After a day at the spa

So many women, so little time

We start relaxing

Traveling mercies

Today's the day we start converging on the mountains for the fiftieth birthday celebration. We have people coming from Jacksonville FL, Orlando FL, Huntingtown MD, New York, Wilmington, Chapel Hill, Raleigh, Greensboro, Asheville, and Charlotte. I am picking up pennies with the face up (and turning over the ones that are face down for later gatherings), crossing fingers/toes/eyes, and just plain old praying that the weekend goes well.

One thing that has come up as we prepared is that a large number of those involved contend with sensory integration issues and NOBODY wants to sleep with anyone because they don't like to touch when they sleep. This means that with three bedrooms and thirteen of us, there are going to be a number of air beds strewn around. My family is large, and we're used to clustering up, but this is all women. No men to pooh pooh our issues and divert our attention.

Should be interesting. Good thing we're going to spend Saturday at the spa, each person getting two good relaxing treatments and able to use the rest of the day in the sauna, pool, hiking, or just resting. There's Blowing Rock for retail therapy, and if we get really bad, one sister is a therapist and can take us in the back room for a good listening-to.

Banner Elk, get ready.

Scared ya?

My mother-in-law collects my photo cards, refusing to part with them to send them out for special occasions. She loves to rifle through them, looking at the pictures, saying that she just cannot let this one or that one go, in spite of the fact that I assure her I can get her another one just like it.

However, when she is going through a new batch to pick some out, she says she hates the reflection pictures like the ones in the last post. She feels afraid when she sees them.

I did not receive any comments yesterday. Scared?

Reflections

I love to work with reflections when I take pictures. Can anyone guess what the last one is?

Rainy weekend part 2 or 3

We took a trip to Beaufort and Cape Lookout this weekend. The weather did not cooperate at all. It rained huge amounts once we got to the Lookout bight. I took a couple of naps to kill the time but didn't get to read much because hubby was all het up reading Ron Paul's book "The Revolution, A Manifesto" and wanted to scare me, um I mean talk about it. We are selling everything, buying a solar powered generator, water and seeds, taking the cat, stamps and postcards, and moving to a remote island where no one uses money and there are no nuclear weapons aimed or aiming!! In between the rain and the rant, I did manage to get some (grayish) pictures though. Enjoy!

Mourning the loss of the local news

I read in the paper yesterday that a good bit of our local newspaper is being combined with the Charlotte paper. The N&O laid off many people for this transition.

The loss of more of the local flavor of our paper is very distressing. I have written the book editor about the lack of highlighting local authors and reviewers in favor of nationally syndicated material. She wrote back that she did the best she could do with her budget. I have just today written the editor to complain about Peder Zane's column on Sunday where he says local bookstores are unable to get nationally known authors and are instead filling in with local writers. Here is my letter (if they don't publish it at least I'll have it out there for somebody to read):

"Peder Zane’s June 15 column was the work of a man who seems totally out of touch with the local literary scene. Our independent bookstores feature nationally known writers on a weekly basis, sent by the publishers. Not only that, but many of our local authors are nationally and internationally known themselves and hardly filler. In spite of the problems with the publishers mentioned in his article, our booksellers continue to recruit the best of the literary world to their doors and need recognition for it."

It seems to me that for local papers to survive they will have to stop competing on a national level. We can get all of our news online and on the television and radio. I don't need for my local paper to regurgitate that. I want the News and Observer to have articles on relevant topics for people in the Triangle. We have a wealth of universities doing amazing things with medicine, creative writing, agriculture, architecture, religion, young people. We have local businesses trying to stay alive in hard times. We have local politicians whose issues directly affect our day-to-day living. We have human interest stories about our neighbors, churches, non-profits. We have heroes who demonstrate courage every day by fighting crime and fires and medical emergencies. We have older people whose stories are dying with them every day. We have water woes, transportation troubles, development issues.

The News and Observer will not survive by going national or regional. It will survive by catering to the people who walk down their sidewalks each morning or stop by the fifty-cent box on the way to work. It will survive by showcasing local cultural events and recruiting local advertisers. It will survive by helping us to shop locally, think globally, be informed and care about what is going on in our community.

I'm sorry to see that the paper is moving more and more away from what I want to read. The local paper must go back to being a local paper if it is to survive. Otherwise, I have no need for it.

Cursive writing

Yesterday over Father's Day dinner we had an interesting conversation. Here is the progression:

1. My brother starts talking about the old World Book Encyclopedias, then goes on to tell about the off-brand set of encyclopedias we had at home that he could copy for reports because no one else had access to them. (A sure bet that my mom got them at the Sears Employee Store.)

2. I make a statement about how the internet has revolutionized research (no great observation, I know) and how I used to have to go to the library for a magazine article, look it up in tomes as big as an entire set of encyclopedias, then go to the microfilm, find it, copy it.

3. I move to typing and how we used to have to re-type a whole paper if we made a mistake (remember the round erasers with the brush on the other end?) and my husband says that his teachers would mark a big "F" on a paper if there was one spelling mistake. I mention the first time I worked for a company that had a typewriter with a memory - the writing moved across a one-inch screen above the keys so you could proof and then type to the page.

4. My daughter says that she was looking at an old schedule of classes that had "typing" as one of the courses and she laughed saying that nobody takes typing anymore. She and her friends learned to use a keyboard by using it, not taking a class where you typed "asdfghjkl;" or "Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country" over and over.

5. Then she shocks us all by saying that nobody learns cursive writing anymore. That she decided on her own to write in cursive so she would know how. WHAT?????

Coincidentally, on the way home, I read an article in the Rhino Times, an independently published newspaper in my home town, on this same subject. A mother had taken her son to a class where he had to sign his name on a release and he couldn't sign in cursive. The article went on to say that some children cannot even READ cursive writing.

Talk about a lost art. I had no idea that children no longer tore holes in their red and blue lined paper writing words that would eventually move gracefully across a page. This has been a most unpleasant revelation to me. First we lose the art of writing notes, then the art of writing. Uh uh, civilization. We're moving in some very undesirable directions.

My sister

There are five children in my family; I'm the oldest. The youngest two are only eleven months apart. Think about that: having your fifth child before the youngest is a year old. So for one month of the year, the "babies" are the same age.

The oldest of the babies is turning fifty next week. She is a study in contrasts: She is the only one who never finished college, yet she has the most money. She is the hardest worker of us all, but knows how to be lazy. She loves shoes and jewelry but brings it all off with a completely casual look. She laughs easily, but her life has not been easy by any means. She has failed, and she has succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.

I remember when she was a toddler. Over a few days it had snowed, melted some, snowed, and iced over until we had about a foot of snow topped by a sheet of ice. We took all the cookie sheets(most of which were partially black and rusty) and went outside and slid down our back yard. My mom bundled her up and sent her out to play with us. She could barely walk and would take a few steps, fall, get up and do it again. We thought it was hilarious. And she didn't cry, just continued that moon walking and falling and getting back up.

This really has been the story of her life. Take a few steps, fall, get back up. She is an amazing person, and I salute her. In a few weeks all of the women in my family--my sisters, sister-in-law, daughters, and nieces, thirteen of us--will gather in the mountains to celebrate her birthday. It will be a celebration of a life lived bravely with humor and stamina and an unwillingness to let life knock you down so far that you can't get up. Here's to you, Nonnie!

Paul Tillich and Clay

This week we had our religion and ethics discussion at the book store. Clay, our leader, brought in an idea of Paul Tillich's that God can be found not "out there" but in our "depth" and used some Biblical quotes to affirm this. In other words, if I understand correctly, Tillich is saying God is inside of us. With this on the table, I said that if this is true, then meditation makes all the sense in the world as a way of practicing spirituality. Clay, who unequivocally rejects all things that relate to the practice of Eastern religions, went on to say that he sees no purpose whatsoever in meditation, and feels that the only way to experience spirituality is to be in deep conversation with people about it. He even said that he has four friends who meditate and that when they go to silent retreats, they can't even discuss how they feel when they meditate. How absurd, he insinuated, making a statement about how people come up with some delusional opinions about their religion when they practice alone.

Four years ago I might have wholeheartedly agreed with Clay. Talking, doing, reading, talking some more--this was the way to not only get to the Truth but also the way to conduct my life. Talk about books, children, spouses, the government, the death penalty, teachers' plights, the economy, movies, and on and on.

And then I began a very preliminary dabbling into meditation. Not deep meditation as I've heard about but sitting still for fifteen, thirty minutes, even an hour. And to tell you the truth, I really liked it. A lot of wonderful things have come up while I listened to my breathing and the birds and the traffic and planes and lawn mowers. And I've come to believe that there is something deep inside of me that can be accessed in a spiritual way if I will just be still and quiet.

So I challenged Clay to try it. I don't think Clay gets challenged very often because his voice rose as he told me some conditions for his trying it, but I hope he takes the dare. I would love to have him come in one Monday night at the book store and say, "Okay, everybody, for the next hour we will be closing our eyes and listening, counting, silently reciting a mantra." Now THAT would represent a conversion experience!

Thomas (on piano) and the choir

Can I do it? Upload a video to my blog? This was taken by a friend today with a Flip video camera. It is our choir and the music director we are hoping to hire.

Obama and Clinton?

I have been thinking, as have most of us, about the possibility of an Obama/Clinton ticket. Although I feel that this would unite the Democrats in a significant way, I wonder what kind of VP Hillary would make and if she will take kindly to being the second in command. I would love to hear your ideas on this.

Name Tags

Yesterday I went to the bike store to buy a couple of screws for my bottle holder. The man gave them to me with a glance at my name tag, "Here, they're free because your name is Mamie."

I'm getting into this now. I made several beautiful tags last night and am wearing one today. It's square, Japanese paper with beautiful elaborate circles on it, and my name is in a cut circle. New trend: designer name tags? Photos later, I hope.

Anticipation

I read on the prattling brickbats website that someone she knew was getting a four leaf clover in the mail. Of course all those who know and love her wonder, Is it I? I got one today. Beautiful. Thank you. P.S. I still have the first one you found.

Where everyone knows my name

I wore the name tag all day. My husband and I work together and he never said a word about it, although he told me he loved the jacket I had on. I met two friends for lunch and both of them commented on it, one saying, "Oh, you wore a name tag so we'd know your name, haha!" and the other asking why I had on a name tag. Tonight I had a board meeting. We were interviewing a prospective employee, and my minister thought I had worn the tag so she would know my name. A couple of the women said how beautiful it was.

I was most self-conscious when I was going to be around someone I knew. And I did catch a few people looking twice at it, I guess since it wasn't your usual Hello My Name is... tag.

I think I'm going to wear it to church on Sunday. I was going to wear it to work again tomorrow, but we have an new architect coming in to talk about a job and if he's observant, he might wonder why I have on a name tag at my office. Then again, that might make things interesting.

Double dare

Blogger Peggy Payne has dared us to wear a nametag for at least a day to see what happens. I have made a beautiful one and will proudly wear it all day tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Food and Rant

My friend, Mit, is a great cook if I read correctly. She is always posting these wonderful sounding elaborate menus. I am inspired to share a recipe I made up today for a church meeting.

I am all about shortcuts that make cooking a breeze. I made shrimp salad by cutting up scallions, celery, shrimp, and tossing it with Brianna's Chipotle Cheddar dressing. Right before putting it on the croissants, I will toss it again with a little lettuce mix. Yum yum.

And maybe I'm the only person in the world who didn't already realize this, but Soodhalter Stir Stix were just the thing for making fruit kabobs. They are colorful, pointy on the end, and the perfect length for pieces of pineapple, watermelon, and strawberry.

As a green, I steamed asparagus, sprinkled with lemon juice and coarse salt.

All of the ingredients for this meal came from my neighborhood grocery store. Good thing because I'm totally put out with Whole Foods. Last night I went to pick up some strawberries because the ones at the grocery store looked hard and greenish. It was eight o'clock. The door was locked. What the #@(*&? So I went to the next door. Two unarmed employees were guarding it and informed me that the store was closed. Why? I asked. For a "team meeting" they answered. There was a fairly well-attended event at Quail Ridge and people were moving toward WF for dinner, groceries, whatever. And I'm thinking, "You're going to turn down at least a thousand dollars worth of business, and irritate the hell out some people (me) for a team meeting? Wouldn't the employees, whose salaries are supplemented by sales in their respective departments, be irritated too? What on earth possessed them to do this? My husband says they probably don't want to pay overtime, but there certainly seem to be many ways to work around that problem without shutting out customers an hour early in the middle of the week. I am reminded of the time I went in to the store and encountered a surly checkout girl who informed me that she was in a bad mood because there were so many customers and that they were spending so much money. Hellooo? Your paycheck? Where the hell do you think the dough for it comes from?

All that ranting has made me hungry. I'm going to go try the food. If I don't die from eating it, I'm going to serve it to the minister and board tomorrow.

Bicycles

Although we ride bikes every day in Oriental, those bikes are plain, lightweight, gearless models. Simple: you want to go, you pedal; you want to stop, you kick back. It's easy to get lost riding for a long time there because there are no hills. None.

Today we took mountain bikes to the trail that runs from Meredith College to Umstead Park. It was the first time I've been on a bike with gears since I was a kid, and I didn't really get how to operate one even then. I rode around the parking lot a few times to get the feel of the ride. The front wheel felt unstable, wobbling back and forth, but after a minute or two I thought I could manage a straight line.

We headed down the trail. For the first hundred feet the trail is fairly level. Then a big downhill ride. Of course the pessimist side of my brain would hardly let the optimist side enjoy the breeze and ease, reminding me that soon I would be going uphill. But before we got to the up-hell part, we rode over the beltline. I'm not really one for heights, but it was not a problem. I just didn't look down. In fact, I couldn't look down because I had to try to keep the bike on a straight and narrow to keep from swerving over and crashing into the walkers and riders on the other side.

On the other side of the bridge, the big hill came into view. I made it about a fourth of the way up and had to walk the rest of the way. Walking's good, I kept telling myself.

We rode maybe a fourth of the entire length of the trail and rode back. I alternated between euphoria down the hills and exertions beyond anything I had experienced walking/riding up those long inclines.

My middle daughter rides her bike all over Asheville, and I have a new-found respect for her strength and stamina.

I was red-faced, sweaty, wobbly, and whipped at the end of that ride, but elated too. I had ridden a bike with gears for the first time in over forty years and lived to tell the story. And I plan to get back on and ride some more hills as soon as I can. Now that I know that I can.

Rainy day, small spaces

We're at the dock, another weekend that we're supposed to go anchor out thwarted by the wind and rain. What do I do on days like this in the very small space of the boat?

Read a book of short stories by Filipinos
Read all of last week's newspapers and work crossword puzzles, cryptoquotes, and jumbles
Read Psychology Today
Walk in the rain to the bathroom
Feel sleepy and maybe take a mid-morning nap
Listen to music and become annoyed when my husband vetoes the disco
Eat too much out of boredom
Watch a movie
Play computer

My husband's suggestion? "Maybe what we ought to do is take a long nap, look at the weather, and then go home."

Waiting

This was the Hazelden daily reading and I took it very personally!

I've started to realize that waiting is an art, that waiting achieves things. Waiting can be very, very powerful. Time is a valuable thing. If you can wait two years, you can sometimes achieve something that you could not achieve today, however hard you worked, however much money you threw up in the air, however many times you banged your head against the wall. . .
--The Courage to Change by Dennis Wholey

The people who are most successful at living and loving are those who can learn to wait successfully. Not many people enjoy waiting or learning patience. Yet, waiting can be a powerful tool that will help us accomplish much good.

We cannot always have what we want when we want it. For different reasons, what we want to do, have, be, or accomplish is not available to us now. But there are things we could not do or have today, no matter what, that we can have in the future. Today, we would make ourselves crazy trying to accomplish what will come naturally and with ease later.

We can trust that all is on schedule. Waiting time is not wasted time. Something is being worked out - in us, in someone else, in the Universe.

We don't have to put our life on hold while we wait. We can direct our attention elsewhere; we can practice acceptance and gratitude in the interim; we can trust that we do have a life to live while we are waiting - then we go about living it.

Deal with your frustration and impatience, but learn how to wait. The old saying, "You can't always get what you want" isn't entirely true. Often, in life, we can get what we want - especially the desires of our heart - if we can learn to wait.

Today, I am willing to learn the art of patience. If I am feeling powerless because I am waiting for something to happen and I am not in control of timing, I will focus on the power available to me by learning to wait.

Say what I want

When I was little and visited my grandparents' house at Carolina Beach, my grandmother made great pancakes. For some reason, I never wanted to say the word "pancakes" and would always tell my grandmother, "Say what I want." And she would say, "Pancakes?" And I would say yes.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend from church. We were talking about the minister's sermons and what people want to hear from him. The conversation went around and around.

"What do you want him to talk about?" my friend asked.

"I think people like to hear about forgiveness," I said.

"He has talked about forgiveness alot," my friend answered.

"Maybe he should listen to what people are talking to him about and talk about that on Sundays."

"He's going to have to find his own way," my friend wisely said.

Finally, I sighed and looked up at the ceiling: "It's like I'm saying to him, 'Tell me what I want so you can give it to me.'"

My friend laughed.

I think this is how some of us approach church because we're not sure what it is we want. We yearn, but can't put our finger on what's going to satisfy the yearning. We expect the minister to give us sustenance to satisfy our cravings that can never be named much less satisfied.

It's a lot of pressure on the minister, trying to guess what we need. I think my friend was right. He needs to speak from his dark places, from his yearnings, from his shortcomings. That's where he'll find his passion for teaching us lessons and where we'll find resonance.

The Searching

Quote from Paulo Coelho's book entitled Life:

"I discovered that searching can be as interesting as finding--as long as you overcome your fear."

On a very practical level, this has been true for me this week. I wanted to do some searching for information to expand a short story that I wrote for class last semester. I just didn't know how to start. Finally on Sunday afternoon, I got my computer and a notebook and started looking on the internet. It's so exciting! I can't wait to get home at night to start the search again. And the wealth of information available is stunning.

Many people ask me why I still keep my AOL account. Pure sentimentality, I tell them. I remember the Christmas we got our family's first computer. I stayed up late on Christmas Eve into Christmas morning trying to get it all set up. A wonderful friend stayed up a good part of the night with me via phone, helping me install the AOL software and hook up the modem. And I remember the first time I heard the sound of that modem connecting--a sound I had of course never heard before--and I knew that something amazing had happened. At the time, I had no idea what it meant to have access to practically all the information in the world, and how that accessibility would impact the ways we learn, communicate, create, share.

I've overcome the fear of beginning the search and now it's a journey full of promise. As my larger story is taking shape, as the finding continues, I feel a sense of excitement about my writing that I haven't felt before. I understand why people like Charles Frazier say that they love the research for their books almost as much, maybe more, than the writing.

It's going to be a fun ride!

Check and check

(In honor of accomplishing #2 on the dread list below, I am posting one of my favorite photos from the album.)

"I will tackle at least two things I dread doing. I will not waste my time and energy by wallowing in boredom, worry, criticism, or fear. I will do what needs to be done even if it requires effort, risk and change."

This was at the end of a daily reading I got today. I sent it to my friend Peggy Payne and we challenged ourselves to act on this. Here is what I did:

1. I called a new dentist. I have dreaded this for several reasons. One, I have very sensitive teeth and am prone to need a lot of numbing for procedures. I hate the thought of having to break in a new hygenist and dentist. Also I don't want to call the old one and tell them that I'm not coming back and ask that they transfer my records. I called the new dentist. (I have not called the old one--Monday's dread list??)

2. I put all of my best photographs in an album so that I can begin taking them to stores to sell them. This was a fairly extensive endeavor because I had to choose the photographs, put them all on one UCB drive, get copies, and finally assemble them in numbered order in an album. Earlier this week I had done the first three things, but tonight I finally finished the album. It looks very professional and I get that good old seratonin rush looking at so many of my good photos.

I feel great about having marked these two things off a list I began on May 1. I am not a list maker, but this list is of things that I dread doing, things that I dream of doing, and ordinary things like "rest for two days" and "watch a movie." I had done everything on the original list except watch the movie "The Counterfeiters" and get a clothesline. Now I am putting hard things on there like "do research for a story" and "submit something somewhere."

Speaking of movies, grab a box of Kleenex and go see Young@Heart. Excellent documentary about a group of seventy- and eighty-year-olds who tour the world singing. I smiled, laughed, sniffled, and cried outright. Very inspiring!

G'night.

Looking Down

I'm not all that old, just clumsy. And more than a few times I've been barrelling along and tripped. Sometimes I catch myself, sometimes I don't. So I have developed this habit of looking immediately in front of where I'm walking. This habit has an unexpected result: I find a lot of things on the ground, such as:

1. One of the stuffed animal eyes and the mirror eye
2. Two stickers that said "Eve"
3. Coins
4. A Chinese fortune cookie fortune that said I would get my heart's desire
5. Money and a tampon dropped by a girl in front of me
6. A beautiful and very large moth sitting next to a pine cone (in the middle of a parking lot)
7. The note pictured above

I have tried to train myself to look up and in the distance because my husband tells me that you can anticipate what is coming better that way. But with all those interesting things lying around on the ground and the street I'm afraid I might miss something.

The Goat

I am a Capricorn. One of the most irritating things about being a Capricorn is that most astrologers portray us as mountain climbing land goats. This image encourages them to wax poetic about how we are able to scale great obstacles, have strong footholds, etc etc. In fact our sign is represented by a sea goat. This is from an astrology web site: "Capricornus the sea goat is in the area of sky that the ancients called the Sea. It has changed very little over the ages. The figure has the head of a goat and the tail of a fish."

Here is a wonderful drawing of the sea goat.



The constellation Capricornus was considered to be the "Gateway of the Gods" through which the souls of men passed after death.

Some people see Biblical symbolism in the split nature of the Goat's body: the sacrificial goat as the head, the fish tail a symbol of Christ. To me the sea goat symbolizes transformation, movement from one state to another, dual existence.

Informal interview

On Saturday, a boat came barrelling past the marina, setting off a wake that did around $5000 damage to a very nice motor yacht. Two wildlife resources men came to investigate. After they had finished their paperwork, they stopped by to chat with us. One of the men had served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He has been back in the states since late 2006. I took the opportunity to ask him some very frank questions:

1. Did he wish he were still in Iraq? He said yes, that things were black and white there and (ironically) very predictable. At home, he has to contend with a job, wife, family, bills, all of which feel like more pressure than war.
2. Does he have children? No, but his wife wants them. He is very afraid of having a daughter because he thinks there are too many things to worry about with girls. He would be fine if they had a son.
3. Does he think the service has adequate mental health services available for returning servicemen? No, he said, and the VA hospitals are an embarrassment. I asked were they manned by vets and he said they were staffed by people who did not have military experience for the most part.
4. Did he think that if better mental health services were available that returning military people would take advantage of them? He said he thought they would.
5. How did he feel about the current political climate? He is a Hillary supporter.

A couple of surprises, and also echoes of what we're heard from the media.

At the Dock

We were planning a trip back up the river tonight when we heard on the weather radio that the winds were shifting and would be NW 20-25 knots. So we're here at the dock, temperature has gone down a good ten degrees from the afternoon. Here are the advantages of being at the dock:

1. I can get a good shower at the dockhouse bath.
2. We can watch a movie without trying to hear over the generator.
3. I can ride my bike tonight.

Disadvantages:

1. All the food I brought to cook on the grill (by hubby) is now being cooked in the galley (by me).
2. There will be no beautiful quiet starlit night or magic sunrise.
3. People. Period.

Another "whoa" moment

Beside my computer is a small box of daily reading cards that I put together. I give them to friends as gifts and this is the box I chose for myself. There are probably 300+ cards in the box. Today is my last writing class for the semester. I decided to choose a card with the intention of setting the tone for tonight. The card I chose said, "When the student is ready, the master appears."

I believe that this is exactly what happened to me ten months ago when I ran into Angela Davis-Gardner, my writing teacher.

I am blown away that out of 300 cards, this is the one I chose today.

Doodly doodly do

Author Peggy Payne (www.peggypayne.blogspot.com) posted about doodling on her blog the other day. She states that "there's neurological evidence that doodling helps us think, solve problems, listen better, and keep better perspective." I always thought that doodling indicated that the person was bored with what was going on. Peggy suggested that I post some of my random doodles.

In getting together a few to post here, I found that sometimes my doodles are a way of visualizing on paper what is going on in the meeting or what I would like to happen as far as the topic at hand. Here is one from a discussion of the choir director:


Other random jottings were things that popped into my head about the speaker. Once, "What is he afraid of?" Another time, this:


Most of the doodles, though, are indications that I AM bored and ready for the meeting to be over. Here's one:


Any other doodlers out there willing to share their ideas on this?

I'm Alive!

Yep, I'm alive - I didn't die last night. But I was worried.

All this talk of synchronicity has left me a little nervous. That plus those eyes that are watching me. So yesterday, here are the daily inspirational quotes I got via email:

1. Do every act of your life as if it were your last. - Marcus Aurelius
2. Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.

Immediately following the back-to-back reading of these quotes, George Winston's version of Pachelbel's Canon in D Major came on my Pandora radio station. This is the song that I have told my family (and my girlfriends in case the family's all frothed up) that I want played at my funeral. I love the way the song begins quietly, crescendos in the middle, and ends quietly, just like a life.

I was nervous.

I worried about every twinge of indigestion, but ate whatever the heck I wanted to. I laughed as hard as I could. I listened carefully to those who spoke to me. I got as much of my work done as I could. I remembered my mom who died when she was younger than me and figured out how many more days I had had than she had.

In the end, though, I don't think I really believed it was my last day. I know, without a doubt, that if I KNEW I would die today, I would gather my family around me, smoke a cigarette, and drink some Bombay Sapphire martinis straight up with three olives. And I didn't do that yesterday.

Taking a break

I seem to always be getting ready to relax. Really. If you can imagine setting the table a thousand times without eating, that's what I do. Yesterday, I decided to take a break from that. I did not do laundry or dishes, make up my bed, hang a towel, go to the grocery store--I did nothing that would have felt like a chore.

It was tough.

When I smoked, I would take a break on the deck every hour or so, sit in a chair and look around at the trees and the birds. When I quit, I didn't do this anymore. Needless to say, I got tired! A friend asked why I didn't just go outside and BREATHE. I laughed but there was some real merit in that suggestion.

So what did I do yesterday? I finished a book. I sat on the deck and looked at the birds and the trees. I started another book. I worked three crossword puzzles and read the Friday and Saturday papers, New Yorker, the Sun, and perused the Greensboro Review to see what they publish. I took a nap. I went to the movies.

Today the following was on a blog that has daily spiritual inspiration. I'm beginning to be addicted to synchronicity.

Responsibility to Ourselves

Do we think it's weak to need a break? Do we ignore the need to recharge our batteries?

Responsibility for our own lives requires us to recognize the need to restore our energy. Maybe our former escape from the world was by using food, or drugs, or spending money, or sexual release, or preoccupation with another person.

Now, since we are developing the ability to be with ourselves, we can take a break from the world and come back restored. This meditation time generates more energy for our lives. Recreation with friends, a walk, a movie, or a concert does the same.

Taking responsibility to get away is a good cure for self-pity and exhaustion.


"Touchstones"
Hazelden Meditation Series

Independent book stores

I just got off a blog where the person mentions that she is buying a recommended book from Amazon and at the bottom of the blog it states that she will be reading at Politics and Prose on such and such a date. I am always amazed that writers do not, when possible, totally support their independent book stores as the independents support them. Without the publicity of people like Nancy Olson and her wonderful book store, Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh, many writers would have no platform for promoting their books. Nancy is an outspoken voice for the local businesses in Raleigh, and her newsletter often has facts about the advantages of "buying locally."

We know the state of the publishing industry, how difficult it is to break down the doors when money is what motiviates the business, not the desire to publish quality work. We have to support small publishers, independent bookstores, and our local authors by attending events where people get to know how magnificant their books are.

I know from being with Nancy how tough it is for her to compete. She could have an author or two whose books are popular but not worth the paper they are written on. But she seems determined to continue to widen our literary horizons by bringing the best of the book world to her doorstep. And right behind them come the local writers who have made our neighborhood one of the best in the world for quality (and I don't use this term lightly) authors.

Sure, I order from Amazon. If it's out of print, or a used copy would do as well as a new one. But I'm not a writer whose livelihood may very well depend on appearing every now and then in a book store that hand delivers my work to its customers and puts out the chairs when I want to have a respectable audience.

Maybe the writer whose blog I read will look around Politics and Prose while she's there and realize that browsing for a decent book in a book store that cares about what it sells beats clicking on icons any day, and that her future is inextricably tied to that of the owners of the independents. And how important it is to stress this to her readers in every word she writes.

Itches

One thing that meditation has taught me is how to ignore an itch. My nose can be burning and I can ignore it. When I first started the practice I could not ignore anything - not the chatter chatter in my head, not my aching back and knees, not my eyes that wanted to burst open, and especially not the itch. Gradually I realized that if I just keep repeating the mantra or counting, it will go away.

This ability to ignore the itch has come in very handy as I've given up addictions. With alcohol, I know that if I just keep driving past my old watering holes, soon I'll be worried that someone will open their car door on Fairview Road (if I'm passing the Bistro), or I'll be dodging walkers and dogs (if I'm in the neighborhood of Crowley's).

With cigarettes it has been a little harder because cigarette smoking is everywhere, not just in bars. But I know that if I take a deep breath and move my attention away from the sight or smell of the smoker, in a minute or two I'll be fine.

The practice of diverting one's attention from things that are harmful, whether it is addictions or feeling sad or worrying is a good one. I don't mean thinking about people who are worse off than me or trying to see the silver lining. I'm talking about actually moving your attention to something else for a while. A book, a walk, writing, cooking, listening to music--whatever might help you keep from scratching. Because we all know that scratching an itch usually leads to bleeding and, if what my mother always said was right, impetigo!!

I could use a little practice ignoring another kind of itch - that of blurting out things that should probably be left unsaid. And to tell you the truth, if I'm meditating and feel something crawling, I absolutely cannot ignore it. But I'm working on that too.

Up the South River

This weekend we went to Oriental. At one point I went to the bathhouse. As I walked into the stall, I saw a small round shiny item on the stall floor. It was about the size of the last eye I found and to tell you the truth I was almost afraid to pick it up. But of course I did. As I looked at it, I realized that it was like a mirror and my face was reflected back to me. Is it the third eye? Help me decide:

Yesterday we did one of our favorite things to do on the boat, anchor in an isolated place. We went way up a branch of the South River this time. It is very primordial to be away from everything like this, with no city lights and only animal, wind and water noises. Here is the spot:
















Some friends brought their boat over for a little lunch, then went back to the comfort of their home. If they had only stayed a while longer (and not minded boating back in the dark) they would have seen this magnificant sunset:


When I got up this morning, this is what I saw:
















I often remember books by the place where I read them. I read the marvelous new book by Elizabeth Strout, a collection of connected short stories entitled Olive Kitteridge. It is the first book that I started re-reading before I finished. I believe it is my all-time favorite book for now.

Reverberation

After cleaning my closet, I am more aware than ever of the clutter in my house, possibly because I had to search other closets for coat hangers. My children are living in places that have impermanence written all over them, and they aren't at all interested in taking their sentimental things. In fact, they tend to bring the literal emotional baggage home with them when they move from place to place. Seeing the effort involved in packing (and paying the movers by the pound) they skinny down their possessions.

When I look in their closets, I see their childhoods. Artwork, graduation gowns, photos in frames and boxes, stuffed animals, doll furniture, posters, CD cases (mostly empty but please don't throw them away), soccer shoes, t-shirts that carry memories of camp or trips, yearbooks and scrapbooks and diaries. Their bookshelves are creaking with good books that either they or I can't bear to give to the used book store. Their drawers are full of paints, key chain collections, more t-shirts, soaps and old makeup.

My oldest daughter worked with me one day to clean her room of the extraneous and she has the least left. The other two groan and walk away when I suggest doing the same in their rooms. They have to do it with me, making the decision of what to keep and what to get rid of.

I can't bear to throw away their pasts. When I think of moving from this house that we have lived in for almost 25 years, I know it is inevitable that the decisions to keep or throw away or give away will be made, that they will go through their memorabilia and I will go through my books and accumulation too.

Today, I close the doors to those closets and to thoughts of sorting through our life. But I'm not going to buy much for a while. Toilet paper and food and other things that can be used up and thrown away without thinking or feeling.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

feng shui

It took all day, but it was worth it.

Numbers

I have a thing about numbers. Here are some facts about how I interact with them:

1. I see people as numbers from 1-9. People I consider old souls are mostly one of the odd numbers. Young souls, mostly even.
2. In a checkbook, I destroy all checks that include 666 in the check number. It is such a Biblical cliche, I know, and I have tried to counteract my aversion by reminding myself that my numerology number is 6. To no avail. If I see the numbers 666, rather than looking away, I look hard at them and "spit in the devil's eye."
3. When we are on a car trip, I try to see license plates that have three of the same digit. A good trip is when I see plates with three digits of each number 1-9. I have found that when I am looking the least hard, I have the most success.
4. My favorite numbers are 4, 7, and 8.
5. I can tell time with approximately 99% accuracy (without a clock, of course!).
6. I was very excited today when I went on my blog and the counter read 1777.
7. Two-digit numbers I like are 14 and 17.
8. When my husband and I decided to get married, I insisted that we choose either 7/7 or 7/14. I was incredulous when a friend of mine got married in July of last year and did not pick 7/7/07.
9. If a client's invoice contains three sixes, I worry that we will have problems getting paid. If it contains three of the numbers 4 or 7, I don't worry at all.
10. I like to be an even-numbered age more than an odd-numbered.
11. If I see someone with 666 on their license tag, I think, "I would not have taken that one." If I see someone with four of the same number, I wonder how they felt when they got it.

There are more things, I'm sure, but I like the idea of listing eleven things I think about numbers.

Being watched

A few days ago I was doing laundry and one of those eyes that you find on stuffed animals fell out with the clothes. Odd.

Today, my husband and I went to lunch and when we were coming out of the restaurant I looked down and saw a white circle on the pavement. I thought, "That looks like the back of one of those stuffed animal eyes." I walked by; then I knew that if I didn't pick it up it would haunt me. Picked it up. One of those eyes.

I don't know what to make of this.

For the record...a P.S.

It is 2:24 on Tuesday April 15, 2008. The taxes are in the mail. Ain't I glad I got my priorities straight?

Several morals to this story, but the one I keep thinking about is that things are never as hard as I imagine they're going to be. I can't seem to remember that.

Death and Taxes

Death and taxes: the only sure things. And I don't mind when they come one at a time so I can properly deal with them, but today they both needed to be dealt with at the same time.

My uncle died this past week and his funeral was today. He and his first wife were married in a double ceremony with my dad and my mom (his wife's sister). His wife died at 42, my mom at 55, making my dad the last person alive who stood at the altar that day, December 23, 1950.

The funeral took place in Wilmington and of course I wanted to be there. The only problem was that we had left our taxes to be dealt with today and tomorrow. Going to the funeral meant that I had tomorrow only. I am a person who likes to be finished ahead of time, slapping the chalk off my hands with a "glad that's over" expression on my face. I panicked.

I had some choices to make. First one came yesterday. We had gone to Oriental to spend the weekend on the boat. It was surprisingly beautiful. Sunday, I could either leave early and go into the office or stay and enjoy the day. I asked myself if I were to die tomorrow, would I rather have spent my last day on the boat in the sun with my husband and friends, or doing taxes. We stayed.

Second one came when we got home last night. Did I want to stay home so I could go to the office and do taxes or drive to Wilmington to be with my dad and my uncle's family? Again, I asked myself if I died tomorrow would I want to be remembered by the IRS or my family. I went to the funeral.

When I got back from the funeral today, I was just about physically, emotionally and intellectually spent. I came into the office and my husband told me that one of our daughters had called with a relationship problem. And a friend had written to say that a couple of things were going wrong in her life: a death and a separation. Another choice: Should I work on taxes or talk to my daughter and friend? I called them both.

Tomorrow the taxes will be waiting for me, inevitable as they are. And should I die peacefully in my sleep tonight, I know that there are some people who feel better for knowing me because I let the paperwork wait.

This may seem to be a post that talks alot with dying, but to me it's really a post about living.

Whoa, Universe!

Okay, I've been trying as hard as I can to practice patience with the music director at my church. But this morning, when the cat needed to go out at 4:30 and I had some thinking time, I decided to write him one last time as soon as I got to work today. Just to let him know why I, who doesn't sing, write music or play an instrument, care so much about the music at our church.

I spent quite a while composing it, remembering that my horoscope today said brevity was the best policy and to say what I mean in everything. I didn't want to feel pushy or whiny (he hasn't replied to my last couple of emails), but wanted to tell him of the power of music in my life.

So I'm writing along through phone calls (I hate how business interferes with my ability to conduct pleasure) and after reading it several times and changing a few things, pushed "Send."

And there in my Inbox was an email from him. WHAT? He couldn't have read mine so quickly! But it was a reply to one of my earlier emails saying thanks for the encouragement I had given him.

And once again, I am amazed at how life comes together to bring tears and laughter simultaneously.

Minor irritation

In my ongoing effort to avoid homework, I have to post a bitch here. Small, but very irritating nonetheless.

I would like to slap the first teenager who left the "d" out of a contraction with an "n't" after it. Take the word "cook" drop the "k" and add "unt" after it and this is what it sounds like:

"She coo-unt get your number to go through." (An actual quote from a bank customer service person)
"We woo-unt want that to happen, now would we?" (Another quote from this condescending little twenty-something)

Has anyone else found this trend to be annoying? Why can't they be working on the perfect cliche? Or maybe the teen who says "Shoo-unt" IS the perfect cliche.

What to do?

When I have a day like today--in town, cloudy weather, no real agenda--I have a hard time picking and choosing from favorite playgrounds.

This morning I woke up early because my husband woke up early. We went to a new restaurant with our bookselling friends, and the food may have just been too rich for him. When I realized that yes, it's 6 in the A.M. and I'm fully awake, I turned to the bedside table and saw Jhumpa Lahiri's new book, Unaccustomed Earth. I have read one of the stories and her writing sends me. Beside her book is another book, Home Bound, about Filipino immigrants to the US. I'm reading this hoping to flesh out a short story. In reading it the other night, I was struck by how many truths about their immigration story have unconsciously appeared in my story about a person who disappears after 9/11.

So already before I'm even out of bed, I have two choices: read for research or pleasure?

In my grown-up playroom, another set of diversions calls. Last week, I spent a couple of hours organizing my paper, stamps, and punches at the card-making desk. Each morning when I've gone down to exercise, the desk has looked so appealing. My meditation cushions are there too, and I could take a few minutes to be quiet. The television holds the key to exercise: videos and tapes of yoga, pilates, even Richard Simmons "Sweatin' to the Oldies"! On the other side of the room my writing desk sits, journal in the center, neat and inviting.

I could take a long walk with my camera. It's not too hot or too cold and the flowers and trees are fantastic.

I have time to do some serious cooking today, something that I love when I want to do it rather than have to do it. For some reason, spaghetti has seemed appealing this week.

My Thursday girls are doing a couple of chapters from the Not So Big Life, and I need to read them and be prepared to lead the discussion. I have several critiques to do for class on Tuesday and my own stories to edit and turn it that day also.

I know there are a few chores I could do too. For one thing my closet is a wreck. When it looks like this
I know it's getting time!

It's hard to choose, but I think I'd better get out of my pajamas and get started. The closet is last on the list; maybe I won't get to it.

This week's religious encounters

[Qu'ran Sura 5:48] ...For each of you, we have decreed laws and different rites. Had GOD willed, He could have made you one congregation. But He thus puts you to the test through the revelations He has given each of you. You shall compete in righteousness. To GOD is your final destiny - all of you - then He will inform you of everything you had disputed.

Monday night, I went to hear Charles Kimball, author of the book, When Religion Becomes Evil. Fascinating, brilliant, fair observer of religion, he had me spellbound. I loved the passage above from the Qu'ran that he mentioned during his talk. God has a plan; we don't have to worry about whose faith is the most meaningful and important. Now this, folks, is the kind of "good news" I've always wanted to hear from the pulpits of our churches.

I was talking last night to someone about Bart Ehrman, author of the book, Misquoting Jesus. Ehrman has researched the transcription of the Bible extensively. After reading his book, I came away feeling that there is truth in the Book, but that it has been surrounded by so much myth that you have to dig around to find it. And thinking about this leads me back to Dr. Kimball. He said, "The truth of the three Abrahamic religions is this, 'Love God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself.'"

But....

Before I can love my neighbor as myself don't I first have to LOVE MYSELF? How many of us love ourselves unconditionally? How many of us look in the mirror some days and feel disgusted at the way we look or at the way we behaved at the cocktail party or at the food we ate so unhealthily yesterday or that we can't seem to find time for the things and people we love? How many of us wish we were someone else or somewhere else or richer or happier or that we could just start all over? And if we're doing that kind of judging on ourselves, what in the heck do we expect to happen when we encounter our neighbor?

I think all this talk of religion this week has led me to these conclusions:

1. Love God, Love yourself, Love everybody else.
2. Let God be the Decider--He'll sort it all out in the end.