Not right up there with Buddah's Enlightenment, or anything like that, just a little notch in my Liviing a More Sensible Life belt.
I decided to walk away--from my Atlas of World History.
I bought it on our New Year's Day shopping trip, a couple of years ago. I meant to read a little bit of it every day. We'll call it a "refresher course," even though I've forgotten so much that it would be more properly called an "introductory course." I tried that year, and lasted, if my marginal notes can be trusted, for about a month.
This year, I started again. I hate the book. I hate it because once it gets past the very beginnings, it focuses on one continent at a time. I was looking for a more coordinated approach, a sort of "World News Tonight" that would give me a picture of all of the continents at a given period. I forged ahead. I got as far as China, and last night, I just couldn't take it anymore.
I vented on the page. I read the first paragraph. I closed the book. I went to Amazon.
My new book should be here in a week or so. Meantime, I have the Kindle version of a historical timeline that is mostly bullet points. (Turns out the flute, which I am trying to learn, was one of the earliest instruments, and pottery, one of the earliest crafts.) I'm getting back to the basics, so to speak.
I'm not sure I have ever before consiously given up on a book. (Well, "given up" may be too strong a phrase. I did put it back on the shelf.) Once I start, I finish, as though there will be some sort of prize at the end (sometimes there is) or some sort of penalty for not. (I guess I'll find out.)
I felt strong, as though I had somehow found the courage to do what I knew was sensible, to make a choice that was right for me.
Finishing what you start --- not always --- the best thing. I know that. I just don't typically live it.
Baby steps.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Girl Journal, March 3, 2013
Turns out, a review of 2012 isn't going to be a January thing. Or a February thing. Based on that, and on our longstanding tradition of discussion of our ah-ha moments, and growth marker points and considerations, I give you this, which of necessity includes a fair amount of old-story.
I've been resentful, you know. Bitter, a little.
My world, while not exactly to my liking, was good. To say that I revolved around my family would be to understate the situation. They were the axis. They were gravity. They were air. All choices, large and small, were reviewed for impact on my relationships with the members of my family.
Family was also, as you and I have already discussed, my security. My theoretical safe place. And then they fought the big fight and became not my safe place, but a place fraught with heartache and fear. My distrust of the security of my relationships with each of them (for what could I possibly know now?) swept all of life into a one-step-at-a time chasm.
I discovered the saving power of letting each day stand on its own.
I drew sublime comfort from the easy, and dependable, rhythm of the rising sun.
I put a little spin on "It is a marvelous thing to know that no one else can mess with the inside of your head," and chose to believe what I needed to believe, instead of the dire possibilities that seemed probable. Either had a chance of coming true.
There has been a re-approachment. A beginning of forging new, hopefully healthier, connections. A wary awareness that I need to be different from what I was. And a deep feeling that I am broken. A sulkiness waiting for the chance to say, "You broke me." "I am changed forever." A clinging to the belief that I do not know what they might do next, and cannot trust them, and a resentment for that loss.
But here's the thing, based on my morning's reading of "The Spirituality of Imperfection," : Shifting from "family" with an eye out for something that I can control, somewhere else where I can be secure, is a mistake.
"Nor does spirituality's wariness of attachment imply rejection of human relationships. .... The first and essential detachment must be from the attempt and the claim to control others."
"What blocks release more than anything else is the refusal to let go that comes for the demand for security, for certainty, for assured results. Release, like spirituality itself, requires risk."
And so what I'm thinking this morning is that the resentment is misplaced. That the petulant words that have been waiting backstage all this time should be fired. That the lesson to be drawn from the Big Fight isn't that "your rotten children can't be trusted," but that a demand for security is a set up.
When I was deeply involved in church, it was easy enough. I just punted, in the "Let go and let God," sense. I didn't need to worry about being in control, because I believed that God was. While both of those things might very well be valid, for those with deep insecurities, and/or a deep need to control outcomes, it can also be sleight of hand. A wink/wink as in "I'll do the things God tells me to do, and I'll pray, and thereby still have a grand measure of control."
What I am thinking this morning is that sometimes the shit just hits the fan.
Or, as it struck me on my way home from the Antique Gallery, "I'm thinking that a lot of people just aren't as uptight as I am."
Big loves,
Vickie
I've been resentful, you know. Bitter, a little.
My world, while not exactly to my liking, was good. To say that I revolved around my family would be to understate the situation. They were the axis. They were gravity. They were air. All choices, large and small, were reviewed for impact on my relationships with the members of my family.
Family was also, as you and I have already discussed, my security. My theoretical safe place. And then they fought the big fight and became not my safe place, but a place fraught with heartache and fear. My distrust of the security of my relationships with each of them (for what could I possibly know now?) swept all of life into a one-step-at-a time chasm.
I discovered the saving power of letting each day stand on its own.
I drew sublime comfort from the easy, and dependable, rhythm of the rising sun.
I put a little spin on "It is a marvelous thing to know that no one else can mess with the inside of your head," and chose to believe what I needed to believe, instead of the dire possibilities that seemed probable. Either had a chance of coming true.
There has been a re-approachment. A beginning of forging new, hopefully healthier, connections. A wary awareness that I need to be different from what I was. And a deep feeling that I am broken. A sulkiness waiting for the chance to say, "You broke me." "I am changed forever." A clinging to the belief that I do not know what they might do next, and cannot trust them, and a resentment for that loss.
But here's the thing, based on my morning's reading of "The Spirituality of Imperfection," : Shifting from "family" with an eye out for something that I can control, somewhere else where I can be secure, is a mistake.
"Nor does spirituality's wariness of attachment imply rejection of human relationships. .... The first and essential detachment must be from the attempt and the claim to control others."
"What blocks release more than anything else is the refusal to let go that comes for the demand for security, for certainty, for assured results. Release, like spirituality itself, requires risk."
And so what I'm thinking this morning is that the resentment is misplaced. That the petulant words that have been waiting backstage all this time should be fired. That the lesson to be drawn from the Big Fight isn't that "your rotten children can't be trusted," but that a demand for security is a set up.
When I was deeply involved in church, it was easy enough. I just punted, in the "Let go and let God," sense. I didn't need to worry about being in control, because I believed that God was. While both of those things might very well be valid, for those with deep insecurities, and/or a deep need to control outcomes, it can also be sleight of hand. A wink/wink as in "I'll do the things God tells me to do, and I'll pray, and thereby still have a grand measure of control."
What I am thinking this morning is that sometimes the shit just hits the fan.
Or, as it struck me on my way home from the Antique Gallery, "I'm thinking that a lot of people just aren't as uptight as I am."
Big loves,
Vickie
Friday, April 27, 2012
April 27, 2012
A creature that draws the life force out of someone on their journey to enlightenment. Doesn't that just seem like a strange thing to dream up? A kid maybe, who didn't want to go to Sunday School, or a husband trying to get out of going to church with his wife. Or someone weary of trying, who'd about decided that each step just strengthened the monster who was trying to bring him down.
I never would have even heard of A Bao a Qu, I don't think, if it hadn't been for Anne Lamott. Did you see her post last week? "If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." Got me to thinking. While I'm not entirely sure that I want to throw away the concept I was taught as a child, that everyone has good in them, and that we should try to see it, the truth is that I do not find all casual acquaintances to be equally lovable. Writing them as I actually see them might make for useful character sketch practice. But the names, oh the names. I always have the hardest time with names.
The danger here was that I would spend more time trying to come up with a name than I would on the writing and the thinking about the writing. Since the name really, really didn't matter, I picked up my copy of "The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures," and used the first name.
Which happened to be A Bao a Qu. A Malaysian myth, it may be obscure for a reason, and may have a little more to it than I learned from my encyclopedia, or so my web research shows. Apparently, he's just trying to get back where he belongs, and can only do so when someone attains enlightenment by climbing the tower where he resides. It doesn't seem to be a win-win situation. Since rumor has it that he is still stuck there, he might want to work on that.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
April 12, 2012
Allo, dear! How are you this morning? We still have a bit of a chill in the morning air, but that's okay. It'll warm up before day's end. On the mornings when I wake up and it is already hot --- well, that's when I know I'm in for a squelcher. We'll have a plenty of those, and it is okay with me if we don't get started on them just yet.
I did learn something this week. I'd call it "Three Letters," but I'm saving it for our Girl Journal. (Partly so I'll make sure I have something, and partly because I haven't thought it through completely.) ;-)
Airline and hotel are booked, so Iowa is a done deal. Something --- and I'm thinking maybe it is this --- has me a little off my game, distracted. Excited and scared, by turns. When Barry and I travel together, I am forever double checking him, to make sure he is steering us to the right airline gate, or has the tickets out, or knows which seat is ours. You'd think that, since I think I'm so smart, I wouldn't have any qualms about travelling alone, but I do. Plus which, I never worry when I'm in the plane because I know he would take care of me.
I have my first assignment: Describe a work place. When I first read the e-mail, I read "Describe your work place." I can still do that, I suppose, but "Describe a work place," has had an interesting side effect. At the small, locally-owned nursery, filled with locally-grown plants; at the big box garden center; at the pawn shop --- I found myself scanning for details. "If this were my work place, how would I describe it?"
Barry goes back to the doctor on Monday, for the results of the MRI they did on his back. I've stopped going to all of his doctors appointments with him, but I think I'll go to that one, just in case he misses something.
But other than that, things here are trundling along about the same.
As always, you and yours are in my heart and prayers.
Big loves,
Vickie
Friday, April 6, 2012
April 6, 2012
I had given up. It wouldn't be the first time I'd read a whole, entire book for one single useful nugget, but it seemed that I had already gotten all of the good out of this one, and the rest was going to be a drag. It is a book of daily readings, and this is either the second or third year that I have tried to read it. According to my page turn-downs I must have a rhythm --- stopping and then picking it up again at the same point. Last year though, I let it go sometime in February and never picked it up again. I'm tired of it being on my do list, so useless or not, decided to finish it.
All of which brings us to April 4.
Making Amends.
Too potent to be summed up in a sentence, I had to save the whole essay in Evernote. So yes, I'm glad I didn't give up on the book.
Hotel and flight are booked for Iowa, I had a rare geese sighting yesterday, the recent rains have turned everything green, the pecans are almost in full bloom (bloom? What do you call it when a tree's leaf buds have almost all fully opened?), and a chameleon tried to hitch a ride to town --- on my windshield.
But other than that, things have been about the same. :-)
I hope that you have a wonderful Easter weekend.
Big loves,
Vickie
P.S. Evernote will let you post to Facebook now, so I'll put the essay there --- you can tell me what you think.
All of which brings us to April 4.
Making Amends.
Too potent to be summed up in a sentence, I had to save the whole essay in Evernote. So yes, I'm glad I didn't give up on the book.
Hotel and flight are booked for Iowa, I had a rare geese sighting yesterday, the recent rains have turned everything green, the pecans are almost in full bloom (bloom? What do you call it when a tree's leaf buds have almost all fully opened?), and a chameleon tried to hitch a ride to town --- on my windshield.
But other than that, things have been about the same. :-)
I hope that you have a wonderful Easter weekend.
Big loves,
Vickie
P.S. Evernote will let you post to Facebook now, so I'll put the essay there --- you can tell me what you think.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
March 31, 2012
Lordy loo! What a week. Or two. I've lost track. What did we do?
The firstest and most importantest thing that I want to do is celebrate Little Miss Chole and her fantabulous scholarship. I am just over the moon that the kabillion wise choices she made between Point A and Point B have been recognized and rewarded in this way. I would have been slightly more excited if she had applied for scholarships at the University of South Alabama, but I think the earth's axis has had about enough shaking about for one year, and it wise that my excitement was somewhat contained.
And, I did it. It seemed like a better idea before I started doing the homework --- before I saw what other people have done --- before I was reminded that I have never written a decent piece of fiction --- and I've only registered for the class. I haven't booked the flight or motel, so I suppose I could still turn and run. I may hate it. I may shrink when I see myself in comparison. I may be in a group with someone who thinks I'm a bother in the class. The teacher may wonder what in the ever-loving world to do with me. But, Barry is encouraging me. Wonderland is set up enough that I can go. The economy is such that they are inviting even novice writers. I have the sneaking suspicion that if I don't go now, I probably never will. I'd kind of like to quench that yearning that rises up when I read about a writing seminar. Iowa.
Ran into a little kitterplunk at work this week. Our office manager handled it with apolomb though, to my immense relief. So, that was a, 'Yay!"
Last night's rainstorm woke me up, and either it or something else gave me a upsetting dream. I missed a couple of hours of sleep last night. But, the roses seem to have appreciated the rain, so I'm calling that a draw.
I think you are right about "Boundaries." It may very well be a lifetime companion book. This time, I am writing my thoughts on the card...not for any particular reason other than writing seems to be the way I think things through and give my conclusions a chance for permanence. Which reminds me. One of this week's notes had to do with "being responsible TO others and FOR ourselves." I couldn't quite get that to make complete sense, so I take it that I need to go back to page 33 and read what came before and what came after.
I didn't forget about you on Thursday. I read your blog before I started my letter, and by the time I'd chipped in my two cents worth there, my writing time was up. ;-)
And so, my love-er-ly friend, I hope you and yours have a wonderful, happy weekend.
Big loves,
Vickie
The firstest and most importantest thing that I want to do is celebrate Little Miss Chole and her fantabulous scholarship. I am just over the moon that the kabillion wise choices she made between Point A and Point B have been recognized and rewarded in this way. I would have been slightly more excited if she had applied for scholarships at the University of South Alabama, but I think the earth's axis has had about enough shaking about for one year, and it wise that my excitement was somewhat contained.
And, I did it. It seemed like a better idea before I started doing the homework --- before I saw what other people have done --- before I was reminded that I have never written a decent piece of fiction --- and I've only registered for the class. I haven't booked the flight or motel, so I suppose I could still turn and run. I may hate it. I may shrink when I see myself in comparison. I may be in a group with someone who thinks I'm a bother in the class. The teacher may wonder what in the ever-loving world to do with me. But, Barry is encouraging me. Wonderland is set up enough that I can go. The economy is such that they are inviting even novice writers. I have the sneaking suspicion that if I don't go now, I probably never will. I'd kind of like to quench that yearning that rises up when I read about a writing seminar. Iowa.
Ran into a little kitterplunk at work this week. Our office manager handled it with apolomb though, to my immense relief. So, that was a, 'Yay!"
Last night's rainstorm woke me up, and either it or something else gave me a upsetting dream. I missed a couple of hours of sleep last night. But, the roses seem to have appreciated the rain, so I'm calling that a draw.
I think you are right about "Boundaries." It may very well be a lifetime companion book. This time, I am writing my thoughts on the card...not for any particular reason other than writing seems to be the way I think things through and give my conclusions a chance for permanence. Which reminds me. One of this week's notes had to do with "being responsible TO others and FOR ourselves." I couldn't quite get that to make complete sense, so I take it that I need to go back to page 33 and read what came before and what came after.
I didn't forget about you on Thursday. I read your blog before I started my letter, and by the time I'd chipped in my two cents worth there, my writing time was up. ;-)
And so, my love-er-ly friend, I hope you and yours have a wonderful, happy weekend.
Big loves,
Vickie
Thursday, March 15, 2012
March 15, 2012
G'morning, dear! We're having a little bit of a misty morning here. There are Mourning Doves on my patio. I should probably put out some bird seed.
I thought about you and Peyton this past Saturday morning. As you probably remember, Noah has always been crazy about the tractors, trucks, and forklifts we have on the yard, and has always wanted to ride on them with Barry. If Barry forgets to take him on a ride, he doesn't say anything --- to us. On the way home, he'll say to Kim or John, "Papa forgot to take me for a tractor ride." We move a lot of heavy equipment, so Noah has seen some pretty impressive machinery over the years. This past Saturday, as Barry got ready to mow with the tractor and mowing attachment, I said to Noah, "Papa's riding the tractor." And Noah, pausing his video game with clear reluctance replied, "What kind of tractor?" Even grandparents suffer the adverse affects of "growing up." ;-)
The blog. Well, let's just talk about the blog. No post on Friday. Patricia's most recent post noted that she wrote every Sunday whether or not she had anything to say. I may have to keep that in mind as I may have gotten stalled on the whole Boundaries topic.
Turns out, it wasn't quite as easy to summarize as I had thought and/or I didn't remember, off the top of my head, quite as much as I would have expected. To address that issue, I started flipping through the cards again, and so many of them were striking a new chord with me that I decided I really just need to go for round two.
But before that, here's what I had:
1) Either don't do it, or don't resent it.
2) If you can't accept "no," you'll never hear a real "yes."
3) If you can't say "no," you don't have a real "yes.'
4) Being selfish isn't what you think it is.
5) If a person responds to your help by getting better, you are helping. If nothing changes, you are enabling.
I did start over again, day before yesterday, and realized how that first card has started to work on me. "Problems arise when people act as if their "boulders" are daily loads, and refuse help, or as if their "daily loads" are boulders they shouldn't have to carry. The results of these two instances are either perpetual pain or irresponsibility." (Boundaries, Cloud and Townsend)
The kids would offer to help at Second Sunday Supper --- setting up tables and chairs, or whatever I needed in the kitchen. Although I accepted their offers, and was relieved, there was something negative going on inside me, some sort of feeling that I hadn't performed as well as I should have, a dragging notion that if I had planned better, worked harder, I would have been able to do it without their help. Oddly enough, an opposite feeling also seems to be at work --- that Second Sunday Supper is for all of us and they should appreciate it and be obligated to participate in making it happen. They are two sides of a really dumb coin: The inability to just quite simply say, "I need help."
I wouldn't call Second Sunday Supper a boulder, given all the truly heavy burdens that life can muster up, and it may be true that if I tried a little harder, thought a little smarter, I could pull it off on my own. Two things may be at work here, so it may be a good thing that I am simultaneously working my way through The Spirituality of Imperfection. 1) I am not (deep sigh) perfect, and it really shouldn't trouble me to let that sink in and embrace it. 2) There are a lot of last minute things to do, and short of serving up peanut butter jelly sandwiches, dinner for twenty calls for more than two hands.
I am accepting help, happily, at Second Sunday Supper. Help.
Sometimes, I just need help. A gift.
Learning to receive is a whole 'nother bag, but we'll get to that.
Big loves,
Vickie
I thought about you and Peyton this past Saturday morning. As you probably remember, Noah has always been crazy about the tractors, trucks, and forklifts we have on the yard, and has always wanted to ride on them with Barry. If Barry forgets to take him on a ride, he doesn't say anything --- to us. On the way home, he'll say to Kim or John, "Papa forgot to take me for a tractor ride." We move a lot of heavy equipment, so Noah has seen some pretty impressive machinery over the years. This past Saturday, as Barry got ready to mow with the tractor and mowing attachment, I said to Noah, "Papa's riding the tractor." And Noah, pausing his video game with clear reluctance replied, "What kind of tractor?" Even grandparents suffer the adverse affects of "growing up." ;-)
The blog. Well, let's just talk about the blog. No post on Friday. Patricia's most recent post noted that she wrote every Sunday whether or not she had anything to say. I may have to keep that in mind as I may have gotten stalled on the whole Boundaries topic.
Turns out, it wasn't quite as easy to summarize as I had thought and/or I didn't remember, off the top of my head, quite as much as I would have expected. To address that issue, I started flipping through the cards again, and so many of them were striking a new chord with me that I decided I really just need to go for round two.
But before that, here's what I had:
1) Either don't do it, or don't resent it.
2) If you can't accept "no," you'll never hear a real "yes."
3) If you can't say "no," you don't have a real "yes.'
4) Being selfish isn't what you think it is.
5) If a person responds to your help by getting better, you are helping. If nothing changes, you are enabling.
I did start over again, day before yesterday, and realized how that first card has started to work on me. "Problems arise when people act as if their "boulders" are daily loads, and refuse help, or as if their "daily loads" are boulders they shouldn't have to carry. The results of these two instances are either perpetual pain or irresponsibility." (Boundaries, Cloud and Townsend)
The kids would offer to help at Second Sunday Supper --- setting up tables and chairs, or whatever I needed in the kitchen. Although I accepted their offers, and was relieved, there was something negative going on inside me, some sort of feeling that I hadn't performed as well as I should have, a dragging notion that if I had planned better, worked harder, I would have been able to do it without their help. Oddly enough, an opposite feeling also seems to be at work --- that Second Sunday Supper is for all of us and they should appreciate it and be obligated to participate in making it happen. They are two sides of a really dumb coin: The inability to just quite simply say, "I need help."
I wouldn't call Second Sunday Supper a boulder, given all the truly heavy burdens that life can muster up, and it may be true that if I tried a little harder, thought a little smarter, I could pull it off on my own. Two things may be at work here, so it may be a good thing that I am simultaneously working my way through The Spirituality of Imperfection. 1) I am not (deep sigh) perfect, and it really shouldn't trouble me to let that sink in and embrace it. 2) There are a lot of last minute things to do, and short of serving up peanut butter jelly sandwiches, dinner for twenty calls for more than two hands.
I am accepting help, happily, at Second Sunday Supper. Help.
Sometimes, I just need help. A gift.
Learning to receive is a whole 'nother bag, but we'll get to that.
Big loves,
Vickie
Thursday, March 8, 2012
March 8, 2012
Thursday.
Kinda puts you in mind of "Another one bites the dust."
Another week almost gone. A house in disarray. A "Do List" to big to do.
And yet, I do not feel like a wreck. All in all, it hasn't been a bad week. Still on Planet Earth. Still the un-heavenly things that one has come to expect. But, along the way, hugs and little successes. Encouragement.
Maybe, instead, "Just give me one more day."
Last week, I was chasing monkeys. Snow Monkeys, to be precise. Maia's posting of her picture of them, taken at the Detroit Zoo, sent me off on my wild monkey chase. With a curiously relentless obsession, I wanted to know: "How did Snow Monkeys end up living in Laredo?" The casual "funded by an eccentric philantrophist," did not suffice. Who was this person, and again, why Laredo?
The more I learned, the more questions I had, but I felt a great whoosh of satisfaction when I got a real name, a real reason for the transfer, and the real reason for Laredo.
Along the way I also learned:
1) Don't be so smug. You know all those 3 x 5's you made when you did your 9th grade research paper? Not such a bad idea after all. Somewhere along the line, I read that the Snow Monkeys of Kyoto had learned how to trick the automatic doors on the grocery stores in Japan and gone to helping themselves to the fruits and vegetables. I may or may not have marked that page as a favorite. I may not have considered it to be important at the time, but when I got around to writing the blog, I really wanted that piece of information.
2) I know. I know. You thought you were being all modern and uptown by marking the pages to your favorites, and that you thought putting it all in your Writing Folder would be the magic. Did you notice that it wasn't? That the more bookmarks you've made the harder it is to remember which one had that piece of information, and that the descriptions might as well have been in Japanese for all the help they were?
3) Evernote. Why don't you try that next time? I'll let you get away with online 3 x 5's, especially since you can do a search for a phrase, and that could save some time.
4) Those stories about people who write one sentence, or a sentence and a half --- they are probably true, and it can happen to you. Bemusing as that is, to see yourself padding around the house loop in your little socks, trying to pull your words together --- it puts a new spin on things. You are used to writing from the heart, expressing things that are already in you, fully formed. I'm not really sure what you would do if you had a real writing assignment.
5) Which brings me to my next point. You figured you'd research during the week and then whip it all together in Friday's writing hour. You have yet to do it in less than 3 hours, and that's not even counting the time it has taken to wrangle with the picture links. Think about that the next time you read a column or article. True, professional writers may be able to zap it together faster than you can, but it is more likely true that they have a lot of time invested.
This week, I'm not doing any research, per se. This week I am going back through my Boundaries note cards, since I finished them yesterday, to select the ones I need to review yet again. This week, I am going to reflect on then and now, and see where we might be on that growth curve.
But wherever I am
I know this much to be true
From then
Till now
And tomorrow, too
I have the perfect best friend
In you.
Big loves,
Vickie
Last week, I was chasing monkeys. Snow Monkeys, to be precise. Maia's posting of her picture of them, taken at the Detroit Zoo, sent me off on my wild monkey chase. With a curiously relentless obsession, I wanted to know: "How did Snow Monkeys end up living in Laredo?" The casual "funded by an eccentric philantrophist," did not suffice. Who was this person, and again, why Laredo?
The more I learned, the more questions I had, but I felt a great whoosh of satisfaction when I got a real name, a real reason for the transfer, and the real reason for Laredo.
Along the way I also learned:
1) Don't be so smug. You know all those 3 x 5's you made when you did your 9th grade research paper? Not such a bad idea after all. Somewhere along the line, I read that the Snow Monkeys of Kyoto had learned how to trick the automatic doors on the grocery stores in Japan and gone to helping themselves to the fruits and vegetables. I may or may not have marked that page as a favorite. I may not have considered it to be important at the time, but when I got around to writing the blog, I really wanted that piece of information.
2) I know. I know. You thought you were being all modern and uptown by marking the pages to your favorites, and that you thought putting it all in your Writing Folder would be the magic. Did you notice that it wasn't? That the more bookmarks you've made the harder it is to remember which one had that piece of information, and that the descriptions might as well have been in Japanese for all the help they were?
3) Evernote. Why don't you try that next time? I'll let you get away with online 3 x 5's, especially since you can do a search for a phrase, and that could save some time.
4) Those stories about people who write one sentence, or a sentence and a half --- they are probably true, and it can happen to you. Bemusing as that is, to see yourself padding around the house loop in your little socks, trying to pull your words together --- it puts a new spin on things. You are used to writing from the heart, expressing things that are already in you, fully formed. I'm not really sure what you would do if you had a real writing assignment.
5) Which brings me to my next point. You figured you'd research during the week and then whip it all together in Friday's writing hour. You have yet to do it in less than 3 hours, and that's not even counting the time it has taken to wrangle with the picture links. Think about that the next time you read a column or article. True, professional writers may be able to zap it together faster than you can, but it is more likely true that they have a lot of time invested.
This week, I'm not doing any research, per se. This week I am going back through my Boundaries note cards, since I finished them yesterday, to select the ones I need to review yet again. This week, I am going to reflect on then and now, and see where we might be on that growth curve.
But wherever I am
I know this much to be true
From then
Till now
And tomorrow, too
I have the perfect best friend
In you.
Big loves,
Vickie
Thursday, March 1, 2012
March 1, 2012
Can you believe it is almost time to change back to Daylight Savings Time? Rain every other day, which is what we're having here, means winter. Course it came on the heels of days that almost tricked us into thinking that spring was a done deal. The pear tree has a few blossoms, as does the crabapple. I started to get all excited, and take a picture, and post it on Facebook, but we've had at least two false starts --- signs of spring followed by a winter smackdown. Now I'm just a cynic.
My new office desk is supposed to be here Saturday. Theoretically it is the key to reorganization of All My Stuff, a drama with greater longevity than ABC"s All My Children. Unfortunately.
As for walking three times a day --- Well, the flip of the calendar brings a wry smile. My decidedly unsuccessful bid to make February an improvement on January has made the quest for March to be an improvement on February shamefully simple.
Side note: Someone must have told the fig about Daylight Savings Time: Leaves so big you can see them from the patio door. Either that or it is competing with the Confederate Rose, which is also sporting leaves this morning.
My morning routine does seem to be taking hold, though. I can take my morning 12 minute walk (in the house), make my 1/2 grilled cheese sandwich, feed the dogs, and read the day's quote from "Boundaries," pretty much all at the same time.
Yesterday's reading was kind of interesting --- "In addition to the freedom to say no, we find the freedom to say a whole-hearted, unconflicted, gratitude-driven yes to others." I don't think I've given that idea enough play time. If your no doesn't mean no, or if you don't have a no; if your yes means everything from "I'd be excited about saying yes if I hadn't already said yes to so many other things," to "Yes, but I'm going to resent you for it," you don't really have a "yes," either, do you?
I pulled my Friday blog together, stymied about two sentences in, deleting, retyping, deleting again, and then remembered various and sundry bits of writing advice: Just get something down. You're going to have to rewrite, anyway.
I wrangled with the picture links well past my allotted writing time, and then let 'er go, imperfect, and with apology. It would be more fun to say that I got it just right, right out of the gate, but what I did do was keep my promise to myself to post it on Friday.
Then I sent a link to each Flickr contributor who had let me link to their pictures. For two days, I heard not a word. I got cranky. I shook my head. I thought about Betsy's blog about how long one should wait to hear back from an editor after a manuscript subscription, and what one could do in the intervening time to keep from going crazy. I considered this dealing with silence/rejection to be a training of sorts, just in case....
And then I heard a word. There's no doubt that some of the photographers, ("When I took that picture I never expected it to be used anyplace, so yes you can use it!) were sharing my sharing of their work, and that they were likely being gracious and complimentary because of the circumstances, but I heard a word. One of them even indicated that he got my major point, and that tickled me.
I hope spring sneaks in, bringing your ducks, and surprise plants, and days of ease and joy. (I wondered, briefly, this morning, how many little treasures I might have overlooked if I hadn't been set to focus on them as a way of not drowning in whatever "big sadness" was going on at the time.) Hope you get too many treasures to count. ;-)
Big loves,
Vickie
My new office desk is supposed to be here Saturday. Theoretically it is the key to reorganization of All My Stuff, a drama with greater longevity than ABC"s All My Children. Unfortunately.
As for walking three times a day --- Well, the flip of the calendar brings a wry smile. My decidedly unsuccessful bid to make February an improvement on January has made the quest for March to be an improvement on February shamefully simple.
Side note: Someone must have told the fig about Daylight Savings Time: Leaves so big you can see them from the patio door. Either that or it is competing with the Confederate Rose, which is also sporting leaves this morning.
My morning routine does seem to be taking hold, though. I can take my morning 12 minute walk (in the house), make my 1/2 grilled cheese sandwich, feed the dogs, and read the day's quote from "Boundaries," pretty much all at the same time.
Yesterday's reading was kind of interesting --- "In addition to the freedom to say no, we find the freedom to say a whole-hearted, unconflicted, gratitude-driven yes to others." I don't think I've given that idea enough play time. If your no doesn't mean no, or if you don't have a no; if your yes means everything from "I'd be excited about saying yes if I hadn't already said yes to so many other things," to "Yes, but I'm going to resent you for it," you don't really have a "yes," either, do you?
I pulled my Friday blog together, stymied about two sentences in, deleting, retyping, deleting again, and then remembered various and sundry bits of writing advice: Just get something down. You're going to have to rewrite, anyway.
I wrangled with the picture links well past my allotted writing time, and then let 'er go, imperfect, and with apology. It would be more fun to say that I got it just right, right out of the gate, but what I did do was keep my promise to myself to post it on Friday.
Then I sent a link to each Flickr contributor who had let me link to their pictures. For two days, I heard not a word. I got cranky. I shook my head. I thought about Betsy's blog about how long one should wait to hear back from an editor after a manuscript subscription, and what one could do in the intervening time to keep from going crazy. I considered this dealing with silence/rejection to be a training of sorts, just in case....
And then I heard a word. There's no doubt that some of the photographers, ("When I took that picture I never expected it to be used anyplace, so yes you can use it!) were sharing my sharing of their work, and that they were likely being gracious and complimentary because of the circumstances, but I heard a word. One of them even indicated that he got my major point, and that tickled me.
I hope spring sneaks in, bringing your ducks, and surprise plants, and days of ease and joy. (I wondered, briefly, this morning, how many little treasures I might have overlooked if I hadn't been set to focus on them as a way of not drowning in whatever "big sadness" was going on at the time.) Hope you get too many treasures to count. ;-)
Big loves,
Vickie
Thursday, February 23, 2012
February 23, 2012
Hey there! With any luck your package should package should be arriving soon. (I've lost track of days, and of the receipt, naturally.) I hope that you are feeling better!
We've had rain, and lots of it, but that's okay --- that's what we're supposed to have this time of year. I'm getting into the groove of being out in the office at 9:00, and I think the change of scenery has been good for me. I am happier, although I think the writing may have something to do with that.
It is a curious thing, this lift, this little dance in my step, that follows the thought, "I'm going to get to write tomorrow!"
"Know your audience," the sages say. I considered that as I composed my second blog. I laughed. "I have two --- no, three: my best friend, my sister-in-law, and Andrea, the Flickr contributor who is going to let me use her picture on my blog.
A few blogs back, Betsy Lerner asked about readers, and whether or not it was important to us to have them. Just barely out of the gate, I am having to answer that for myself. What should my true north be: Readers, or writing for joy?
For my "Under the Pecan" blog, yes I hanker for readers. Saying so feels like a confession. I consider two other things. First, this isn't my job. I don't have to have readers. Secondly, there are about a half a million new blog posts on WordPress every day. Combined, those things set me free: I can pay attention to when the writing is making me happy, and when it is not. I will write what I enjoy writing. If readers come, they will come for that, and we will all be happy.
Five, maybe six, years ago, I committed an hour a day to writing. I wrote in my journals, and in discussion threads, but mostly I read about writing, hanging out with authors, so to speak. I came to think of "writer" as personality type rather than an occupation. I drew solace from knowing that other people write just to find their way through life's occasional madness. I came to believe in the value of writing "that goes no further than the one person for whom it was intended." (Lerner)
I feel a change. "Something's happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear." But I am writing more, and I am getting a kick out of it.
And with that my dear, I am down to ten minutes left on my hour, which I'm going to use to go read your blog from day before yesterday.
Big loves,
Vickie
We've had rain, and lots of it, but that's okay --- that's what we're supposed to have this time of year. I'm getting into the groove of being out in the office at 9:00, and I think the change of scenery has been good for me. I am happier, although I think the writing may have something to do with that.
It is a curious thing, this lift, this little dance in my step, that follows the thought, "I'm going to get to write tomorrow!"
"Know your audience," the sages say. I considered that as I composed my second blog. I laughed. "I have two --- no, three: my best friend, my sister-in-law, and Andrea, the Flickr contributor who is going to let me use her picture on my blog.
A few blogs back, Betsy Lerner asked about readers, and whether or not it was important to us to have them. Just barely out of the gate, I am having to answer that for myself. What should my true north be: Readers, or writing for joy?
For my "Under the Pecan" blog, yes I hanker for readers. Saying so feels like a confession. I consider two other things. First, this isn't my job. I don't have to have readers. Secondly, there are about a half a million new blog posts on WordPress every day. Combined, those things set me free: I can pay attention to when the writing is making me happy, and when it is not. I will write what I enjoy writing. If readers come, they will come for that, and we will all be happy.
Five, maybe six, years ago, I committed an hour a day to writing. I wrote in my journals, and in discussion threads, but mostly I read about writing, hanging out with authors, so to speak. I came to think of "writer" as personality type rather than an occupation. I drew solace from knowing that other people write just to find their way through life's occasional madness. I came to believe in the value of writing "that goes no further than the one person for whom it was intended." (Lerner)
I feel a change. "Something's happening here. What it is ain't exactly clear." But I am writing more, and I am getting a kick out of it.
And with that my dear, I am down to ten minutes left on my hour, which I'm going to use to go read your blog from day before yesterday.
Big loves,
Vickie
Friday, February 17, 2012
February 17, 2012
Let's just say someone was overly optimistic about how much she could fit in the little red box and that the journal is now out-of-the-box, although still in the package. Something about the way we send our gifts seems to have developed a rhythm all its own, either based on instinct, or because any day is a good day to get a package from your best friend. You do have the option of tucking it away and just opening a little present whenever you want. The journal gives away all the secrets though, so I'm not sure that would work.
At any rate, it is ready, and sitting on the table waiting for its trip to the Mail Center. :-)
Karen Karbo, in her book "How Georgia Became O'Keefe: Lessons on the Art of Living," says "Write more letters."
I thought of you. I remembered the long e-letters we used to write each other. I recollected your recent mention of the change in our correspondence, affected as it has been by the changes in my life, and then yours, and mine again, etc. Facebook is better than nothing, but I think you are right: I think we can do better.
Thus, this letter.
I don't know how I met Patricia Scarborough, although I feel sure it was through Facebook, as that is where I am linked to her now. She is an artist -- a painter, and a blogger. Not long ago she posted her 200th blog, and in it related the commitment she had made to herself to blog once a week, and how tremerous she had felt at the beginning, with little idea of what to write the first week, and no idea whatsoever as to what she might write in the ensuing weeks.
It was a nudge.
I dilly-dallied. I chose Fridays. And, sure enough, my first blog was mostly about nothing. I thought about "Bird by Bird," and the "Shitty Little First Draft" principle, and let 'er fly.
And then I began to wonder about Ireland. I'm not sure what about Ireland has piqued my curiosity as opposed to all of the other places in the world I have not seen, but something has. As regrettable as it is to admit, I realized that other than knowing that Ireland is to the left of England, I didn't even have a firm grip on its geographical place in the world. There are two little white dots right above Ireland --- you can see them on your Google map. I delayed my exploration of Ireland to see what they were, and Oh, My!
Google "Faroe Islands" and you'll pawn all your belongings just so you can go see for yourself and take a nice long walk. (Until recently, that is exactly what the Faroese did: they walked. They walk so much they have PEDESTRIAN tunnels to get from one island to another. Can you imagine such a thing here? If we have to go far enough to need a tunnel, we're going to be looking for a car. ) In my experience. ;-)
There are over 5000 pictures in the Flickr group "Faroe Islands." I viewed at least half of them full size, and viewed thumbnails of all the rest. Sky, sea, ships.
And whales. Pilot whales. And a centuries-long tradition of killing them.
Birds. All kinds of birds, including Puffins. Also hunted.
And people, of course, including three men, sitting on a bench, talking to each other. The photographer's caption notes that the men were drunk, and that he had heard alcoholism might be a problem in the Islands.
How quickly my trip had turned from oooh's and ahhh's to oh-no's.
All three things set me to researching, and thinking. Would that be the story the world over? How judgmental am I? Leave it to humankind to muck up a perfectly beautiful place?
What is it about us that even in a place with very little arable land, where the sea is the main food source, augmented almost exclusively by puffins and sheep so that the diet is almost exclusively protein, we find something with which to make alcohol? Or is that imported? And if so, how does that compare to the import of fruits and vegetables?
I see a puffin, and wonder how in the world anyone could eat it. Colorful and cute... The answer is fairly simple, of course: hungry, on an island. Chickens might protest that they also are too cute to eat.
The pictures of the whale kills almost did me in. Horrific scenes, making it impossible for me to truly reconcile decent human beings and participation in the event. But before I turn away from the place, before I pass judgment on the people, I am reminded that I have yet to watch Food, Inc.--- reminded that I do not want to know exactly how that hamburger got to my plate, and that I know enough to realize I am on thin ice, until I join you in eschewing meat.
In days of yore, the sighting of a pod of whales was announced by the lighting of a bonfire in a specific place. Nearby islands lit their announcement fires in response, and the islanders gathered. Now the message is spread by cell phone. Now, as then, the meat and blubber are divided among the citizens for sustenance and provision.
The Minister of the Faroese Department of Health recently advised that the mercury levels found in the whale is now too high to be considered safe for eating.
The mercury levels found in whales living pretty much in the middle of nowhere is too high to be safe. What have we done? What have we done to our oceans?
I kept going through the pictures, marking favorites --- over 300 of them. I read the captions, learning about a woodworker who skins wood so thinly that he can turn it to lampshades, a glass worker whose creations you can actually step inside, and a fashion boutique working with wool made exclusively from the sheep on the islands.
I made new friends, as I e-mailed some of them for permission to use their pictures on my blog. I watched handball players slap hands after their game, just as we do here after softball. I saw you and I in a photo of two Faroese women enjoying a cup of tea. And in the midst of posts in languages which left me without an inkling of their meaning, I saw a :).
And I :)ed back.
Big loves,
Vickie
At any rate, it is ready, and sitting on the table waiting for its trip to the Mail Center. :-)
Karen Karbo, in her book "How Georgia Became O'Keefe: Lessons on the Art of Living," says "Write more letters."
I thought of you. I remembered the long e-letters we used to write each other. I recollected your recent mention of the change in our correspondence, affected as it has been by the changes in my life, and then yours, and mine again, etc. Facebook is better than nothing, but I think you are right: I think we can do better.
Thus, this letter.
I don't know how I met Patricia Scarborough, although I feel sure it was through Facebook, as that is where I am linked to her now. She is an artist -- a painter, and a blogger. Not long ago she posted her 200th blog, and in it related the commitment she had made to herself to blog once a week, and how tremerous she had felt at the beginning, with little idea of what to write the first week, and no idea whatsoever as to what she might write in the ensuing weeks.
It was a nudge.
I dilly-dallied. I chose Fridays. And, sure enough, my first blog was mostly about nothing. I thought about "Bird by Bird," and the "Shitty Little First Draft" principle, and let 'er fly.
And then I began to wonder about Ireland. I'm not sure what about Ireland has piqued my curiosity as opposed to all of the other places in the world I have not seen, but something has. As regrettable as it is to admit, I realized that other than knowing that Ireland is to the left of England, I didn't even have a firm grip on its geographical place in the world. There are two little white dots right above Ireland --- you can see them on your Google map. I delayed my exploration of Ireland to see what they were, and Oh, My!
Google "Faroe Islands" and you'll pawn all your belongings just so you can go see for yourself and take a nice long walk. (Until recently, that is exactly what the Faroese did: they walked. They walk so much they have PEDESTRIAN tunnels to get from one island to another. Can you imagine such a thing here? If we have to go far enough to need a tunnel, we're going to be looking for a car. ) In my experience. ;-)
There are over 5000 pictures in the Flickr group "Faroe Islands." I viewed at least half of them full size, and viewed thumbnails of all the rest. Sky, sea, ships.
And whales. Pilot whales. And a centuries-long tradition of killing them.
Birds. All kinds of birds, including Puffins. Also hunted.
And people, of course, including three men, sitting on a bench, talking to each other. The photographer's caption notes that the men were drunk, and that he had heard alcoholism might be a problem in the Islands.
How quickly my trip had turned from oooh's and ahhh's to oh-no's.
All three things set me to researching, and thinking. Would that be the story the world over? How judgmental am I? Leave it to humankind to muck up a perfectly beautiful place?
What is it about us that even in a place with very little arable land, where the sea is the main food source, augmented almost exclusively by puffins and sheep so that the diet is almost exclusively protein, we find something with which to make alcohol? Or is that imported? And if so, how does that compare to the import of fruits and vegetables?
I see a puffin, and wonder how in the world anyone could eat it. Colorful and cute... The answer is fairly simple, of course: hungry, on an island. Chickens might protest that they also are too cute to eat.
The pictures of the whale kills almost did me in. Horrific scenes, making it impossible for me to truly reconcile decent human beings and participation in the event. But before I turn away from the place, before I pass judgment on the people, I am reminded that I have yet to watch Food, Inc.--- reminded that I do not want to know exactly how that hamburger got to my plate, and that I know enough to realize I am on thin ice, until I join you in eschewing meat.
In days of yore, the sighting of a pod of whales was announced by the lighting of a bonfire in a specific place. Nearby islands lit their announcement fires in response, and the islanders gathered. Now the message is spread by cell phone. Now, as then, the meat and blubber are divided among the citizens for sustenance and provision.
The Minister of the Faroese Department of Health recently advised that the mercury levels found in the whale is now too high to be considered safe for eating.
The mercury levels found in whales living pretty much in the middle of nowhere is too high to be safe. What have we done? What have we done to our oceans?
I kept going through the pictures, marking favorites --- over 300 of them. I read the captions, learning about a woodworker who skins wood so thinly that he can turn it to lampshades, a glass worker whose creations you can actually step inside, and a fashion boutique working with wool made exclusively from the sheep on the islands.
I made new friends, as I e-mailed some of them for permission to use their pictures on my blog. I watched handball players slap hands after their game, just as we do here after softball. I saw you and I in a photo of two Faroese women enjoying a cup of tea. And in the midst of posts in languages which left me without an inkling of their meaning, I saw a :).
And I :)ed back.
Big loves,
Vickie
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