It's called college. And really, it's not that funny. Fun yes, funny, not so much.
I had this grand vision of floating from class to class in sweater sets and loafers, working hard in class and at home, but since I am a super-woman, getting it all done with the barest hint of exertion.
It has been two months since this new chapter of my life included college. I am excelling at school (4 A's & 1 B which WILL be an A by December, dammit!). Home- not so much. I am not just talking about mopping the kitchen or dusting here. I've had trouble remembering to take my kid to the dentist or get the bills paid on time. That is not good.
It seems the last two weeks, I've gained some equilibrium. Home is still where I am lagging, but not so badly. However, my dream of being the plus size Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face has fallen by the wayside. It had to. What I am now is a serious college student, and a writer. I have written more this semester than I've made time to do in the last several years combined. That is one of the many reasons I needed this. College would force me to do what I couldn't (wouldn't?) force on myself.
Tomorrow is Halloween. It is also the last day of October. Why is this significant? Because the first day of November starts NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month. I, along with the other five participants in my out of class fiction workshop group have pledged to "do" NaNoWriMo. To "do" it, we have to write 50,000 words in the month of November. That's right, fifty K in 30 days. 1,700 words a day on average.
Fifty thousand words is the length of a short novel. If you do 50K, you should have a book. So that's the plan. I have the outline of a short romance novel (think serial romance a la early Nora Roberts writing about the MacGreagors or the Stanislavskis). Mine isn't really about a family legacy though, but the tonality is what I am shooting for.
But before that (tonight & tomorrow), I have to prep and polish a short fiction piece for my "Craft of Fiction" class. I have several I can use, but I am leaning toward an idea I've not worked out completely yet. We'll see how it goes. I am sitting in a lounge at the student union, in complete silence on this Saturday night during the big pumpkin weekend, listening via earbuds to local NPR classical music (swing right now actually) and feeling more free and happy than I would have thought possible.
How apt. "Lush Life" just came on the NPR program. Life is feeling pretty lush right now.
Happy Hallowe'en all. :)
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
First Day Of College: Redux
Long ago, in a lifetime far, far away...
I was a bright-eyed eighteen year old in a yellow oxford cloth shirt, khaki shorts and docksiders, walking across my new campus on a hot August Sunday, heading to my last day of Freshman orientation.
I don't remember a thing from orientation, but I remember that moment, frozen in time. I remember wishing it was really fall- crisp and cool with colorful leaves. I remember how sunny and hot it was. That moment was full of "what if...?" A moment of endless possibility and pure joy, unmarred by worry or stress.
That year was marked with highs and lows; seemingly effortless A's in English, Theater and Music: W/F in Calculus, but I didn't stress it too much. It was a wonderful year of school, socializing, fencing (yes, fencing!) and fun.
Fast forward my life say, oh twenty seven years...
I am a slightly less bright-eyed forty-five year old, hauling ass across campus in ten minutes because art history is on the other side of the world from theatre performance studies. All around me swarm bright-eyed eighteen to twenty-somethings, most in shorts or sweats and flip-flops (!). Most seem to know where they're headed, but I see plenty of freshmen, who like me, have their campus maps in hand and look just a little dazed and confused.
On this day, there was no specially reserved wardrobe- just some black capris and a purple tee- but I did take the time to wear my funky purple satin windowpaned canvas sneakers, my own private sut to the girl who strode these sidewalks so many years ago.
At the end of my first round of four classes, I came home, got my daughter to her afterschool program, cooked for my family, and headed back to campus for one last class- poetry. I then went to the grocery store, got my daughter ready for bed and fell onto my own mattress aware of every muscle below my waist. There was also a not-unpleasant tingle and buzz in my brain... I am using myself in ways I have not for a very, very long time.
So far, so good... :)
I was a bright-eyed eighteen year old in a yellow oxford cloth shirt, khaki shorts and docksiders, walking across my new campus on a hot August Sunday, heading to my last day of Freshman orientation.
I don't remember a thing from orientation, but I remember that moment, frozen in time. I remember wishing it was really fall- crisp and cool with colorful leaves. I remember how sunny and hot it was. That moment was full of "what if...?" A moment of endless possibility and pure joy, unmarred by worry or stress.
That year was marked with highs and lows; seemingly effortless A's in English, Theater and Music: W/F in Calculus, but I didn't stress it too much. It was a wonderful year of school, socializing, fencing (yes, fencing!) and fun.
Fast forward my life say, oh twenty seven years...
I am a slightly less bright-eyed forty-five year old, hauling ass across campus in ten minutes because art history is on the other side of the world from theatre performance studies. All around me swarm bright-eyed eighteen to twenty-somethings, most in shorts or sweats and flip-flops (!). Most seem to know where they're headed, but I see plenty of freshmen, who like me, have their campus maps in hand and look just a little dazed and confused.
On this day, there was no specially reserved wardrobe- just some black capris and a purple tee- but I did take the time to wear my funky purple satin windowpaned canvas sneakers, my own private sut to the girl who strode these sidewalks so many years ago.
At the end of my first round of four classes, I came home, got my daughter to her afterschool program, cooked for my family, and headed back to campus for one last class- poetry. I then went to the grocery store, got my daughter ready for bed and fell onto my own mattress aware of every muscle below my waist. There was also a not-unpleasant tingle and buzz in my brain... I am using myself in ways I have not for a very, very long time.
So far, so good... :)
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tony Robbins & Sunny Morning Driving
Have any of you been watching "breakthrough" with Tony Robbins (NBC, 8 p.m. Tuesdays)? I fully and freely admit to being a complete TR geek. I have been using his exceptional products, and even MORE exceptional coaching/style of thought to enhance and improve my life for over a decade.
I know, I know... The crazy giant guy on the infomercials with all the teeth? Yup. I bought his book, Unleash The Giant Within, about eleven years ago, Personal Power II, shortly thereafter and my personal favorite The Time Of Your Life after that. I made my first real stab at writing because of what I learned there.
The Time Of Your Life changed me so profoundly that I traveled to Detroit, Michigan to see him live, and then to Denver, Colorado in 2000 for Unleash The Power Within. There, I met AMAZING people... Oh, and I walked on fire. Yeah, I did that...
To this day, I use what he then referred to as OPA (Outcome Purpose Action) planning for my life. And, I have a small piece of charred wood that sits on my writing desk, reminding me that I walked on f'ing fire! WHAT ELSE COULD I DO... WHY ALLOW ANYTHING TO HOLD ME BACK?
In the intervening years, it would seem I have let many things hold me back. But all the while, I kept plugging away, trying to find my place, my purpose in this life. I can look back on the last decade with the understanding that I made decisions which allowed my family to remain whole and for my husband to heal. The paths I chose not to travel still beckon, and I know of a couple that I will explore in the near future.
To an outside observer, my life might seem pretty dire and drab. We are broke, to be sure, but because of what I (and my husband) have learned and used nearly every single day for a decade, we have never felt poor.
Sure, it took A LOT longer that we thought to get our heads on straight and regain the amazing momentum we'd had in 2000. But that is one of the many tolls paid in our lives to the ferryman of mental illness. I credit Mr. Robbins' work with giving me the tools to pick myself up, and my spouse and child, and carry us through the storms of the last decade. My family would not exist if not for what I learned from him.
So, I guess what I am taking WWAAYY too long to say is, WATCH THIS SHOW! Go online at hulu and watch the first 2 episodes if you missed them, then tune in next week. An hour long segment may not change your life, but it just might change your perspective... And that's a start.
Last night's show featured a couple who were in financial free-fall, and who blamed each other for the mess they were in. It was inspirational, to be sure, but it was after the show that the resonance of it became apparent.
It opened up a much-needed dialogue with my mother-in-law about the future, and I really hope allowed her to see her son in a new, better light.
This morning, I had to drive to a town about forty five minutes from my home. I left at 7:30 am. It was humid, but not yet hot, so was I was comfortable with the windows open. After I concluded my business, I drove home with the classical music station playing and wind blowing my ponytail around. I admit, I got giddy folks. Which is crazy, because what I started to think about is what my life might be like without sound.
I may be losing my hearing completely in the not-so-distant future. Music and performance are two of the backbones of my life on earth. I don't know who I am without them. I don't have the answer to that question yet, but I could answer in THAT moment, I could hear and love the music, the wind, the hum of my tires on the road... And I could LOVE IT. And so I did- love it and be supremely grateful for it- all the way home.
Your comments are always welcome. HAPPY TRAILS... :)
I know, I know... The crazy giant guy on the infomercials with all the teeth? Yup. I bought his book, Unleash The Giant Within, about eleven years ago, Personal Power II, shortly thereafter and my personal favorite The Time Of Your Life after that. I made my first real stab at writing because of what I learned there.
The Time Of Your Life changed me so profoundly that I traveled to Detroit, Michigan to see him live, and then to Denver, Colorado in 2000 for Unleash The Power Within. There, I met AMAZING people... Oh, and I walked on fire. Yeah, I did that...
To this day, I use what he then referred to as OPA (Outcome Purpose Action) planning for my life. And, I have a small piece of charred wood that sits on my writing desk, reminding me that I walked on f'ing fire! WHAT ELSE COULD I DO... WHY ALLOW ANYTHING TO HOLD ME BACK?
In the intervening years, it would seem I have let many things hold me back. But all the while, I kept plugging away, trying to find my place, my purpose in this life. I can look back on the last decade with the understanding that I made decisions which allowed my family to remain whole and for my husband to heal. The paths I chose not to travel still beckon, and I know of a couple that I will explore in the near future.
To an outside observer, my life might seem pretty dire and drab. We are broke, to be sure, but because of what I (and my husband) have learned and used nearly every single day for a decade, we have never felt poor.
Sure, it took A LOT longer that we thought to get our heads on straight and regain the amazing momentum we'd had in 2000. But that is one of the many tolls paid in our lives to the ferryman of mental illness. I credit Mr. Robbins' work with giving me the tools to pick myself up, and my spouse and child, and carry us through the storms of the last decade. My family would not exist if not for what I learned from him.
So, I guess what I am taking WWAAYY too long to say is, WATCH THIS SHOW! Go online at hulu and watch the first 2 episodes if you missed them, then tune in next week. An hour long segment may not change your life, but it just might change your perspective... And that's a start.
Last night's show featured a couple who were in financial free-fall, and who blamed each other for the mess they were in. It was inspirational, to be sure, but it was after the show that the resonance of it became apparent.
It opened up a much-needed dialogue with my mother-in-law about the future, and I really hope allowed her to see her son in a new, better light.
This morning, I had to drive to a town about forty five minutes from my home. I left at 7:30 am. It was humid, but not yet hot, so was I was comfortable with the windows open. After I concluded my business, I drove home with the classical music station playing and wind blowing my ponytail around. I admit, I got giddy folks. Which is crazy, because what I started to think about is what my life might be like without sound.
I may be losing my hearing completely in the not-so-distant future. Music and performance are two of the backbones of my life on earth. I don't know who I am without them. I don't have the answer to that question yet, but I could answer in THAT moment, I could hear and love the music, the wind, the hum of my tires on the road... And I could LOVE IT. And so I did- love it and be supremely grateful for it- all the way home.
Your comments are always welcome. HAPPY TRAILS... :)
Saturday, July 31, 2010
College Library & "Do" Decisions
The first half of this blog is way fast. I have decided on my new "do". See the photo. Gwen Stephani in her Marilyn style, but mine will be red. Now if I could just borrow her face & figure... :))This Saturday morning, I woke early-ish at 8:00. During the school year, Saturday will be the only day I can sleep that late, so it allowed me to cast my thoughts ahead to the fall. Anyone who's been watching the weather of late knows that Ohio had a terribly hot July. So autumnal dreaming feels like relief.
Adding to my back-to-school thoughts was the slate grey sky and much cooler temperature this morning. That had me lacing up my sneakers to finally get in some real exercise. The recent heat indexes in excess of 105, 80% humidity and asthma just don't go together.
The hubster surprised me by wanting to tag along. My objective: The Jerome Library- I needed to re-activate my college ID for use as a library card. We shared a pleasant walk at a good pace to campus, and were happy to find that at least one wall of construction fence, which has been cordening off the library like Alcatraz, making it virtually inaccessible, has been moved. We had very little trouble making our way to the entrance.
This was completely unlike my experience just two days ago. That is when I was out walking from a commuter parking lot on the north side of campus (in the 105 heat, et al.) for over a half hour- unable to find a way past the maze of chain link to get into the place. Hating to admit defeat, I asked a landscape crew of students if they knew a way in. They did not, but did send me halfway around campus again before I determined it.
So today, we got there unscathed. We were a half hour early- the place wasn't yet open- so we sat on a nearby bench and enjoyed the cooler temperature, speculating on the purposes of the handful of students who kept arriving and trying the doors before they opened, and just being together. It was lovely. Once we could get in, I was told it would be easy to activate the ID. It isn't so easy when your Student ID number is so old that they can't find you in the system. So, I had to fill out a form that allowed them to enter me as a new student. Funny.
We were able to cut across campus much faster when we left and overall it made for a nice long stretch of the legs- which mine sorely needed.
How did you spend your Saturday morning?
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Audrey Hepburn, Contact Lenses & Back To School Clothes... Oh My!
In another life, I was a costume designer. That was before the world fell apart and I spent months getting surgeries, and the last two years recovering.
If any of my old clients or colleagues happen by here: You all have my most sincere apology for dropping off the face of the earth without notice. I hope the work I did for you was fondly thought of. Please know that I have nothing but kindness in my memories, and sorrow & guilt for having to end a budding career, but it was for the best. In the end, illness made me stop, because nothing else would have.
Anyhoo- I was a costume designer for theater and film. In the "real world" I have never attempted to do more than make an odd piece of clothing for myself or some costumes for my daughter. Others have suggested I try to do a "collection", but it seemed pretentious, even for me. As my thoughts turn to walking back onto a college campus in the fall, I keep seeing myself dressed-- differently. Since I have no money, the only way this can happen is for me to rummage through what's left of my fabric remnants, buy a few notions (zippers & buttons), and make the clothes myself.
The nexus of this decision was a design for a black cotton skirt. I was in a mall last week (not to buy anything, but I had to be there). It's been a long time since I've been in a mall. I was walking behind a tiny woman who was wearing a skirt that was, to my mind, a work of art. It was made of a cotton fabric, printed with an abstract stained glass design. The thing that got me thinking was the hemline. It was a standard straight skirt, but the hem was covered in binding. It made the artistry of the skirt pop, giving a 'frame' to the print. And, it got me thinking...
I have this bolt of black cotton in the garage. There's a lot of it, at least five yards. I also have a few packages of wide seam binding. What if I made a 1950's inspired skirt: narrow with maybe some wide tuck pleating at the waist, falling into a bell just below the knee? I could add some heft to the bottom by binding the hem edge... And voila! The first piece of my own personal "Back To School" collection was designed.
Hot on its heels was an idea to convert my daughter's two A-line tanks into something "legal" for school. I am going to embellish them with ribbon-work embroidery and then tack them on to some inexpensive short sleeve tee shirts. This way, the few bucks I spent this summer will have life through the fall and into next spring at least. And, it will lend some much needed style to a child who thinks a sloppy over-sized tee shirt, sweatpants and flip-flips is fashion. She has requested I make her an updated version of a "feed sack dress" circa 1935. I have the cambric to do it. What can I say? She loved Kit Kitteredge.
The rest of this "collection" is yet to be born into completeness. I have somewhat hazy visions of Audrey Hepburn's turtleneck and boatneck tops, skinny black pants, full and pencil skirts, cardigans, colorful heels and ballet flats... Some I am capable of making. Others, I will shop thrift and clearance for. If I meet with success, I may post some photos here.
The other tipping point of this style change is that after three looonnnggg years, I will finally have contact lenses again in the fall! I've worn contacts for nearly 30 years, so it has been killing me to walk around in glasses. I have been scrimping & saving pennies for this. Crazy, you may think, but I feel as though part of my personality has gone missing. I am not a glasses girl, unless it works style-wise, and most of the time it does not.
The last item of what I can see here is becoming a major make-over for me is a new hairstyle. I've known for some years now that I am in a rut with my hair. The same style for damned near 20 years. I think along with the rest of the "new me", I will try a slightly darker color and a whole new 'do'. Any suggestions on cut are welcome. Just know I won't go short again- I look like my mom when my hair is short. I love her, but I don't want to look like her. :)
If any of my old clients or colleagues happen by here: You all have my most sincere apology for dropping off the face of the earth without notice. I hope the work I did for you was fondly thought of. Please know that I have nothing but kindness in my memories, and sorrow & guilt for having to end a budding career, but it was for the best. In the end, illness made me stop, because nothing else would have.
Anyhoo- I was a costume designer for theater and film. In the "real world" I have never attempted to do more than make an odd piece of clothing for myself or some costumes for my daughter. Others have suggested I try to do a "collection", but it seemed pretentious, even for me. As my thoughts turn to walking back onto a college campus in the fall, I keep seeing myself dressed-- differently. Since I have no money, the only way this can happen is for me to rummage through what's left of my fabric remnants, buy a few notions (zippers & buttons), and make the clothes myself.
The nexus of this decision was a design for a black cotton skirt. I was in a mall last week (not to buy anything, but I had to be there). It's been a long time since I've been in a mall. I was walking behind a tiny woman who was wearing a skirt that was, to my mind, a work of art. It was made of a cotton fabric, printed with an abstract stained glass design. The thing that got me thinking was the hemline. It was a standard straight skirt, but the hem was covered in binding. It made the artistry of the skirt pop, giving a 'frame' to the print. And, it got me thinking...
I have this bolt of black cotton in the garage. There's a lot of it, at least five yards. I also have a few packages of wide seam binding. What if I made a 1950's inspired skirt: narrow with maybe some wide tuck pleating at the waist, falling into a bell just below the knee? I could add some heft to the bottom by binding the hem edge... And voila! The first piece of my own personal "Back To School" collection was designed.
Hot on its heels was an idea to convert my daughter's two A-line tanks into something "legal" for school. I am going to embellish them with ribbon-work embroidery and then tack them on to some inexpensive short sleeve tee shirts. This way, the few bucks I spent this summer will have life through the fall and into next spring at least. And, it will lend some much needed style to a child who thinks a sloppy over-sized tee shirt, sweatpants and flip-flips is fashion. She has requested I make her an updated version of a "feed sack dress" circa 1935. I have the cambric to do it. What can I say? She loved Kit Kitteredge.
The rest of this "collection" is yet to be born into completeness. I have somewhat hazy visions of Audrey Hepburn's turtleneck and boatneck tops, skinny black pants, full and pencil skirts, cardigans, colorful heels and ballet flats... Some I am capable of making. Others, I will shop thrift and clearance for. If I meet with success, I may post some photos here.
The other tipping point of this style change is that after three looonnnggg years, I will finally have contact lenses again in the fall! I've worn contacts for nearly 30 years, so it has been killing me to walk around in glasses. I have been scrimping & saving pennies for this. Crazy, you may think, but I feel as though part of my personality has gone missing. I am not a glasses girl, unless it works style-wise, and most of the time it does not.
The last item of what I can see here is becoming a major make-over for me is a new hairstyle. I've known for some years now that I am in a rut with my hair. The same style for damned near 20 years. I think along with the rest of the "new me", I will try a slightly darker color and a whole new 'do'. Any suggestions on cut are welcome. Just know I won't go short again- I look like my mom when my hair is short. I love her, but I don't want to look like her. :)
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
College Papers, New Friends & Broadway Dreamin'
The weekend was supposed to be a two day hedonistic bacchanal of one dollar movie rentals, soda and chips... Yes, I know that calling cheapo movies and Coca Cola bacchanalia is a crime of pedestrian proportion... But it was the best I could do...
Instead, I had one evening of junking out to Leap Year and watching enormous storm clouds roll in. I had two more movies to watch (like I said, hedonistic), but the hubster needed my help in preparing a paper for school. Admittedly, I spent most of the day Saturday procrastinating. I didn't want to read over sixty pages of research materials just so I could edit a paper.
So, The Lives Of Pippa Lee went in the dvd player around four p.m.- which unfortunately was about the time the texts started flowing from my daughter, who was with my parents for the weekend. It is unfortunate that I had to pause the film about five times to answer the kiddo, because it is a lovely little character piece, and I was surprised to find Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder in it. I also love that Alan Arkin is enjoying a major career resurgence.
The hubster and I planned to watch The Book of Eli Saturday night after 11:30, but I was in such a funk, we decided to postpone it to Sunday at 10:00 a.m. We should have been at church then, but we knew we had a lot of work to do on that paper... In retrospect, that was a mistake. I knew he had a lot of work to do. What I didn't know was that he'd misunderstood the assignment. From 12:30 Sunday afternoon until 11:00 Sunday night, he/we worked. (With many interruptions for texts from the kiddo, my mother, hubster's friends, visitors...) I fell into bed midnight Sunday with my head swimming. We were back at it at 7:30 a.m. Monday. We printed the final draft with a mere twenty minutes until it was due.
After that, I brushed my teeth, changed my clothes and headed to my parents' to pick up the kiddo. Thank God for Starbucks Venti Chai Latte (7 pumps, non-fat, light ice). It's a two plus hour round trip, plus a good hour of visiting. I don't mind that, but the hubby had an old friend coming into town. I had not met her and really wanted to do so. So, I loaded the kid in the car and sped back home. I was rumpled, unwashed and hot (no a/c in the car) and a bit intimidated to be meeting this woman my husband has known for over twenty years.
As I was walking up the driveway to the front door, I paused. I took a deep breath, smoothed my very rumpled hair and shirt and decided that I would just be me. I let go of any preconceptions I had (and I did have some), put a smile on and walked in the door...
To meet a woman who was nothing like I had supposed. I don't really know who I thought she'd be, but it wasn't the warm, witty, intelligent person I was privileged to meet. We were talking Shakespeare within two minutes, then moved on to college (we both attend (ed) the same one), both sing, love the arts and so many other interests. It was not kismet, but it was a wonderful, pleasant evening after a most hectic two days.
I feel I've made a new friend. For those who know me at all, you know how difficult that is for me. It was wonderful to let go and just enjoy. Thank you Chandler & M.K. It was grand!
After M.K. left, I found several thoughts coalescing into a desire. Air fares are pretty low right now if you shop smart- Al Pacino is reprising his role as Shylock in Merchant Of Venice on Broadway this fall- I am a theater minor in school and can get student priced tickets... You can see where I'm going with this, right?
Well, I don't think I'll see Pacino since they don't move to Broadway until October 9, but I have NEVER BEEN TO NYC. How can a theatre buff like me have managed that? If I can get amazingly lucky on airfare, I found a hostel-style hotel online- Candy- for $99 a night near Manhattan! I am dreaming of Labor Day weekend in NYC... I'd love to hear any tips from anyone who's traveled there recently, especially with regard to student tickets for Broadway shows.
Oh, and if you were wondering...
Leap Year: As predicted by me, it was a yawn. I wish it were otherwise because I love Amy Adams. BUT- somehow this film made Ireland look DRAB!!! Don't waste your time.
The Lives of Pippa Lee: I read about this first when it had limited theatrical release. The article I read (in either Elle or Marie Claire) lodged the project in my brain, so I was charmed to find it in my local redbox. As I said earlier, I couldn't watch it uninterrupted and I think my opinion of the film would be even better upon a second viewing. Robin Wright's stillness as Pippa is just beautiful.
The Book of Eli: My little brother suggested this when it was in theatrical release. He said I'd love it. I did like it a great deal, but was not inspired to love. I was a bit disappointed that I could see most of the plot coming from a mile away (not counting the delicious twist of what is really on the pages of "the book" in question), but found Denzel Washington more compelling than expected. I admit to often not enjoying Mr. Washington as much as others, although his performance in "The Inside Man" was wonderful as well. Here, beyond the first thirty seconds, you forget Mr. Washington completely- he is Eli.
Comments are always welcome. :) Catch you later...
Instead, I had one evening of junking out to Leap Year and watching enormous storm clouds roll in. I had two more movies to watch (like I said, hedonistic), but the hubster needed my help in preparing a paper for school. Admittedly, I spent most of the day Saturday procrastinating. I didn't want to read over sixty pages of research materials just so I could edit a paper.
So, The Lives Of Pippa Lee went in the dvd player around four p.m.- which unfortunately was about the time the texts started flowing from my daughter, who was with my parents for the weekend. It is unfortunate that I had to pause the film about five times to answer the kiddo, because it is a lovely little character piece, and I was surprised to find Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder in it. I also love that Alan Arkin is enjoying a major career resurgence.
The hubster and I planned to watch The Book of Eli Saturday night after 11:30, but I was in such a funk, we decided to postpone it to Sunday at 10:00 a.m. We should have been at church then, but we knew we had a lot of work to do on that paper... In retrospect, that was a mistake. I knew he had a lot of work to do. What I didn't know was that he'd misunderstood the assignment. From 12:30 Sunday afternoon until 11:00 Sunday night, he/we worked. (With many interruptions for texts from the kiddo, my mother, hubster's friends, visitors...) I fell into bed midnight Sunday with my head swimming. We were back at it at 7:30 a.m. Monday. We printed the final draft with a mere twenty minutes until it was due.
After that, I brushed my teeth, changed my clothes and headed to my parents' to pick up the kiddo. Thank God for Starbucks Venti Chai Latte (7 pumps, non-fat, light ice). It's a two plus hour round trip, plus a good hour of visiting. I don't mind that, but the hubby had an old friend coming into town. I had not met her and really wanted to do so. So, I loaded the kid in the car and sped back home. I was rumpled, unwashed and hot (no a/c in the car) and a bit intimidated to be meeting this woman my husband has known for over twenty years.
As I was walking up the driveway to the front door, I paused. I took a deep breath, smoothed my very rumpled hair and shirt and decided that I would just be me. I let go of any preconceptions I had (and I did have some), put a smile on and walked in the door...
To meet a woman who was nothing like I had supposed. I don't really know who I thought she'd be, but it wasn't the warm, witty, intelligent person I was privileged to meet. We were talking Shakespeare within two minutes, then moved on to college (we both attend (ed) the same one), both sing, love the arts and so many other interests. It was not kismet, but it was a wonderful, pleasant evening after a most hectic two days.
I feel I've made a new friend. For those who know me at all, you know how difficult that is for me. It was wonderful to let go and just enjoy. Thank you Chandler & M.K. It was grand!
After M.K. left, I found several thoughts coalescing into a desire. Air fares are pretty low right now if you shop smart- Al Pacino is reprising his role as Shylock in Merchant Of Venice on Broadway this fall- I am a theater minor in school and can get student priced tickets... You can see where I'm going with this, right?
Well, I don't think I'll see Pacino since they don't move to Broadway until October 9, but I have NEVER BEEN TO NYC. How can a theatre buff like me have managed that? If I can get amazingly lucky on airfare, I found a hostel-style hotel online- Candy- for $99 a night near Manhattan! I am dreaming of Labor Day weekend in NYC... I'd love to hear any tips from anyone who's traveled there recently, especially with regard to student tickets for Broadway shows.
Oh, and if you were wondering...
Leap Year: As predicted by me, it was a yawn. I wish it were otherwise because I love Amy Adams. BUT- somehow this film made Ireland look DRAB!!! Don't waste your time.
The Lives of Pippa Lee: I read about this first when it had limited theatrical release. The article I read (in either Elle or Marie Claire) lodged the project in my brain, so I was charmed to find it in my local redbox. As I said earlier, I couldn't watch it uninterrupted and I think my opinion of the film would be even better upon a second viewing. Robin Wright's stillness as Pippa is just beautiful.
The Book of Eli: My little brother suggested this when it was in theatrical release. He said I'd love it. I did like it a great deal, but was not inspired to love. I was a bit disappointed that I could see most of the plot coming from a mile away (not counting the delicious twist of what is really on the pages of "the book" in question), but found Denzel Washington more compelling than expected. I admit to often not enjoying Mr. Washington as much as others, although his performance in "The Inside Man" was wonderful as well. Here, beyond the first thirty seconds, you forget Mr. Washington completely- he is Eli.
Comments are always welcome. :) Catch you later...
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Neighborhood Notes
My family moved to a college town in late 2008. In March this year, we moved to a lovely house just two blocks from campus. It seems strange to me that a developer would build an entire subdivision as rentals. But that is what our rental company did about ten years ago.
One of the repercussions of the economy going bust was that enrollment at the college dropped off and rentals were going unoccupied. The up-side for my family was rental prices also fell. The place we now call home would have been completely beyond our budget if not for that.
I love this house. Not as much as our sweet three bedroom on Catawba of years ago: That place had a full acre of land with a large garden, enclosed front porch and wild blackberries and raspberries abundant in the summer. But if we'd stayed there, our life would be so different. I would still be killing myself commuting all over the state. While I loved the work, it would never have paid well enough to free me from poverty. My husband would be miserable and my daughter would be struggling in a school system that didn't have the resources to help her.
Let me repeat, I love my new house. Four bedrooms, two stories, a two car garage, and a fireplace- all on a corner lot with a small stream at the rear. Being a rental house, it has its issues, but it feels like home.
This month, we are at war with small black ants who think since they own the sandy soil of our lawn already, they deserve our home too. We are winning the war, but the ants have the advantage of unlimited infantry who all seem to have been through kamikaze training. The rental company has been notified, and we have ant baits everywhere, but we still are forced to commit mass insecticide
daily. My husband delights in keeping an ant body count like a combat pilot. He posts his daily kill rate on the dry erase calendar in the kitchen. 202 is his record for a twenty four hour period. His enthusiasm has drawn our daughter into this macabre amusement. Whenever either of them flattens or sprays an ant, they gleefully call out "thirty-eight!" or whatever the current body count. All I can do is shake my head in wonder at the two of them bonding over ant carcasses.
Although our little neighborhood is peopled with many twenty-somethings sharing houses and attending classes, we are not the only family. Because of the University, our block has a diverse population. It is wonderful. I particularly love seeing one of our Muslim neighbors walking, covered in black from head to toe, pushing her baby in a stroller. I also enjoy the Hispanic brother and sister playing across the street, their grandmother sitting in the shade of the porch to keep watch. She and I wave and smile whenever we encounter each other. I only mention race here to illustrate the multi-cultural environment of our community.
I met another neighbor two days ago under unfortunate circumstances. I'll call him "Dan". Dan is red haired, freckled and when I met him, decked out in a Ralph Lauren blue and white striped oxford shirt, creased khakis and loafers. I met Dan while he was in the company of a police officer. Why? Because he and his roommate were the victims of a robbery. The thief (or thieves) went in through the screen of an open first floor window. The officer had come to my house to ask if we'd seen anything. We spoke briefly, and he continued to canvass the neighborhood. Dan sat on his front porch stoop, the torn window screen leaning on the house behind him.
I remembered something odd I had seen and decided to seek out the officer again. By then, he was speaking with Dan again. So, that's how I met "Dan."
Yesterday, another police officer stopped by my house to inform us that Dan's house had been burglarized again, and to ask if we'd seen anything. My daughter had and reported it. I don't know if Dan left his windows open again, but it seems unlikely since the temperatures were over ninety degrees.
My husband is fairly paranoid about security on a good day. These events have forced a hyper-vigilant state for our household. Locking the house even when we're indoors, cell phones at hand at all times. Yesterday, I did alter my plan for the day so that I could remain home. I hope the thieves are caught and soon.
Thanks again for checking out writermom!
One of the repercussions of the economy going bust was that enrollment at the college dropped off and rentals were going unoccupied. The up-side for my family was rental prices also fell. The place we now call home would have been completely beyond our budget if not for that.
I love this house. Not as much as our sweet three bedroom on Catawba of years ago: That place had a full acre of land with a large garden, enclosed front porch and wild blackberries and raspberries abundant in the summer. But if we'd stayed there, our life would be so different. I would still be killing myself commuting all over the state. While I loved the work, it would never have paid well enough to free me from poverty. My husband would be miserable and my daughter would be struggling in a school system that didn't have the resources to help her.
Let me repeat, I love my new house. Four bedrooms, two stories, a two car garage, and a fireplace- all on a corner lot with a small stream at the rear. Being a rental house, it has its issues, but it feels like home.
This month, we are at war with small black ants who think since they own the sandy soil of our lawn already, they deserve our home too. We are winning the war, but the ants have the advantage of unlimited infantry who all seem to have been through kamikaze training. The rental company has been notified, and we have ant baits everywhere, but we still are forced to commit mass insecticide
daily. My husband delights in keeping an ant body count like a combat pilot. He posts his daily kill rate on the dry erase calendar in the kitchen. 202 is his record for a twenty four hour period. His enthusiasm has drawn our daughter into this macabre amusement. Whenever either of them flattens or sprays an ant, they gleefully call out "thirty-eight!" or whatever the current body count. All I can do is shake my head in wonder at the two of them bonding over ant carcasses.
Although our little neighborhood is peopled with many twenty-somethings sharing houses and attending classes, we are not the only family. Because of the University, our block has a diverse population. It is wonderful. I particularly love seeing one of our Muslim neighbors walking, covered in black from head to toe, pushing her baby in a stroller. I also enjoy the Hispanic brother and sister playing across the street, their grandmother sitting in the shade of the porch to keep watch. She and I wave and smile whenever we encounter each other. I only mention race here to illustrate the multi-cultural environment of our community.
I met another neighbor two days ago under unfortunate circumstances. I'll call him "Dan". Dan is red haired, freckled and when I met him, decked out in a Ralph Lauren blue and white striped oxford shirt, creased khakis and loafers. I met Dan while he was in the company of a police officer. Why? Because he and his roommate were the victims of a robbery. The thief (or thieves) went in through the screen of an open first floor window. The officer had come to my house to ask if we'd seen anything. We spoke briefly, and he continued to canvass the neighborhood. Dan sat on his front porch stoop, the torn window screen leaning on the house behind him.
I remembered something odd I had seen and decided to seek out the officer again. By then, he was speaking with Dan again. So, that's how I met "Dan."
Yesterday, another police officer stopped by my house to inform us that Dan's house had been burglarized again, and to ask if we'd seen anything. My daughter had and reported it. I don't know if Dan left his windows open again, but it seems unlikely since the temperatures were over ninety degrees.
My husband is fairly paranoid about security on a good day. These events have forced a hyper-vigilant state for our household. Locking the house even when we're indoors, cell phones at hand at all times. Yesterday, I did alter my plan for the day so that I could remain home. I hope the thieves are caught and soon.
Thanks again for checking out writermom!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Welcome & Thank You
Welcome Curious Reader and thank you for finding your way to my blog.
This salutation of course assumes that anyone will care to read this. And with that statement, I have shown you why writing, the "thing" which I have come to realize is the filter through which I process the world, is so damned hard for me.
The act of setting my ideas to paper, whether in prose, poetry or essays, calls a veritable army of insecurities to the fore. Who wants to read anything I would write? I have been wrestling with this particular problem for the last fifteen years.
Three years ago, in one of my favorite locations on earth, Lily Dale, NY- I was meditating and received the following message- "The singer does not sing, the dancer does not dance, the lover does not love, the writer does not write... What are you afraid of?"
I wrote the message in my journal, but hardly needed to. It was burned into my brain. "What are you afraid of?"
I have carried it with me, that question. I have pulled it out, looked it over, tasted and touched it, then sat it back on the shelf of my consciousness.
Intellectually, I understood my conceits about writing (especially journaling and blogging). To write about one's personal experiences and inner life seems an inherently arrogant act. It presupposes that anyone might care. Add to that the usual baggage of the writer: The steamer trunk of fear, containing all the requisite cubbyholes and drawers for the opinions of friends, family, classmates, professors, colleagues, critics... And for the truly blessed; editors and publishers; and you have a pretty decent snapshot of the roadblock that has been sitting between my desire and my actions.
Even I can see it boils down to one point. What if I am not good enough?
I have not overcome that fear. As I sit here now, my mouth is cottony, there is a dull throb in my head and my ears are ringing. My fingers have become cold and my breathing shallow.
What I have done is to acknowledge the fear, and write anyway. In Writer Magazine sometime this spring, March I think, there is a reprint of an article from 1992. In it, the author discusses why people become writers. To paraphrase: Some of us spring from the womb with pen in hand and just start writing. Some of us start writing when we've realized there is nothing else left to do to try to NOT write. (I will provide the proper quotation and credit ASAP.)
I am in the latter group. I was blessed with a facility for language that allowed me to start reading at age three. This gift also allows me to read very fast. There is no time in my life that I do not remember reading. By age twelve, I was a book addict. Fiction and biographies were my drugs of choice.
My favorite thing in the world at that time? A cold rainy afternoon. I would race home after school so I could snuggle sideways in the blue and white floral armchair in the living room with some monster of a book and two whole hours before dinner. I devoured books. I still do, although I have to take my hits in smaller doses, with a grown up life to tend to. Even now, having to lay aside an unfinished book causes a pang of loss.
Another time, I will fill in the blanks between the flowered chair of my youth and the red leather sofa of now. It is a long and twisty road, full of potholes and garbage. For now, I hope it is enough for you to know that I am full of... fear (In case you were thinking of another "full of" idiom, I would agree with you on that as well.), but I have arranged my life now in such a way that to NOT write is more painful than writing.
I am a student again. In a month, I re-enter academia as a Creative Writing Major. This is part of the plan. If I have to write, then I HAVE TO WRITE. I am an obsessive overachiever when I feel I may fail at something. If I don't write, I will fail, so I must write.
It took me the whole of my life to arrive at this point. There is no turning back.
So, thank you again for reading. I'll keep you posted.
This salutation of course assumes that anyone will care to read this. And with that statement, I have shown you why writing, the "thing" which I have come to realize is the filter through which I process the world, is so damned hard for me.
The act of setting my ideas to paper, whether in prose, poetry or essays, calls a veritable army of insecurities to the fore. Who wants to read anything I would write? I have been wrestling with this particular problem for the last fifteen years.
Three years ago, in one of my favorite locations on earth, Lily Dale, NY- I was meditating and received the following message- "The singer does not sing, the dancer does not dance, the lover does not love, the writer does not write... What are you afraid of?"
I wrote the message in my journal, but hardly needed to. It was burned into my brain. "What are you afraid of?"
I have carried it with me, that question. I have pulled it out, looked it over, tasted and touched it, then sat it back on the shelf of my consciousness.
Intellectually, I understood my conceits about writing (especially journaling and blogging). To write about one's personal experiences and inner life seems an inherently arrogant act. It presupposes that anyone might care. Add to that the usual baggage of the writer: The steamer trunk of fear, containing all the requisite cubbyholes and drawers for the opinions of friends, family, classmates, professors, colleagues, critics... And for the truly blessed; editors and publishers; and you have a pretty decent snapshot of the roadblock that has been sitting between my desire and my actions.
Even I can see it boils down to one point. What if I am not good enough?
I have not overcome that fear. As I sit here now, my mouth is cottony, there is a dull throb in my head and my ears are ringing. My fingers have become cold and my breathing shallow.
What I have done is to acknowledge the fear, and write anyway. In Writer Magazine sometime this spring, March I think, there is a reprint of an article from 1992. In it, the author discusses why people become writers. To paraphrase: Some of us spring from the womb with pen in hand and just start writing. Some of us start writing when we've realized there is nothing else left to do to try to NOT write. (I will provide the proper quotation and credit ASAP.)
I am in the latter group. I was blessed with a facility for language that allowed me to start reading at age three. This gift also allows me to read very fast. There is no time in my life that I do not remember reading. By age twelve, I was a book addict. Fiction and biographies were my drugs of choice.
My favorite thing in the world at that time? A cold rainy afternoon. I would race home after school so I could snuggle sideways in the blue and white floral armchair in the living room with some monster of a book and two whole hours before dinner. I devoured books. I still do, although I have to take my hits in smaller doses, with a grown up life to tend to. Even now, having to lay aside an unfinished book causes a pang of loss.
Another time, I will fill in the blanks between the flowered chair of my youth and the red leather sofa of now. It is a long and twisty road, full of potholes and garbage. For now, I hope it is enough for you to know that I am full of... fear (In case you were thinking of another "full of" idiom, I would agree with you on that as well.), but I have arranged my life now in such a way that to NOT write is more painful than writing.
I am a student again. In a month, I re-enter academia as a Creative Writing Major. This is part of the plan. If I have to write, then I HAVE TO WRITE. I am an obsessive overachiever when I feel I may fail at something. If I don't write, I will fail, so I must write.
It took me the whole of my life to arrive at this point. There is no turning back.
So, thank you again for reading. I'll keep you posted.
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