poem day

Poetry is my default. It makes me happy. Here is a poem that showed up today. Now, go find your bliss.

 Open

I am waiting,

slowly breathing in,
as every shaft
of light disappears
behind dull lids.

Now only soul,

blood and body exist
within this shell,
eyes behind my eyes
beseeching.

Piano music,

sharp and resonant,
enters my
window saying
what? What?

That rhythm

and beauty persist,
despite me? That,
one way or another,
God speaks?

a series of gigs

So, I went to my first writer's conference this weekend. Of course, there was that essay contest. Let me put it this way: I will not have to worry about drafting my Pulitzer acceptance speech just yet. When our moderator  handed me his critique on Friday, I instantly knew that I was not going to be among the ten lucky "golden spur" winners the next night. His first line read, "A string of anecdotes is not a personal essay - it's a home movie." Oops. I'd thought all you had to do was spin a good yarn. Apparently, essays need a clear story arc with supportive columns all bolstering a strong central theme.

Oddly, I am cool with non-winning. It has caused me to learn so much. I was a bit deflated at first, but only for about five minutes. Then I got thankful for the positive comments and good advice I'd gotten from all the other writers in my group on how to turn my story into an essay. Actually, make that all but one. One dude had nothing good to say, calling my piece "pretty meaningless to the reader." I like to think that he is troubled by occasional gas. Nothing serious, just your garden variety flatulence.

Ooh, and the conference was excellent. I heard some fantastic speakers and met lots of great folk. I am so much better informed now on how to proceed with my writing and am brimming over with plans. Though, listening to people talk for almost thirty hours straight was intense. I need quiet for at least two days just so my ears can recover. Luckily, I am married to the perfect guy for that.

The thing is, as you go through life, you always want to win because winning says you're good enough. But not winning only means that you get to keep trying; you get to keep learning.

Take parenting: my main gig for twenty-some years. I was all in, so busy schlepping, cooking, chatting, and adventuring, that I barely stopped to take a breath. Then, one day, it was over: My kids had become working adults. I'd won, but that meant the game was done. I had to get a new gig: writing, editing, and taking pictures. I may never win at any of these, but I am all in for the journey.

Life is a series of gigs and we have to roll along. I hope you have found what you love and that you keep on rollin'.

girl meets art

Lately, I've been trying to figure out what art is. This year, I've been awakened to art like never before. I'm learning about music theory, which elucidates art. Nature is probably the most artsy thing of all. Words are art. Fragrance is olfactory art. Even actions can be art. Anyone who wants to can practice art. I want to pour art all over me, and to swim in it. But what, precisely, is art and who decides? I puzzle over this again and again, but cannot find a big enough answer. Here's what I know so far:

Art is a layer between the seen and the unseen.

Art separates us from the animals.

Art is evidence of emotion.

Art is a verb.

Art is personal.

Art is living in the now.

Art must be preceded by reverence.

Art is a way of speaking to the world.

Art has no boundaries.


Are any of these untrue? If you know anything more, tell me. Especially if you understand the whole of it.

kismet

I'm incorrigible. That's all there is to it. In my fragrance post, I said I was no longer adding to my collection, but, as Monk would say, here's what happenned. Found myself in Ulta today, where I hardly ever go, to pick up one item. Okay, it might have been haircolor. Turns out, right at the exact moment I was checking out, the girls at the register were working on markdowns. A clear case of kismet if I've ever seen one. Have I mentioned I believe in signs?

I wasn't gonna do it. I really wasn't, even though this fragrance had just turned $19.99, down from $55.00: a potential savings of $35.01. All I  wanted to do was look at the box. Then the salesgirl tells me she wears it, and how it is light and flowery, but also clean and fresh. Bingo. LFCF is my favorite fragrance combo. To have ignored a sign like that would have been playing a dangerous game, as surely this fragrance was being sent to me for a reason. And, the salesgirl was right. This scent is exactly what I think floating on a cloud would smell like. I heart it. Also, things could be worse. I might have found a kitten in the parking lot. Fragrance is so much easier to care for.

on being (formerly) anxious

So, yesterday, I found myself compulsively cleaning out closets. When the going gets tough, the tough clean closets, right?  At some point, I realized I was putting off several important tasks in order to conduct an emergency intervention on an already-pristine closet. 


After I'd carefully refolded all of my jeans, it dawned on me that I must be anxious: organizing's what I do when I'm anxious. (If you ever come to my house, and every item in every closet is color coded according to size, just take me to the nearest shrink.) Then I got even more anxious about being anxious, as I used to be addicted, but have worked really hard to kick the habit. And... you see how it goes.

If you are not an anxious person, be thankful. Don't ever start, not even one puff. The Surgeon General has warned against it. Anyhow, It just goes to show how hard well-established patterns are to change. I grew up a worrier. Someone in our family had to look at the big picture, to put in time worrying over bad things to keep them from happening, and the job fell to me. In my mind, I'd single handedly kept us out of the poorhouse. A bit illogical, but kids are not logical; kids are kids. However, adults have choices and can work to move beyond their foibles. 

Change doesn't happen in a day, but slowly and continually. Yesterday, I forgot the continually part, as in needing to be vigilant and to keep trying. I got snagged up by this coming weekend. It's a writer's conference. It involves a contest, of which I am among the fifty finalists, and a day-long critique session. This is a big step for me. Yikes. If people think my piece is crappy, I'll be sad.
  If they think it's great, or if it ends up being a winner, I'll feel pressured, and possibly embarrassed to have to walk up to the front and be recognized. What if I trip? Yes, my friends, this is the way that anxious people (and people who used to be anxious, like me) think.

But alas, things are much better today! Actually, writing this out fixes it in some way I cannot articulate. I am not even going to think about the event anymore, only take things as they come and enjoy. It helps that my buddy, Iris, who is also a finalist, gave me a lovely pep talk. We are going together, and we're gonna have fun. Period.

man proposes...

I promised a post about my neighbor and his interesting hobby, but our interview/photo session was preempted by his house getting struck by lightening this afternoon. Ugh. Poor things. The strike scared his wife half to death, and knocked out their A/C, phone, and I don't know what else.

I hope the lightening is not a sign, as this was to be the first of several planned interview/feature type things for the blog. The good news is no person or dog (they have three) was injured during the strike. We have rescheduled for next Sunday. Let us hope all can be repaired with minimal hassle to those nice folks & let's keep our fingers crossed for next week. If another natural disaster occurs, I may have to rethink my life plan.

This event reminds me of a wise saying my grandmother, Memmem, used to recite: "Man proposes, God disposes". If you use that little number, you must say it like she did, slowly, voice one octave lower than usual, with a three syllable m-aaahhhh-nnn, and with your right index finger jutting ominously into the air precisely at the word God. Exactly like that. Memmem was a bit dramatic.

I was in Target the other day, and overheard this woman, who was rushing about pushing a toddler in the cart, with a 'tweener in tow, on her cell phone  proclaim after a loud cackle, "It was a calamity of errors." Hah. Good one.

toys!

Nothing better than bumming around on a Saturday morning taking pictures of toys. No pressure. Aaaah. Americans are so darn busy, it's easy to forget to chill. Slow days are good for your heart and your soul. That's been scientifically proven by this guy.

Some days, I miss my kids; I'll admit that. But, so do the toys, people, so do the toys. I caught these guys sitting around in the girls' now-quiet rooms mulling over old times. Except for the gloworms below, which are mine. When the girls were small, we each had an item we collected on our yardsaling jaunts. Kelly's was clowns, Lauren's bears, and mine was gloworms.  You must admit they're adorable.

Oh - oh, oh. Tomorrow I'm interviewing a neighbor about his unusual and super-cool hobby. He's a great guy, and you will want to meet him. There will be pictures. I love it when people decide to pursue their lifelong passions. This is a story about that.