Sunday Morning

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Chocolate Is a Verb today…

My brother visited Mom yesterday, for several hours I understand, and will be back today. I’m taking the weekend off from Mom-duty, and I had this fantasy that I would get some writing done, and some laundry.

Instead I slept, went to a movie (The Grand Budapest Hotel) with my husband, took the dog for a long walk through the woods, had dinner — at home — two nights in a row, and — did I already say — slept?

I watched Netflix (Warehouse 13, mostly) with Annie. I watched Upworthy videos and played Spider Solitaire. I meant to do my blog roll post, but instead I reread everyone else’s and…veged.

I think I needed to vege.

It’s a beautiful, sunshot Pacific Northwest day. Earlier this week we thought my mom was (again) dying. We were told that she is in renal failure. She couldn’t talk to us, she scarcely ate anything, and she never got out of bed from Sunday evening to Thursday. On Friday, when I arrived very early in the morning, I found her sitting up, smiling, eating. Over the last two days she has continued feeling better, is talking more clearly, and she is able to work with the physical therapists. My sister and I this week will look for a facility closer to one of us, one with a private room.

As Kurt Vonnegut says, “And so it goes.”

My good friend Madelon, when I (quite a long time ago) confessed that I was wasting a lot of time playing cards on my computer, said, “That’s probably what you need to do.” She’s a behavioral therapist with more than one doctorate, so I believed her then (my kids were small) and I am going to channel her now.

CAM00323I am going to trust that the writing will be there (yes, I am still journaling) and the blog roll post, and send outs…

And, today, I will do some laundry. 

Be Kind, Work Hard, Give Thanks

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I saw this bag at the Pacific Northwest Writers Association (PNWA) conference… which I managed to attend sporadically last week despite also driving back and forth to Olympia to see my mother four times (five times!). PNWA where, incidentally, I came in second (!) in two of the fiction categories (short story and mainstream), and met several agents and editors who invited me to show them some pages.

Up and down. That was my week. Mom was better, then she was worse. Then, a little progress in physical therapy gave us hope. Seeing her grandkids from out of state gave us hope. Learning to accept a new reality gave me more hope than I expected.

Last week I felt really really brave. When my literary  agent suggested I find “fresh eyes,” I gave her up without the slightest angst (very unlike me).  The bag, by the way, belongs to an editor at Sourcebooks, who would like to see the novel. I met lots and lots of very cool writers who, like me, are throwing their hearts into the ring…

I also met some really wonderful nurses and CNAs who definitely know how to be be kind, work hard, and give thanks.

At this point, on all fronts, I am simply waiting to see what happens next.  And I’m taking notes.

 

Why Pushing Ourselves Makes Us Less Productive

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CAM00264Why Pushing Ourselves Makes Us Less Productive. I really love this post from  Lauren Sapala’s blog and wanted to share it with you. Timely for me.

“We can imagine the present moment as a seed, or the bud of a flower. Our creative force is contained in that seed and we are also present with it. As it unfolds into bright colors, strong roots, and fascinating twisty branches, we can stand calmly with it and observe. We can savor the unfolding…”

I took this picture for a post I imagined titling “Put Your Heart into It” — still makes sense.

Why I Write

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Our Pabu, who does not bite.

I often get my ideas for blog posts from conversations with friends. Last night my daughter Annie and I visited my good friend who is going to California next week and needs a dog sitter. As things turned out, the adorable mutt bit the heck out of my hand (I tried to be a good farm-girl and act like it was nothing), with the result that he is going to a kennel for the week.

What does this have to do with writing?

I’ve known this young man (the dog, I mean) for four years, since he was an even more adorable puppy. His owners dote on him, but they work and he is at home alone for long hours. He has never had any training. He bites. He acts like he’s warmed up to you and then he grabs your hand and sinks his teeth in and won’t let go!

And what does this have to do with writing?

My friend happens to be the woman to whom I passed along my copy of Writing Down Your Soul by Janet Conner. Here’s a list of questions that Conner suggests exploring (page 148):

  • I think there’s a pattern in my life, and I don’t want to perpetuate it. What is the pattern? Why does it keep appearing?
  • When did it start? How has it evolved?
  • In what ways am I passing it on to the people around me?
  • Why do I want to break it–or why not? What price am I willing to pay?
  • What needs to happen for me to end this pattern?

After I cleaned up my hand and found the anti-biotic ointment, the three of us (the dog was in his crate) reflected on what has to happen next. Well, a professional kennel where the dog can stay next week, safely. My friend speculated on what she will do after that. Annie cried. I hope training will be explored, but if you know your dog bites, can you just keep doing what you’re doing? Our lovely dog has introduced us to a trainer who has rescued at least two impossible dogs and turned them into model citizens. So maybe training can help. Maybe dog training is a reflective activity akin to journal writing. All I know is that it’s easy to go on–for years–perpetuating a pattern and feeling stuck and helpless. Helpless and hopeless. But writing in my journal, and rereading and taking my reflections deeper, is a way of recognizing those patterns and…one hopes…beginning to change them.

It occurs to me that when I’m stuck it’s often because I’m blaming another person or circumstances. It can’t be helped! It’s his fault! There’s nothing I can do!

But there is always something we can do. Finding out what that is, waking up to the possibility of it, becoming willing to see it differently, that’s what reflective journal writing does for me.

What price am I willing to pay to change? Will it be a lesser or greater price than what staying the same will exact?