"They" say it takes twenty-one days to make a new habit. For that reason I'm going to take a little break from the blog world and make way for some better habits. Well, maybe just one -- working on this novel. It's not even that I blog that frequently or read others' blogs too obsessively. I was surprised to see that it's been almost a week since I posted something new here because I have a million things I want to write about. They are things I want to share, and they take up space in my brain -- space that right now should be hammering away at these characters and this plot. At the moment I don't have room for it all. And since working and writing and emailing and blogging and reading blogs and buying Christmas gifts and reading the news obsessively all take place on my computer, everything starts to run together into a jumbled mess. So I'm making way for more creative writing by temporarily avoiding blogging and blogs and my compulsive reading of the New York Times online.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, "they" say, and I'm feeling desperate. The new year is about seven weeks away and I don't want to get to January 1 without making some kind of progress on this book. I want to find some momentum sometime soon. Please. Oh please. I'm also feeling a tad, shall we say...convicted. And that rather uncomfortable feeling settled in for a visit after I read someone else's blog. That someone else is a writer (so different from me because he actually writes!) and on his blog he was reflecting on something he had written, noting that if he hadn't put time into writing it then it wouldn't exist. The gist was to consider what you're NOT doing. Your creative works won't be birthed without you, and the world could be missing out on something great and important.
This is not to say that what I am trying to write will be great or important. That's not the point. It's just that I'm the only one who can write this story.
And so we'll see if I can make some new and better writing habits in the next three weeks. Hopefully my next visit to this page will have some good news -- a post about success rather than failure. For the next three weeks I will miss writing the occasional blog post and I will miss reading your blogs, but I'll be back.
For now, I must depart. I hear an argument brewing in the house. One brother just said to another: "There are no words to express how annoying you are." This does not sound like the recipe for a smooth bedtime.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Failure
It is amazing to me, when I stop and reflect on it, the degree to which feelings of failure dog me as an adult and as a mother. These feelings are my constant companion. I don’t know why my fall-back position is to see what I am doing wrong rather than what I’m doing right. I don’t know why I can’t just cut myself a bit of slack. Yet at just the thought of that, I think, why should I?
There are a lot of reasons for this, but one contributing factor is – my children! They are not only articulate but they’re quite open with their thoughts and feelings. Honestly, sometimes I think I’d prefer it if they were a little less honest. Kept a few thoughts to themselves.
This is perhaps not the best example, but this morning, Son2 said, “When are we going to start doing other classes for homeschooling? Isn’t the whole point to try new things? To broaden your horizons?” And that’s a direct quote. I heard this and I felt like a bomb went off inside of me, all this frustration with my own shortcomings. And so what’s a mother to do except get defensive? And I say something like, “Just because I haven’t found any classes for you doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking. I’ve tried really hard. I have a lot to juggle, and I’m doing my best.” I also said, “Yes, that is one of the reasons for homeschooling, and it can be a benefit, but our main purpose was to make things less stressful for you because of your migraines.” Just to make it clear that I wasn’t a TOTAL FAILURE. Ugh.
For me, the opportunity to feel like I’m failing lurks around every corner. I wonder if other women feel this way. Here are just a few more glorious examples:
My friend comes to pick up her son who’s been playing here for the afternoon. She brings homemade cookies for us. I think, I suck. I never bake.
I hear about people who are doing creative things. I nearly despise myself. I am not writing. I’ve pretty much trashed my manuscript. I’m rethinking the characters, confused about the point of view. I think, I will never be able to do this. I don’t know how to write this way. And, I can’t even find the time. I can’t even get dinner made half the time. Who am I kidding?
Another day goes by in which I don’t make phone calls that need to be made – doctor appointments that need to be scheduled, the appliance repair man to come and fix our leaking refrigerator, the fencing club (yes, really) about fencing lessons for my dissatisfied homeschooler. And yes, another day has gone by.
Son2 says, “We used to do fun things on Saturdays. Now we never do.” Great. You’ll have no happy memories. Is there any point in explaining the ins and outs of this? The activities. The exhaustion. The need to occasionally clean the house and keep things from falling apart. And is it really never? I know it isn't, but still I feel that frustration with myself exploding. It's so easy to believe I'm letting my kids down.
Why is it so hard for me to focus on what I do well? On what I actually do accomplish? I really have no idea.
***
On an entirely different note, I was watching the news yesterday morning and I saw a commercial for the Broadway Across America tour of A Chorus Line, which will be coming to the Hippodrome Theater in Baltimore. We don’t have our tickets yet, but I’m super excited!
There are a lot of reasons for this, but one contributing factor is – my children! They are not only articulate but they’re quite open with their thoughts and feelings. Honestly, sometimes I think I’d prefer it if they were a little less honest. Kept a few thoughts to themselves.
This is perhaps not the best example, but this morning, Son2 said, “When are we going to start doing other classes for homeschooling? Isn’t the whole point to try new things? To broaden your horizons?” And that’s a direct quote. I heard this and I felt like a bomb went off inside of me, all this frustration with my own shortcomings. And so what’s a mother to do except get defensive? And I say something like, “Just because I haven’t found any classes for you doesn’t mean I haven’t been looking. I’ve tried really hard. I have a lot to juggle, and I’m doing my best.” I also said, “Yes, that is one of the reasons for homeschooling, and it can be a benefit, but our main purpose was to make things less stressful for you because of your migraines.” Just to make it clear that I wasn’t a TOTAL FAILURE. Ugh.
For me, the opportunity to feel like I’m failing lurks around every corner. I wonder if other women feel this way. Here are just a few more glorious examples:
My friend comes to pick up her son who’s been playing here for the afternoon. She brings homemade cookies for us. I think, I suck. I never bake.
I hear about people who are doing creative things. I nearly despise myself. I am not writing. I’ve pretty much trashed my manuscript. I’m rethinking the characters, confused about the point of view. I think, I will never be able to do this. I don’t know how to write this way. And, I can’t even find the time. I can’t even get dinner made half the time. Who am I kidding?
Another day goes by in which I don’t make phone calls that need to be made – doctor appointments that need to be scheduled, the appliance repair man to come and fix our leaking refrigerator, the fencing club (yes, really) about fencing lessons for my dissatisfied homeschooler. And yes, another day has gone by.
Son2 says, “We used to do fun things on Saturdays. Now we never do.” Great. You’ll have no happy memories. Is there any point in explaining the ins and outs of this? The activities. The exhaustion. The need to occasionally clean the house and keep things from falling apart. And is it really never? I know it isn't, but still I feel that frustration with myself exploding. It's so easy to believe I'm letting my kids down.
Why is it so hard for me to focus on what I do well? On what I actually do accomplish? I really have no idea.
***
On an entirely different note, I was watching the news yesterday morning and I saw a commercial for the Broadway Across America tour of A Chorus Line, which will be coming to the Hippodrome Theater in Baltimore. We don’t have our tickets yet, but I’m super excited!
Friday, November 7, 2008
A Lazy Post
I'm experiencing blogger's guilt for whatever reason. It's only been two days, hardly enough to feel guilty about, but that's how I am. My husband likes to remind me that I would have made a wonderful Catholic. Undoubtedly.
But my mind is feeling dull, perhaps some strange side effect of not being overwhelmed by work. Who knows. So my lazy post is a poem that I wrote forever ago. I thought of it the other day when the yellow leaves on the tree that overshadows the front of our house made a golden glow of sunlight in our living room. Not that the poem is about our living room. That could be strange. But it is about fall.
BTW, I don't love the ending. It feels a bit abrupt, which I think I recently said about one of my other poems. Guess I need to work on that!
Woods Walk
I smelled death that day
the sweetness of rotting layers
of leaves becoming dirt
all that was once green
fallen
growing richer still
and smoke too
the fragrant offering of Autumn
filling our nostrils
with the passage to dormancy
I heard our feet crunching
stirring up the layers
your legs kicking up joy
laughter punctuating the silence
of that canopied sanctuary
I saw the eerie illumination
sunlight filtering through orange and red
three small bodies
glowing with me
in the smoky silence
feast for the senses
this walk in our gullied woods
sacred communion deepened
by the flash of a bounding stag
we tracked his footprints
headed for home
But my mind is feeling dull, perhaps some strange side effect of not being overwhelmed by work. Who knows. So my lazy post is a poem that I wrote forever ago. I thought of it the other day when the yellow leaves on the tree that overshadows the front of our house made a golden glow of sunlight in our living room. Not that the poem is about our living room. That could be strange. But it is about fall.
BTW, I don't love the ending. It feels a bit abrupt, which I think I recently said about one of my other poems. Guess I need to work on that!
Woods Walk
I smelled death that day
the sweetness of rotting layers
of leaves becoming dirt
all that was once green
fallen
growing richer still
and smoke too
the fragrant offering of Autumn
filling our nostrils
with the passage to dormancy
I heard our feet crunching
stirring up the layers
your legs kicking up joy
laughter punctuating the silence
of that canopied sanctuary
I saw the eerie illumination
sunlight filtering through orange and red
three small bodies
glowing with me
in the smoky silence
feast for the senses
this walk in our gullied woods
sacred communion deepened
by the flash of a bounding stag
we tracked his footprints
headed for home
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
From This Day Forward
I had not planned to write today if Obama won. I did not want to gloat. But I am not gloating. I am simply elated. I am thrilled that Americans voted for a man of ideas. A man who cares about ending the war, knows the value of education, and understands that the price of a college education is growing increasingly out of reach. A man who cares about the earth and energy independence. A man who recognizes how broken our health care system is and knows that something must be done to expand health insurance and lower costs. A man who cares that jobs are being shipped overseas and plans to penalize companies that take part in that particular undoing of America. I am so pleased that he is well-spoken and that with his election, the rest of the world can look at us a bit differently. We need the world to look at us with new eyes -- to see that we can lead in the best sense of the word -- not with aggression but with ideals. I am hopeful that we will be putting this period of arrogant aggression behind us and increasing our diplomatic efforts around the globe.
Last night I went to Wal-Mart with a friend, and she brought up the subject of the election. Despite my opinions, I don't talk politics with most people -- only with my family and very close friends, and, well, here on my blog. My friend Jane (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) said, "I bet I know which way you voted." So I asked her to guess, and she was right. I inquired about her and her husband and she said they voted for McCain and then confessed, "David can't stand Obama. He calls him a bad name. A very bad name." I looked at her, confused for a moment, and then I understood. A bad word indeed, a bigoted one, and one I will not repeat here. Then she went on to say, "I am not prejudiced, but..." Allow me to interrupt myself here. This is never a good way to start a sentence. If you have to start a sentence this way, it's probably best to keep your mouth shut. It turns out that Jane is not prejudiced but she doesn't think that blacks and whites should marry. Hmmm.
Sadly enough, since we moved to this area I have encountered racism for the very first time in my life. We did not know what a stronghold of racist thinking existed here before we chose it for our home thirteen years ago. We quickly learned of our ignorance when B went for a job interview and was closely questioned about why we had chosen to move from Chicago to this particular town. When the interviewer could see how clueless B was, he informed him that this town has had a long association with the KKK. Woops. We had no idea. Several months later I was driving through town with my two-year-old and he piped up from the backseat, "Mommy, why are those funny guys dressed up like that?" I turned my head and for the first time in my life I saw men dressed in hooded sheets, hate right there on the street. I rolled up the windows and told my son to close his eyes.
The KKK has gone underground here, but I have no doubt that there are still white supremacists in my town. I know there are racists. I meet them all the time. They are the people I hang out with at Little League. I have had several conversations with people who start their sentences as Jane did. Last night I told her that soon none of this will matter. The world is changing and young people, the kids, are not burdened with the same thoughts and beliefs that the older generations are. I told her that I grew up in a place where the races lived together and I never even heard that word as a child. I knew no difference. I told her that I hoped soon no child would.
In fifth grade I went to VBS and made a new friend. Her name was Denise and I asked my mom and dad if she could go to our pool with us one Saturday. They said yes and we arranged to pick her up and bring her with us for the day. Years later my parents told me that when they pulled up to Denise's house that day and I ran to her door to knock, they asked each other, "Do you think Denise is black?" Indeed she was, but I had never mentioned it because through their actions my parents had taught me that the color of someone's skin doesn't matter. We are all the same. I am grateful to my parents and to the community of school and church where I grew up that this is the lesson I learned. I am grateful that in the community where I now live, children of parents who still hold prejudices will grow up knowing that a black man can be president, and that he got there with the votes of blacks and whites together. I am grateful that from this day forward every child born in our country will know that race knows no bounds and a black man can be president of the United States of America. It's a beautiful day.
Last night I went to Wal-Mart with a friend, and she brought up the subject of the election. Despite my opinions, I don't talk politics with most people -- only with my family and very close friends, and, well, here on my blog. My friend Jane (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent) said, "I bet I know which way you voted." So I asked her to guess, and she was right. I inquired about her and her husband and she said they voted for McCain and then confessed, "David can't stand Obama. He calls him a bad name. A very bad name." I looked at her, confused for a moment, and then I understood. A bad word indeed, a bigoted one, and one I will not repeat here. Then she went on to say, "I am not prejudiced, but..." Allow me to interrupt myself here. This is never a good way to start a sentence. If you have to start a sentence this way, it's probably best to keep your mouth shut. It turns out that Jane is not prejudiced but she doesn't think that blacks and whites should marry. Hmmm.
Sadly enough, since we moved to this area I have encountered racism for the very first time in my life. We did not know what a stronghold of racist thinking existed here before we chose it for our home thirteen years ago. We quickly learned of our ignorance when B went for a job interview and was closely questioned about why we had chosen to move from Chicago to this particular town. When the interviewer could see how clueless B was, he informed him that this town has had a long association with the KKK. Woops. We had no idea. Several months later I was driving through town with my two-year-old and he piped up from the backseat, "Mommy, why are those funny guys dressed up like that?" I turned my head and for the first time in my life I saw men dressed in hooded sheets, hate right there on the street. I rolled up the windows and told my son to close his eyes.
The KKK has gone underground here, but I have no doubt that there are still white supremacists in my town. I know there are racists. I meet them all the time. They are the people I hang out with at Little League. I have had several conversations with people who start their sentences as Jane did. Last night I told her that soon none of this will matter. The world is changing and young people, the kids, are not burdened with the same thoughts and beliefs that the older generations are. I told her that I grew up in a place where the races lived together and I never even heard that word as a child. I knew no difference. I told her that I hoped soon no child would.
In fifth grade I went to VBS and made a new friend. Her name was Denise and I asked my mom and dad if she could go to our pool with us one Saturday. They said yes and we arranged to pick her up and bring her with us for the day. Years later my parents told me that when they pulled up to Denise's house that day and I ran to her door to knock, they asked each other, "Do you think Denise is black?" Indeed she was, but I had never mentioned it because through their actions my parents had taught me that the color of someone's skin doesn't matter. We are all the same. I am grateful to my parents and to the community of school and church where I grew up that this is the lesson I learned. I am grateful that in the community where I now live, children of parents who still hold prejudices will grow up knowing that a black man can be president, and that he got there with the votes of blacks and whites together. I am grateful that from this day forward every child born in our country will know that race knows no bounds and a black man can be president of the United States of America. It's a beautiful day.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Election Day at Last
I confess, some days I actually thought we'd never make it to this day -- like this election would always exist as some point in the not-so-distant future and I would be caught in some kind of news purgatory. No matter what happens, I don't think there is a person out there who won't be glad it's over. Finally.
Another confession: I am nervous today. I went to vote early, hoping to try to forget about the whole thing for the rest of the day. I will not turn on my TV until late tonight, and I'll avoid the news sites I normally drift to at some point during the course of the day. Instead I'll keep in mind the song I was listening to on my way home from voting: Joshua Radin's "Everything Will Be Alright." I sat in the car until the song was over, watching the sparrows flitting around in my neighbor's bushes. The sparrows and the song were just what I needed to remind me of the true nature of reality. As another one my current favorite songs says, "The world spins madly on..." and it will keep doing so no matter who comes out on top. But I will be breathing a big sigh of relief tomorrow if the world in spinning madly on with Obama as our new president.
*****
On an entirely different note, I retract my previous comments about The Shack. Well, sort of. I maintain that the first few chapters are a real drag. They are not well written, but that is all forgotten once you get past them. In the chapters that follow the author does a great job, and he makes a lot of thought-provoking points.
I finished Beautiful Boy, and I highly recommend it to anyone who knows and loves an addict. David Sheff writes eloquently of the anguish and the unknowing...the ups and downs...the letting go. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this, but for now I'm going to go ignore the news.
Another confession: I am nervous today. I went to vote early, hoping to try to forget about the whole thing for the rest of the day. I will not turn on my TV until late tonight, and I'll avoid the news sites I normally drift to at some point during the course of the day. Instead I'll keep in mind the song I was listening to on my way home from voting: Joshua Radin's "Everything Will Be Alright." I sat in the car until the song was over, watching the sparrows flitting around in my neighbor's bushes. The sparrows and the song were just what I needed to remind me of the true nature of reality. As another one my current favorite songs says, "The world spins madly on..." and it will keep doing so no matter who comes out on top. But I will be breathing a big sigh of relief tomorrow if the world in spinning madly on with Obama as our new president.
*****
On an entirely different note, I retract my previous comments about The Shack. Well, sort of. I maintain that the first few chapters are a real drag. They are not well written, but that is all forgotten once you get past them. In the chapters that follow the author does a great job, and he makes a lot of thought-provoking points.
I finished Beautiful Boy, and I highly recommend it to anyone who knows and loves an addict. David Sheff writes eloquently of the anguish and the unknowing...the ups and downs...the letting go. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this, but for now I'm going to go ignore the news.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Fun with License Plates
Last night while I was driving home from the grocery store, I saw this personalized license plate: KEGGER. Someone with the IQ to think that's a smart idea for a license plate should never have been issued a driver's license. How often do you think this person gets pulled over? Why not just have this for a license plate: DRUNK.
When I reported this idiocy when I got home, B and I had a wonderful time coming up with all sorts of moronic possibilities for license plates. Try it. It's fun.
When I reported this idiocy when I got home, B and I had a wonderful time coming up with all sorts of moronic possibilities for license plates. Try it. It's fun.
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