation, and every star has a word or phrase written on its face. Each person reaches in, picks a star, and with childlike anticipation turns it over to read "their word" for the new year.

The church is always packed on Star Sunday - even more so than on Christmas Eve. After all, our minister always jokes, how often do you get to take something out of the collection plate?

"Grace," "Faith," "Retreat," "Serenity," "Courage," "Laughter," "Discipline"...occasionally you'll hear exclamations of mirth or wonder as people read these words they've chosen, for sometimes the meanings are uncannily appropriate.

Whatever your word, it represents a new idea, a new vision, a new way of looking at the world.
Perhaps it can spark your interest in doing something new with your life. Perhaps it offers you a reminder to be strong, to have faith. Or it encourages you to dream big, to see beyond what's right in front of your eyes.

Many people carry their stars with them, tucked into compartments in purses or wallets. Some post them at their desk, or stick them on the refrigerator. Many of course, will take one look, and throw the star away.

The sermon title for today was "Looking Farther Than You Can See." Have a vision, our minister exhorted us. Look beyond what's happening today and dream about what tomorrow could be. He recounted the story of a group of college students who have built real homes from recycled trash materials -crushed cars, cardboard boxes, recycled rubber. "Where others saw garbage," he said, "these young people saw building blocks. They saw familiar things in a new way. That's vision."

Seeing familiar things in a new way. Looking farther than you can see.

Concepts worth pondering, I think.

(By the way---my star this year was "practice," a word which certainly applies to my musical life. We'll see what new practices apply to my life in general in 2008!)

for more new thoughts, go here

Home

2008-01-05T19:20:00.000-08:00

Dateline: My house, Redford, Michigan, 10:30 p.m.

Pewter gray skies, piles of soot blackened snow, icy drizzle...home.

In spite of the weather, I'm content to be here. My old house welcomed me with open arms, no catastrophe's (like leaky roofs or basements) had occurred, and everything was just as I left it. Loyal and true, just as it has been for the past 31 years.

I enjoyed my time in the sunny south, but more and more I've come to realize the rareified atmosphere of Naples is not the kind of place one can really live. Oh, lots (and lots!) of people do live there, but I can't seem to fit myself into any of the demographics. I'm not old enough to be retired, I'm not rich enough to be not retired, I'm not young and beautiful, I'm not a golfer or a tennis player - what do I do? More often than not, I stay inside the walls of my gated community, avoiding the snarling traffic and road construction, just reading, walking, sitting out on the hill and listening to the fountains.

Don't misunderstand - it's a gorgeous place to rest and retreat, and I still love my home there. But I still love my home here, too, probably even more. I love my friends, and my musical groups, and yes, even my work. It's real life, the one I've carved out in 51 years of living.

Even at my age, I continue to discover things about myself, and about life in general. I thought I was ready for the nouveau riche lifestyle that a second home in Naples seemed to represent. I thought I would get a head start on my golden years by building my retirement home in this southern paradise. But the fact that so many other people seemed to feel the same way has sort of spoiled it for me. It's too crowded now, too trendy, too busy, too overbuilt...too much.

I consider myself extremely lucky to have our home in Naples as a place to visit, a place to retreat from the harsh winter weather, and, of course, a place where we can visit our son and daughter in law. But as far as a place to live - I belong here, (or a place like here) where people work for a living, hang their clothes outside to dry, and can feel comfortable going just about anywhere wearing jeans and a sweater.

It's home.

The Difference of A Day

2008-01-04T18:16:00.000-08:00

Dateline: Lexington, Kentucky, 9:28 pm

And what a difference today was...smooth sailing today, the hemi engine on the Charger whirring across the mountains with nary an interruption, moving so quickly my favorite landscape was almost too much of a blur.

The worst thing that happened - we had to settle for Wendy's for lunch (couldn't find an Arby's, which is Magic and Molly's favorite place).

The best thing was stopping here. Each time we drive down I-75 and pass the Kentucky Artisan Center, my heart itches to stop and peruse the handmade work for sale inside. Today, since we had plenty of extra time and daylight, I begged for a few minutes "just to see what it was like."

Such a treat! A bright, wide open building, chock full of marvelous work by Kentucky artisans. Paintings, wood carving, etched and blown glass, jewelry, the softest of woven blankets, hats, and scarves. A wide assortment of books by local authors, and recordings of bluegrass music.

While Jim walked the dogs around the nicely manicured grounds, I raced through like a kid in a candy shop, picking up several items for myself and some to give away as gifts.

Even with the small side trip, we reached the hotel before dark, settled in, and brought home grilled chicken salads from Cracker Barrel across the street. Now I'm propped in the easy chair at the Hampton Inn, my feet up, contentedly sipping wine from a tiny bottle, and telling you about my day.

Nice.

What a difference a day makes.

I Love the South

2008-01-04T05:29:00.000-08:00

Just have to say, I love southerners. Real, true, "southren" people, I mean. Like the lovely lady manning the coffee station here this morning. Picture me, bleary eyed and disheveled, in desperate need of my morning injection of caffeine. Picture her, slender and well dressed in a black sweater set and camel colored slacks, every hair of her grey bob perfectly in place.

"How y'all doin' this mawnin?" she greeted me, the gentle modulations of her southern accent soothing and soft.

I succumbed to her friendly patter, and was treated to a five minute discourse (all in those dulcet tones) about her recent experience with a root canal, and how she "went round" to the dentist yesterday and he was "just purely wonderful" and took care of everything.

"Well, y'all have a safe trip now," she said, pouring my coffee for me, and sending me on my way with a warm smile.

"Thank you so much," I replied, inadvertently replacing my midwestern twang with the barest hint of a drawl.

And all this at 7:00 in the morning.

I love southerners.

Tales from the Road Redux

2008-01-03T19:17:00.000-08:00

Dateline: Macon, Georgia, 10:18 pm

Here we are, back in the La Quinta Inn on Riverside Road. My feeings about the return trip from Florida are akin to my feelings about taking down the Christmas tree. Not nearly as much fun on the return.

And today's trip didn't change my feelings. It was long, and boring, laced with intermittent contstruction slow downs and one complete standstill due to a horrible roll over accident, the aftermath of which made me shudder and say a silent prayer. We had considered stopping in Valdosta for the night, but since it was only 4:30 when we rolled by the La Quinta Inn (exit 18), we opted to travel the extra 160 miles to Macon.

In retropsect, we probably should have stayed in Valdosta, because those 160 miles are billboard laden, construction ridden, ugly miles. The speed limit carreens between 70 and 55 and 60, with Georgia Highway Patrol lurking behind every concrete barricade. By the time we finally rolled in, it was after 7:30 and no one (including the furry four footed passengers) had eaten dinner.

But now, after some take out from the Italian restaurant on the corner, a glass of wine, and a brand new episode of ER on TV (the first TV I've watched in two weeks!), we're all feeling better. And, by the way, in case you're wondering why we're always staying in La Quinta Inns - they're all dog-friendly. (Magic and Molly have been conversing with the rather noisy West Highland Terrier and miniature dachsund in the room next door to prove it.)

Tomorrow it's on to Lexington. I'm anticipating a much nicer journey through the Smoky Mountains (my favorite part of the trip).

And on Saturday, the flatlands of Ohio.

And then, home.

All Things Bookish

2008-01-02T18:57:00.000-08:00

Come visit my new project.

You'll find it right here.

Bring your reading glasses.

See you there.

Cafe Writing

2008-01-02T10:17:00.000-08:00

For this month's Cafe Writing, Option Two: Pick ThreePick at least three of the following eight words, and write a paragraph, scene, flash-fic, essay, blog entry or poem using them. It’s fine to change tenses, or pluralize if you want to, but please bold the words you choose.

breathless, change, elusive, pensive, reflect, surge, tide, vibrant

Breathless, Sarah dropped her arm, resting it for a moment on the edge of the granite counter top. For longer than she cared to think, the muscles in her upper arms had done nothing more strenuous than hold a magazine, and this morning’s relentless motion had set them screaming in protest.

She summoned a final surge of energy and tightened her grip on the utensil in her hand. One, two, three, she counted, scooping the dense batter and swirling it in a circular motion around the circumference of the bowl. Eggs, butter, sugar and flour – she had forgotten just how resistant this combination of ingredients could be.

How long had it been since she baked? Closing her eyes, she fought the tide of sorrow which threatened her precarious emotional equilibrium. That last time, the batter had been pure dark chocolate, flourless and rich, Scott’s favorite cake to honor him on his birthday. And now the day that marked Scott’s birth was forever defaced by the tragedy of his death. A whole year had passed, and her pain was as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

Sarah continued to whip the rich yellow batter, determined to put these painful reflections aside and finish this project. As it began to froth creamily under her capable hands, she felt her arm settling into the familiar motion, finding the rhythm of long practice.

Sarah’s cakes were legendary among her family and friends. “You should own a bakery!” people would exclaim, forking bites of her latest sweet concoction into their mouths. No one had loved her cakes more than Scott, and from the time he was very small her son had “assisted” her in the kitchen, his pudgy hands measuring and adding ingredients with remarkable deftness.

She had once allowed herself to daydream about the possibility of a small shop, her confections arrayed in sparkling glass fronted display cases. She had even imagined that Scott might be her partner, and they could work side by side in their labor of love.

What she had never imagined was the way grief would change her life, alter her very perception of herself and the world around her. For months, she had been able to do little more than cry and wander aimlessly from room to room. She had avoided her kitchen assiduously, entering only long enough to brew tea or make toast, her staple diet for weeks on end. Scott’s death had sent her once vibrant dreams trailing elusively over the horizon, like wisps of clouds blown across the sky.

Sarah stopped whipping her cake batter, and stared into the bowl. It was the perfect consistency, she could tell just by looking. Smooth and very pale yellow, nary a bubble or froth marring its creamy complexion. What had convinced her to bake again, today of all days? Could this gruesome anniversary herald a new beginning? Hesitantly, she touched the tip of her little finger to a peaked mound, bringing the dot of batter to her lips. Placing it on her tongue, the heady sweetness of fresh butter and sugar melted into her taste buds, and her eyes filled with tears.

It was good, she thought, letting the mellow aftertaste linger on her tongue, good to create once again.

Brrr-acing!

2008-01-02T07:33:00.001-08:00

"Brrr" is not a sound I usually make when I'm in southwest Florida, but today's weather can best be described as "bracing." It's a brisk 47 degrees here this morning, with a very respectable 20 mile per hour wind. As I said, brrrrr. Anyway, the dogs like it - they much prefer cool weather-and it wasn't terribly unpleasant on our morning walk, since the sun continues to sparkle brightly on the lakes.

I'm bracing myself for the trip home tomorrow, for leaving this quiet paradise and returning to life in the "real" world. The aspect was complicated yesterday morning, by a phone call from the director of my mother in law's assisted living facility, informing us they were taking her to the ER. We had already heard she was ill with a gastrointestinal flu sweeping the rounds of the place, and she had become severely dehydrated. After talking to a nurse at the hospital later in the day, it appears she may also have pneumonia.

Although my mother in law is 87 and severely demented, she's also in generally good physical health. It would not surprise me one bit to see her rally from this and return to her post on the sofa in the "family room" at Chestnut Village. And while I certainly don't wish her any harm, it occurs to me that perhaps easing out of life at this point would not be the worst that could happen. In previous centuries, pneumonia was euphemistically termed the "old person's friend," a fairly quick and painless exit when life was at its nadir. In modern times, a few rounds of IV antibiotics often performs the "miracle cure" that was impossible 100 years ago.

So we will be mindful of her condition as we travel northward. I feel badly that she's alone in the hospital now with no one there to speak to her or for her. I can't help but project myself into that possible future, for one day I too will be old, and "depending on the kindness of strangers."

Life is always surprising isn't it, whether it's the chill of an unexpected wind, or the telephone call bringing disturbing news.

You just have to be braced and ready.

Clean Slate-2008

2008-01-01T06:21:00.000-08:00

Today, of course, is the traditional Day of Resolution- promises we make to ourselves, things we aim to do in the coming year. It's hard to resist the allure of all those blank calendar pages, those 365 empty squares waiting expectantly to be filled. They represent a fresh start, an opportunity to be reborn, to live life differently.

I've had my fill of resolutions though - they always disappoint me. Or, more precisely, I always disappoint myself with my inability to keep them. Were I to make resolutions today (which I'm not mind you, I'm just saying...) they would likely include things like this~

*Be healthier~I feel stagnant in my body, in a way that I haven't experienced for a long time. I crave more movement, more walking, stretching, dancing. I crave eating less food, and eating better quality food, meaning I'll be jumping on the organic band wagon. I may declare a vegetarian day once each week (the meat and potato lover in my house will have to live with it, or go out to eat!) I feel the need to take better care of this physical plant I'm living in.

*Make better use of my time ~author Laraine Herring, in her book Writing Begins with the Breath, wrote this : "Despite all our time-saving devices, many of us feel like we have less time than ever before. That's not true. We have the same time as we've always had. It's our perception of that time that has gotten off balance. We haven't shortened the day or the hour; we have increased what we're filling that time with, and for many of us, what we fill our hours with are distractions from the very thing we say we want more of - a present moment." She advises, "re-evaluate your relationship to time." Be aware of the way you spend your time, and fill the hours "consciously." As this year progresses, I hope to become more conscious of the fruitful, fulfilling ways I spend time, thus appreciating the things I do accomplish. Conversely, this means less dwelling on all the things I didn't get done, an activity I engage in far too often.

In 2008 I would like to forge a deeper connection with the people I love, engage my creative spirit in new ways, and enhance my abilities in the creative pursuits I already practice.

Not resolutions, really, just my hopes and dreams for all those brand new days ahead.

~Wishing you godspeed in this New Year, and may all your hopes and dreams become realities!~

Outside the Oasis

2007-12-31T07:01:00.000-08:00

There are a plethora of gated communities here in Florida, man made villages of homes tucked behind lush landscaping and pastel colored stucco walls. Many of them are associated with golf courses, and the astronomical maintenance fees that go with all that. Our community is not such a one, but, in my estimation, the lack of golf greens is more than assuaged by the miles of inland lakes and arched bridges. Within easy walking distance are tennis courts, fitness center, and a large, sparkling pool. Also a cafe to grab lunch, and a salon for hair and nails. Add to that a bank, post office, gas station, and life is nearly complete within the confines of these five square miles. Real estate advertising often refers to Island Walk as "resort style living," and that isn't hyperbole.

So we find ourselves rarely venturing outside this oasis. It's our personal paradise, quiet, calm, and lovely. The city of Naples is a continual bustle of beautiful people enjoying their very riche lifestyle, and I certainly don't fit into that mold. It's fun to watch (for a while) but it's not me.

The outside world intruded on us yesterday morning when we awoke to find egg splattered on the screen of our lanai and on the slider door outside the master bedroom. This happens occasionally in our suburban Detroit neighborhood, and we shake out heads but aren't terribly surprised.

We were surprised that it happened here, and aparently we've developed a false sense of security. Island Walk is obviously not as insulated from "the real world" as we liked to believe. And while an occasional egg tossing/toilet papering spree isn't the harbinger of doom, it serves to remind me that perfection is simply not possible-even in "paradise."

So I'll adjust my expectations a bit. After living on planet earth for 50-plus years, I'm accustomed to doing that. We cleaned off the screens without too much fuss, and used the opportunity to hose down the lanai floor (which needed doing anyway). The dogs had great fun playing in the water, and now everything is clean and shiny once more.

Except my image of our oasis, which is just slightly tarnished.

Sunday Scribblings-Now and Then

2007-12-30T06:21:00.000-08:00

It was an odd feeling, Terry thought, this sensation of standing outside her life looking in. It happened now and then when she was particularly harried. Like this morning, stuffing baby Jack into his quilted snowsuit while Jessica danced around the room frantically singing "Have to go potty, Mommy! Have to go right now!" In her mind's eye, an image of herself appeared, dressed for work in her favorite Donna Karan suit, her Coach bag neatly packed with her laptop and ideas for the next issue. This sleek, put-together version peered disapprovingly at this morning's Terry-black knit pants bagging at the knees, and tattered Eddie Bauer thermal t-shirt with a suspicious looking stain just below her breast.

She sighed, and abandoned Jack in favor of Jessica, whose need seemed the most pressing. She wondered how long it would take the six month old to realize he had been ditched - left lolling in his crib while his mother hustled his older sister toward the bathroom and her pottychair.

"Wahhhh!" Terry heard, before she and the wiggling Jessica even reached the bathroom door.

Obviously, not long at all.

How long had it been, Terry wondered, since she felt even nominally in charge of her life? Back then, in her PTP (prior to parenthood) days, she had managed a successful monthly magazine, kept writers, photographers, and a slew of assistant editors in line, while maintaining a creative presence in each department. Now, she was exhausted before 9:00 in the morning, trying to satisfy the demands of two individuals whose combined weight was less than 30 pounds.

Terry blinked rapidly to dispel the image of her former self with pure disappointment etched across her face, observing the fumbling inefficiency of this current, clearly inept, version. With renewed energy, she hustled her daughter through her morning ablutions, and back into Pull-Ups. Hurrying back to the nursery, she went to work on baby Jack, who seemed startled by her grim purposefulness and stopped screaming long enough for her to work his sturdy legs into the snowsuit and snap it up to the apex of his chubby chin.

Twenty minutes later (a new record!) Terry was on line at Starbucks, Jack nestled happily in the Baby Bjorn, Jessica tucked into her stroller, content to arrange her Cheerios's in neat lines on the tray. The usual morning crowd stood desultorily ahead of her - college students, bleary eyed and toting grungy overfull tote packs, young executives in pressed suits and overcoats.
Terry took a deep breath, sending a silent prayer heavenward that her two children would remain calm until she had her mocha latte firmly in hand.

The middle aged woman standing in front of Terry snapped her cell phone firmly shut and turned briskly. Terry recognized the rigid set of her shoulders and felt the aura of intense concentration - she's had a call from the office, Terry thought, remembering those panicked phone calls requiring her instant attention on some seemingly earth shattering dilemma. The woman's face softened when she noticed the sleeping baby, and a smile brightened her face as she looked down at Jessica's tousled blond curls.

"So precious," she said wistfully, looking at Terry with obvious envy. "God, I remember those days when mine were small. Life seemed so much simpler then." She stuffed the sleek cell phone back into her Coach tote and pulled on black leather gloves. "Now I can't even take time for a decent cup of coffee," she muttered. Sighing, she pulled out of line and headed for the door.

"Enjoy!" she said, barking the word like a command.

A mental image emerged in Terry's mind, this time of her power suited self 20 years into the future, rushing to catch the train into the city and carrying nothing but a cold leather briefcase. She wrapped her left arm tightly around Jack's solid torso, snuggling him closer to her heart. Perhaps her life was pretty good right now after all.

"Mommy," Jessica suddenly cried out. "Have to go potty! Have to go right now!"

for more now and then stories, go here

Hosting Help

2007-12-28T18:40:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about branching out into more sophisticated blogging - getting my own domain name, some advertising perhaps - setting up shop in a more professional way. All this thinking was probably spurred by the sleek new laptop I got for Christmas. Whatever, my little brain has been working furiously.

However, I know next to nothing about webhosting.

No worries, though, because I found an excellent resource to help answer my basic questions and point me in the right direction. Web Hosting Choice is a complete website that provides all the basic information about what I need to host my site, as well as offering a guide to web hosting services that fill the bill. There clear, concise format is easy to navigate, and the explanations are complete and user friendly.

Like a good host should, this site made me feel right at home.

Frump City

2007-12-27T10:48:00.000-08:00

The mirror is definitely not my best friend these days. With great dismay, I feel myself drifting across that invisible line into OL-ism. Perhaps it's the elastic waist pants I've come to favor, taking great pains to conceal the waist band by layering blouses over T-shirts. Or maybe it's my hair, which seems bent on misbehaving badly in the Florida humidity, turning my usual soft waves into unmanageable frizzy curls. My skin looks unhealthily pale amidst the sunshine and bright colors of the tropics, and my makeup seems fruitless in its quest to conceal an ever growing numbers of lines and creases.

I don't consider myself terribly vain about my appearance, and although I like to dress stylishly, I'm not a trend fiend. I generally buy a couple of nice pieces a year, at Talbots or Coldwater Creek, and the rest of my clothes are pretty casual pants and sweaters which suit me for work and for leisure activities.

But in the past few years, it's become more difficult to stay current without looking ridiculous. The new "baby doll" tops are a case in point. I wore that very same style in the late 60's when I was a tiny waisted teenager. The effect now is simply not the same. I merely look like exactly what I am - a slightly puffy middle aged woman trying to appear stylish. Sad.

A while ago I saw an elderly woman ( a real OL!) tottering through the airport in spike heels, tight black low rise pants, and a fake fur jacket. My god, I thought, spare me from ever being so foolish! At least elastic waist pants don't send everyone around me into fits of derisive laughter.

Nevertheless, especially when I'm here in Southwest Florida, a land of beautiful people wearing very expensive clothes, I feel especially old and out of date. I haven't updated my Florida wardrobe in a few years, and it's in desperate need of revitalizing. I simply must have one or two outfits to wear downtown for dinner at Bistro 821 or lunch on the patio at Campiello's. But I dread the whole shopping experience, which just serves to make me feel frumpier than I already do.

Alternatively, I could just stay home, which becomes ever more appealing as the crowds and traffic thicken for the "season." Then I can be comfy in my old (elastic waist) Capri's or the soft, flowy cotton sundresses my daughter-in-law brings back from Thailand.

Besides, frumpy feels better than fashionable anyway.

And So This Is Christmas

2007-12-26T12:27:00.000-08:00

Or the day after, to be exact. It's a bit peculiar for this Michigander to be sitting outdoors on a December afternoon, listening to palm fronds whisking in the breeze, blessedly barefooted and wearing tank top and Capri's.

Peculiar, but not unpleasant. Not at all.

We arrived late afternoon on Christmas Eve, just in time for all the grocery stores to close. No matter - we made do with some of the emergency rations from the freezer (Stouffers lasagna and garlic bread). There was plenty of wine in the rack to wash it down with.

Christmas morning dawned cloudy and cool, but the dogs woke us early anyway, so excited to be here, anxious for a walk and a game of fetch. We spent a quiet afternoon with Brian and Nantana, and then all drove to my dad's house where his wife prepared a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. It's funny, but if someone had told me five years ago that I would one day sit down to dinner with my father and "that woman" and actually enjoy it, I would have said they were completely crazy. But I realize now that all the anger and animosity I harbored toward them at the time of my parents divorce was more detrimental to me than anyone else. It's good to let go of that - not easy, certainly, but necessary in order to be healthy.

Today was back to business as usual, and a trip to Publix was definitely in order.
The thing about having a vacation "home," (as opposed to staying in a hotel) is that someone has to do all those "homey" things. That someone is usually me.
So, a couple of hours and $200 later, the larder is well stocked once again. Some fruits, vegetables, and yogurt for snacking, fresh organic chicken breasts (some for us, some for the puppies), fixings for salads, and a restock on the emergency freezer rations (Bertoli Dinner for Two in a bag).

After another hour with a broom and some spray cleaner, the lanai was ready for use. And that's where I've landed, bare feet propped up, a dog on each side, blue sky overhead, a cold drink, and you :)

Definitely the preferred way to spend an afternoon in December.

How about you? How's your day after Christmas?

Tales from the Road

2007-12-23T19:48:00.000-08:00

Dateline: Macon, Georgia, Sunday, 11:00 p.m.

We've exhausted the channel lineup on the tv here at the LaQuinta Inn. The dogs have made their last trek around the perimeter of the hotel. Magic has watered every lamppost and sniffed every tree. Molly is stretched full length on her purple blanket, nose tucked neatly between her front paws, while Magic has appropriated the left side of the king sized bed (Jim's side -ha!)

My dogs are amazingly flexible creatures. From the moment we set out on this three day journey, they seemed to know we were in for a long haul. They accommodate themselves nicely in the car, taking turns lying on the pillow in my lap or perching on the console between the two front seats. They communicate in silent signals, rising from one spot in unison and trading places efficiently and neatly before going back to sleep. Like any couple in a long term relationship, they've learned the give and take required to keep things on an even keel.

I'm happy to say, we all seem to be faring quite well on this trip - I'm resigned to eating junk food for three days, and Jim has accepted the fact that there will be crumbs on the black suede seats in his car. And, by the way, we are cruising smoothly and easily, courtesy of the Hemi engine in his new Dodge Charger. We traversed the hills and dales of the Smokies without a hitch.

Speaking of the Smokies, I am in love with those glorious Smoky mountains, even on a day like today, when the trees were all brown and bare, and the mountain tops were wreathed in wisps of grey fog. They are majestic and fearsome, emerging victorious after the endless flatlands of Ohio. I am most proud of my southern heritage when I travel through those mountains, imagining Daniel Boone (a distant relative of mine, so I'm told) trekking across that green land, and fording the Cumberland River. Yes, in terms of the view from the road, today was my favorite day.

Now we've reached the tail end of Georgia, and there's nothing really pretty to look at anymore. Tomorrow brings the endless wilderness that is I-75 in Florida, the view unbroken save for high brick walls shielding the latest luxury community from the eyes of prying motorists. It's always a bit disheartening crossing the border into Florida, and knowing there are still about five hours of driving left to do - and that's if you're lucky and don't find yourself embroiled in one of the Florida's famous traffic jams (shudder).

And I'm thinking I should probably go to bed, so I'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed for the remainder of my road trip.

It's been a quiet trip so far - and quiet is good.

I'll see you on the other side.

Sunday Scribblings-Holiday Memories

2007-12-23T05:11:00.000-08:00

Long standing traditions are one of the most comforting aspects of the holidays. Children especially, cherish those recurring once a year events - the cookie making, the tree trimming, gatherings with cousins rarely seen. As a child, I looked forward to the big holiday party at my Aunt Mary's house, where all my cousins and I would gather on Christmas eve in giddy excitement, wondering what presents we would be opening in the morning.

But my favorite Christmas tradition was mine alone, both in its invention and execution. I grew up in the 60's, and for a number of years we had one of those shiny aluminum Christmas trees -it's branches like sticks of silver tinsel. I have no idea where the concept of such a futuristic looking tree came from, but trust me, they were extremely popular. Instead of stringing lights on them, you aimed a motorized color wheel at them, which cast a different colored glow on the tree as it rotated.

Weird, huh?

Anyway, my own special tradition was to lie on the floor each evening, the only light that crazy color wheel, and read my special Christmas book- "Jo's Boys," by Louisa May Alcott.

It says a lot about me, I think, that the memory of reading a book all by myself has become my central memory of childhood Christmas.

We don't really have holiday traditions in our family anymore - at least not right now. I tell myself that's alright - after all, there are only the four of us adults in the "immediate family." Holiday traditions are really for children, right?

It occurs to me that this lack of traditional celebration, the absence of some sacred ritual (and I don't mean that in a religious sense necessarily) is one of the reasons I have trouble with Christmas.

This morning, I'm sitting in a hotel room, preparing to set off on the second leg of our journey. We often travel at Christmas now, and perhaps this has become a tradition of its own. A pilgrimage of sorts, which is appropriate, given that this holiday commemorates a journey made by a couple in Bethlehem so long ago.

But I sort of miss the aluminum tree and the color wheel, and "Jo's Boy's."

for more holiday memories, go here

Loose Ends

2007-12-21T19:15:00.000-08:00

It's been a gathering up sort of day, a day of sweeping all the loose ends together, fumbling to tie them neatly into some sort of functional bow. I feel a bit like the pioneer women must have felt, trying to muster their families together before that huge trek across the prairie and over the mountains. Oh sure, I'm just traveling 1200 miles in a very nice car with two little dogs and one middle aged man (and all our respective "stuff"), but the journey looms large, and the loose ends today were many and scattered.

Although we frequently travel back and forth between our northern and southern homes, we usually go via air, and typically spend less than a week away. It's been two years since we've made this road trip with dogs in tow. That last time, I remember looking forward to it with a childlike enthusiasm, anticipating a big adventure. This time, it seems somehow more difficult, both physically and emotionally, and the whole event smacks of drudgery more than excitement.

I'm a terrible artist, but if I were to draw a self portrait (in stick figure style) you would see a tiny person with very long arms being stretched in two different directions. One part of me pulled inexorably toward my only child who lives so away in Florida, the other clasped tightly around my first home, my family, my friends, here in Michigan. Recently, it seems harder to leave all that behind. I worry more - about my mother, who seems to grow more frail before my eyes, my aunt and uncle, afflicted with physical and mental infirmities, even my old house, the roof covered with snow, foot long icicles hanging from the rafters. I feel loathe to desert these people and things who need me, I feel guilty about stealing this time for myself.

But there is one loose end that dangles in the back of my mind, and this is the one that I must always force myself to acknowledge, and then whisk firmly away, much as I do the cobwebs that form in ceiling corners.

Among the women in my family - my mother, my aunt, my grandmother- lies this penchant to become so entrenched in the safety of home that they never leave. A reluctance to travel on long trips, becomes a reluctance to go out to dinner, becomes a reluctance to leave the house at all.

I'm starting to understand that. I'm starting to feel that.

But, I'm fighting it. And this trip is a major battle.

I'm sitting now in my study, surrounded by wrapped gifts for my son and my daughter in law, and for my father and his wife, suitcases with books, tote bags with food (doggy and human) - some of the loose ends I've been trying to tie together all day. It's long past the time I should have gone to bed. Yet, I'm reluctant to let this day come to an end. Because tomorrow means a huge journey, and there is reluctance in my heart...

Tying up loose ends, putting all the pieces together - some of the things I'll be thinking about as I travel the interstate over the next three days.

I'll keep you posted.

Finis

2007-12-20T13:11:00.000-08:00

Should you be wondering whether I managed to complete my gargantuan list of "must do" tasks at the office, I'm happy to reassure you that, yes indeed, through an effort of superhuman willpower, I did complete every report, letter and other sundry assignment (including collecting for and purchasing a group gift for my boss) right on schedule today at 12:00 p.m.

Yes!

And now, I can officially turn my attention to the business of holiday making. You see, I never seem to become fully cognizant of the fact that it's Christmas until about three days before the actual day. Oh, you mean today is December 20th? That means we're leaving here in two days, so anything I'm going to accomplish for Christmas festivities in Michigan has to be done - tomorrow?

Yes.

Well.

As I was blog surfing today, I read the words of a very wise woman who reassured me that it's okay if I'm not in a "happy, elfin, north pole place" at this time of the year. I'm not alone, she reminded me gently, in the kind of sad, Eyyore-ish place I tend to visit every December.

And then she gave me this advice:

"If you are to make this month bearable, or even good, you must try to be alone with yourself some — in a good way, not in a dour, isolated way. Doing that is the spiritual and psychological equivalent of standing up straight, with your weight evenly distributed on your feet. When you stand that way, no matter how hard the gales blow, you won’t fall."

And of course, that's what is lacking, what is always lacking for me - enough time to be alone with myself in a good way. As I write those words, I think you all must get tired of hearing me whine about my persistent lack of time. Why doesn't she just fix her schedule, you're probably thinking. Why doesn't she just become better organized or change her life so she has more time?

That's a good question.

But I can't really answer it now - or even think about how to answer it - because tonight I'm visiting my aunt and uncle, tomorrow I will be hitting a bunch of stores helping get my mom prepared for being on her own for two weeks, picking up a few last minute gifts, wrapping things, doing laundry, checking in on my mother in law, and trying to figure out what/where/how to pack all the things I want to take with me.

And it may be that I actually have more time than I think, more time than most people have. But it also may be that I simply need more time - to be alone, to brace myself against the world. I crave simplicity and order, two commodities that seem awfully hard to come by in this 21st century world.

So I'll be looking for some of that "good time alone" during the next couple of weeks when I'm in Florida, some time to stand straight with my feet firmly planted on the ground. But I'm not sure if I can put myself in that "elfin, north pole kind of place" this month, even thought it sounds like a good place to be.

Maybe next year.

Meltdown

2007-12-18T17:07:00.001-08:00

It's not the snow that's melting - it's me.

You see, I had this grand plan for getting all my office work done before we pack up and hit the highway on Saturday. I've been working "ahead" in my job for the past couple of weeks, so that I could have all the work for next week finished and turned in before we leave.

Oh yes, I had it all figured out so perfectly. And I was right on schedule, too -even enough ahead of myself that I felt comfortable going in an hour later than usual, stopping to do some errands on the way in.

But it all went haywire. The nurses seemed to have worked overtime this week, and my boss (whose Executive Assistant I have recently become) decided to catch up on all her paperwork and correspondence. The result was a veritable cascade of new reports, letters, reviews, etc. -all for me to finish by Thursday.

I had a moment of real panic, about 1:30. In addition to everything else, I missed lunch, so my blood sugar chose that moment to plummet, sending my spirits with it.

After a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup, I rallied a bit, and came up with a plan. I took a few extra minutes to organize my thoughts and my paper flow, and settled in to work. A marketing rep from a home health care agency stopped by with a big box of truffles, and that perked me up even more. I' m not out of the woods yet, but I think I'll make it - barring any more unexpected assignments!

There was a point in all this madness today when I felt like throwing in the towel. Forget traveling, I was tempted to say, there's simply no way I can ever get it all done. There's still shopping to do, still people to visit, still Christmas-y type things I need to get done. Not to mention trying to figure out all the things I need to pack for three days in the car (with dogs).
I need diversions big time - books on CD, movies to watch on my laptop, snacks (truffles?). I'll never make it!

Then I thought about my lovely, quiet house in Florida. Being able to talk walks around the lakes every day, go to the pool, lie in the sun, eat meals on the lanai. Oh, my.

(Deep breath.)

Time to buck up and get the job done.

I'll save the melting for the Florida sunshine.

Winter Wonderland

2007-12-16T06:39:00.000-08:00

For once, the weather forecasters were right on the money...as we slept, peacefully unaware, the snow kept coming, silently, stealthily, and so we awoke to bushes laden with heaping helpings of white, to the wind whistling around the south side of the house, and to the faint rumblings of thunder - yes, thunder snow, the meteorologists are calling it. It sounds like a locomotive traveling along a far distant track.

Here's what I love best about snowstorms -they force me to be quiet. After all, no one in their right mind would go out this morning. (Notwithstanding those crazy folks just featured on the news who made their way to Target at 7:00 a.m. just to get a Wii - remember, I did say no one in their right mind.) And so I have to stay home - there's no reason to risk life and limb for groceries at the market, or toiletries at Walgreen's, for a rehearsal at church, or even books at the library.

But it's sad, isn't it, that it takes an act of God to make me be still? It's a measure of how much I need this quiet that last night and this morning are the most content, the most relaxed, dare I say the most happy, days I've experienced in the past three weeks.

Why can't I impose stillness on myself once in a while? Write a prescription for it, deliver an executive order straight from the head honcho in charge of my life (that would be me, believe it or not!)

Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom, has given me this snowy, blustery day. A day to hunker down, put on another pot of coffee, maybe whip up a batch of cinnamon waffles or a rich ham and cheese omelet. There's a tall bookstack on my bedside table, a batch of Christmas cards that still need addresses, and a pretty new notebook I've been thinking about writing in.

The TV news people call it a blizzard.

I call it a gift.

A Weath of Information at Your Fingertips

2007-12-15T19:21:00.000-08:00

A number of years ago we bought our son his first car - a used Pontiac Grand Prix. It only had about 40,000 miles on it, but it was out of warranty, and we decided to purchase GM's extended warranty policy. Normally, we never buy extended warranties, but on a car, we thought it could prove beneficial.

Had we known about Finance Genius, we would have been able to do some comparison shopping before shelling out an extra 560 bucks for the GM warranty. Finance Genius provides a one stop shopping place on the net for Extended Auto Warranty, as well as auto and home loans, and savings institutions.

It's a wealth of information at your fingertips.

And, by the way, the warranty came in handy when the car blew it's transmission - normally a $2000 fix, which cost us only the $250 deductible.

A Mantel of White

2007-12-15T15:18:00.000-08:00

They've been promising it all day, those weather forecasters relishing the role of doomsayer, announcing it with childlike glee and an unnatural twinkle in their eye, this impending snowstorm that could layer as much as eight inches of snow on our nice dry ground. "Punishing winds," they warn, "hazardous roads" and "blizzard conditions" will prevail, so be ready.

I've been out and about all day- running errands this morning, attending a matinee performance at a local theater this afternoon, stopping for a quick dinner before Jim went off to a rehearsal - and though there were no visible snowflakes, I could feel them hanging over my head, the cloud covered sky thick with cold moisture that seeped over the earth, penetrating even my warmest winter coat.

In the time it took for us to scarf down an Arby's (fast food-a sure sign of an overly busy schedule) the clouds let loose and snow started falling, leaving a light coating on the pavement. Luckily, it wasn't yet heavy enough to require brushing off the car. But since I've been home, cranked up the heat, hurried the dogs outside to take care of business before things get too dicey, and changed into my warm fuzzies, it's started to increase in intensity. The grass has disappeared, and so has the pavement, the flakes fat and wet as they fall in the reflection from the floodlight on the garage.

I like snow, when I'm warm and toasty inside. My stereo is playing Josh Groban's new Christmas CD, because the weather outside seems to call for such seasonal songs. I'm about to open a bottle of red wine, because I need something with a little more heft than the icy Chardonnay I generally favor. I have a Netflix I've been hoarding for just such a night, when the big screen TV is mine alone. Dare I say it -I feel content - a welcome change from the general malaise of the past few weeks.

The week ahead will be fast and furious. I'm trying to squeeze in a two week's worth of work, in preparation for leaving town on Saturday. I have to get in all my Christmas visits, get the dogs haircuts and baths, make sure my mom is stocked up on groceries and all her medications before I go, wrap some presents, send out the Christmas cards...

Oh, stop, I'm ruining my own mood already.

For the moment, let me just have a little peace and quiet, while the snow falls gently and silently onto the ground.

Distancing Myself

2007-12-12T04:59:00.000-08:00

Although the poet says "April is the cruelest month," in my experience, December bears that distinction. Every year it becomes harder for me to bear the expectations, the obligations, the commercialization, the frenzy that surrounds the holidays occurring in this last month of the year.

In my childhood, I adored Christmas - especially the tree. I was enthralled by the concept of bringing a real tree into the house! My dad and grandfather struggling to straighten it in the red metal stand, my mother and grandmother shouting directions - "over this way!" "No, it's leaning forward!" "to the right a little more!" - until finally it was secured, and we could hang the ornaments. Each one of my favorites would could out of a little nest in it's plastic container, and I could carefully hook the skinny metal wire over the tree branch. Once the ornaments were hung, the multi-colored lights casting a rosy glow over the room, I would get my favorite book and blanket, curl up under the tree, and read until bedtime.

Of course, the food was wonderful at Christmas time. My grandmother, a true Southern cook, always filled the house with smells of pies and cakes, baked ham, roasted turkey with her incomparable homemade cornbread stuffing...it's no wonder I had to buy my clothes in the the "Chubby" department.

My childhood Christmas' were idyllic - at least in retrospect. I wonder if the adults in my family felt as harried and cynical about the season then as I feel about it now. I hope not - I like to believe in the image of a simpler time, when life was less driven by consumerism and greed.

I blame my husband for the way my feelings about December have changed - or at least, my husband's family. My in-laws were two of the most difficult people I have ever met. They were argumentative, pessimistic, and generally joyless. Yet they had this "thing" about holidays - the family was supposed to be together, even if "the family" was fractured, dysfunctional, and miserable. I rarely enjoyed Christmas - or any holiday for that matter - after I met Jim.

Even though they are no longer in the picture - my father in law long dead, and my mother in law lost in her own demented world where holidays no longer exist - the holiday season is fraught with too many unvoiced obligations and expectations. They weigh on my mind and heart, collecting steam like an avalanche, as the days of the month roll by.

In recent years, I've been distancing myself from December, backing up to the periphery of the month and peering in at all the hype and hoopla. I procrastinate all the December duties as long as I can, somehow hoping that the spirit will strike me before the stores have sold all the good gifts, and I've let all the postal deadlines pass.

I would like to be able to throw myself into the preparations for this season, to have high hopes and glorious expectations. I want more than anything to have one shining moment during these December days when I feel at peace. But, I can't bring myself to step closer, to bridge that distance between me and December.

So here I am, on the outside looking in, a wallflower at the December dance.

Biding my time 'til it's over.

Seven Things About Me

2007-12-07T18:01:00.000-08:00

It's been said that all things happen for a reason~a few minutes ago, Blogger ate the post I'd been stewing over for several days. Truthfully, that post was depressing, and whiny, and probably revealed more about the inner workings of my psyche right now than I should reveal.

So, consider yourself saved.

Instead, I will drag myself out of the funk I've been in, and run with the Seven Things About Me meme, which Melissa tagged me for several days ago.

My name should be Annie~ as in Ado Annie, the character from the musical Oklahoma who sings "I'm just a girl who cain't say no." Sadly, the things I'm unable to refuse aren't nearly as much fun as the activity Annie can't resist. Hence, the fact that I'm always too busy for my own good, setting myself up for funks such as the one I'm currently wallowing in.

I am seriously obsessive compulsive about making my bed. If I leave the house with the bed unmade, bad things happen all day long. I've proven this.

My favorite comfort food~is cinnamon toast made with white bread and chocolate flavored Ovaltine (hot). When I awake at that dreaded four-o'clock-in-the-morning time, I just make myself this treat, wrap up in my favorite soft flannel "blannie," and before long I'll be drifted off to sleep.

Please don't throw tomatoes at me for this one, but I hate Christmas music. (Ouch! I said please don't do that!) It seems like a terrible thing for a musician to say, but perhaps its because I have to play it so much, all the time. And when the radio stations start playing "All Christmas Music All the Time" on October 21st - well, suffice it to say, we're on a radio ban here until January 10. My all time most dreaded Christmas song - The Hallelujah Chorus. Only when you've taught it to high school kids for 15 years will you understand what I mean.

However, I love Christmas lights, and people can put those up early if they want - yes, go ahead, you have my permission.

Coffee is serious business at my house. I only make Gevalia coffee at home. I've been using it for years - long before coffee was "cool." It's a Swedish blend, and it's rich and smooth tasting - never bitter. And I like it strong. My favorite coffee shop is a little independent place near my house. It's called First Cup, and it's all organic coffee, along with whole food breakfast and lunch. I will also drink the Cafe Blend at Panera Bread.

My biggest fashion obsession is purses. I have so many purses on the top shelf of my closet that they cascade down on me when I'm trying to extricate one from the pile. I'm mostly drawn to tiny, cute, little purses, and I waste an inordinate amount of time every morning transferring my essential items for the day from one little bag to another.

So, there are seven random facts about me...I left out that I get depressed at Christmas time, but you might have gathered that from my introductory paragraph.

I don't know why, but I do.

However, writing this meme has cheered me up considerably.

Thanks for the tag, Melissa :)

Surrounded by Life

2007-12-04T16:54:00.000-08:00

Standing on the Edge

having no words of wisdom

to offer

no pithy observations

about life in general

or my own in particular

I'm only stopping by

to assure you,

my gentle reader,

that I have not fallen

from the face of this round earth,

have not succumbed

to the tyranny of obligation

threatening my very existence

have not thrown myself head first

from the nearest bridge

but if i did

i hope i would land in

a nest of soft words

delicate phrases to cushion my fall

simple thoughts of joy

expressed with love and attention

by you

my faraway, faceless friends

whose love inspires me

to stand tall

Tah Dah!

2007-11-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

Drum roll please.

(clears throat)

Ladies and Gentleman, it is with great pleasure that I announce the completion of NaNoWriMo 2007.

No more waking up in the middle of the night, crawling out of my warm bed and firing up the laptop so I could make my word count for the day.

No more staying up late to write just a little bit more, so I could be ahead of the game come morning.

No more hauling the laptop everywhere just in case I have a few minutes to write in between rehearsals.

You would think I'd be feeling a huge relief, as if a great weight had been lifted.

But, oddly enough, I feel a bit sad. As tough as it's been sometimes to keep the momentum going, to find the time to sit down and get those words on the screen, it's also been very satisfying.

And that's what I like best about this annual writing challenge. I like knowing that I can do it - I can have the discipline, the perserverance, the creativity, to write 50,000 words in 30 days. They're unpolished words, but they are a very good start on telling a story I wanted to tell, on bringing to life an idea that's been kicking around in my head for quite a while.

I had dinner with a former co-worker last night, a young woman I am so fond of. She was my "alter ego" at work for a long time, and we were perfect working partners. I miss her in my office life, but we make it a point to get together every few months and catch up.

She just ran the marathon here in Detroit - the whole 26 miles - in spite of having a strained muslce. Now, I simply cannot fathom having a body that could run for 26 miles - it boggles my mind. The trick, she says, is in good training, and in knowing how to pace yourself. The reward is the pure satisfaction of crossing that finish line, knowing you've set yourself a challenge, worked hard, and completed it.

Sort of like writing 50,000 words in 30 days. When I told her about my own personal writing marathon, she was flabbergasted.

"I could never do that in a million years," she said, shaking her head.

"Right back at ya," I told her.

We all have areas in life where we excel, things that excite us, motivate us, bring us pleasure. Setting challenges for ourselves in those areas and then succeeding in completing those challenges is what helps us rise above the petty and thankless tasks that often take up so much of our time.

I will definitely sleep better tonight, knowing I've completed one of mine.

SIlent Night, Snowy Night

2007-11-25T16:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight, there's an added dimension of stillness to my quiet Sunday evening at home. A gentle sprinkle of snow is wafting down, and its already covered the grass with a thin blanket of fluffy, wet flakes.

Normally, I don't care much for snow, but even I am not immune to the subtle pleasure of this first snowfall, particularly since I'm snug and warm here inside my house, the new Josh Groban Christmas tunes playing softly in the background as I write. Thanksgiving is now officially over, so I'm ready (I think) to start celebrating the Christmas season.

As a working musician, the entire month of December is a wild merry go round of rehearsals, concerts, and community performances. So the Thanksgiving weekend is sacred to me. Every year I use these four days as a mini-retreat, to prepare myself for the frantic four weeks ahead.

These past few days have been a good respite for me. I've accomplished what I needed to - kept up my novel writing, did enough practicing to get me through the concerts coming up next weekend, returned some phone calls and e-mails firming up plans for next week, and even managed to catch up on all the laundry and grocery shopping. But I skipped church today in favor of a good walk with the dogs and some extra writing time. And I served leftovers a couple of nights in a row, rather than cook. I sat in my favorite chair Saturday afternoon, and read a good book (The Rest of Her Life). I might have even dozed off for a while.

Tonight, since I have the house to myself, I'll be taking a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers out to the den where I plan to indulge in an absolute orgy of chick flick TV on the big screen -Private Practice, Dirty Sexy Money (on DVR), and Brothers and Sisters (live).

Days like these become small harbors of peace and tranquility, where I can rest to prepare for the rapids I know lie ahead.

Just a few more hours before the onslaught begins. I plan to make the most of it.

How about you? Where do you find your small harbors of tranquility in the midst of life?

Sunday Scribblings-Misspent Youth

2007-11-24T12:26:00.001-08:00

Ah, youth. Mine was such a long time ago now, I barely remember it.

I do recall spending it doing whatever I could to win favor with my parents, my teachers, and my friends, which meant I was being the "good girl" who did her schoolwork, practiced lots so she could play well at all her concerts, didn't stay out late, drink, dance, or go to bars.

I never allowed myself the luxury of goofing off, I was never willing to risk the possibility of screwing up, I would never take a chance on looking foolish.

How boring.

If my youth was misspent at all, it was in the opposite of this term's colloquialized meaning. Rather than frittering away my time so that I would never amount to anything, I amounted to way too much, way too soon. When I was 23, I had been married three years, and was caring for a toddler and a home.

Technically, my youth was over.

But...here's the funny part.

Now that I'm in my 50's, I often stay out late with my friends, we goof around and act silly, we sometimes drink too much wine. I go quite a bit farther out on life's limb these days, and I don't really care whether people think I'm a "good girl"- well, not too much anyway.

Perhaps when I'm in my dotage, I'll look back fondly on these days of "misspent middle age."

At least, I hope I do.

for other's tales of misspent youth, go here

and here is the number one Google search result for the words "misspent youth" ~very cute!

The Day After

2007-11-23T13:33:00.000-08:00

Don't know about you, but I have no intention of venturing anywhere near a store this weekend. Even if I wanted to go shopping, I wouldn't, just as a small protest to the holiday buying frenzy that retailers try so desperatly to hurl us into at this time of year.

We took the dogs for a nice long walk in the park (although Jim nearly got frostbite trying to take some pictures), spent some time cataloging a treasure chest full of old coins that belonged to my in laws - a task we've been meaning to do for months now.

Tonight we're having dinner with some friends and then seeing August Rush. I'll let you know how it is.

It will certainly be better than shopping.

Tradition

2007-11-22T10:00:00.000-08:00

Holidays are all about traditions, aren't they? Each family develops their own, and, whether they're good or bad, we seem to get stuck on repeating them until some fateful incident forces us to do things differently.

Thanksgiving had more traditions for me than most holidays, maybe because it's a food-family centered holiday, rather than a gift/party/event centered holiday. When I was a child, I was always awakened about 7 am by the sounds of my grandmother stirring around in the kitchen, getting the turkey stuffed, whipping up the pies. She insisted on getting the turkey in the electric roaster at least 6 hours ahead of time. She would complain a lot about all the work involved in these holiday meals, yet she'd never let anyone help her.

My grandparents lived with us, and my grandmother was pretty much in charge of the kitchen. My mom was always cooking along beside her, but there was no doubt about who wore the head chef's hat. My grandma's been gone 15 years, and my mom has since revealed to me that it simply drove her crazy, the way my grandma took control of all the meal preparations.

Who knew? I was just a kid, my grandma was a wonderful cook, and I loved to eat. So I have some really happy memories of Thanksgiving - while unbeknowst to me, my mom was quietly having nervous breakdowns.

When I became an adult, married, and with a home of my own, my mother in law became our Thanksgiving chef. It was the only meal I really knew her to cook. She would come to our house (which used to be their house, after all) and prepare the turkey from start to finish - meaning she was around for most of the day. It would take a lot more words than those available in one short post to explain why this was enough to drive Jim and I to drink. Suffice it to say, I too have suffered my share of silent nervous breakdowns on Thanksgiving.

Over the years our Thanksgiving table - while never large - has now dwindled to just three -Jim and I, and my mom, who usually cooks in her kitchen, of which she is now in total control. It's a quiet day, a small meal really, but we still eat too much and the dogs get too many tidbits.

That's traditional too, isn't it?

But I give a silent nod to my grandmother, who may be bossing the angels around in heaven's kitchen as we speak, and one to my mother in law too, whose craziness is only too familiar in the Alzheimer's facility she lives in.

They are part of my Thanksgiving canon of memories and traditions, and I'm grateful.

May you all enjoy your Thanksgiving, your traditions, new and old, and good memories of days gone by.

Read Write Poem-American Sentences

2007-11-19T19:50:00.000-08:00

Four ancient women, memories gone, sit silently, watching TV.

Inhabitants of their own small world, everyone else is excluded.

I'm just one more smiling stranger, even to the one who birthed me.

These are my American Sentences, a poetic form originated by Allen Ginsberg, which might be considered the western version of haiku. They consist of a single sentence of seventeen syllables, written in a linear fashion.

"The format of American Sentences allows no excuse and serves as a reminder of the conditions, situation, atmosphere and shadow of the moment." writes Paul Nelson, in his article on this interesting poetic form.

My sentences were inspired by a visit to my mother in law, who has Alzheimer's Disease.

You can find more American Sentences at Read Write Poem, and new site for poetry sharing.

My Sunday Night

2007-11-18T18:45:00.001-08:00

Every Sunday evening, Jim rehearses with his men's chorus. He leaves at 5:30 and usually doesn't get home until at least 9:30, sometimes later if the guys go across the street for pizza and beer after practice.

So, Sunday nights are all mine.

Of course, it's not like he bothers me when he's home. After all, he's mostly in our little family room, glued to his new Sony Bravia High Definition TV.

And I'm mostly in my little office, glued to my Dell Inspiron 8600.

But on Sunday nights, if I wanted to, I could play all my old Eagles and Phil Collins CD's and dance around the living room.

I could watch my favorite chick flicks like The Hours, and The Way We Were, and Love Actually, and Somethings Gotta Give.

I could eat hummous and grape leaves, which he can't stand the sight or smell of.

I usually don't do any of those things, but its kind of fun to know I could - if I wanted to.

Here's what I did tonight:

I practiced handbell music with real handbells instead of spoons (don't even ask).

I taught the dogs to play hide and seek, which involved them getting a lot of treats.

I finished my daily word quota on the novel.

I had a glass of wine and read my November issue of More magazine.

And in five minutes, I'm going to watch Brothers and Sisters on TV.

That was my Sunday night. It was fine.

I hope yours was too.

Sunday Scribbling-What I Carry

2007-11-17T19:16:00.001-08:00

The older you get, the more baggage you carry, and I mean that literally and figuratively. From bags under my eyes, to saddlebags on my thighs, my physical burden can be pretty tough to tote sometimes.

Emotionally - well, yeah, that gets heavy too.

I think I'm carrying around quite a few "woulda, shoulda, coulda's" in my emotional handbag - I suspect we all are. They're buried pretty deeply down there, along with the loose change, the ATM receipts, and used up chewing gum discarded into wadded up bits of Kleenex.
Everything from "shoulda stopped at the grocery store on the way home, 'cuz we're almost out of milk," to "coulda had enough money for a trip to France if we hadn't bought that second house in Florida." They're all there, and they rattle around a lot, particularly on long drives alone in the car and in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else is asleep.

But something else I've noticed about getting older - I'm getting better at throwing stuff away, especially stuff I know I've outgrown and won't be using anymore. It doesn't do me any good to keep carrying those regrets around. It's kind of like those size four pants hanging uselessly in the back of my closet - they're just painful to look at, so toss them into the rummage sale bag.

Why carry any more burdens than you have to, right? But hand over some excitement, some new dreams, some great plans, and I'll happily fill my emotional carry-all with those. That's the kind of baggage I'm looking for now.

for more carry on's go here

Up Late

2007-11-16T21:49:00.001-08:00

It's almost 1:00 (a.m.) and I'm still here, curled in my easy chair, the Dell Inspiron serving as my own personal heater, with assistance from Magic who has managed to insinuate himself in the corner of the chair beside me.

What am I doing, still awake in the wee hours of the morning?

Earlier tonight, while sitting in a dark high school auditorium, struggling to stay awake through a (fairly competent) production of Arsenic and Old Lace, I realized (with a mixure of horror and resignation) that I had managed to let myself get about 2000 words behind on my novel.

How did this happen?

This has been a week where the s&*t has hit the fan, as they say. Meaning that those occasions when people have said "could you? would you?" every so nicely, and I have replied "I can, I will," every so foolishly, have all come home to roost.

I am crushed, dear reader.

Overloaded.

So tonight, as I was driving home in the cold and dark, still struggling to stay awake, I thought to myself - okay, you're done. Why are you putting yourself through this novel writing nonsense, adding this extra burden on an already overloaded schedule? Nobody's making you write this novel - it doesn't matter in the slightest to anyone whether you finish it now, or next August, or the 12th of Never.

Wrong.

It matters to me.

And that's why I'm still up. I've been writing.

Because all that other stuff - the extra work I've been doing to help my boss, the bell concerts I'm playing to sub for a friend, the visiting, the shopping, the chores - those are all for other people. And we all know how much I abhor letting people down.

The writing -well, sure, it's just for me. But why should I be any more inclined to let myself down than I would all these other people I'm always so willing to open a vein for?

Anyway, I'm caught up on my word count - at least until tomorrow (which is actually already today, isn't it?)

But I will keep writing.

After all, I wouldn't want to disappoint myself.

Novel Excerpt...and a Contest

2007-11-16T05:26:00.000-08:00

...from
The Wedding Dress
Section One - Anna Grace Livingston, 1919

Anna always loved this time of day, this late afternoon hour just after supper with the sun settling in behind the pine trees, the length of the front porch finally cast in cool shadow. She would come outside after helping Mama wipe the dishes, pour pitchers of water over the huge ferns swinging gently from the rafters, and settle into the rocking chair, book in hand, ready to read until the the afternoon heat abated.

But all the while Andrew had been in France, fighting in that awful war, Anna's restful afternoons on the porch were spoiled. She felt anxious sitting there, the long dirt road leading from town staring her in the face, the road that might bring an ominous stranger bearing the worst of all possible news.

She would glance nervously at the dusty road, squinting for a moment against the sun's glare. Her imagination ran wild with tales she'd heard of smartly clad soldiers in dress uniform, black armbands adorning their sleeves, soldiers that always came in pairs, knocking politely on your door, hat in hand, to deliver news that would shatter your life forever.

"There's no use in thinking about such awful things," she would firmly lecture herself. "I just have to believe with all my heart and soul that Andrew will come home safely."

And, so it was on that day not six months ago, she had remained busy refilling her pitcher, pouring fresh water into each fern's dusty bed, while the sun eased itself lower into the evening sky - so busy that she almost didn't see the lonely figure trudging toward her, dressed in the unmistakable khaki colored puttee's that looked so odd on boys barely out of knickers and more accustomed to overalls.

Catching sight of this stranger, Anna literally felt her heart sink, powerless to stop the pitcher as it slipped from her hand, shattering in a million shards of glass on the wooden floorboards. The seconds passed like hours, her gaze fixed on this solitary man coming ever nearer, until the first glimmer of recognition began to dawn. This lonely figure, thin and long legged, one arm swinging familiarly at his side, the other - wait, the other caught up in a sling!-but there, at least, definitely there - and yes, the shock of blond hair catching the last flicker of sunlight. This was no stranger, she realized. Impossible as it seemed, it was Andrew.

He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of her slender body come flying off the porch, and he continued to stand stock still while she raced over the yard and down the road to meet him, heedless of any rules of grace or propriety, her own blonde hair coming loose from its pins and streaming in the breeze behind her.

"My God in heaven!" Anna cried, throwing her arms around him, almost pulling back in surprise at the frailty of his body, aware that she could feel every rib as she pressed her own torso against him, and then pulling him even tighter into her chest, willing him to take strength and sustenance from her.

Andrew’s one good arm enfolded her and he buried his face in the fragrant smell of her clean, sun warmed hair. Anna felt a deep shudder pass through him, and she pulled back, raising her eyes to meet his.

And then her heart sank once again. Staring off into the horizon beyond her were not the bright blue eyes of the boy she had loved and sent sailing off to war, determined to lead the victory charge for freedom. These eyes were empty and dim, filled with nothing at all like hope or pride.

They were the eyes of a stranger after all.

Anna shook her head, trying to clear the memory of that moment from her mind.

“Andrew will be just fine,” she told herself, as she had so many times since that day six months before, willing herself to believe, and in her fierce belief, make it so.

She rose quickly, dropping the mending beside her on the cushioned seat of the swing, and strolled to the end of the porch once again.

Was that dust swirling up around horse’s hooves, she wondered. She craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her father’s dark hat.

Smiling broadly, any disturbing thoughts erased from her mind, she grasped a handful of her long skirt and flew down the porch steps, in much the same way as she had on the day just dismissed from her memory. This time, she knew exactly what to expect from the man heading toward her.

Her father was coming, and with him, the material for her wedding dress.

Write Stuff has a contest for us NaNoWriMo writers - a nice diversion from the long hours spent noveling. We post an excerpt from our novel, and readers can vote for their favorites right here.

NaNoWriMo-Another Week Has Come and Gone

2007-11-15T03:14:00.000-08:00

Each week, we NaNo writers receive a lively pep talk in our email boxes from a well known author. To get us revved up for week one, novelist Tom Robbins advised us to ditch any detailed plans we might have for the evolution of our novel, and let it evolve into being as we go, powered by instinct and a sense of adventure. "If you know the whole story in advance," he wrote, "your novel is probably dead before you begin it."

Last week, mystery writer Sue Grafton helped us crawl out from under the blanket of self doubt that begins to creep in - along with fatigue and waning enthusiasm - during the second week of writing. "The important point," she advised, "is to keep up your momentum regardless of the fact that you might stumble now and then. Most people you know have never written a novel at all, let alone pounded one out in a jam-packed thirty days."

Today, Sara Gruen talked about the many ways life intrudes, despite our best intentions. A sick dog and a broken foot have landed her far behind her projected daily word count. If you're behind, stop worrying about following the trajectory of your story in a straight line. "Jump around and write the fun bits," she writes, "like food fights, and disastrous sex, and escaping in-laws, and apes with unlimited credit!"

Here's my mantra for this project, the personal pep talk I give myself when I'm trudging to the computer to work on my own daily word count:

Don't think, just write.

Don't think about going back and rewriting the part where Treesa and John meeting at the USO dance. Don't think about whether I should reveal if Andrew Sutton's death was suicide or an accident. Don't think about why Treesa's daughter is so against the idea of marriage. And above all, don't think about the laundry I should be doing, or the medical records I should be reviewing, or the bills I should be paying.

Just write.

Writer's Island -Friendship

2007-11-13T17:32:00.000-08:00

"A bottle of beer," Kathryn thought, her eyes drawn to Paul's muscular arm giving Cody's weathered tennis ball one more toss. "I'll take him a cold beer, and then I'll tell him."

Kathryn rummaged through the fridge, shoving aside milk, orange juice, and several bottles of Chardonnay chilling on the shelf. There must be at least one bottle of Corona, left from last weekend when Paul had helped her spread mulch in the garden.

Yes! there it was. She grabbed it quickly, pried off the cap, and threw open the back door.

"You thirsty?" she called out.

Paul looked up and grinned. "You bet!" he said, dropping the ball and rising to meet her.

Kathryn gazed appreciatively at his long legs, jet black hair and olive complexion, the slight swivel to his hips when he walked, and the radiant 1000-watt smile he always greeted her with.

"Thanks, friend," he said, raising the bottle in mock salute.

"My pleasure, " she replied.

Friends like Paul certainly didn't come along every day, Kathryn thought. Since they met two years ago at Lyon Oaks dog park, he had become an amazingly important person in her life. He and Rosie, his Akita, were like family. Paul was always there to lend a helping hand with projects around the house, to watch Cody when she had to travel on business, and had even proven invaluable while she cared for her mother during these last months before death.

"That one's a keeper, Kath," Treesa would say, her sallow complexion and hollow eyes brightening at the sound of his voice. "You'd better not let him get away."

"Mom, we're just friends," Kathryn insisted, busying herself smoothing the sheets on the hospital bed or checking the medication dispenser. "I'm sure Paul has much more interesting prospects than an almost- 40 year old professor."

"Friendship can turn into something more, you know," her mother would respond slyly.

"Not this time," Kathryn stated. "Now, are you up to taking a walk around the yard before it gets too chilly?"

Darn her mother, Kathryn thought, sitting down on the porch step next to him, she had been right as usual.

Both dogs came to join their respective masters, Cody flopping down on the grass and rolling onto her back, her red tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Rosie was more refined, and positioned herself next to Paul like the perfect sentinel, blue eyes fixed on him with reverence.

For most of her life, Kathryn's dogs had been her best friends. Having this friendship with Paul had been a marvelous new experience for her. She loved hanging out with him, joking around or talking seriously, working on projects around the house or playing with the dogs. It was great having a human best friend for the first time.

She took a deep breath, and glanced over at him sitting companionably beside her in the sun.

How was her best friend going to feel when he found out she was having his baby?

~this friendship story will eventually end up in The Wedding Dress, the novel I'm writing for NaNoWriMo. For other thoughts on friendship, go here

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: M is for...

2007-11-12T18:25:00.000-08:00

I can't choose just one...

Magic and Molly: Is it wrong to love two small, furry animals so much? I hope not.

Music: I've loved it every since I can remember, love listening to it, but love making it even more. My best memories (aside from the ones of my family, including the aforementioned Magic and Molly) have to do with music.

Michigan: I know, yesterday I was complaining bitterly about winter here in the Great Lake State. I really do feel betrayed by winter. However....every other season here is beautiful.

Midlife: It's where I am right now, and nothing's going to change it, so I have to make the best of it. It also means dealing with another big "M" word in the life of women - menopause. Ick. That's all I have to say.

Me: Aside from the aforementioned "M" word, the rest of me is doing okay. I know I've been lucky, and I'm happy with (most) things going on in my life. What more could I ask? (Well, if you really want to know...)

The Season of Discontent

2007-11-11T18:03:00.001-08:00

Today was not a good day.

Winter arrived today- cold and damp the likes of which you can only feel in a state surrounded by five lakes, biting little flakes of snow snipping at my nose and eyelashes. At the risk of alienating those of you who adore winter, I have come to the realization that I'm not made to be a winter person. The last few days running errands in the cold feels twice as hard - no, ten times as hard - as it does in the warmer weather.

My entire body is in a state of rebellion - my sinuses are clogged, my ears ache (a new symptom, for I've never had earaches, even as a child), my throat is swollen, and my lower back feels weaker than cheap styrofoam.

How rude.

To top it off, people here are CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

I don't approve.

Not yet. It's just too early. Santa Claus should not be arriving (by helicopter!!!) at my local mall. Now, added to the discomfort of cold, I have to deal with hoards of holiday shoppers, grappling over sweaters and socks, 25% off today only between the hours of 7 and 10 am.

No.

I am sorely tempted to crawl into my cave and stay there until it all passes (or at least until I can get to Florida, although God knows when that will be).

Oh my, please forgive the negativity expressed herein.

It's just the season.

PS~Melissa just reminded me that Starbucks Peppermint Mocha's, (in red cups) are now available.

Maybe I'll live after all.

Speed Lines

2007-11-11T06:01:00.000-08:00

We must always look at things from the point of view of eternity,
the college theologians used to insist,
from which, I imagine, we would all
appear to have speed lines trailing behind us
as we rush along the road of the world,

as we rush down the long tunnel of time -
the biker of course, drunk on the wind,
but also the man reading by a fire,

Speed lines coming off his shoulders and his book,
and the woman standing on a beach
studying the curve of horizon,
even the child asleep on a summer night

speed lines flying from the posters of her bed,
from the white tips of her pillowcases,
and from the edges of her perfectly motionless body.

~excerpt from Velocity, by Billy Collins

I'm a speed demon - I love to drive fast, windows down, sun roof open, wind whipping my face and blowing my hair. I love riding my bike fast, working my way to the crest of a hill, the split second at the top before letting go, and then the flying down, almost airborne, keeping my balance only by the grace of God. Sometimes, in airplanes, I get this ridiculous urge to open the window, and feel the rush of movement at 550 miles per hour.

But I'm also a control freak - I like - no, I need - to be in control of the speed, to be pushing forward into it the acceleration, not at the mercy of it.

When I look in the mirror these days, I can almost see the speed lines streaming behind me.

And it scares me.

Perhaps that's why I feel such an urgency about everything, why I find myself pushing and rushing to accomplish so much every day.

I'm just trying to stay ahead of my speed lines.

But that's a losing battle, isn't it? Eternity will catch up, and "the time will arrive to stop for good."

Until then, I'll keep pedaling as fast as I can.

Sunday Scribbling-Right and Left

2007-11-10T05:39:00.001-08:00

"Turn right here! No, turn left, right here! "

"Oh, gosh, we missed it."

This conversation happens fairly frequently when I'm driving somewhere with my friend, Pat, who directed the high school choirs that I've been accompanying for the past 14 years. I consider her a teacher extraordinaire, as well as one of my dearest friends, even if she isn't very good at directions.

Our partnership works for many reasons, and most likely because we complement each other's strengths and weaknesses.

Pat is the epitome of a right brained personality.

And me? You guessed it.

Once we ran into a former student at a restaurant. He introduced us to his friends by saying, "This is Ms. H, my music teacher, and this is Mrs. Rowan - she's Ms. H's left brain."

Yes, that was me, scurrying around behind her picking up the purse, the keys, the music she left behind. That was me, organizing the schedule, sending the registration forms for festival in on time, double checking the calendar to make sure there wasn't a concert she had forgotten to tell me about.

That was also me, listening to the choir sing beautifully, or watching a perfectly crafted musical or theatrical production she directed, and understanding that a mind so full of creative ideas simply didn't have room to store mundane things like keeping track of keys, or schedules - or directions!

Nevertheless, being the other half of someones brain gets tiring after a while. I took a "sabbatical" from my left brained duties, and went to work in a nice, quiet office where my organizational skills came to good use.

But I missed being around all that creative energy of hers, the way she sees rainbows in every rainy day, the way she seems to bring out the best in even the most troubled kid. She encourages my left brain to lean a little more to the right, prompting me to take a few of the creative risks that have enriched my life, and keeping me in balance with myself and the world.

And have I inspired her left brain to work a little more efficiently?

Yesterday, she told me about a recent shopping expedition to a local mall, where she was wandering through the parking lot headed toward her car when her eye was caught by a distant rainbow. Marveling at the unexpected beauty of this treat, she stowed her packages in the car and drove off, eyes still on the multi colored drama in the afternoon sky.

She left her purse on the ground in the parking lot.

Luckily, some other nice, left brained person found it, searched out her ID, and called her home. They met at a nearby coffee shop later on that day, where she retrieved her purse completely intact.

I guess it all balances out in the end.

here are more opposing views on left and right

Stepping Up

2007-11-08T08:26:00.000-08:00

After seven days of novel writing, I've developed a routine of sorts - wake early, do morning pages to "prime the pump," and then settle in to write for an hour or so. I've been trying to stay about 500 words ahead of my allotted 1667 words per day - so far, so good.

As I mentioned last week, this year I've been more "up front" about participating in this project ~ which definitely provides additional incentive to complete it~and has also forced me to reflect on my motivation for spending all this time and effort on something that's (1) not required; (2) not going to earn any money; and (3) not "perfect."

One simple answer is, "because I can." In the past couple of years, I've found all these words lurking inside my head, I've met characters who beg to be brought to life on the page, characters whose stories wish to be told. I've discovered that word play affords me the kind of satisfaction others might get from running marathons, or woodworking, or gardening, or any other life enriching activity.

The satisfaction is in the doing; the reward is in the completion.

The other motivator is a little more complicated, but the words of a recent country song say it well...

When you get the choice,

To sit it out or dance,

I hope you dance.

The older I become, the more convinced I am that life is all about trying new experiences, about overcoming our fears of failure, fears of being not good enough, fears of looking foolish. Happiness comes when we allow ourselves to climb to the mountaintop and stop being afraid to fly, when we step out onto the floor and move into the dance.

Writing is one of the ways I dance.

And so, I find myself in a good place (so far) with this November novelizing.

May the dance continue.

Change of Seasons

2007-11-06T14:28:00.000-08:00

Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. — Anton Chekhov

Take nine minutes (you have to use all nine, you can’t go over), and create a text picture, using your best “show don’t tell” skills. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable; and it’s expected that your writing will be raw, so don’t stress about editing.

We knew it was too good to last, those October days bestowed on us like a blessing, each one more radiant that its predecessor. Every morning, wakened by fierce rays of sunshine pouring through our bedroom curtains, we opened our eyes in surprise. Another beautiful day, we'd think, marveling once again at our good fortune.

The earth itself seemed as nonplussed as we were, and trees arrayed themselves in their gaudiest finery, shameless in flaunting their scarlets and golds, until sometimes we averted our eyes, embarrassed by such naked splendor.

But today, in one flip of the calendar page, it's gone. Charcoal colored clouds, angry as a mob of belligerent teenagers, rumble across the sky, quickly surrounding the sun as it tries valiantly to muscle its way through. An aggressive wind whips dry golden leaves into a frenzy. They whirl anxiously around my feet, skittering goblins across the pavement.

We root through the closet, searching for long forgotten mittens and warm coats, sighing at the endless repetition of nature that has brought us to this place once again.

Winter.

this post prompted by Cafe Writing

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: L is for...

2007-11-05T10:47:00.000-08:00

"You are such a lucky girl..."

People have been telling me that my entire life.

Lucky to be so smart, pretty, healthy.

Lucky to have such wonderful parents, husband, child.

Lucky to have cute dogs.

Lucky to have (two) nice houses.

Lucky to have a good job.

Lucky.

I don't dispute my good fortune. But occasionally I do feel anxious that it's all going to catch up with me, my luck will run out, and disasters will begin raining down on my head.

I'm acquainted with people like that, their lives plagued by one misfortune after another, as if the proverbial black cloud has taken up permanent residence over their head. Why is that? They're basically good people, who don't "deserve" the bad things that happen to them anymore than I "deserve" all the good things that have happened to me.

"You make your own luck in this world," my dad used to say. And I guess many of the good things in my life can be attributed (at least to a degree) to my own efforts. Hard work, clean living, and all that.

But still, there are plenty of people in the world who work hard, respect others, take care of themselves and their families, and seem to have the worst luck in the world.

I guess it's just one of life's unexplainables.

I guess I'm just lucky.

It's Begining to Look A Lot Like - WHAT???

2007-11-05T10:00:00.000-08:00

I can't believe it, but my local radio station is already playing "All Christmas Music All The Time." ( I won't be listening to them anymore until January 1, but I'm sure they don't care about that.)

However, this reminds me that I'd better start making my list - and checking out my checking account.

Here's a great way to get some online coupons and save a ton of money on your holiday shopping - couponchief.com.

You can get coupons from stores like Sharper Image and Best Buy (great for all the neat electronic gadgets that Jim and Brian like so much), from clothing stores like Saks Fifth Avenue and Eddie Bauer(for my mom and my girlfriends), and even from Pet Smart (better not forget Magic and Molly!!) Personally, I'm going to grab some coupons from Dell, and leave them in strategic places with pictures of the 8" x 11" notebook computer that I'm hoping will end up under the tree with my name on it!

This site will save me loads of dough on my holiday shopping.

Check it out.

Saving Daylight

2007-11-04T05:06:00.001-08:00

The government has given us a gift today ~the gift of time. One precious, extra hour, to be used however we see fit, all thanks to William Willet, an Englishman who first proposed this concept of saving daylight back in the early days of the 20th century.

I like the idea of saving daylight, for I am a day person through and through. Darkness agitates and tires me~I don't see well to drive, even with headlamps on bright. My mood improves incrementally as spring lengthens into summer and daylight lasts ever longer. Conversely, as the equinox begins to shift, so does my temperment. When the sun sets outside my kitchen window before I've even begun to think about dinner, I could simply howl.

As for suddenly having an extra hour in my day, certainly if you've ever read anything I've written you know how precious time is to me. The barrage of items scrawled on my daily "to do" list always outpaces the number of hours available, so being gifted with an extra one is like gold.

So what will I be doing with this precious commodity? As I go through my day, I'll be asking myself the same question. Is this my extra hour, while I'm taking a longer than usual walk with the dogs? Is this it, puttering around Borders, where I intend to go later with my 40% off coupon? Or have I spent it already, getting up at 4:30 a.m. (which was really 5:30 a.m.) and working on NaNoWriMo?

A blog buddy of mine wrote about some of the ways she would use an extra hour in her day if we should be so fortunate to have one every day (be still my heart!). She includes a number of altruistic activities, and I'd like to think I, too, would use extra time for good deeds - visiting my elderly relatives, running errands for my neighbors, packing food baskets for our church's pantry. If I had the luxury of 25 hours every day, I hope I would be so inclined.

But since the 25 hour day comes only once per year, I confess that I plan to be totally hedonistic in my use of those 60 minutes. After all, how often do we get a freebie like this - especially from the government?

How about you? How do you plan on using your extra hour today?

This post prompted by "Pick Three," Option Six on the November menu at Cafe Writing

Seven Wonderful Words

2007-11-02T16:47:00.001-07:00

Choose seven of your favorite words, one of several inspiring prompts on the November menu at Cafe Writing...check it out if you're doing NaBloPoMo and need an idea, or NaNoWriMo, and need a break!

Percolation~a word that recalls my mother's Corningware percolator, hot coffee bubbling up inside the glass top with its own nifty little rhythm...

Dervish~ as in "whirling," which calls to mind a the excitement of gyspy dancing, spooky firelight, an music from a squeezebox...

Lovely ~actually, I prefer the way the British say it - "luvly," meaning "just ducky"...

Arabesque~a graceful ballet movement depicted in the sound of the word - and also one of my favorite pieces of music for piano, written by Claude Debussy...

Cavort~doesn't that sound like fun??

Transcendent~a power I only wish I had, to place myself on a higher plane...

Please~a politeness, but also an exclamation, as in "puh-leeze"...

Off and Running

2007-11-01T04:57:00.000-07:00

Things have been rather quiet here of late, time and energy that might otherwise have gone toward thinking and writing, far better spent in time with my son and daughter in law, who have been with us for the past couple of weeks.

And things may continue to be quiet, at least here at the Byline. For though my visitors are heading home in a few days, my time and energy will return to writing, but this time to the great novel writing effort that takes place each November.

(trumpet fanfare) NaNoWriMo.

Last year was my first foray into this madness, my first venture into fiction writing at all. When I signed up, I never imagined I would finish.

But, I did. It wasn't terribly difficult to do - oh, I had a few moments of panic in the middle of the second week (apparently a normal occurrence during that period in the process), but I sailed through until the end, crossing the 50,000 word mark several days shy of the deadline.

I admit to a bit more trepidation this year. Last year being my initial effort, I didn't feel quite so pressured to complete it. So what? I figured. I'll give it a shot and see what happens. I kept the entire project completely under wraps - no one (except my blog readers) knew I was participating. Once I was done, I printed out all 120 pages of Dear Samantha, put them in a folder, and tucked them safely away in the cupboard.

But this year, having once completed (or won, as the NaNoWriMo folks call it), the expectation is much higher. How stupid will I feel if I don't finish this time? Am I just a "one shot wonder"?

I went to bed last night nearly convinced to throw in the towel before I even began. Better not to start at all, I reasoned, than to start and fail.

Hmm.

This morning I awoke at 3:30, and couldn't go back to sleep. The usual worries started their familiar roiling in my mind, but underneath them was a nagging voice urging me to get up, start writing, don't waste this time.

So, I did.

Ensconced in my big green chair, steaming hot coffee close at hand, one dog curled beside me, the other on the ottoman at my feet, I started out on another journey into a land of make believe with a group of people I'm already getting to know much better. A couple of thousand words later (well, 2,844 to be exact) I'm once again feeling excited and energized about this project.

Just do it, the now famous Nike slogan advises us. Good advice, for writers as well as athletes.
Once you begin it, you're in it.

So, forgive me if my posting in the coming weeks is erratic, or if I seem to have tunnel vision about this novel business. It's quite all-consuming, and I may need a place to brain dump periodically.

And for the rest of you who set off this morning on the great novel writing adventure, I wish you godspeed and good writing.

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: K is for...

2007-10-29T01:20:00.000-07:00

An inordinate amount of time is spent in my kitchen, certainly not because of its charm or efficacy, or because I have such stellar skills to practice there. In fact, the kitchen here is cramped and slightly dark, designed poorly with a door to the backyard right in the middle which takes up much needed space. It's barely big enough for two people to sit down and eat together, and preparing any kind of complex meal is a challenge with about 12 inches of bare counter space.

But it's the place we seem to end up most often, whether to make coffee, grab a handful of cookies, let the dogs in or out (that ridiculous door), or just lean against the counter talking.

I harbor dreams about bright, spacious kitchens, with one of those cooking islands in the middle, copper pots hanging overhead. I imagine people gathered around, sipping wine, sneaking bites of whatever gourmet feast I'm preparing for them.

But whenever I'm tempted to blame my lack of culinary prowess on the size of my kitchen, I recall a television special a few years ago with Julia Child and Wolfgang Puck, cooking together in Julia's home kitchen. These two world reknowned chefs prepared a five course meal in a kitchen no bigger than a breadbox - a galley kitchen with not more than a square foot of empty counterspace anywhere. They were literally bumping into each other at every turn, and by the time they were done, not an inch of space wasn't occupied by a dirty bowl, pot, or dish.

Yet, they laughed, and talked, and sampled, and finally served a glorious meal.

So no excuses in my kitchen, which is grandiose by those standards.

Then again, I'm not Julia Child.

The kitchen is often called the "heart of the home," and for all it's shortcomings, I have to admit my little kitchen often serves that purpose.

Wedded Bliss

2007-10-28T18:27:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for weddings, and always get teary eyed when the groom catches his first glimpse of the bride as she appears in all her glory at the foot of the aisle.

Yesterday was certainly no exception, since the groom in this case happened to be one of my son's best high school buddies, a boy who spent a good deal of time lolling on my couch watching TV and eating pizza, his ever larger tennis shoes parked at my doorstep where he always (politely) kicked them off when he came in. Of course, seeing my son standing at the altar beside his friend, looking so handsome in his tuxedo, certainly added fuel to my emotional fires.

The longer I'm married, the more meaningful weddings are. Seeing a couple just starting out on their journey together, the world in front of them with its wide array of choices and opportunities, knowing the kinds of joys and sorrows they will face, I can only smile in wonder at their blissful innocence. Marriage is such a mixed bag~some days you're so in love you can't bear to be apart for a minute, others you'd like nothing better than to send your mate on the next one way shuttle to outer space.

But for the lucky ones (of which I'd count myself) days like the former far outweigh the latter. Sharing life with a partner, a companion, a best friend, only makes the good days far sweeter, and eases the pain when the inevitable bad days come around.

So, I offer this traditional blessing to Jon and Corey, and this reminder to Brian and Nantana, and this thank you to my own Jamey, for the ways he has fulfilled these words in my life...

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you.
May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years.
May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth.

photo ~ Jon and Corey Foster; Nantana and Brian Rowan

Friday's Feast

2007-10-26T06:04:00.000-07:00

Appetizer
Name a great website you would recommend to others.

Very difficult assignment, since the prompt clearly states "a" (meaning singular) website. Hmmm. I may have to come back to this.

Soup
On a scale of 1-10 (with 10 as highest), how often do you dream at night?

Technically, we always dream every night, we simply don't always remember the dreams. (I'm being a bit peevish with today's entree's, aren't I?) However, I recall my dreams about most every day, or about an 8 on the scale. Last night, I was living in a huge, beautiful home, and continually yelling at people who kept coming in and messing it up.

Salad
Did you have a pet as a child? If so, what kind and what was its name?

Dogs - always. The first dog I remember was a cocker spaniel mix named Ginger. She was a patient and willing participant in my favorite game (playing school), in which she was forced to sit on the couch and listen to me expound the days lesson at my miniature blackboard. When I was 10 we got Honey, a cocker spaniel puppy, and then my heart was broken when my severe allergies forced us to give her up. Happily, she went to live with an elderly couple who treated her like royalty for the rest of her days.

Main Course
If you had the chance to star in a commercial, what would you choose to advertise?

Cars,~hopefully gorgeous, exotic, very fast ones. Zoom, zoom.

Dessert
What is your favorite kind of hard candy?

I am an obssessive mint eater. I have a package of hard mints in every purse. Back in the days when I was "on the road" with my handbell group, I joked about living on Altoids - it wasn't far from the truth.

to enjoy more feasts, go here

Writer's Island-The Stranger

2007-10-23T17:35:00.000-07:00

Once it had been Anna's favorite time of day, this hour just after supper when the sun was settling in behind the stand of pine trees in the western fields, the length of the front porch cast in cool shadow. She would come outside after helping Mama wipe the dishes, pour pitchers of water over the huge ferns swinging gently from the rafters, and settle into the rocking chair, book in hand, ready to read until dusk overtook her page.

Yet ever since Clayton had been gone, Anna's restful evenings on the porch had been spoiled. She felt anxious sitting there, the long dirt road leading from town staring her in the face, the road that might bring an ominous stranger bearing the worst of all possible news.

Eleven months, fourteen days since Clayton left with Harrisburg's First Militia and sailed across the Atlantic to France. Anna smiled sadly, thinking of the dreams she had once harbored about France, her imagination filled with ideas of love and romance. And now, it could be the place where her beloved Clayton lost his life, fighting in this horrible World War that made no sense to her or anyone else in their small town.

Anna glanced nervously at the dusty road, squinting for a moment against the sun's glare. Her imagination was now preoccupied with tales she'd heard of smartly clad soldiers in dress uniform, black armbands adorning their sleeves, soldiers that always came in pairs, politely knocking on your door, hat in hand, to deliver news that would shatter your life forever.

Turning quickly away, Anna grabbed up the heavy glass pitcher that served as a makeshift watering can and hurried down the steps toward the back yard pump."There's no use in thinking about such awful things," she firmly lectured herself. "I just have to believe with all my heart and soul that Clayton will come home safely."

And so it was that Anna remained busy refilling her pitcher, pouring fresh water into each ferns dusty bed, while the sun eased itself lower into the evening sky ~ so busy that she almost didn't see the lonely figure trudging toward her, dressed in the unmistakable khaki colored puttee's that looked so odd on boys barely out of knickers and more accustomed to overalls.

Catching sight of this stranger, Anna literally felt her heart sink, powerless to stop the pitcher as it slipped from her hand, shattering in a million shards of glass on the wooden floorboards. The seconds passed like hours, her gaze fixed on this solitary man coming ever nearer, until the first glimmer of recognition began to dawn.

This lonely figure, thin and long legged, one arm swinging familiarly at his side, the other - wait, the other caught up in a sling!-but there, definitely there, and yes, the shock of blond hair catching the last flicker of sunlight. This was no stranger, she realized. Impossible as it seemed, it was Clayton.

He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of her slender body come flying off the porch, and he continued to stand stock still while she raced over the yard and down the road to meet him, heedless of any rules of grace or propriety, her dark hair unloosened from its pins and streaming in the breeze behind her.

"My God in heaven!" Anna cried, throwing her arms around him, almost pulling back in surprise at the frailty of his body, aware that she could feel every rib as she pressed her own sturdy torso against him, and then pulling him even tighter into her chest, willing him to take strength and sustenance from her.

Clayton's one good arm enfolded her and he buried his face in the fragrant smell of her clean, sun warmed hair. Anna felt a deep shudder pass through him, and she pulled back, raising her eyes to meet his.

And then her heart sank once again.

Staring off into the horizon beyond her were not the bright blue eyes of the boy she had loved and sent sailing off to war, determined to lead the victory charge for freedom. These eyes were empty and dim, filled with nothing at all like hope or pride.

They were the eyes of a stranger after all.

for more stories of strangers, go here

Cafe Writing- Timed Writing

2007-10-22T20:12:00.000-07:00

Written for Option Three at Cafe Writing:

Take seven minutes (you have to use all seven, you can’t go over), and write about class. Any format (fiction, essay, verse) is acceptable.

Perhaps it's the perpetual student in me, but my first interpretation of the word had to do with a "class" in which you learn something. So, that's what I wrote about.

If Carol hadn't been so close behind her, Sarah would have turned around and gone right back out the door. The minute she opened it, she felt faint, overcome by the moist heat, the powerful aroma of garlic and olive oil, the festive clinking of glasses, the eager chatter of women's voices.

A cooking class. Why had she ever thought this would be a good idea?

Sarah pulled her jacket protectively around her neck, tucking her head inward, turtle-like, even as she felt Carol insistently pulling her forward into the room. She hadn't cooked anything substantial for months - why bother to cook without Scott there to eat? Scott was the one who appreciated cooking.

"Mother, this meal is a work of art!" he would exclaim, holding his plate up to the light, as if making an offering to the gods, while she smiled shyly, inwardly pleased that she could offer this one thing to the wondrous man who was her son.

How she had loved to watch him arrange the food on his plate just so, settle into his chair, gracefully placing the napkin (always linen) across his bony knees, as if he were laying an altar cloth. He would insert his fork gently for the first bite, and raise it slowly to his lips, savoring the ritual perhaps more than the taste.

Sarah's eyes closed, inadvertently taking her back in time to her own elegant kitchen, where she had lovingly prepared hundreds of meals for her son. How could it be that he would never eat from her table again?

Grief rushed over her, its power by now familiar to her, literally rocking her body and threatening to send her tumbling to the floor in a dead faint. Why was she here in a room filled with people who were happy, whose lives were normal and secure, when her world had been shattered forever in that one momen when her son had chosen to fling his own life away?

"Come, Sarah," Carol urged. "Let's grab a good place to sit before class gets started."

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: J is for...

2007-10-22T06:17:00.000-07:00

Jumping.

Through hoops.

"How high can I jump" season has begun, with concerts, work ramping up, and, NaNoWriMo beginning in just 10 days. Pressure begins to build, and I went to bed last night with the heavy weight of obligation bearing down on me.

Women's live are filled with this kind of jumping, aren't they? We are multi-taskers extraordinaire, flitting from one responsibility to the next, caring for children, parents, homes, careers, paying bills, maintaining social obligations, scheduling doctor appointments...the list goes on and on.

Close your eyes and imagine this mental picture: women throughout the world, jumping through all the hoops necesssary to function in modern life.

You would think none of us would have a minute's worry about weight, with all that jumping going on.

How about you? How high are you jumping?

I'm Dreaming of A Home Office...

2007-10-21T17:12:00.000-07:00

My house has turned into one big office this week. My son is visiting, and he works from home all the time, while Jim and I both work at home at least 50% of the time, so my little house is bursting with business.

This has set me dreaming about setting up a real home office, as opposed to the dining room table, kitchen table, and small desk shoved in the corner of the guest room. So, in between writing my medical reports, I cyber trekked over to Furniture From Home office department. Within two seconds I had picked out the perfect credenza desk for Jim, one I would love to prop my feet up on as well.

Of course I couldn't resist shopping for some living room and bedroom furniture on this site, which offers a world of lovely pieces organized in nicely appointed virtual rooms.

Now, if I could only get a raise...

A Day of Rest

2007-10-21T13:05:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, Sundays were simple. Perhaps you rose early and went to church, spending a quiet hour in worship and reflection, or perhaps you slept late, waking to savor the newspaper and ponder crossword puzzle clues. In the afternoon, you might take a nap or prepare a special dinner, visit with family or take a drive in the country. There were very few stores open, so shopping was not an option. Nearly all places of business were closed, employees expected to spend the day resting and enjoying time with their families.

Does that sound too idyllic to be true? It really wasn't - that was how I spent Sundays as a child.

Not anymore. Too often, my Sunday's are a marathon of activity, leaving me to face another work week exhausted, irritable, and unsatisfied.

Today, for instance. It's a concert day for Jim and his men's chorus, a bigger than usual concert involving three other choirs. His call time was 1:00, so after church (from which we snuck out early since the service ran over the allotted 60 minutes we Presbyterians can tolerate) we dashed home and I whipped up an omelet and some strong coffee while he changed into his concert attire. While he ate, I packed dinner for him, since their dinner break between rehearsal and performance is expected to be minimal.

When he was safely out the door, I drove to my mother's where Brian and Nantana were joining her for brunch. I downed another cup of coffee, and then the four of us (plus dogs) drove over to visit my aunt and uncle. Not an uplifting visit (as their health continues to decline and it's difficult to watch) but certainly one that was required. After an hour with them (which feels much longer) I dropped the dogs at home and made a quick run to the grocery.

It's now nearly 4:30. Since I promised Jim I would attend his concert tonight, I have about 90 minutes to prepare some dinner, change clothes, and drive 30 miles to Eastern Michigan University in time for a 7:00 program.

Whew.

I've just been sitting on my back porch, stealing a moment to admire a brilliant blue sky, and trees absolutely ablaze with scarlet and gold, feeling a warm sun on my face and a brisk wind in my hair. Breathing deeply, slowing myself down just a bit, allowing my heart to return to that restful state Sunday's should be about. In all honesty, I would love nothing more than to pour a glass of wine, prop my feet up on the table and take a nap in the sun.

I would especially love to do that without feeling guilty about it.

We need one day a week, I think, to throttle back, rein in, take foot firmly off the gas pedal. A day when we're not only allowed to slow down life's pace, but expected and encouraged to.

A day of rest.

What a novel idea.

Book Blocked

2007-10-20T06:09:00.000-07:00

There's something a bit off in one of my most treasured relationships. I can't describe it, but lately we haven't been connecting at all. We sit down together as we always have, but somehow don't engage. My mind wanders, and before long I'm thinking about my "to do" list, or the grocery shopping, or worrying over a tough passage in a Mozart Sonata. Several times, I've been forced to simply walk away.

Books and I aren't getting along well.

Don't laugh- reading is a relationship with me. I count on the fictional world to help me escape from the dreary real world and entertain me with the antics of interesting characters. I expect poetry to elevate my senses, soothe my spirit, ignite my intellect. I come to non-fiction to inspire my muse and feed my creativity. Lately, none of this has been happening with any of my books. My book journal for the month of October is completely bare ~I've finished nothing.

However, here's what I've started and put aside in the last two weeks~The Lay of the Land, Still Summer, Keeping the World Away, Body Surfing, and The Jane Austen Book Club. These may be perfectly fine books, but every time I sat down to read I kept losing my place in the middle of a page, or going back to re-read the last three paragraphs because my mind hadn't registered a thing. Finally, disappointed in the book (and in myself) I placed each one back in the "to be returned" pile of my library stack.

I don't take my relationships lightly, and the one I have with books is no exception. Giving up on one is hard. There was a point in my reading life when I refused to do it, and would struggle through most anything until the end. Now, though, there really are simply too many books and too little time. If a book and I aren't enjoying one another after about 50 pages, we part company.

But it doesn't happen often, certainly not with five books in a row as it has this month.

I suppose reading relationships go throught difficult periods like human relationships. Sometimes we simply fail to give each other what is needed. For whatever reason, we don't find the sustenance, the comfort, the insight that's required. But during those strained times, there is definitely something missing from life, and I feel bereft and lonely.

Today, I'm off to the library to bring home a new collection of possibilites.

Wish me luck.

How about you? How are things in your reading life?

Friday Feast

2007-10-19T08:15:00.000-07:00

Appetizer
If you were a dog, what breed would you be, and why?

Probably a border collie, because I always seem to be running around trying to keep all my sheep in line!

Soup
What does the color purple make you think of?

Royalty. The majestic purple of velvet robes worn by queens and monarchs. Also eggplant, which I love to eat deep fried or baked in marinara sauce and Parmesan cheese.

Salad
Approximately how long does it take you to get ready each morning?

About 45 minutes. It takes longest to blow dry my hair and try and tame those natural waves into the smooth page boy I prefer.

Main Course
How many cousins do you have, and are you close to them?

I have more cousins than I can count, oddly enough. Most of them are of the second, third, and otherwise "removed" variety and are scattered all over the country. I do have three or four first cousins that I grew up with here in Detroit, and we were close as children. But as it the way of the world, now that we're grown up we never see each other.

Dessert
Take your initials (first, middle, last) and come up with something else those letters could stand for. (Example: SFO = Sweet Funny Otter)

Reflective
Maternal
Reader

here are more feasts

Poetry Thursday

2007-10-18T06:07:00.000-07:00

I took my sorrow and placed it firmly into a paper sack
the kind you get at very good grocery stores
a heavy one with wire wrapped handles

I knew it must be hidden so I wouldn't be tempted
to take it out every so often and fondle it
worry it between the fingers of my heart
like those beads Indian women use to pray

I carried the bag by the handles
hoping I wouldn't hear the sorrow rattling around inside
bumping against the confines of its paper prison
searching for its own escape from darkness

Into the garage I carried it
my eyes searching furtively for the perfect spot
like a dog who needs to bury a bone
a place where I could retrieve it if I must (but not to easily)

There, behind a box of Christmas lights, used only rarely now
or no, on the shelf next to the catcher's mitt and car wash bucket
perhaps in the old fruit cellar
the warped wooden door shoved up against it

Panic rises, for there seems no safe place
so I stand holding this bag of sorrow, my palms moist on its handles
finally knowing it won't be hidden.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was a young woman, I allowed sorrows to consume me. If I were sad, or worried, or upset, I couldn't eat or sleep...I curled myself tightly into a ball and let life pass me by until I felt able to move forward again.

As I've aged, I've become more adept at compartmentalizing sorrow. It's not completely hidden, it's not ignored, it's simply set aside in a secret place, so that I can go on with life.

Thank you all for your kind comments and all the positive thoughts you've sent our way this week.

It helps more than you know :)

Please Remain Seated

2007-10-14T04:39:00.000-07:00

"Your vehicle has momentarily stopped. Please remain seated. Your vehicle will begin moving shortly."

If you've ever been to Disney World, you might have heard those words when your ride stopped in its tracks for some mysterious reason. There you sit, often in nearly complete darkness, perhaps perched on the edge of a precipice or tilted at an odd angle, waiting for some unseen technician to push the button that will send a surge of electricity and jolt you into forward motion.

I'm in that vehicle now, stopped in the dark.

My intention in this blog is always to illuminate life in its most positive way, to write about things that move me, inspire me, experiences that help me grow as a woman, a writer, a person. But the truth is, that life in general is not always positive, that difficult things happen and sometimes cannot be made rosy, must simply be lived through and learned from.

Last week, I wrote about the exciting new ride our family was embarking on, about the baby my son and daughter in law were expecting. Yet, this week, that ride has stopped, the forward progress halted before the ride had barely begun.

Statistically, I know that more than 60% of women will suffer miscarriage, and that the vast majority of them go on to have healthy, happy babies, often rather quickly afterward. Intellectually, I know that when a woman miscarries early in a pregnancy, it usually means the embryo was "flawed" in some way, could not sustain life. Practically, I understand there are griefs far greater, sorrows much deeper, disappointments much harsher to bear.

Emotionally, none of that matters.

It takes so little time for a mother to endow her baby with an entire world of possibilities - whether that baby is still only a tiny bud yet to flower, or a freshly born, squalling bundle of life. While your body is suffused with hormones, your mind is flooded with hopes and dreams, anticipations of what this child will be like, will do in the world. It happens in a heartbeat, a finger snap, the few seconds it takes for the line on the stick to turn blue. You are a mother.

A friend wrote these words to me:

"Attempting pregnancy is to accept the whole spectrum of possible outcomes. It's emotionally terribly risky, as is parenthood itself. You leave yourself wide open to fate; your children hold your whole life in their hands, for good or for ill. You're open to feelings and experiences that are like nothing else in life. In the end, the early miscarriage may play out in a positive way for them -- they'll have far more perspective and depth than so many whose pregnancies occur as a matter of course. It will make their baby even more precious, even more of a miracle."

I believe this is true, that Brian and Nantana have already taken a deeper step into being parents than they realize, have already risked and suffered, have experienced a taste of the challenge and joy of having children. When this ride is once again set in motion (as I believe it will be very soon), they will be stronger parents and stronger partners when it reaches a safe and natural conclusion.

For now, we shed tears, take deep breaths, and remain seated.

Cafe Writing-Seven Things

2007-10-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

Seven Things About~

October

~Fall Foliage- The marvelous spectrum of colors is one of the best things about living in Michigan. Scarlet, persimmon, and brilliant gold is etched against a deeper- than- usual blue sky. Sometimes it's so beautiful, it hurts.

~Fall fashion - I love the dark colors associated with fall clothes, love the look of sweaters and the textures of fleece and flannel. And being able to layer clothing hides a multitude of figure sins.

~Outside Walks-October is my favorite month for walking outside. The weather is usually just right for me and the dogs (especially if I'm wearing one of the aforementioned fleeces or flannels) and they love tramping through (the aformentioned) foliage that's lying all over the ground.

~Cider and Donuts - Michigan has worlds of apple orchards, and October is peak production month for cider. We have a local mill where we can watch the apples get mashed to a goopy pulp before they're turned into cold, sweet cider, the perfect way to wash down those warm (and slightly greasy) cinnamon spice donuts.

~Birthdays-October is my husband's birth month, and he's certainly worth celebrating! In an odd twist of fate, his two best friends from school days were also born in October. The boys birthdays are each 12 days apart!

~Allergies-Nothing's perfect, is it? October is my worst allergy month, mostly because the nights get chilly and we fire up the furnace, blowing all sorts of dust and molds about. So, while I'm admiring the leaves and partaking of my cider and donuts, I'm usually sneezing and snuffling too.

~Halloween-I confess, I'm not a big fan of Halloween, and I particularly don't care for all the decorations people have gotten in the habit of putting up, especially the kind where bodies are hanging from trees and lying in mock graves all over surburban front yards. Call me old fashioned if you like, I think it's distasteful. But, I know children love this holiday (my son sure did!) and I certainly don't begrudge them their fun in dressing up and collecting candy.

For this and other great writing ideas, check out the October project menu at Cafe Writing, a brand new site for writers.

Write on Wednesday-Goody Bag

2007-10-10T06:00:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of filling your Halloween bag with goodies, here are some of the writing related books, sites, and activities I've been devouring:

~Cafe Writing opened for business TODAY, so make sure you stop in. Cafe manager MissMeliss offers a menu of six creative options to suit any and all of your writing/artistic talents. The prompts are good for one month, so you may partake of any or all of them, posting your individual "entrees" on your own blog. I'm torn between trying option two, three, four or five...so many savory choices!

~I stumbled on Writer Advice while looking for their interview with Gayle Brandeis. Not only advice is featured here- there are writing contests, interviews with writers and artists, and products. Lots of goodies to explore.

~My new friend, Michele, chronicles her experiences as a freelance writer at Writing the Cyber Highway. Michele inspires me with her positive attitude, as well as her writing advice.

~In my own personal "writer development training course," (which I chronicle in my other blog) I'm currently working my way through "Courage & Craft: Writing Your Life Into Story," by Barbara Abercrombie. This book offers super exercises and advice for writing personal essays in a no-nonsense, approachable fashion. Barbara also co-hosts Writing Time, one of my favorite places to go on the internet for writing tips and inspiration.

~I admit it - I'm a writing book junkie, and lying in wait on my bookshelf are these tasty goodies...Fruitflesh, by Gayle Brandeis, Writing Begins With the Breath, by Laraine Herring, and Making a Literary Life, by Carolyn See.

You now have lot of things to keep you busy and inspire you to Write On Wednesday.

So, what are you waiting for??

How about you? Have you found any inspiring writing sites, or read any good writing books lately?

Rewarding Posts

2007-10-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

Reading blogs has turned me on to some great products - Adagio teas, Dansko shoes, Tartar Shield dog biscuits - all of which have become indispensable to me. Blog surfing allows me to meet so many people around the world, people who share not only ideas and emotions, but goods and services that make life more enjoyable.

In turn, when I find a product or service that excites me, I'm happy to blog about it, to send it out into cyber space never knowing who might come across it at the exact moment in life when it could most help.

I've recently signed on to Bloggerwave which allows me to not only discover some great new products and services, but also to share them with you ~ and be paid for doing so! I can choose from a huge list of "opportunities," do some research, and write about any that peak my interest. Bloggerwave is a European based company, so I'm excited about being introduced to some cool new European products .

There are no fees to participate, and no obligations to complete a certain number of posts. It's a fun way to spark some writing ideas, sharpen your writing skills, and earn some money - and it gives me another good excuse to blog!

Writer's Island-Renewal

2007-10-09T09:16:00.000-07:00

Treesa cast a critical eye on her reflection, turning sideways to avoid the morning sun pouring into the sewing room.

"You'll never remake this dress to fit me," she said, plucking at the delicate ivory fabric hanging loosely from her slender waist. "It was a stupid idea for me to wear your wedding dress anyway."

Anna managed a gentle "tsk" from around the mouthful of straight pens gripped between her lips. What made her daughter such a worrier? she wondered. Always determined that things wouldn't work out, that nothing would go her way.
Sighing, Anna reached underneath the dress and folded at least two inches of fabric toward the inseams. Such a "skinny minnie", too, picking at her food, turning up her nose at the hearty meals Anna prepared for the family's table.

Of course, with all this food rationing, Anna thought, it's no wonder she's wasting away to nothing. Since the States had entered the war two years ago, Anna was hard pressed to cobble together anything fit to eat. Treesa's delicate appetite had waned even further, faced with dishes like Spam Casserole, Oatmeal Loaf, and boiled beef tongue.

Anna could feel Treesa's impatience as she knelt beside her, lovingly caressing the folds of fabric as she continued to work. She smiled, remembering the excitement with which she and her mother had shaped this gown from yards of satin, the tremble of her mother's hands as she sewed the last of the 100 pearl buttons, the shiver of anticipation Anna had felt as she imagined Andrew unbuttoning each one on their wedding night.

Treesa's deep sigh roused Anna from these pleasant memories.

"Really, Mother," she said, "shouldn't we give up on this once and for all? I'm perfectly happy to wear the floral tea dress I had for Aunt Rose's birthday."

"You will not be married in some garish flowered, short dress!" Anna exclaimed. "I don't care whether it's wartime or not, or that "all the other girls" are doing it. You have the opportunity to wear a perfectly beautiful, traditional wedding gown, and that's what you'll do." She jabbed one last pin roughly into the fabric, offering a silent apology to her precious dress.

"Well, at least get rid of this silly sash," Tressa complained, grabbing a fistful of the pale blue satin ribbon wrapped twice around her waist. "No one would use a sash on their wedding dress in 1943!"

"Fine," Anna muttered, trying not to think about the way Andrew had gently placed the ribbon against her cheek, comparing the delicate blue material to the shade of her eyes. Young people have no appreciation for history, she thought, for tradition, or cherishing the things that matter. Rising from her knees, trying desperately to keep the annoyance from her voice, she released Treesa from her obvious discomfort.

"You can take off the dress now," she said, smoothing her red serge skirt and tucking a pincushion into the pocket of her apron. "I'll have to start work on it right after dinner if there's to be any chance of finishing it by Saturday."

Anna glanced at her daughter, who continued to stand motionless before the mirror. The sun had shifted slightly, leaving the girl standing in the midst of one solitary ray, as if a spotlight were shining directly from heaven, setting her auburn hair alight with sparks of reddish flame, illuminating the satin where it lay in gentle folds.

Tears jumped into Anna's eyes-such a beautiful girl was her Mary Teresa, she thought, catching her breath. About to start a new life with a young solider off to war, embark on a future that held only God knew what. Could wearing this dress bring her the kind of love Anna had felt for her Andrew, a love that would ignite a spark of light and happiness into those dark, shadowy eyes?

At last Treesa turned from the mirror, meeting her mother's teary gaze. "You know," she said, smiling slightly, "perhaps there's still some life in this dress after all."

Anna grinned, briskly wiping a tear from her cheek. "There most certainly is," she agreed. "Plenty of new life to go around!"

for more stories of renewal, go here

One Deep Breath- Simple Pleasures

2007-10-08T14:42:00.000-07:00

barefoot in the grass

one last time before frost~

indian summer

Today was a day of contrasts. It was almost 90 degrees (this is October in Michigan?), yet a stiff breeze scattered tiny elm leaves across the yard, making it look like fall. It was a day of "lasts" for me, I think- last tomatoes from the garden, last time to hang my sheets on the line, last lunch on the patio, and yes, last time to wander barefoot in the yard.

Tomorrow, the tide turns - rain is forecast, and a chill wind, dropping the temperatures into the 40's overnight. So tomorrow will probably be a day of "firsts" - first fire in the fireplace, first time wearing a jacket, and, sadly ('cuz I'm a barefoot girl at heart), first time wearing shoes and socks.

for more simple pleasures, go here

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: I is for...

2007-10-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

Writers seek it constantly, as do artists, musicians, crafters, ministers, psychologists, doctors, mothers and fathers - every living thing is in need of inspiration.

In Christian teaching, inspiration means "God's breath," indicating this genesis of great ideas and emotions has a divine and mystical source. When I'm inspired, whether it's from the flaming crimson leaves that are beginning to explode across the horizon, a Chopin nocturne, or a well crafted novel, I feel a sense of excitement, an electrical surge of creative energy which seems other-worldly.

Of course, "inspiration" also means to "draw air in and out," the basic stuff of life for every human being. How awesome is a baby's first breath on its own, outside its mother's womb, that first inhale of the world in which it will live, filled with all the mystery of creation and nature.

There are times in life when everything around us is filled with inspiration, and with each breath we inhale ideas, beauty, laughter. At this moment, I am in such a place - whether it's the beauty of the season, or the promise of the new life that will be entering our family next summer - the world appears vivid with excitement and filled with infinite possibilities.

However, there have been times in my life when the world seemed flat and lifeless, with barely enough air to keep my lungs physically filled, let alone leaving anything left to fill my creative spaces.

I have learned to become cognizant of my inspirational cycles, to accept whatever stage I'm in, knowing that the cycle will one day return me to a different place, with new challenges leading to new mysteries and ideas for exploration.

Rewarding Posts

2007-10-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

Reading blogs has turned me on to some great products - Adagio teas, Dansko shoes, Tartar Shield dog biscuits - all of which have become indispensable to me. Blog surfing allows me to meet so many people around the world, people who share not only ideas and emotions, but goods and services that make life more enjoyable.

In turn, when I find a product or service that excites me, I'm happy to blog about it, to send it out into cyber space never knowing who might come across it at the exact moment in life when it could most help.

I've recently signed on to Pay Per Post, which allows me to not only discover some great new products and services, but also to share them with you ~ and be paid for doing so! I can choose from a huge list of "opportunities," do some research, and write about any that peak my interest. It gives me a chance to stretch my writing wings a little bit, too. Best of all, Pay Per Post allows you to donate your earnings to one of several charities. Right now, I'm donating my fees to the Alzheimer's Association.

There are no fees to participate, and no obligations to complete a certain number of posts. It's a fun way to spark some writing ideas, sharpen your writing skills, and earn some money - and it gives me another good excuse to blog!

Into the Future!

2007-10-06T09:54:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my grandparents lived with us, and while it was perhaps not the greatest thing for my parents marriage, it was a gift for me. I was the only grandchild they had, so naturally they thought the sun rose and set at my feet. And yes, according to conventional wisdom, they "spoiled" me ~ not so much with material things, as with love and attention, which are certainly greater gifts in the long run. My grandmother often stayed up nights with me, comforting me with stories during my frequent asthmatic episodes. And she was the one who started me off on the piano, teaching me "Amzing Grace" and "The Blue Danube" waltz.

My son also had the benefit of a close relationship with his grandmother, who lived just a short bike ride away. My parents were literally the only babysitters Brian ever had, and he considered their house "home." My mom was always available with a listening ear, a hot meal, and, yes, some extra cash if needed. She still delights in pampering him with his favorite foods, and has been busy shoring up the pantry in preparation for his visit next week.

Grandmothers have been very important in this family.

Now, it's my turn. This morning, Brian and Nantana called with the splendid, thrilling, exciting, and joyous news that they are expecting a baby!

Grandchildren are marvelous additions to any family. But when you're an only child who is the daughter of an only child, the wife of an only child, and the mother of an only child~well, do the math. There are very few of us around the table at holiday time.

So I'm more than excited about this baby. In many ways, I'm just plain relieved. Brian has no siblings, no cousins, no aunts or uncles - when Jim and I are gone, he would be completely alone in the world. Thinking about that was heartbreaking to me.

But now - no worries. Children are the link to the future, your best "insurance policy" against isolation and lonliness.

And yes, selfishly, I wanted all those unique and wonderful traits I love about my son - his creativity, his intelligence, his independence and quirky sense of humor - to be passed along, to continue to exist in the world. Combined with Nantana's good sense, determination, and caring nature, and with who knows what combination of characteristics from his or her Asian-Armenian-English-German-Irish-Scotch heritage - well, this child is bound to be quite a person.

I can hardly wait!

Fascinatin' Faucets

2007-10-05T09:28:00.000-07:00

We live in an old house - older than I am, and that's saying something lately. We've updated most of our plumbing at least once in the past 31 years, and I'm planning some more renovating in our "master bath," (a real misnomer in an early 1950's style ranch house!)

This time, I can use the internet for my shopping, rather than wandering around in Home Depot or Lowe's. I've been browsing Faucet.com this morning, and I'm completely astounded at the variety of bathroom faucets available. I've been looking at Delta faucets because we have those in our Florida home, browsing through 20 pages of sink faucets, ranging in price from $54.00 to $411.00!

Once I decide, I can make my purchase on line. There are handy information pages to help me choose the correct type of faucet for my sink, a toll free phone number for "real live" assistance, and free shipping options. What could be easier?

I love the internet.

Friday Feast

2007-10-05T06:17:00.000-07:00

Appetizer
On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how much do you look forward to your birthday?
I used to look forward to it immensely, and I still enjoy the idea of remembering the day I was born (all those many years ago!). I just wish I didn't have to keep getting older. As far as a rating - hmmm, I'll say 5, somewhere safely in the middle.

Soup
What is one word you don’t like the sound, spelling, or meaning of?
Suck. Even when it's used for it's actual meaning, and not in the pejorative sense.

Salad
Do you wear sunglasses when you’re outside? If so, what does your current pair look like?
I wear sunglasses more often than I used to (its another one of those age things, I guess). I tend to lose sunglasses, so I have about six relatively cheapo pairs scattered around the house and in the cars.

Main Course
If you were to write a book, to whom would you dedicate it?
I have written one book (unpublished, but still...) and partly because of the subject matter and partly just because she deserves it, I would dedicate it to my mother. The book I'm thinking about writing now, the one that's marinating in my brain in preparation for NaNoWriMo next month, would be dedicated to my husband.

Dessert
Name a beverage that you enjoy.
Coffee at sunrise, Chardonnay at dusk.

for more feasts, go here

Travelin' South-A Free Raleigh, NC Get Away

2007-10-04T21:13:00.000-07:00

I get the urge to take a road trip in the fall, to meander down winding country roads, visit small towns along the way, have homemade apple pie in "mom and pop" diners, and, of course, marvel at the palette of crimson and gold painting the landscape.

I've hankered to visit North Carolina for some time, and I was doing some cyber research the other night on the official tourism site for the city of Raleigh. I had no idea this was such a "happening" place for the arts lover...North Carolina symphony concerts, the Carolina Ballet, the Carolina Museum of Natural History and Art, Broadway shows, historic walking tours, Branford Marsalis in concert...some of my favorite things to do. All the attractions of city life, with the charm of a Southern small town.

Because I love fall, I was especially attracted to the fall getaway pages, and I eagerly registered for a chance to win a Free Raleigh Getaway that includes accommodations for two at the Courtyard by Marriott, gift certificates to Bloomsbury Bistro, tickets to the theater and to the Impressionist exhibit at the Museum of Art, and even more.

So now I have my heart set on winning this trip. But feel free to register yourselves - just promise to tuck me into your suitcase if you win!

Tagged (Again)-Eight Random Things About Me

2007-10-04T05:59:00.001-07:00

Are there eight random things you don't know about me? I think over the past 18 months I've confided many of my most "interesting" secrets, but since Michele asked so nicely, I'll give it a go.

I can't stand loud, repetitive mechanical noises, like lawn mowers and gas powered edgers. They make me want to scream.
I'm claustrophobic, and get really edgy in traffic jams or wedged in the middle of the row at the theater.
I love animals with a passion, and am so tenderhearted I cannot bear to hear or watch anything where animals are hurt. When I was a kid, I couldn't even watch Lassie, because she was always in some kind of danger during the show.
I drive fast - too fast.
I'm not nearly the perfectionist that people think I am ;)
I have no talent whatsoever for art - drawing, crafting, etc. I really don't. Or for any type of needlework.
As much as I love working as an accompanist at the high school, I do not like teaching, and, not surprisingly, I'm not any good at it. Years ago, when I taught private piano students, I remember feeling an overwhelming urge to push them off the piano bench so I could play the piece the right way.
I don't like talking on the telephone or making phone calls, and will put off doing it until the last possible moment.

There you have it~I'm not tagging specific people, but feel free to play along if you haven't already done this one.

Write on Wednesday-Addendum

2007-10-03T20:42:00.001-07:00

Visit Writing Time to "cyber audit" a class called "Courage and Craft: Writing Your Life Into Story."

Author, teacher, and blogger, Barbara Abercrombie teaches this course at the UCLA Extension Writers Program, and she's sharing some of her class lectures and writing exercises with those of us who read her blog. The class is based on her newly published book by the same title, and promises to offer some exciting suggestions and inspiration.

So get yourself a new spiral notebook and a pen, and head over to class. Don't be late!

Write on Wednesday-Working Nine to Five

2007-10-03T16:25:00.000-07:00

Each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I work in an office~a real business type office, where I have my own cubicle, complete with plastic desk protector, overhead bin, file folders, an "in-box," and a telephone extension. I spend those three days a week writing medical reports, summarizing medical records, preparing billing statements, and shuffling great lots of paper - bond paper, that is.

If one must work in an office, (and, at this juncture in my life, I must, for the checkbook demands the extra weekly feeding) my particular situation couldn't be better. I work with six other women whom I'm very fond of. They range in age from 27 to 67, they're all bright, personable, funny and easy to get along with. My work hours are flexible, I can do lots of my work remotely, and I have an "alter ego" who can trade off with me when I travel to Florida.

Perfect, yes?

And no. As much as I'm grateful for my job and all its conveniences, I have to admit that it's become awfully boring. Twice lately, I've literally fallen asleep at my desk after lunch! ( Luckily, my cube is in the corner so no one noticed!) Six years ago when I interviewed for my original position as a "medical report writer," the interviewer was concerned that I would become disenchanted with the pedantic nature of the writing required.

"Don't worry," I assured her. "I like writing fact based reports. I'm certainly not a creative writer!"

Hmm. At that time, I was being completely truthful.

But things change, don't they? Nowadays, my head is filled with poems and stories and ideas for stories and blog posts and books and...my oh my.

And somehow, I don't feel as if I could ever explain this compulsion to any of the women I work with. I feel as if I'm harboring a secret life, that when they ask what I did over the weekend and I say, "oh, not much"- leaving out that I wrote three blog posts, or started a new story, or did some research for the novel I'm thinking about writing, or for the one I've already written- I'm denying them the ability to know who I really am.

A while back, I wrote about coming out of the writers closet, and this post is certainly reflective of those feelings. As much as I love and am grateful for the community of bloggers with which to share words and ideas, I'm feeling the need for the kind of interaction you can only have with people in the present.

How about you? Do you have a "day job" and does it hamper or inspire your creativity? Do your real world friends understand and support your writing?

Tagged!

2007-10-02T16:04:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged by Jennifer with this meme - so get ready to learn more about my household than you've ever wanted to know !

What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? I'm trying out a green tea and lavender body wash by Neutrogena~it's supposed to be relaxing.
Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? Not right now- I did have watermelon all summer. I keep a big tupperware container filled with watermelon chunks that I munch on like candy.
What would you change about your living room? The biggest change would be to get rid of the carpet completely and refinish the dark oak flooring that's underneath.
Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? They are being washed as we speak.
What is in your fridge? Nothing old or stale, for a change. I cleaned it out today. But I generally have a pretty well stocked fridge - milk, OJ, beer, wine, cheeses, ground turkey for chili tomorrow, eggs, yogurt, romaine lettuce, celery, carrots, grapes, red onion, all kinds of salad dressing, apple juice, grape juice...well, enough already.
White or wheat bread? Multigrain.
What is on top of your refrigerator? A portable stereo/CD player and a wicker tray.
What color or design is on your shower curtain? I have icky gray tile with maroon flecks in my bathroom (old house), so my shower curtain is maroon with green and gold design.
How many plants are in your home? None. I have a totally black thumb.
Is your bed made right now? Yes, I have a real thing about unmade beds. Can't leave the house unless I make it first.
Comet or Soft Scrub? Soft scrub.
Is your closet organized? It's a totally unorganized mess!
Can you describe your flashlight? It's a red plastic lantern style that -oops, forgot to list it - on top of the refrigerator.
Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home? Glass.
Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? Always! I've been making green iced tea, which I love.
If you have a garage, is it cluttered? It is cluttered to the max with more than 50 years worth of junk. Really. We still get two cars in in though.
Curtains or blinds? Blinds.
How many pillows do you sleep with? One.
Do you sleep with any lights on at night? No. I need total darkness.
How often do you vacuum? About once a week.
Standard toothbrush or electric? Battery powered.
What color is your toothbrush? Green.
Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch? Yes.
What is in your oven right now? Nothing. About an hour ago there were two chicken breasts roasting and a loaf of French bread baking.
Is there anything under your bed? Two flat plastic storage boxes with sweaters.
Chore you hate doing the most? Cleaning the bathroom.
What retro items are in your home? Ha! My whole house is retro! (LOL)
Do you have a separate room that you use as an office? I am lucky enough to have my own "office" with desk, TV, big overstuffed chair, and ceiling fan for hot days.
How many mirrors are in your home? Probably about 4.
Do you have any hidden emergency money around your home? No. I keep an emergency $20 bill hidden in my wallet.
What color are your walls? Off white.
Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home? No.
What does your home smell like right now? I don't use scents in the house very often because I'm sensitive to them. Usually if my house smells like something, it's food - e.g. roast chicken and French bread!
Favorite candle scent? As above, I don't use scented candles either. I do like the vanilla scented ones, though, and would burn them if I could.
What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now? Sweet gherkins.
What color is your favorite Bible? White.
Ever been on your roof? No.
Do you own a stereo? Yes.
How many TVs do you have? Three.
How many house phones? Three.
Do you have a housekeeper? Sadly, no.
What style do you decorate in? Probably traditional.
Do you like solid colors or prints in furniture? Both.
Is there a smoke detector in your home? Two, actually.
In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip? My dogs first, of course. After that, my pictures, jewelry, computer, and as many books as I could grab. My piano would be high on the list, but I know I couldn't get it.

Whew! I won't tag anyone specifically, but feel free to play along if you're so inclined.

One Deep Breath-Snips and Snails

2007-10-02T04:57:00.001-07:00

boys play games of war

never anticipating

its grim reality

With apologies for the somber tone of this haiku, I've always been bothered watching little boys "playing war," although most of them seem to gravitate toward fighting games no matter how much we try to steer them away. It makes me wonder about the seemingly inherent tendency toward violence among men, one that leads even boys to "play" at killing and destruction.

for more haiku, look here

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: H is for...

2007-10-01T12:15:00.000-07:00

I'm a homebody. With each passing year, I become more in love with being in my house, holed up in my cozy office or curled in the corner of my big green chair, puppies snoozing quietly beside me. My home is extremely important to me. It's my safe haven, my protection against the elements, my security blanket against the world. It's the place where I've had my happiest moments, really, where I've spent the most time with the people I love best.

When I moved into this house 31 years ago, I was barely out of high school, newly married, and wildly excited about being independent, free from the smothering atmosphere of my parents home where I was loved just a little bit too much. Finally, I was the master of my own universe, maker of my own meals, keeper of my own hours. I had a home-and a life-of my own.

It's unusual these days for people to live in one house for such a long time. And, even more unusual is the fact that his house was built by Jim's parents - he has spent his entire life in this place. When we bought our second home in Florida a few years ago, it was a thrill to have that brand new home of our own, one no one had ever lived in. For a time, I was captivated by the beauty of that new house, and our old home felt obsolete, like a tired old pair of shoes~comfortable, but no longer fashionable.

Lately, I've developed a newfound appreciation for this faithful abode. It's sturdy and strong, if a little worn around the edges. It's warm and snug in the winter, and the yard fills with breezes and birdsong in the summer. It's chock full of memories - of little boy laughter, and puppy dog barking. Within its walls are harbored all my hopes and dreams, the evidence of my triumphs and failures, the hopes for victories in the future. It's where I've recovered from illness, cried in despair and grief, rejoiced in good fortune.

It's home.

Holiday Heaven

2007-09-30T19:46:00.000-07:00

We really enjoy our second home in Florida, but one of the downsides of having a vacation home is that whenever you have vacation time, you feel obligated to use your "vacation home," rather than go somewhere else and spending money on a hotel.

Sometimes, though, I like to go somewhere completely different, stay in a nice hotel and have room service, explore a new city, or even country. We've even talked about going abroad for a couple of weeks and renting a villa in France or a cottage in England.

There are so many options for lodging when you travel, and with Hotel ReservationsI can comparison shop for hotels or even cottage or condo rentals, all within a mouse click of one another.

The site is well organized, offers some great travel tips for every city worldwide, and, best of all, offers some great discounts - as much as 70% savings off regular rack rates in some cases. This site navigates well, too, so that it's easy to get back and forth between pages when I'm working on multilpe trips at a time - well, you never know, I might get to fo to Belize for New Years Eve!

I'm thinking with the holidays coming up, this might be a good time to getaway for a weekend trip - maybe Toronto or Chicago. Or perhaps I should look into that dream trip to Cornwall - a little cottage on the seaside would set me up nicely.

I can do lots of travel planning (and dreaming) using this one handy website.

Check it out...if you're not going somewhere now, you should be planning to!

Sunday Scribblings-Power

2007-09-29T05:26:00.000-07:00

"By believing passionately in something that still does not exist, we create it. The nonexistent is what we have not sufficiently desired." Nikos Kazantzakis

It's not a secret any longer~the buzz is everywhere. The power of intention, the power of positive affirmation, the "if you can dream it you can do it" philosophy. Believe long and hard enough, visualize yourself where you want to be, and the universe will move in ways to fulfill those dreams.

Undoubtedly, that is one powerful idea.

And yet...

"I know what the great cure is: it is to give up, to relinquish, to surrender, so that our little hearts may beat in unison with the great heart of the world." Henry Miller

While channel surfing on my XM radio the other day, I stumbled across an interview with Denise Jackson, wife of country music singer Alan Jackson, who has written a book about the recent breakdown of their marriage. The couple is back together now, and Ms. Jackson spoke about her desperate attempts to restore their relationship. "It was only when I finally surrendered it all to God that things started to happen, that Alan's heart began to soften toward me, that I learned to give up trying to control him and our marriage."

Two diametrically opposed ideas about power over your life. One suggests we have an almost magical ability to believe things into being, to focus a piercing beam of positive energy toward our goals, igniting sparks of creation deep within ourselves and the universe. And the other advises we give over our desires, our need for control and order, offer it in our cupped and outstretched hands to the Higher Power who can only then initiate Her work in our lives

So what is the answer?

In my yoga class, the leader tells us our practice is a balance of effort and surrender. Effort to achieve a pose, to bend and stretch stiff, awkward limbs and muscles into positions that may feel unnatural, even painful, and surrender when you've pushed your body far enough and you simply breath deeply and let go, accepting the shape you're in.

I imagine that everyone reading this is struggling with something -desires, fears, confusions, heartbreaks. We're all yearning, wondering, hoping to fulfill those dreams we harbor so deep within our hearts we're almost afraid to speak them aloud. We all want the power to make those dreams come true, to find answers to questions that trouble our sleep, to soothe grief and pain.

But I also imagine that true "power" lies somewhere between these two dichotomies, somewhere in that amorphous realm midway between effort and surrender, when you've done every practical thing you can do, when you've focused every bit of positive energy you can on that one tight place in your life that simply refuses to bend another inch, and you finally exhale and float, in the clear and certain knowledge that you've done your best and now grace must slip in.

The balance of power - saying Yes! and learning when to let go.

for more powerful thoughts, go here

Friday Feast

2007-09-28T05:55:00.000-07:00

Appetizer : How are you today?
With radiant sunshine, a fresh cool breeze blowing, and endless blue sky, I'm excited about getting outside, hoping the fresh autumn air will blow some of the cobwebs out of my head.

Soup : Name 3 television shows you watch on a regular basis.
For a long while, there weren't even three shows I could say I regularly watched. Lately, I've become addicted to Mad Men, a series set in 1960's New York City, and centered around the advertising business. I grew up in the 60's and there haven't been many shows or movies set in that era. This one pays great attention to detail, from costume to language, to social mores and customs. It's fascinating. I also watch Gray's Anatomy and ER ~ I've always liked the "doctor shows."

Salad : What’s the scariest weather situation you’ve experienced?
A couple of years ago, a hurricane hit Naples, Florida, where our son lives and where we have a second home. We were all in Michigan at the time, but it was frightening (and rather surreal) to be watching the coverage on television, seeing familiar landmarks being blown and buffeted about. Luckily, neither of our homes were damaged.

Main Course : If you could wake up tomorrow morning in another country, where would you want to be?
No question - the UK. When we visited there in 2005, waking up in the morning was my favorite part of the day. The sun on those luscious green hills, the fields dotted with sheep, the peace and quiet of the small villages we passed through - sumblime!

Dessert : What do you usually wear to sleep?
I really like nice sleepwear - not super expensive stuff, but things that match and look good. I'm not an old T shirt and boxers kind of girl. I like feminine nighties and pajamas.

for more feasts, go here

Booking Through Thursday

2007-09-27T06:31:00.001-07:00

This week Booking Through Thursday asks:

Buy A Friend a Book Week is October 1-7 (as well as the first weeks of January, April, and July). During this week, you’re encouraged to buy a friend a book for no good reason. Not for their birthday, not because it’s a holiday, not to cheer them up–just because it’s a book.
What book would you choose to give to a friend and why?

And, if you’re feeling generous enough–head on over to Amazon and actually send one on its way!

I trade books with my friends all the time~sometimes it's hard to keep track of who has what, they get passed around to so many people. But I rather like the idea of buying a friend a book for no particular reason, especially since I know it will return to me eventually!

The Whole World Over, by Julia Glass, was one of my favorite reads last year. Glass has a real flair for description and character development. This is a sumptuous book about relationships, and, yes, friendships~ it makes wonderful "curl up with some chocolate and wine" reading, just the kind of thing I like to encourage my friends to do.

For my writer friends, The Right to Write, by Julia Cameron, provides the perfect combination of inspiration and exercise in short, concise chapters. This book distills all Cameron's highly touted theories about writing into one small volume. It's my favorite of all her books.

For more ideas on book shopping for your friends, check out Booking Through Thursday.

Write On Wednesday-Coming Alive

2007-09-26T04:51:00.000-07:00

Don't ask yourself what the world needs.

Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go do it.

Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

~Harold Thurman Whitman

Each time I run across these words, I feel an electric shock run down my spine.

They remind me that the world, myself included sometimes, is filled with people going through the motions of their days, finding no joy, no deep indwelling sense of satisfaction or accomplishment, nothing that creates the feeling of life abundantly lived. So these words prod and poke me, nudge me to search for what creates the spark of life in my soul.

They confronted me this morning when I opened my brand new copy of Foolsgold, by Susan G. Woolridge (author of Poemcrazy). Outside my window, a cloudy, drizzly September day waits for me. Another day in my office beckons, a day of paper shuffling and organizing, a day of sifting through piles of medical records and information. Nothing about the prospect of this day makes me come alive.

But if I am honest, I recognize that I am luckier than most~I've achieved half the battle to follow that credo. I, at least, have found the things that make me come alive.

Certainly, writing is one of them.

Foolsgold promises to help me "find the artist within by cultivating a creative lifestyle that will not only expand and inspire you, but may also ground and heal you." A "creative lifestyle" is what interests me here. In the past months, as I've come to realize how much writing means to me, I've allowed it to play a bigger role in my inner life. Yet I keep it tucked in the cupboard of my lifestyle, afraid to let it to play in the daylight hours, only taking it out when I've completed all the other, less livening activities.

I think in order to start living that "fully alive" life the world needs, I must allow creativity to permeate my entire lifestyle, not just those few "off hours" when the regular work is done.

What does that mean in practical terms? I'm not sure. Perhaps Foolsgold will provide some answers, as I read it with that thought in mind.

It will be a journey, this "coming alive" process.

I'll keep you posted.

How about you? Have you found the things that make you come alive? Are you doing them?

Writer's Island-The Key

2007-09-24T17:07:00.000-07:00

"What key are we in?" the musician will ask, inquiring about the tonality of the piece of music she's preparing to play. For singers, the key is vital, because it will determine whether the notes are too high or too low for the voice to produce. As a pianist, I'm also interested in key - music in certain keys has more "accidentals" than others, notes that have to be changed from the normal progression.

Most musicians have their "favorite keys." Personally, I like the major flat keys, especially D flat. My fingers seem to naturally fit into that five flat pattern, and the tonality is especially pleasing to me, rich and full, with just a hint of melancholy.

Of course, it's not difficult to see the corollary between life in general and a musician's relationship with key. We all have certain patterns that best fit our moods, our inclinations, our desires. For some, life in C major, the simplest, most efficient of all keys, is perfect. While others thrive on life in g-sharp minor, with every key an accidental at least once (and don't even ask me to explain double-sharping!)

Not surprisingly, I prefer my life to be similar to my favorite key. D flat major falls just slightly above "easy", and is slipping toward challenging on the scale. Tonally, it's pleasant, yet interesting, evocative yet accessible. And, as Goldilocks would say, it fits me "just right."

Perhaps the key to happiness then, is identifying that "just right" tonality for your life. Naturally it's fun to experiment with other keys once in a while. I've gotten great satisfaction from mastering a piece in the key of C flat major, even though my brain felt like it was solving one long algebraic equation the entire time I was playing it!

But I'm always happiest when I return to the "tonic" - home base, in musical terms. After spending the day meandering through life, like a jazz pianist will wander from key to key, following some wild, unexpected path so far from where he originally began, I'm comforted to find my way home, and let those odd chord progressions resolve into my own natural tonic "do". The place that feels just right to my fingers and to my heart.

more keys are available on writer's island

Encyclopedia of Me Monday: G is for...

2007-09-24T15:47:00.001-07:00

In all honesty, I'm not very goal oriented. I do alright with the minor goals - like getting the laundry done, learning my music for a concert, and finishing my work on time. But I'm not very good at setting those major life goals. In the "olden days" when I was growing up, there wasn't so much emphasis on goal setting and life planning. You just did what you were supposed to do...finish school, go to work, raise your family, live your life. Not even any of that "live your best life" stuff. Just get it done.

Sometimes I'd like to be more of a goal setter, but it seems that every time I stick a toe in the goal setting water, life (and/or world events) get in the way, putting a monkey wrench in my carefully (and I mean, carefully!) laid plans. A few years ago, we set a goal for Jim to "semi-retire" at age 55, and we would move to Florida. With that in mind, we purchased a home, and then another home in Florida, hoping to use the equity from a booming real estate market to stake our retirement dreams. Well, I'm sure most of you know what's happened to the real estate market during that time~it's gone down the tubes, taking our retirement dreams with it.

"Set another goal!" life planners would advise. "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade!"

Admittedly, I'm a bit gun shy about goal setting. Personally, some of the best things that have happened in my life were unplanned - getting married was actually never on my list of things to do-until I met Jim, that is. Having children - we had no plans for that either, but God thought otherwise, and thank goodness He did!

So perhaps I'll just continue on relatively goal-less. With the exception, of course, of making the most of every day, enjoying my friends and family as much as possible, and doing what I can to make the world a little bit better place.

Sunday Scribblings - My Name Is...

2007-09-22T07:14:00.000-07:00

My grandmother called me Sugar, my dad sometimes called me the Queen of Sheba, my husband called me Sunshine. My friends call me Becky, my colleagues, Rebecca, and here in cyber space, I'm Becca (of the Byline).

All these appelations bear some truth about my essential nature. Yes, I am sweet, as my grandmother recognized. Sometimes I do feel entitled to royal treatment, though I'm generally content to spread warmth and joy into the lives of those I love. I am a bit Old World, as the ancient history of my Hebrew name would suggest, but I'm willing to sample modernity when the situation requires.

I'm also a baby boomer, I was once a stay at home mom, and I'm now an empty nester. I float somewhere in the nether world between mid-life and senior citizen.

None of these nametags tell you very much about the essential Becca - the one who's all about family and home, fairness and honesty, simple pleasures and lasting love, enjoying life and honoring your gifts. Or the Becca who was once afraid of stairs and is still afraid of spiders.

From my simple introduction, you would never know that I love the water, but can't swim, or that I've always harbored secret dreams about ballroom dancing and race car driving. That I've been drinking coffee since I was three years old, and it's my drink of choice for most any situation. Or that I'm an only child, a child of divorced parents, and wandering through the world with a very tiny, precious number of people who share my blood.

Unless you know me well, you wouldn't know how conflicted I sometimes get about my music and my writing (never good enough!). How much I worry about what will happen in the future~where will we live, will we have enough money, what will we do for health care. You wouldn't know that many mornings my eyes pop open at 4:00 am and all these worrisome thoughts invade my mind, poking and prodding, agitating me until I surrender and get up to make myself hot cocoa to soothe my pounding head.

I can now readily walk up to people, offer my hand, and say "Hi, I'm Becca. Have we met?" But I was once painfully shy, and rarely spoke unless spoken to first. I now realize the really interesting part comes after that simple introduction, where I get to know the person behind the name, and share a bit of my own essential self with another human being. That's what keeps us human, isn't it? The sharing of our stories, the offering of little bits of ourselves.

But it all starts with a name.

My name is Becca...have we met?

for more introductions, go here

Friday Feast #161 (But #1 for Me!)

2007-09-21T12:44:00.000-07:00

Appetizer
What is your favorite type of art?

I love the Impressionists - Monet, Renoir, Cassat. But I also love artistic photography, like Ansel Adams

Soup
When was the last time you got a free lunch (or breakfast or dinner)? Who paid for it?

Today, as a matter of fact. My mom treated me to lunch in the dining room at Macy's Department Store - a real old fashioned "ladies who lunch" place, where we had our favorite~ Maurice salads

Salad

On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how emotional are you?

Ten years ago I would have anwered 8. Now, I'd say 5 or 6. I don't know whether I'm hardening with age, but I rarely cry about anything anymore. I sometimes cry after visiting my mother in law at the Alzheimer's facility where she lives. So many people with once vital, busy lives, now existing as shells of their former selves. Breaks my heart every time.

Main Course
Approximately how long do you spend each day responding to email?

Very little time. I don't receive a lot of email. I spend a great deal more time commenting on blogs -probably an hour a day.

Dessert
To what temperature do you usually set your home’s thermostat?

Winter is coming, and the thermostat war will soon begin! I like it at 68, my husband likes it 70, so we're always sneaking around adjusting the thermostat on each other. Terrible for energy conservation, I know.

to sample other feasts, go here

It's Been a Hard Days Night

2007-09-20T19:46:00.001-07:00

Thursday nights are choir nights at our church, and we've started off the year with a very ambitious project~we're mounting a production of South Pacific, not the full show, but a slightly revised version. It includes all the songs, and a good bit of the dialogue. Tonight was our first full rehearsal.

The show goes up in two weeks.

That's right. Two weeks.

If you've ever been involved with any kind of musical production, you'll know that's slightly ludicrous. But our church has a long history of doing full out musicals, so most of the people in the choir are used to this kind of thing.

However...

Our choir director "invited me" to play the second piano part of the accompaniment, which is scored for two pianos and...well, two pianos. That's it.

Okay, I've played lots of musicals before, and this isn't terribly hard music. Our regular organist will be playing the other part, and she's a phenomenal musician.

However (and you knew there would be a however)...

We don't have the music yet.

The show is in two weeks.

There are 42 songs.

"The music's been shipped! They promised me it would be here tomorrow!" our choir director assured me tonight. Hmmm...I think she told me that last Thursday night.

My friend Sandy, the other accompanist involved, gave me "the look" that says, "Don't you just love being taken completely for granted?"

A few years ago, I would have been completely freaked out about this situation.

However, perhaps it's because I'm older and wiser, or perhaps it's just hormones (remember, I blame everything on hormones these days), I'm really not terribly worried. I figure, que sera sera - I'll do the best I can. After all, since it's for church, I'm hoping God will guide my fingertips.

Even if it is South Pacific.

A Whole New Grind

2007-09-20T11:53:00.000-07:00

You all know how much I love my coffee, and I've developed quite a discerning set of taste buds for my favorite brew. For many years I've been ordering coffee from the Gevalia Company, whose traditional blend has just the right full bodied, smooth taste for me. But whether it's my age or my hormones (which I tend to blame for everything these days), I've noticed lately that my cup of Gevalia occasionally has a bitter aftertaste.

Yesterday I tried organic coffee for the first time, and I was hooked immediately. Cafe Britt Organic is a dark roast, smooth tasting, slightly sweet flavored coffee, that is full bodied without even a hint of bitterness. And even better, it's harvested from plantations that use 100% organic materials - no pesticides, no chemicals - and are completely dedicated to fair trade practices. So I have lots of reasons to feel good about drinking it.

As an added bonus, my new addiction is available at First Cup, a brand new coffee shop located just a mile from my house. I'm so thrilled that my neighborhood finally has its own coffee house, complete with art gallery showcasing local artists, poetry readings and - wireless internet. I've already made friends with the owner, a lovely woman from Lebanon, who is completely dedicated to serving all certified organic foods. I think I may have found a new hangout.

I know I've found a new coffee.