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
Thursday, February 23, 2012
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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