31 December 2011
[ this moment ]
[ this moment ] - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. (Homage to Soule Mama)
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
27 December 2011
Solstice
Sun streams through the windows
at that early winter angle
and I, second cup in hand,
linger over words,
both written and unwritten.
at that early winter angle
and I, second cup in hand,
linger over words,
both written and unwritten.
19 December 2011
The Burden Lifted
Friday afternoon, I sat with my family in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. I was fidgety, nervous, and I thought of how a doctor’s office is probably one of the most anxious places on earth. We wait there for news that can be life-changing. It’s a wrenching place to sit, to wait, to play out the various worst-case and best-case scenarios, all while thinking about the future despite being trapped in the apprehensive present.
That day, though, we were all waiting for good news. Would Arden be released from the burden of wearing her eye patch? This patient girl, who now breezes through a couple of chapter books a week, who had begun wearing her patch when she could read and write only her own name. This girl, who had worn the patch for four years: fully half her life. This girl, who once had no vision at all in one eye, and who now has good enough vision to pass a driver’s license vision exam.
I thought of how either of my daughters would remind me if I seemed to have forgotten about the day’s patching by chanting: P-A-T-C-H, P-A-T-C-H! It always seemed like they spelled it as if it were an unspeakable word, not quite a curse word, but almost.
I thought of all the hours and hours Arden had endured, and how incredibly grateful and lucky she’s been that A) the patch was effective B) that more drastic options like surgery weren’t required and C) that she was responsible and compliant enough to wear it. As difficult as it was at times, it was the simplest and easiest of all the options out there.
Sometimes in the course of my day at work, I see kids who are confined to wheelchairs, who cannot feed themselves, who cannot communicate beyond their most basic of needs, if that. In my mind, I see these kids as my outlook barometer. They help me to reset my attitude. It’s not me in that wheelchair, so what do I really have to complain about today? It’s not my kid there, so what can I feel grateful for today?
I thought of those kids in the wheelchairs while I waited, reminding myself that even if Arden would have to continue with the eye patch, there was still so much to be grateful for. I thought of how the patch could sometimes flip her attitude from sunny to cloudy, of how she hated to wear it in public and often felt awkward at strangers’ prying questions. But I also thought of how she’s been planning a No More Patch Party to celebrate, including some cool cupcakes in the patch-wearing pirate cupcake liners we found several months ago.
Finally, we were called back to a room, the three of us squeezing into the small seating area while Arden sat, looking tiny, in the too-big examination chair. Her fantastic, encouraging doctor supported her throughout the eye exam, each of us in the family watching and listening anxiously as she read the letters on the screen, knowing she was mistaking some, and hoping that she was doing well enough.
And we waited. The doctor took notes, asked questions, entered information into her laptop, and then she turned to us: yes, she could stop wearing the patch!
In spite of the small caveat that she return in April to be certain she wasn’t backing off on her gains, we cheered quietly with high fives at her burden lifted – definitely more sweet than bitter, with Arden’s proud smile elevating my no-longer anxious heart.
That day, though, we were all waiting for good news. Would Arden be released from the burden of wearing her eye patch? This patient girl, who now breezes through a couple of chapter books a week, who had begun wearing her patch when she could read and write only her own name. This girl, who had worn the patch for four years: fully half her life. This girl, who once had no vision at all in one eye, and who now has good enough vision to pass a driver’s license vision exam.
I thought of how either of my daughters would remind me if I seemed to have forgotten about the day’s patching by chanting: P-A-T-C-H, P-A-T-C-H! It always seemed like they spelled it as if it were an unspeakable word, not quite a curse word, but almost.
I thought of all the hours and hours Arden had endured, and how incredibly grateful and lucky she’s been that A) the patch was effective B) that more drastic options like surgery weren’t required and C) that she was responsible and compliant enough to wear it. As difficult as it was at times, it was the simplest and easiest of all the options out there.
Sometimes in the course of my day at work, I see kids who are confined to wheelchairs, who cannot feed themselves, who cannot communicate beyond their most basic of needs, if that. In my mind, I see these kids as my outlook barometer. They help me to reset my attitude. It’s not me in that wheelchair, so what do I really have to complain about today? It’s not my kid there, so what can I feel grateful for today?
I thought of those kids in the wheelchairs while I waited, reminding myself that even if Arden would have to continue with the eye patch, there was still so much to be grateful for. I thought of how the patch could sometimes flip her attitude from sunny to cloudy, of how she hated to wear it in public and often felt awkward at strangers’ prying questions. But I also thought of how she’s been planning a No More Patch Party to celebrate, including some cool cupcakes in the patch-wearing pirate cupcake liners we found several months ago.
Finally, we were called back to a room, the three of us squeezing into the small seating area while Arden sat, looking tiny, in the too-big examination chair. Her fantastic, encouraging doctor supported her throughout the eye exam, each of us in the family watching and listening anxiously as she read the letters on the screen, knowing she was mistaking some, and hoping that she was doing well enough.
And we waited. The doctor took notes, asked questions, entered information into her laptop, and then she turned to us: yes, she could stop wearing the patch!
In spite of the small caveat that she return in April to be certain she wasn’t backing off on her gains, we cheered quietly with high fives at her burden lifted – definitely more sweet than bitter, with Arden’s proud smile elevating my no-longer anxious heart.
16 December 2011
[ this moment ]
[ this moment ] - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. (Homage to Soule Mama)
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
14 December 2011
The Salt Water Cure
"The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea." – Isak Dinesen, 1937
This week, two friends on Facebook posted the same quote from Out of Africa. It struck me, first, because neither knows the other, although they both possess a love of great books. And then the reality, the veracity of the quote hit home. Because really, regardless of the depth of the problem I am facing, sweat, tears or the sea always make me feel better.
Crying isn’t something I do very often anymore, but there are times when it is the only way to express sadness, anger or frustration. And crying isn’t often a choice – it comes from something primal, something within, and it is often a first reaction to bad news, as we all know too well. It’s what we do after we cry that determines our true response to something beyond our control.
And by moving, doing, accomplishing something that takes real effort and work, we can find a purpose and a sense of achievement. Find something that needs doing, and focus on what can be done, rather than what can’t be undone.
To look out across the ocean and to see its immensity puts life’s problems back into perspective. Somehow that vista forces me to understand that my place in the universe is very small and insignificant – and it may seem ironic, but that brings me some level of comfort. I feel the same way in the Grand Canyon, among that ancient stone, that relentless river, and that sky the stretches on forever. I suppose that what I feel is a sense of continuity, that whatever issue I’m dealing with in my personal life is nothing in the grand scheme of things; that this, too, shall pass.
And of course, it doesn’t have to be the ocean or the Grand Canyon that cures us. It can be any connection to the natural world, no matter how small: a collection of stones or leaves, a bouquet of flowers, a field, a sunset or sunrise can be equally empowering.
Another of my favorite quotes is from the author of one of my favorite books, The Little Prince:
Something about inspiration and self-reliance in both of these quotes speaks to me. There is so much in this life that we cannot avoid, cannot help, cannot change. But when we can find, within ourselves, responsibility for our own happiness and unhappiness, that is when we can begin to change our world.
This week, two friends on Facebook posted the same quote from Out of Africa. It struck me, first, because neither knows the other, although they both possess a love of great books. And then the reality, the veracity of the quote hit home. Because really, regardless of the depth of the problem I am facing, sweat, tears or the sea always make me feel better.
Crying isn’t something I do very often anymore, but there are times when it is the only way to express sadness, anger or frustration. And crying isn’t often a choice – it comes from something primal, something within, and it is often a first reaction to bad news, as we all know too well. It’s what we do after we cry that determines our true response to something beyond our control.
And by moving, doing, accomplishing something that takes real effort and work, we can find a purpose and a sense of achievement. Find something that needs doing, and focus on what can be done, rather than what can’t be undone.
To look out across the ocean and to see its immensity puts life’s problems back into perspective. Somehow that vista forces me to understand that my place in the universe is very small and insignificant – and it may seem ironic, but that brings me some level of comfort. I feel the same way in the Grand Canyon, among that ancient stone, that relentless river, and that sky the stretches on forever. I suppose that what I feel is a sense of continuity, that whatever issue I’m dealing with in my personal life is nothing in the grand scheme of things; that this, too, shall pass.
And of course, it doesn’t have to be the ocean or the Grand Canyon that cures us. It can be any connection to the natural world, no matter how small: a collection of stones or leaves, a bouquet of flowers, a field, a sunset or sunrise can be equally empowering.
Another of my favorite quotes is from the author of one of my favorite books, The Little Prince:
“If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people together to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea.” – Antoine de Saint-ExupĂ©ry
Something about inspiration and self-reliance in both of these quotes speaks to me. There is so much in this life that we cannot avoid, cannot help, cannot change. But when we can find, within ourselves, responsibility for our own happiness and unhappiness, that is when we can begin to change our world.
09 December 2011
[ this moment ]
[ this moment ] - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. (Homage to Soule Mama)
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
07 December 2011
Another Chapter
For the month of November, I participated in NaNoWriMo, a month-long writing adventure designed to push wanna-be novelists into creating a habit of writing by giving them thirty days and a goal of 50,000 words. And I did it – I wrote 50,057 words and have an ugly shell of a pretty decent story in need of major revision and renovation. I’ve never written anything that length, usually because I get bogged down in trying to make my words sound (right / beautiful / elegant / fill-in-the-blank). The 50,000 word goal was scary at first, but after a week I already had managed to write more than eleven thousand words. And that’s when I began to think that maybe I could actually write a long work. In order to do it, though, I didn’t permit myself to go back and re-read (and therefore edit) what I’d written. I didn’t delete anything. I only took two days off from writing during that whole month and both of those were school days with other evening events tagged on top.
I learned that writing is a lot like running. You just have to do it. There aren’t any tricks that make it easier, except continuing to show up and do it again. And slowly, those miles / words build up, and before you know it, you’ve come a long way. (I have to confess that it’s hard to stop looking at the ‘word count’ at the bottom of the page while I type this.) I also learned that it’s actually pretty cool to immerse yourself in a month-long task. I’ve been wondering what other goals might seem more manageable if compressed into the time frame of thirty days.
But in order to write that much, with a more-than-full-time job and full-time family, I had to give up some things. Some were easily to push aside than others, like waking up at 4:45 a.m. to run so that I could have a longer block of time in the evening. The early morning wakeup call was pretty easy to let go of – too easy in fact.
It was more difficult to give up watching movies and HBO shows with Dan, something we do a few nights a week with the small amount of time sandwiched between the girls’ bedtimes and our own.
And the strangest thing of all for me to give up was reading. I read all the time. I often have several books going at once. I love to read: fiction, poetry, nonfiction, juvenile and young adult, magazines, articles online. But to reach that crazy writing goal, I had to – and I mean had to – let go of reading.
This past weekend was my first non-NaNoWriMo weekend in four weeks. Lucky for me, it was also a very chilly, snowy weekend. One of my daughters also had a cold, which allowed all of us to lay low as well. And so, while I didn’t get a run or a movie in, I did read. A lot. I started and finished reading two books, and then Sunday evening, I started two more.
I was hungry for words. Maybe after all that output, I needed to devour a hundred thousand words or so to replace what I’d written. Sitting near the cozy fireplace, I read and read and read. Sometimes I was alone, other times members of my family of readers joined me. Sometimes Lucie the cat cuddled nearby as well. One of the great things about reading, as opposed to writing, is that, for me at least, reading doesn’t require nearly the time commitment as writing. Ten minutes here, five minutes there. For me to write, though, I need a block of time that is relatively undisturbed – and rare in this busy woman’s life.
Meanwhile, though, I’ll continue to show up for this blog and refocus for the revisions that await my novel-in-progress, in addition to trying to catch up on the other areas of my life that have recently been neglected. And most happily, I’ll immerse myself completely in the beautiful words of Marquez and others. But don’t worry. I’ll come up for air in about thirty days.
I learned that writing is a lot like running. You just have to do it. There aren’t any tricks that make it easier, except continuing to show up and do it again. And slowly, those miles / words build up, and before you know it, you’ve come a long way. (I have to confess that it’s hard to stop looking at the ‘word count’ at the bottom of the page while I type this.) I also learned that it’s actually pretty cool to immerse yourself in a month-long task. I’ve been wondering what other goals might seem more manageable if compressed into the time frame of thirty days.
But in order to write that much, with a more-than-full-time job and full-time family, I had to give up some things. Some were easily to push aside than others, like waking up at 4:45 a.m. to run so that I could have a longer block of time in the evening. The early morning wakeup call was pretty easy to let go of – too easy in fact.
It was more difficult to give up watching movies and HBO shows with Dan, something we do a few nights a week with the small amount of time sandwiched between the girls’ bedtimes and our own.
And the strangest thing of all for me to give up was reading. I read all the time. I often have several books going at once. I love to read: fiction, poetry, nonfiction, juvenile and young adult, magazines, articles online. But to reach that crazy writing goal, I had to – and I mean had to – let go of reading.
This past weekend was my first non-NaNoWriMo weekend in four weeks. Lucky for me, it was also a very chilly, snowy weekend. One of my daughters also had a cold, which allowed all of us to lay low as well. And so, while I didn’t get a run or a movie in, I did read. A lot. I started and finished reading two books, and then Sunday evening, I started two more.
I was hungry for words. Maybe after all that output, I needed to devour a hundred thousand words or so to replace what I’d written. Sitting near the cozy fireplace, I read and read and read. Sometimes I was alone, other times members of my family of readers joined me. Sometimes Lucie the cat cuddled nearby as well. One of the great things about reading, as opposed to writing, is that, for me at least, reading doesn’t require nearly the time commitment as writing. Ten minutes here, five minutes there. For me to write, though, I need a block of time that is relatively undisturbed – and rare in this busy woman’s life.
Meanwhile, though, I’ll continue to show up for this blog and refocus for the revisions that await my novel-in-progress, in addition to trying to catch up on the other areas of my life that have recently been neglected. And most happily, I’ll immerse myself completely in the beautiful words of Marquez and others. But don’t worry. I’ll come up for air in about thirty days.
02 December 2011
[ this moment ]
[ this moment ] - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. (Homage to Soule Mama)
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.
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