Easter

For the past couple of days I've felt kind of low. Besides the fact that I've been dealing with a kidney stone, there seemed to be something emotional going on. I think I've figured it out now.

I saw on Facebook where people were going to be with their families for Easter and it hit me that we don't gather in the spring anymore.  Most of the time we would travel to my dad's house, dresses, white socks and shoes bought at Hecht's for the occasion packed in girly suitcases, Easter basket contents either hidden away in the back of the car or purchased with my sisters once we got to Greensboro. We dyed eggs on my dad's kitchen table and the kids hunted for the plastic ones in his back yard.

We would go to one of the churches we went to when I was young, one that my grandmother still attended, or the new-ish church that we joined when I was an adolescent. It was a reunion of sorts, those visits back to the churches, seeing the people my dad's age getting older, their children with children just like mine.

Then we would go back to my dad's house where he had fixed a wonderful lunch.  Other relatives might join us, just as they did at his house at Christmas.


This is the first year I've felt this way and I  know that it's part of the grieving process.  The part where every day gets easier but the holidays are concentrated sadness. I'm grieving not just my dad's death of almost three years ago, but also the loss of this family tradition that he orchestrated. I'm grieving the fact that my daughters are grown and that our time together is now limited to the Christmas holiday and a couple of visits home and to their towns at other times of the year.

I need to start a new tradition for Easter. But this weekend I'll remember the old ones. It's all part of the healing.

The nays have it

Since January 17, 2011, I have sent out my stories ninety-eight times.  I have gotten a "yes" six times.  I have withdrawn stories (because they were accepted elsewhere) three times.  That adds up to eighty-nine rejections.

In a normal week, I get one or maybe two, but last week I got five of them.  One of the rejections was for a story that I really thought would be accepted by a magazine that I really want to be in. I was feeling pretty low.

In our writing group last night, I shared my frustration.  Our teacher was already planning to talk about revision with us. I've heard it again and again: A writer must be good at revision.  A writer must LOVE revision. But I have a deep dark un-writerly secret: I'm just not that into it.

I have a fertile imagination (confirmed by my teacher last night) and write story after story.  I have talent, I think, and a rudimentary understanding of the craft of writing.  I could learn more, no doubt about it. But every time I look at the stack of stories that I have waiting to be turned into something wonderful, I turn away.

Every writer says at one time or another, "Why the heck am I doing this?" And I said that last week.  Why am I wasting time putting these stories on paper if nobody will accept them?  But that is not the question.  The question is why am I birthing these stories and not nurturing them until they're grown?

When I get a rejection, even if it's an automatically generated email, I always write back, saying thanks, re-affirming that I have confidence in my story and will submit it elsewhere, letting them know that I will submit to them again too.  I do believe in my writing, in the stories that bubble up and beg to be written.

So I'm going to make a commitment to revision. I'm going to take each story and groom it until it's the best that it can be.  I'm going to start reading more books about the craft. I'm going to deepen my characters and spruce up the landscapes. I'm going to study subtext so there are more layers to my plots and people.

Otherwise?  What the heck am I writing for?

Pointing Fingers

Michael Moore says in one of his recent emails: 

"....I have a prediction. I believe someone in Newtown, Connecticut – a grieving parent, an upset law enforcement officer, a citizen who has seen enough of this carnage in our country – somebody, someday soon, is going to leak the crime scene photos of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre. And when the American people see what bullets from an assault rifle fired at close range do to a little child's body, that's the day the jig will be up for the NRA. It will be the day the debate on gun control will come to an end. There will be nothing left to argue over. It will just be over. And every sane American will demand action.

"Because the real truth is this: We do not want to be confronted with what the actual results of a violent society looks like. Of what a society that starts illegal wars, that executes criminals (or supposed criminals), that strikes or beats one of its women every 15 seconds, and shoots 30 of its own citizens every single day looks like. Oh, no, please – DO NOT MAKE US LOOK AT THAT!"

He goes on to describe what the shooter's gun did to those children.  Horrible beyond comprehension.

I ask you this:  Do we have to look at something like that to know that it's horrible, to realize that we cannot continue to allow young children to be killed either purposely or accidentally by the guns of adults?

I keep having this image of people sitting in a circle.  One represents the media.  Beside that person is a representative of the mental health profession.  Then a teacher, then a parent, a gun-owner.  And at the end is a politician. Each of them is pointing a finger at the person beside them, absolving him- or herself of the responsibility and of taking action.

I say that in the middle of this circle should sit you and me.  And we should go around that circle one by one and ask, "What can we do to make a difference in your arena?"  How can we influence you, Ms. Politician, besides waiting another three or four years until we can vote you out or re-elect you?  How can we help you, Mr. Dad; how can we support you as a parent?  Teacher, what do you need that you're not getting from us? Ms. Movie Producer, what is it going to take for us to convey our dislike of the mounting violence in the media; or if we can't stop it, how can we stop it from being available so readily?  Mr. Therapist, how can we help raise awareness about the things you see that can be changed? Mr. and Ms. Gunowner, what rules do you think are reasonable to protect our children?

On May 28, we're bringing some people together in a town meeting who can hopefully help us ask these hard questions. In doing so, our goal is to have every person walk out of the bookstore armed with tools for change.  

Please stay tuned.  

Spiraling

I've got to get some clarity on a few things. Monday I woke up at four a.m. worrying about my week ahead.  I had lunches and dinners with friends, a program on the bookstore to present to a civic organization, taxes and bills to pay at work, a workshop to get ready for, a women's group meeting, reading to do for a book club presentation.

I walked into the kitchen and started getting a little crazy talking about it all to my husband. I even got off on worrying about what is going to happen to all my stories that are waiting for revision: Is someone going to have to finish them after I die? I asked.  He's mostly calm and objective so he just listened. He didn't say, WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF? or tell me that I was making too much of it all.  His serenity was no match for my madness though.

At work, we met with our computer person and insurance person.  Both of them seemed stressed.  At dinner my friend was talking a mile a minute and that's not really like her.  All day I kept running into people on overload. I wondered if my stress was contagious.

I started thinking about ways I could eliminate the parts of my life that stress me out and increase the time spent on what I love -- writing mostly and getting groups of people together to learn things.

I know the things that take up too much time with not much payback.  I justify them in all sorts of ways but I'm realizing that the bottom line is they aren't making me happy.  As my friend said at dinner the other night, we're too old to be doing things that don't fill us up.

I'm doing the Deepak/Oprah 21-day meditation challenge.  Yesterday I meditated at the end of the day and realized that it helped some. Today I decided to put the meditation first in my day.  We were told that we innately know what is right for us.  I'm going to tap into that intuition for a few weeks and see what floats to the top. Not so deep down I know what those things are.

Thinking About Myself

Things I've been exploring about myself:

1. I've noticed that a lot of times when I'm talking to someone on the phone, we talk over each other.  I think it's me that's the problem.  When someone makes a statement and pauses, I step in.  Nine times out of ten they're not finished -- maybe talking a breath or thinking about what to say next?--but I take the silence as a cue to continue the conversation.  It doesn't happen with everyone, but it happens consistently with several of my friends.

2. When someone talks to me about a situation where I see both sides clearly, I will often take the opposite view from them, playing devil's advocate. By bringing up the opposite viewpoint, I might come across as unsympathetic or even antagonistic.

3.  I am too eager to solve other people's problems.  Again, because the answer seems clear to me, I want to give the person advice.  The other person doesn't always want my advice.  Sometimes, when told that, I will give my advice anyway.

4.  I 'pre-worry' much too often.  What-if statements come up in my conversations at least once or twice a day.

I think being more conscious of my behavior will help me quit doing these things.  Or quit doing them so often.

At sixty-one years old, I thought I'd have it all figured out by now. Shoot, I'm just beginning to be aware. I've got a ways to go before it's all figured out! I'm going to be gentle with myself.

(We are working on our panel discussion about guns, mental health issues and the media...stay tuned!)

A Short Post

Postcard from PostSecret.com website

One of the things I look forward to each week is the new post from PostSecret.  People mail in their secrets on postcards.  I've used quite a few of them as story prompts quite successfully.

This particular card stood out a few weeks ago.  I thought about how often we give others a pardon while beating ourselves up for past mistakes. 

TV: From Problem to Solution

Last night I watched a program on Adam Lanza, the young man who did the Sandy Hook killings. Adam had numerous mental health problems. His mother had guns. Hi mother taught him to shoot guns. He was disenfranchised, moved from school to school, classroom to classroom. He played violent video games. He had few friends. His parents were divorced and he had cut off ties to his father or older brother. In short, he exhibited every warning sign that we're told to look for as parents and educators.

Adam's problems were deep and complicated. The solutions are too, but we have to start somewhere.

Yesterday this article from the LA Times was in our local paper.  Here are a couple of quotes from the article.

"A study conducted by the University of Otago in New Zealand concluded that every extra hour of television watched by children on a weeknight increased by 30 percent the risk of having a criminal conviction by age 26."

"'Young adults who had spent more time watching television during childhood and adolescence were significantly more likely to have a criminal conviction, a diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder and more aggressive personality traits compared with those who who viewed less television.'"

The solutions to this problem were simple:

1.  Limit children's television time to two hours or less. (Even this seems excessive to me.)
2.  Limit the programs they watch to educational or non-violent shows.
3.  Make television watching part of the solution (programs that promote positive behavior) rather than the problem.

Maybe these are small early steps that parents can take toward the prevention of violence in at-risk children. It made sense to me.

If you have a child in the home, how do you handle the television?

Most Loved

(I'm posting in-between times this week because I missed last week. I promise to get back on the Wednesday schedule beginning next week.) 

Today I'm sharing the first draft of a piece I wrote today in honor of Valentine's Day.  It's a little longer than my usual post, but I hope you'll stick around to the end. :) 

It's all too easy to think of February 14 as Lovers' Day instead of Day of Love. Maybe my words will inspire you to think of the day when you felt the most loved.

Most Loved

Hopeless.

That word circled my mind as I listened to my friend talk about her love affair with a married man.

On a trip they took to the coast, lying in bed in a hotel room overlooking the ocean, he told her he adored her. 

“He adored me,” she said, her face pink with love, a small smile unable to be contained.  “No one has ever told me they adored me.”

I think now, this week of Valentine’s Day, of the time when I felt most adored.

We sit on a flowered sofa, my great grandparents and I. There is cake; it is my first birthday. My great grandmother stares straight into the camera, a forkful of cake on its way to her mouth. Her head is wrapped in a scarf and the ties hang over her ample bosom. Black socks and shoes angle on the floor over her bare calves. Her glasses reflect the flash of the camera.

My great grandfather and I are the stars of this photograph though. I am leaning into my great grandmother, a smile lighting my face, my hands playing with each other in that way that children have when they’re so excited that even their hands get into the action. My feet are in motion too and there’s a tiny circle around one of them—from the flash? Today with my new-agey spirituality I might say it’s an orb, an energy ball, a symbol of angels or spirits.

My great grandfather leans away from us, pipe in hand, plate with a slice of cake in his lap.  Black suit—his Sunday suit?—over a tie-less white shirt, hair thick and silver. He stares down at me with the most delight. He adores me, his first great granddaughter on her first birthday.

Their last name was Brown and that’s the color I associate with them.  The brown sugar cookies she used to make, the first thing we’d smell when we walked in their house.  The brown walls and floors, worn with many footsteps, a few blackened places still remaining from a fire that caught up in a bedroom.  The brown boats my great-grandfather used to make.  The print in their kitchen of the little girl holding a brown hen that they always used to say was me.

Of course I don’t remember that day of my first birthday.  But in my father’s things we found many jewels, including old negatives.  The photographs must have been long sent to relatives or put in albums or cleaned out of drawers because we never found them.  At the time I was taking a darkroom class. My own attempts at black and white photography were mediocre so I took the old negatives into the darkened concrete room of the community center to discover the treasures they held.  When I put this negative in the light and saw the three of us on the flowered couch I knew that this was no ordinary occasion, not just a birthday, but a moment in time when I was truly loved.

I understand now, looking at the photograph on my desk, the reasons that my friend doesn’t want to give up this feeling of being adored. I feel lonely for the moment captured on the couch, a moment that I cannot remember.  I don’t blame her for wanting to hang on to it, this unabashed admiration of her lover. I can’t tell her to let it go.

She's Kidding, Right?

In one week, this

and this

and this

and these are just crimes that have to do with schools.

There is also this and this.

I could go on.

And today I read this?  Seriously, Kay Hagan? You're on the fence because you might lose your seat in Congress?

We have a chance to influence our Congresswoman. Your voice (and eventually your vote) will matter. This has got to stop.  It's insanity.

Finally, please watch this.

Watching

The year my oldest daughter turned thirteen, these were the top five movies:

Forrest Gump
The Lion King
True Lies
The Santa Clause
The Flintstones

Included in the list of PG-13 movies that year was one about a young boy witnessing a murder involving the Mafia, Sin and Redemption, Ace Ventura, The Shadow.  For the most part, I could tell whether a movie was appropriate for her, and there weren't that many inappropriate movies for a thirteen-year old.

In 2012, the top five movies were:

The Avengers  (Trailer)
The Dark Knight Rises (Trailer)
Hunger Games
Skyfall
One of the Twilight movies

All of the above movies were rated PG-13. I wouldn't have wanted my daughter to see any of them, with the possible exception of Hunger Games.

Parents have a much harder job these days keeping an eye on their children's habits.  The child can be watching a suitable television show, but the commercials are full of violent trailers for movies or later shows.  They can access pornography and violence on the internet; they buy first person shooter video games with their allowances, bypassing any parental oversight.

And the electronic babysitter is easy.  In a home where there is a single parent or two working parents, it is understandable that after fixing dinner, overseeing homework, carpooling to school and sporting events, after a long day at the office, that the parent might want to read or watch television and be alone.  And a quiet occupied kid is a good kid, right?

This is one extreme, the tired parent who just wants to rest at the end of the day and lets their child self-occupy.  What about the parent whose kid stockpiled ammunition and guns in the basement? What the heck is up with that?

We still owe it to our children to parent them as long as they're at home.  We can't let them have all the choices because there are way more bad choices--even in what they watch on TV and do for recreation--than there were when my kids were teenagers.

A friend with two teenage boys said to my husband, "It's not like it was when your kids were young." And she's as right as can be.  It's not. The job of parenting is harder than ever, but it's the job we take when we decide to be parents.

If you are the parent, please weigh in on how you deal with the issue of overseeing your child's movie, computer, and gaming time.  How does your child react to any restrictions you place on him or her? Have you ever taken action in the form of letters of protest to television stations or movie theaters? What affect do you see violence having on your children?

And let us know what kind of support you need from those of us who aren't in that battlefield.  Are there ways we can get behind these issues with you?

Remember: This is a conversation.

A Long Foggy Road

The promise of my last post of 2012 has left me feeling like this road: foggy.

Since that post:

- I've read articles about violence in the media and I've paid a lot of attention to the fact that even as commentators like Jon Stewart ridicule the gun fanatics, the commercials on his show are 75% guns and explosions.

- I've watched as the gun proponents blame the mental health people who blame the media.

- I've read articles and listened to stories about Obama's gun proposals, heard the contentious nature of the debate, felt the iron stances of both sides.

- I've watched the Newtown families as they banded together to make change. I saw this family with NC connections talk about the loss of their beautiful daughter, Catherine.

- I've talked to friends and family about my frustration with finding a simple solution and with my inability to write one word here about my thoughts.  A friend said, "You can't change the world; you can only work within your sphere of influence." One daughter said that if my promise felt like a burden then I shouldn't do it.

And now I'm trying to get my mind around what is possible.  Is it realistic to think that I'm going to change Richard Burr's mind about gun control?  Is the motion picture industry going to listen to my pleas to stop rating for money and begin thinking about who should be seeing the violence they're selling? (See this article that ran in our local paper.) Are video game manufacturers going to stop and think about the desensitization of young people toward violence and change their ways?  Would improving mental health services help? Is it possible to form a lobby that would counter the NRA? Picket? Boycott? Write letters? Donate money? Raise money?

It all seems overwhelming.  I'm going to do two things for now.

First I'm going to take a few minutes every day to just sit and put my attention on the fact that one of the overarching feelings in this country right now is fear.  I'd like to ask you to do the same.  If you pray, pray.  If you meditate, meditate mindfully on it.  If you don't do either, just take a quiet moment or two to consider. What are we afraid of and how can we instill a sense of safety in our homes, communities, schools, and country?

Second, I'm going to keep looking for opportunities to make a difference. I'm still going to ask for some guest bloggers, and if you want to volunteer please do. I'm going to work on that town council.

In the meantime I am going move on to other subjects in this blog until I gain some clarity on what direction to take.  I welcome your conversation; I want it to be a dialogue.

I'm pondering the post

I'm thinking about what to say and will post before the week's end.  Thanks for your patience.

Casting About, Eyes Open

When I looked through my camera lens and took the picture above, I failed to see what looks like an elf's face on the far right of the wood.  I had to open my eyes to the details of the print before it came alive.

This is what has happened to me since my last post of 2012.  Well, that and the flu, which gave me a lot of television/newspaper/magazine time.  I've opened my eyes to anything that will shed light on the reason that we are having more crimes like the one in Newtown.

Today I'm going to briefly list some of the things that I saw, without comment; detailed conversations (please talk back) will come in later posts.

First there was this comic in my Google Reader:

There were articles in the newspaper.

1. One event from Columbus, Ohio, has made quite a splash in the press and on Facebook, about two high school football players who are charged with raping a 16-year-old girl. Last week, an unverified video was released showing one young man laughing about the accuser.

2. In an article discussing the biggest problems our new governor faces, mental illness was #6. "North Carolina's decadelong mental health reform effort has, by most assessments, failed with mentally ill people crowded into adult care centers, local hospitals, and county jails, or put on the streets because there are not enough community facilities." - Rob Christensen,  The News and Observer, January 6, 2013.

3. In the entertainment section, there was a note that "Texas Chainsaw 3-D had overtaken "The Hobbit" (see my earlier comments about The Hobbit here).

There was a conversation I had with a friend about how he and his children went to the movies over the holidays.  The violence in the movie was offensive to him, but not to his children.

There was the mother sitting across the table from her young son at Whole Foods.  He chatted animatedly to her while she checked her phone.

There was a conversation I had with an African-American woman about the culture of the angry white male.  She pointed out something I hadn't thought about: White males are now a minority in this country.

There was talk and more talk about guns.  Our guns, the guns or lack thereof in other countries, the hoarding of guns and ammunition, our right to bear arms and what it means.  There was the idea of building a strong anti-gun coalition to face down the gun lobby, the idea of barring politicians from taking gun money, the discovery of gun legislation buried in the Obamacare bill.

On Sunday morning, I happened on Oprah's Sunday morning show.  Marianne Williamson was her guest, and she said three things that struck me. I want to end with them (I paraphrase):

1.  We must have a shift from ordering things along economic principles to humanitarian principles.

2.  We can't wait for the majority; a small group with a radical idea can make change.

And most important in my mind:

3.  When an adult female feels threatened, or when "her children" are threatened, she will not stop until she has remedied the situation.

Can WE Do It?

Final thoughts as the year ends:

Last night I went to see The Hobbit.  It was not The Hobbit of my teenage imagination. It was violent and gory and to the young children in the next row, I imagined, the stuff of nightmares.

"How did you like the movie?" my husband asked as we exited the theater.

"I couldn't stop thinking about those small kids behind us," I said.  It was totally distracting.  Every fang, every scream, everything flying from the screen in 3D seemed too much for them. And if it wasn't too much for them, if they weren't sensitive to the horror, that was even more distressing.

I talked for a few minutes about the way the motion picture association and movie makers manipulate movies and ratings to gain the most profit from them.  How parents don't preview movies, ignorantly send their children to see things they shouldn't see. I would have probably sent mine to The Hobbit with a babysitter or gone with them from reading it years ago.

I don't do war movies, but I love war novels.  When I read, I am limited by my imagination whether innately or deliberately.  In movies it isn't like that.

I came back to those children in Newtown and the boy that killed them.  What can I do? I keep asking myself, feeling small and helpless in the face of the media and their lust for money, the gun people with their powerful lobbies and big money, the decreasing funding for mental healthcare.  What can I do? I asked my husband.

"You have a blog," he said.

Yes, I do have a blog.  I've posted every week in 2012 and fifteen hundred people have read my posts.  Not a huge amount - I know bloggers who have that many visitors in a day - but that's fifteen hundred people I think are thoughtful and concerned.

I go back to the title of this blog: Can I Do It?

In 2013, I'm going to ask CAN WE DO IT?  I'm going to do research about the big issues that surround tragedies like Newtown and find ways to make small changes that will have a big impact. I'm going to put together town meetings at my local bookstore. I may ask people to guest write; my daughter who was a schoolteacher has strong opinions.  I'll post at least twice a month about what I've learned.

In the theater, I found myself thinking, "In my day...." and it made me feel old.  But the truth is, in my day, nobody came into the schools and shot classrooms of young children.  The worst you faced in the theater was people spitting on you from the balcony.  There weren't any malls, but I could ride the bus downtown and spend the day window shopping with my friend and come home with nothing worse than clothing lust. I want some of that back.

I hope you'll be an active participant in this undertaking. There's real power in the WE of CAN WE DO IT?

A sense of safety for everyone.  Prosperous in the ways that count. Working to change what's not working. Lucky in '13.  My wishes for us in the coming year.

Christmas 2012

I've spent a lot of time with friends and family over the past few days and hope all of you have done the same.  I continue to think of the families of Newtown and others who have lost loved ones during the past year.

I plan one more post before the end of the 2012.  Talk to you then.

Love and peace.

RSVP

Next week I want to get back to my last post about the doctor and the soldier, but not tonight.

I've thought all day about what to write here.  It seemed ridiculous that I would post about anything except what happened in Newtown last Friday.  And yet I couldn't think of a single pithy thing to say.  I've looked in the faces of those children and adults who were murdered that day, I've cried like all the rest of us. I've felt helpless, blamed guns and video games and lack of funding for mental health just like everyone else.

I decided to turn to you. I wonder if you would comment here about how you feel changed by what happened and if you feel called to take any action on a personal, local, or national level.

I'll go first: I'm going to see if our local bookstore will help me put together a town meeting to discuss how we can work on the local level to make some changes.  I'm going to educate myself about the issues.  I'm going to keep looking at the faces of the brave people who died trying to prevent deaths and the children who could not be saved.

And now you....RSVP.

From the WTF Department

I was in the car when I first heard of the rescue of Dr. Dilip Joseph and the death of Petty Officer 1st Class Nicolas Checque. My immediate reaction was, "We lost one to gain one. WTF good was that?"

The facts are that Dr. Joseph has worked for Morning Star Development for three years. During that three years he has made numerous trips to Afghanistan. He is not a volunteer; this is his job. He was captured with two others who were subsequently released. He is sixty-seven years old..

The facts are that Petty Officer Checque, 28, was a highly decorated Navy Seal who enlisted right out of high school. He had served for ten years, some of them in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was the third Seal to lose his life in the past few weeks, all of them under thirty years old.

Dr. Joseph was a man of intelligence, I assume. He chose to go into a situation fraught with peril. Over and over he made the decision to go into Afghanistan. 

Petty Officer Checque chose his job too. But I believe that we sacrificed this young man for something that was not his job. We had no right to risk the lives of him and his company of elite forces to bring a man out who was voluntarily putting himself in harm's way.

I appreciate the fact that Dr. Joseph, and others like him, do our dirty work. These international workers are to be commended. But I believe that they--and their organizations--must assume the responsibility for the safety and risk of their employees.

Of Checque's death, President Obama said, "He gave his life for his fellow Americans, and he and his teammates remind us once more of the selfless service that allows our nation to stay strong, safe, and free."

Bullshit. 

He gave his life for one American, and I am no safer, stronger, or freer because we sent this young man to meet his end to rescue Dr. Joseph.  

It is a perfect example of the way we have justified for the past several years--since the Vietnam War--the sacrificial deaths of our young servicemen and women under the auspices of making the world safer, stronger, and freer.

Rest in peace, Nicolas Checque. You went above and beyond the call of duty in every way.  

Good Gifts

Here is my list of gift suggestions for 2012.

1.  Book store gift certificates or books (suggestions here)

2.  Handmade and local things

3,  A card with a note saying that a donation has been made in one's honor or in memory of a loved one lost during the year, for instance to Stop Hunger Now

4.  Calling cards, return address labels, or just about anything from Felix Doolittle

5.  Materials to make personalized cards.  One of my favorite places to shop for those is Paper Source or French Paper

6.  A subscription to Lumosity to keep your brain from freezing

7.  A load of firewood (this is what my sister-in-law gives us and we love it).

Feel free to add your suggestions (or requests!) in the comment section.

I leaped first

Some of you might remember back in August when I posted about this little project I dreamed up.  I've been working steadily on it, organizing a workshop with author and UNC-CH professor Randall Kenan, getting writers to write, scanning old photographs, and doing all the million little things that need to be done for the January 4, 2013 exhibit.

One of my more ambitious undertakings has been to put together a catalog of the photographs and stories to sell at the reception.  I know there's no way people will have time to read twenty-two stories during the three-hour event. Add to that the fact that each of these amazing pieces is a tight package of literary art, meant to be read and re-read.

I'm not trying to make any money on the catalogs, just give people an opportunity to experience the fullness of the writing, re-coup some of the materials expenses, and maybe have a little left over to donate to a charity like Books for Kids out of Raleigh.

But remember when I've said I was put on earth this go-round to learn patience?

"Measure twice; cut once."
"Look before you leap."
"How many times are you going to...?"
"Haste makes waste."
"Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue...."

Yep, all of the above statements have been running through my mind the past eighteen hours.  In my haste to save a few dollars in printing so I could keep the cost down, I sent the file off to be printed before it was really finished (to take advantage of Cyber Monday which was extended to Tuesday).  And now I'm stuck with fifty copies of the catalog, complete with errors.  I didn't save a dime.  I would have been better off waiting and ordering at the full price.

All of this has been a learning experience for me.  I've learned about the need for deadlines and expecting people to meet them.  I've learned a little more about self-publishing (including cancellation policies). I've learned that a one-page story from a found photograph can be the most powerful story I've read in a week.  I've learned about mounting the stories and photos for the gallery in a way that is aesthetically pleasing.  And I've used a lot of knowledge that I've acquired in other workshops, cooperative projects, and gallery events.

And guess what? I've had another lesson in patience.  One day, I'm absolutely sure, it's going to stick for good. If I can just wait....

Holidays Loom Large

I'm thankful, you're thankful, we're all thankful.  This week we especially think about giving thanks for our loved ones, our groaning tables, our ease of life compared to everybody else in the world.  Yep, we sure know how to be thankful at Thanksgiving, don't we?

So after you've been thankful for a while, give some real thought to people you know who have lost someone they loved this year.  The holidays, birthdays, the Hallmark moments are really tough.

Do those friends a favor: Send an email, or better yet, sit for a moment and really think about what it means to be them right now.  Then write them a note.  Say, "I'm thinking about you," and mean it. Call them up and tell them you're available if they'd like to talk about their loved one and holidays past.  Give them a tidbit of memory about their loved one from your stash.  Make them laugh. Do it again next year because even if most people have moved on, they are still hurting.

They'll be thankful.