The Trying

Things have been topsy-turvy around here for this last week, what with Thanksgiving and all the preparation for dinner and family. Added to that was my Christmas present, which was a new hard-drive. My hard-drive was damaged and I’ve been nervous about it since I had my computer guru tune it up etc. in July.

So, I’ve been without my desktop since last week. I have a laptop, but I still prefer my desktop. I wrote my last blog on the laptop. I still missed my desktop. In fact, I felt much like a bird with only one wing. And once my computer was returned I’ve had all the programs to reinstall. A time consuming job, to say the least. But I’m done.

Still, I’m feeling jumbled. I was invited to go with my son and daughter-in-law to her ultra-sound. This time they also had a 3-d ultra-sound. Amazing. Back in the dark ages, we had to guess at the sex, etc. Today there were tears. I hid mine. It’s been a long journey.

Then, I had to get labs. I’m very nervous for this next doctor’s appointment. There were a few things my doctor is still watching. I just want him to say-I’m better. Go live a happy life. I’ll see you for your next check up.

Little worries like this nag me and Saturday, I got back my short story I sent out the week before—rejected. I told myself a rejection wouldn’t matter. I had accomplished something just editing the story, making it the best it could be and sending it off. (Look at last year or the year before.) And it was. I’m actually proud I did it, but oh, how I hoped it would sell at Country Woman. To me, it just fit and I’m not sure there’s anywhere else for it to belong.

So I’ve allowed myself a bit of feeling blue as I try to catch up my writing from the holidays and the upgrading and reinstalling, the rejection. Then, it’s back to work. I have three poems to get ready for the Writer’s Digest’s poem contest. I have many more stories and essays almost ready to go out in the world.

I heard Robert Redford quote T. S. Eliot last January in an interview on KSL News: “There’s only the trying, the rest is not our business.”—T.S. Eliot. And I’m doing the trying.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving and it’s time for thanksgiving. I really can’t come to this day without feeling a huge sense of gratitude. I spent yesterday looking for a few quotes to put on my bulletin boards I have around the house and on the front porch to reflect my emotions.

None really express it. None of my blogs where I’ve written about my gratitude do either. I am a word person, but there are not words to express how grateful I am that I feel better. Healthy, even. And I have so much more to be grateful for. A great family, my mom still with us, a sister , I feel closer to, like we’re friends, or like back when we had kids and talked to each other every day. And I have good friends, and more than that, I have enough. Enough food, clothing, heat, health insurance, transportation.

And, I’m writing again. Not safe little things, but stories, poems (some of the best I’ve ever done, I think.) I sent out a submission just Friday. It wasn’t so long ago I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to do that. Not so long ago, I couldn’t string my thoughts together. And while it’s a little thing in the scheme of things, it’s huge to me.

I’ve been dreaming again, and about my writing. It was the strangest, most disturbing thing to have my dreams turned off, just like the screen was shut down, no longer connected. I am so grateful the idea of going back to the beginning and poetry, came to me. I can’t help thinking something bigger than me guided me. Knew how healing the writing would be for me and guided me. Or maybe it was just Esmeralda Plug. (I’ll tell you all about her in another blog.) So, I have to say how grateful I am that I found Melanie Faith and her poetry workshops. They were just what I needed, just when I needed. And, how about her last name.

During this time of year, what I have stands out in sharp contrast to what so many don’t. I don’t want to take that lightly. So, while I’m elbow deep in pie crusts and bread crumbs, I intend to appreciate what I have. I won’t moan about my last rejection, or not winning (or placing) in my last poetry contest. I’ll just be grateful I’m able to do what I so love. And it isn’t just being able to…It’s being able to.

Just Start

“I don’t even know where to begin.” My son told my husband at the beginning of the remodel of his business.

“Just start,” was my husband’s advice. “Then, go from there.”

I’ve learned some of my best writing lessons from my husband. He’s not particularly literary, not into books too much, hasn’t really a clue what I do in my office every morning other than the finished product. Yet, he has given me my best principles for writing.

• When you don’t know where to begin, just start. That is the solution. From any kind of start, you can write that poem, story or novel. One word can do it. From that insignificant beginning everything can flow.

The next principle I learned as my husband and I began our own remodel twenty-three years ago. It was a huge undertaking—an addition to our modest one-level tract house. As we were about to get the financing my mother asked my husband how he was going to accomplish such a big project on his own.

His answer: “I’m going to do one thing, worry about that step and then go on to the next.” It always reminds me of a comment by Charles Emerson Winchester III from the old M.A.S.H. series when he first came to the unit. I paraphrase: “I do one thing at a time. I do it well and then, I move on.”

Second principle:

• When you begin a project that seems overwhelming, do one thing, worry about one thing at a time. Only then, move on.

That’s the way I write: I begin and then, I continue, one-step at a time. And you know what? That’s how everyone gets the work done, no matter what else they tell you.

Recycled Writing

Mid-November and the cold finally took my patio pots of geraniums. Bought last April, they’ve bloomed consistently since. Another wonderful treat has been the pink autumn daisies I planted near the house years ago. (I think they’re chrysanthemums. Although I can’t remember the exact name, they were displayed with other daisies at the nursery.) They don’t bloom until October, which is wonderful in its self, (nothing else is blooming) but they are wonderful cut flowers, lasting over two weeks in a vase. I’ve had fresh flowers until yesterday when I finally tossed them.

It snowed Saturday and turned bitter cold. Winter pushed aside Fall over the last few days and I’ll have a bit more time for my writing. I’m looking forward to that. My sister got me thinking. From a subject completely off writing, too. That’s the way, isn’t it?

She’s been talking recycling. She has two special-needs boys ready to work on their Eagle Scout. They’ve thought recycling. They’re brainstorming ideas. After all, the projects, avenues and needs are endless.

I’ve been recycling since it was popular once before, when my kids were small. It was a time of gas shortages, sky-high beef prices (we had beef boycotts and meatless meals) and lost jobs. Gosh, all lightening, it sounds familiar.

In any case, it got me thinking and in more than one direction. In the direction of writing, I thought it sounded like a good idea to look back over my previous work and recycle, repurpose, rewrite, resubmit.

Every writer has tons of ideas. Usually the ideas aren’t the problem. It’s the execution, or the slant or sometimes even the wrong publication. I’ve been rereading my rejected or almost finished work. So much was just dropped, forgotten, abandoned when I got sick. And truthfully, I haven’t had the energy or desire to revisit any of it until now. Mostly I haven’t even wanted to think about my previous work. It seemed too big a leap, too much to deal with.

Now, I’m excited by my old work. I’ve been working on a short story I started years ago, editing, rewriting, cutting words. I’ve been making a priority list of my previous work and of places to submit. I feel hopeful and excited. That’s a very good feeling.

And the idea of recycling abandoned or rejected pieces a great way to recharge and get back into the habit of submitting. I challenge you writers to recycle just one piece and see if you can’t improve it. Then, send it out into the world. What do you have to lose?

Bits and Pieces

The week held many blessings. Monday, I finally got through to the Health Department to make an appointment for the H1N1 shot. The stress surrounding this whole thing is frustrating. I’ve really tried to understand all the missteps and confusion, but mostly I feel just frustration and shame.

(bits and pieces)

Shame because I, like so many others, thought our government was better prepared for something like this. Shame, (and guilt) because of the difficulty getting the shot for so many. It took me with my husband’s help three Mondays working two phones for the hour window to make an appointment for the vaccine.

The first two Mondays, there wasn’t even the chance to get past the busy signal. This Monday, in some ways, it was even worse. We got through right away to the message: “You have reached the Health Department. All the operators are busy helping other callers and we will take your call as soon as possible.” I heard a busy signal, then a dead line. Did I hang up or hang on? Well, twice I hung up. Then I got the same message without the busy signal, but the blank line. I hung on while my husband used his cell phone to keep calling. After forty-five minutes, my son called, saying he’d gotten through and that after the message, he got music, not dead line.

So, my husband continued dialing until he finally got the music, then he held on. Finally, I was able to make my appointment. A blessing.

(bits and pieces)

My sister had the same problem and never got through. Clearly, the phone lines are faulty, or overwhelmed.

When I went to the appointment, I was the only adult getting the shot. There were elderly with health issues and desperate for the shot who didn’t qualify. I felt so ashamed and yet, grateful.

And guilty for feeling so.
(bits and pieces)

I hope we learn from this and never have to have these kinds of choices when it comes to something like this. It shamed me, angered me and I can’t stop thinking about it. My own ninety-two year old mother doesn’t qualify either. I’m lucky; she hasn’t any serious underlying health issues. If she did, I would be beside myself. As it is, I’m anxious.

The health care issue seems to boil down to just that. A priority list of who gets what they need and who doesn’t. That’s just not acceptable. And worse, is this a glimpse of the future?

(bits and pieces)

Onto the reason for the title of this blog— it may mean something a little extra to readers from my generation. I hope it takes the flower power generation back. (the title is from a Dave Clark Five song) And that’s where I’ve been for the last day. Back to the 60’s. A trip, thanks to my middle son with a birthday card as the ticket. From the VW Beetle on the front to the inside verse with 60’s slang. And then, the best part, a CD in the inside pocket with songs from that era. What a wonderful gift.

My children may laugh, imagining their old mom driving around in her robin egg blue Beetle with the pink polka-dots, the love beads, the bell-bottoms, but I remember with a smile. I was so certain of who I was back then. Funny, how as the years go by, I become less sure. Sad, how as you delve elbow deep into diapers, taxi service and bedtime stories, you lose a part of yourself. Thank heaven, you gain something, too.

And, though no one tells you, you’re not lost. Beneath the layers that cover who you were, you are still there. Sometimes, it’s your son, a card and a music tract helps you see you again.

And music is the quickest way to travel back, isn’t it? Music carries you back to the teen years, your children’s little benchmarks, your gains and losses, your successes and failures.

The curious thing: I’ve been working on several poems that I needed to tap my memory of those times. Details are so important. The just-right detail can make the difference between good and great. Those bits and pieces that rise to the top can be teased out by a good song memory.

The things you need for your current work always seem to come. Usually from the last place you expect.

So, crank up the music. Travel back to your past, no matter where it is. Write down your memories. It will make you smile. It will lift you. It will get your fingers moving over the keyboard. And maybe, you’ll even begin a best work.

(I’m in pieces, bits and pieces)

November Reads:

Homer’s Odyssey by Gwen Cooper: This is a true story about a blind kitten that Gwen Cooper adopts with some reluctance. She already had two cats, a broken heart and financial trouble. But once she meets Homer, she senses how special the cat is. And he is.

The story of this amazing cat is well crafted and well written and when Cooper talks about the aftermath of 9/11 from the point of view of a resident of New York and a pet owner, I am so invested in the situation I can’t put the book down. As an animal lover, this is my worst nightmare, really. Of course, it is people first, but the thoughts of those poor animals in that area of New York, not understanding what is going on, where their humans are is wrenching.

So, the book was a good-read, but also, it made me think a bit more about what to do, what to have in place in the event of disaster and that I need to be prepared for my pets, too.

Wicked All Day by Liz Carlyle: I’ve been a fan of Liz Carlyle since her first book. Her books are rich in detail, her dialogue always makes me smile, her characters are finely drawn. This story about the unmarriageable Zoë Armstrong and Stuart Rowland, Marques of Mercer didn’t quite meet my expectations.

Stuart’s brother does the unthinkable by compromising Zoë and the two become engaged, though they only love each other as brother and sister. It just seems as if no own acts honorably in the end. At the end of the frolic, I felt a little flat. Oh, the dialogue was still there, as was the well-drawn characters, but the story didn’t spark my interest much.

Between Sisters by Kristin Hannah: Meghan and Claire have had a tough childhood, living through a dysfunctional family. This is a story about the disappointments that comes with love and family. It’s also a story of how two sisters work their way back to each other. The characters are pitch-perfect. Watching each sister grow, forgive and struggle to be there for each other was a journey all sisters should make. It explores that sometimes tough, sweet, complicated and tender emotion of sisters.

Firefly Lane by Kristin Hannah: As Between Sisters was a story about sisters; Firefly Lane is a story about best friends. In fact, to me this book was a wonderful love letter to friendship. I don’t believe Hannah could have written such a book without knowing how it feels to be a friend and have a friend.

This book shows it all: the jealousy, the backstabbing, the unconditional support, the decades flying by, the growing up, growing apart and the coming back together.

Tully and Kate form their friendship during the tough middle school age, what better time to find a best friend forever. Despite the differences in their upbringing, they hold onto that friendship through things that would shatter most. Different life choices and betrayal make the friendship more than rock during the years but always they hold onto each other.

The book was well written as is expected of Hannah, but what I took from the book was the examination of what friendship truly is. I mourn that more of us don’t have this kind of friend to go into our later tough years with. Those of us that do ought to send a note of gratitude to our friends the minute we finish this book. It is a rare commodity and we need to cherish it.
I would like my sister, my daughters-in-laws, my friends to read Firefly Lane and to value the friendships they have.

November Godsends:

November has never been a favorite month, though I was born in it. It always seemed dreary, heralding cold and snow. I’ve learned to appreciate it though, to take the little joys from the days and savor them. Is it age that’s taught me that? Being sick and wondering how many more Novembers I get did help me see more to enjoy, but I’d learned before even that. The addition to the house helped, too. More than anyone will ever know. (I know.) More sunlight.

So simple.

In fact, my home is flooded in sunlight now that the south end of the house is opened up, with as many windows as I could put in. I didn’t know why that was important to me when we remodeled but....I, sometimes, wish I had as much when my kids were small, money was tight and I was a stay-at-home mom. There were rough days and yet…not a one I regret.

I realize now, I have seasonal affective disorder or winter depression, but years ago I didn’t understand the gray blanket of depression that would suddenly surround me. Still, I had some sense of it because I stockpiled a few things knowing I’d need them: new houseplants, yarn for crocheting, good books.

I didn’t know about the light, about making sure I had twenty minutes of it every day. I didn’t know to get outside and gather some vitamin D. I do now. I didn’t know how important it was for my well-being writing was. As a young mother, I thought I was doing the most loving, unselfish thing by devoting myself completely to my kids. All my life I wrote through the hard times, except when my kids were small. I thought I didn’t have time. I thought I would be taking something from them. I was wrong.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do for your family is be good to yourself and give to yourself what you most need. For every young mother who also aspires to be a writer, who needs to write to hold on to herself, I want to encourage you to take some writing time. Know it is not selfish. It is brave, and unselfish, and necessary. A godsend.

This month’s godsends:

• Geraniums still blooming on the patio
• Another good read
• Hot cocoa
• Gratitude
• Making pies
• Trying to outthink Mr. Squirrel
• The end of garden chores (as much as I love gardening, a relief)
• Books of quotes (if you haven’t noticed a passion of mine)
• Gathered family
• The valley I see on my daily walk
  

Listen

The morning has just been frustrating. Oh, I know it must be worse for so many others: mothers and fathers, pregnant women and others with underlying illnesses. I think I fit in there, but I’m not sure. Where I live, to avoid the huge lines that there has been for the H1N1 flu shot, we are to call on today to set up an appointment for the vaccine for the rest of the week. The calling window is from 9 to 10. I spent the hour trying to get through. Never did get through.

If MPGN doesn’t qualify for the vaccine, I’ll wait. I don’t want to take anything away from those who are suppose to get the shot, but if I qualify, I want to make sure I do all I can to stay health. I've worked so hard to regain my health. I did everything the doctors have said to do, plus. I've watched my diet, cutting out almost all salt and pushed myself to keep up with exercise Because...I do want to live and with a good quality,but I have others depending on me.

You see, I’ve lived through this kind of thing before. My father died in 1968 from a flu epidemic that was going around at that time. I was still in high school. It devastated me and I know it affected the rest of my life. At that time there was nothing you could do to prevent the flu, little to do if you got it. My father did have underlying health problems, but...and this is a big but. We didn't know it. How many this time around have no idea they are at particular risk? A neighbor just died-the same age as my father was when he died. 52, a young man, really, and still so much left to offer. His death, as any death, affects all those around them.

As I dialed and redialed, the action became so automatic that several times I almost hung up before I even heard the busy signal. It made me stop. How many times do we do that? Go along on auto-pilot. Don’t consciously know what we’re doing.

How many times are we doing that when we write? Hanging up before we hear the busy signal. Sticking with a project long enough to get to the good stuff, the stuff we really mean to say? I have a feeling, it's too often.

I had to stop and keep myself in the action of dialing, listening, hanging up. The listening was hardest, if my mind wasn’t truly engaged. A little writing lesson while I tried to get my flu shot.(They come in the strangest ways.) All lessons do, if you're really listening.

At least, I got something.