Make It So

Beautiful day. Warm, muggy night. Dress, put on shoes, grab jacket, cell phone, I-pod and head out for my morning walk. Clouds to the northwest look ominous, dark and slung low, but it’s warm. I can smell rain, but I have time. The breeze is moist, but I have time.

The rain hit at the top of the hill as I touched the chain-link fence that surrounds the Air-force base. I’m sans umbrella, but the rain starts slow and smells clean. As I pass a patch of fresh mowed weeds the smell reminds me of the inside of a barn, all yeasty oat and straw, with manure and horse thrown in. I love that smell. It takes me back to the horse-crazy days of a younger me.

Still, every year I haunt the local county fair and the stables awash in that smell. Nothing better than to be able to stroke between the long ears of a mule, the velvet nose of a Tennessee Walker or the tall shoulders of a Clydesdale. That way the scent lingers on me for hours, which cause me to smile even after we leave the fair grounds.

Back in the early days of the seventies during another recession we gave up our horses. There was a baby on the way. But that smell takes me back, always, as now. I quicken my pace, hoping to get back home before I’m complete drenched.
The birds don’t care much about the rain. I hear quail in the brush and Mourning Doves taking off for the treetops. Somewhere, a peacock asks for help and the crackle of a pheasant floats up from the wooded grove below. I could curse the rain and how wet I’m getting but I don’t. I thank the memories that simple, earthy scent gives me.

Could just one paragraph of my writing do the same for someone? Could a smell, a sight, a memory turn into the best writing I do for the week? Make it so.

Walking for the Cure

It looked like a flock of flamingos. A sea of pink headed for a pink and white balloon arch as the five-mile walk got started. I’ve wanted to join the walk for six years, since my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I thought it would be something I could do: walk, donate money, join others in the group.

I didn’t expect it to be emotional, still. I thought by now, emotions had burned away. The worse was behind us. My mom had won the battle, given her age. She will likely die of old age, not breast cancer. As Lynn Redgrave said in an old ad for breast cancer awareness, she wants to die of anything other than breast cancer. Me, too. Old age sounds good.

We got through surgery and recovery, drains and doctor visits and fear and worry. We’d come out on the other side, tattered, yet we’d done a good job darning the holes. They’re still there, but one would hardly notice.

As I looked at the faces of the other walkers—I already knew the faces of my loved one—it struck me. Mine and my daughter-in-laws stories were personal, but the walk put hundreds of faces to hundreds of stories as personal as ours.

The four sisters with a picture of their mom printed on the back of their pink shirts. The woman pushed in a wheelchair, her hair wrapped in a bright pink scarf. The four members of Creative Wigs walking in outrageous pink wigs, looking marvelous from behind until I realized they were, all four, bearded men supporting their clients. The women sporting bright pink feather boas. The woman who walked the whole way pushing a walker. The large group walking in memory of Gary. (Yes, men can die of breast cancer) Those who walked for their friend, for their co-workers, their teacher.

Even the team names tell stories: For the Girls, Cheering for a Cure, A Little Help From My Friends, Save the Ta Ta’s, Save the World, Fight Like a Girl, Doin’ the Walk for Dot!, Saving Second Base, Good Karma. (Their mom's name was Karma)

It was sobering. It was uplifting.

Such a huge crowd behind one enemy and this was just one of many walks or fundraisers going on around the country this month.

Best weapon is still getting checked. Do it. Tell your mother, sister, grandmother, aunt, best friend, neighbor to get checked. Remind them, offer to take them, go with them.

As my t-shirt said: I wear pink for the fighters, the survivors, and the taken.

Words are important to me. I’m a writer; I strive to use the exact right word. Taken is the right word.

As I was thinking about why I wanted to do the walk, I thought of the true reason, my true reason:

For the Warriors, the Survivors, the Taken. For Maude, Dona,
Valentine, Candi, Erin, Jen, Amanda, Alyssa, Talia, Dani,
Marilyn, Mary, Tami, Connie, Sherry and me.
For Women Writers and Readers. For Poets. For the Supporters and the Caregivers
and all those who love them.

Beautiful Day

Beautiful day, yesterday. Warm night. Dress, put on shoes, grab jacket, cell phone, I-pod and head out for my morning walk. Clouds to the northwest look ominous, dark and slung low, but it’s still warm. I can smell rain, but I have time. The breeze is moist, but I have time.

The rain hit at the top of the hill as I touched the chain-link fence that surrounds the Air-force base. I’m sans umbrella, but the rain starts slow and smells clean. As I pass a patch of fresh mowed weeds the smell reminds me of the inside of a barn, all yeasty oat and straw, with manure and horse thrown in. I love that smell. It takes me back to the horse-crazy days of a younger me.

Still, every year I haunt the local county fair and the stables awash in that smell. Nothing better than to be able to stroke between the long ears of a mule, the velvet of a Tennessee Walker or the tall shoulders of a Clydesdale. That way the scent lingers on me for hours, which cause me to smile even as we leave the grounds.

Back in the early days of the seventies and another recession we gave up our horses. There was a baby on the way. But that smell takes me back, always, as now. I quicken my pace, hoping to get back home before I’m complete drenched.

The birds don’t care much about the rain. I hear quail in the brush and Mourning Doves taking off for the treetops. Somewhere, a peacock asks for help and the crackle of a pheasant floats up from the wooded grove below. I could curse the rain and how wet I’m getting but I don’t. I thank the memories that simple, earthy scent gives me.

Could just one paragraph of my writing do the same for someone? Could a smell, a sight, a memory turn into the best writing I do for the week? Make it so.

Films We Treasure

Last week in the newspaper, there was an article about the influence of films in our lives. About the films that define us. Films we watch over and over. About the pile of DVD’s we have and which one we actually watch more than once.

This same subject came up as one of my adult son was recouping from a tonsillectomy. There were DVD’s he wanted to revisit. This all got me thinking about my own list of films that I return to over and over. I think everyone probably has two or more lists actually. One for the adult in you and one for the child.

For a writer I think there are hints in the list that could clear up any question about what they should be writing. The reasons for the titles on any given list are varied, but I think it is a window into that person, too.

This list is also a good detail for that character you’re trying to flesh out. What would be on your main character’s list? Why? What does this tell you about the character?

What are your favorite films? What films to you watch over and over and still get something out of?

Mine:

• Gone With the Wind (Seen the film over a hundred times, read the book every year.)
• Hanover Street (Love the story and Harrison Ford is in it, after all)
• Hannah Caulder (Love the story and I don’t think Raquel Welch did such a bad job, either)
  Tombstone (Can’t watch it without crying because of the brother love and friendship)
• Legends of the Fall (One brother does all the right things for all the wrong reasons and the other does all the wrong things for all the right reasons. Love this kind of story.)
• Penny Serenade (Can’t watch it without crying. Every parent should see it, I think.)
• Moon-spinners (In my day Hayley Mills was our Miley Cyrus and this was her first love story. I also love the mysterious plot.)
• The Way West (The wagon train west with all these everyday personalities and story lines…love it.)
• Journey to the Center of the Earth (Original with Pat Boone) (Just fun.)
• The Outlaw Josie Wales (Great dialogue, great character sketch. A good, ‘bad’ man.)
• The Sting (love the dialogue)
• Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (Same here)
• Comes a Horseman (love the story and it is a great character sketch of a woman of the times in that circumstance.)
• Star Wars (all of them) (Great story, adventure so much like the old films and Saturday at the movies.)
• Indiana Jones (all of them) Great story, great seat-of-your-pants adventure, great characters and, it’s Harrison Ford, after all.)

What films would be on your list or lists. Write them down. Think about the whys for your list. Find those old films and watch them again. Do they still do the same thing for you? Do they hold up? I think all this will help your writing and if nothing else it will bring back memories and get you thinking. Have fun.

Daily Walk (1)

I have found one of the most important things for me to do for myself and my writing is my daily walk. I’ve been walking two miles a day for over thirty years. Some times more regularly than others, but usually several times a week, at the least. Most often there’s been a canine companion, off and on a human, but the walk has never been about companionship or exercise.

For me, walking has been a form of meditation, a rhythm that sets my mind free. Others may dance or do yoga, I walk. A sort of movement therapy, I guess. I feel my mind and body connect, join and dance as I walk.

When I have a problem with a writing project walking never fails to bring new thoughts and ideas to mind. At the very least the fresh air clears my stagnant mind. There is a peace with being outside and I’m lucky enough to have a quiet, semi-wild place to walk. Blessed to be joined often by deer, fox, badger, hawks, owls, rabbits, quail, pheasant.

Walking invigorates me and chases away fatigue. It fills me up. Clears my mind. I let the sounds and sights and smells gather into all the cracks and crevices that have formed in my often over-stressed mind. Calm washes over me as I follow the well-traveled path. If I tire I whispered a reminder to myself, “Nose over the toes,” and push on.

Of course, with routine and the daily grind there have been times I didn’t want to walk. Times I felt too depleted and I have had to fight my lazy nature. If not for my dog’s pleading brown eyes and the constant nagging voice in my head saying, “Put on the shoes,” there have been times I might have skipped my walk, even knowing I would feel better if I just did it. So, I put on my shoes. Once they're on, there was never any reason not to use them.

Perspective changes things though. For several months this summer I wasn’t able to manage my walk. I missed it so keenly, sometimes at night I dreamed of walking, dreamed of the landscape, the trees, the deer, the wildlife. I ached for the simple pleasure, the physicality, the routine of walking. Like everyone who has gone through a sudden change, I wanted my old life back.
As I got feeling better I started walking again. Short walks at first, further each day. As I struggled I gained a whole new appreciation for the simple act of walking. Gained a whole new appreciation for many things I took for granted.

If you can walk, try it. Walk for five, ten minutes or even a half hour. Let your mind clear, your body swing into its natural rhythm. Let it fill you with a simple pleasure.