Melt Down

January 25, 2012 By

In the process of preparing a stew to throw in the crock pot, get the laundry in and simply neaten up the place after days of stagnation and being sick, I suddenly realized that I have today, tomorrow and Thursday to get my act together.  On Friday I’ll go up to DC to see a few shows and maybe a museum or gallery. Returning late on Saturday, I’ll pack a bigger bag and head to Florida on Monday morning where I’m looking forward to spending a week with a friend.

After four days of feeling crappy, I’m feeling somewhat better.  I can breathe, though sometimes I’ll have one of those coughing spells that makes me sound like the Bloodhound who lives up the street. My energy is returning slowly. Just not fast enough for ME.

ME, I, whoever! The part of Joan that likes to keep moving, doesn’t like to sit for long periods of time, and starts telling herself stories when she can’t do what she wants.  The story about being sick and how she hasn’t exercised in days and is sure she’s gained ten or twenty pounds by now.  The story about all the stuff that she didn’t get done because she was sick and how in the world is she going to get it all done before leaving on Friday.

Mostly it’s a story about feeling sorry for herself and another story she was planning to get started writing this past week.  A story that is crucial to her memoir project, filled with lessons. She was driven to begin the writing when that dang cold came to visit.  Her head hurt most of the time and it was hard to breathe. She was terribly tired.  Her husband was away and somehow she had to keep up with taking care of the pets and feeding herself.  During all of that, the inspiration for writing the story for her memoir slipped away into the ether and the page where it was to start remains empty.

Then this afternoon she had to go out briefly and realized that the sun was shining and she didn’t need a sweater or a coat because it’s sixty-one degrees.  She saw the moss that grows on the stonewall green and glowing after several days of rain, snow and sleet.  She saw daffodils peeking through the still wet garden soil and a shrub beginning to exhibit its tiny white flowers.

At that moment Joan’s other part came alive realizing that she’d not been living in the here and now, not living her intentions, not trusting that when the writing wants to happen it will happen and that being sick is not the end of the world.  She forgot that taking care of herself, without stress and strain is the most important thing she can do for herself.  After all, last week was supposed to be a retreat!  Why not be sick?  Thank goodness she’ll be better for her trip!

Things will be on the quiet side here until she returns tanned, renewed and ready to tackle whatever comes her way.  Spring is not far off.  Let’s all watch the slow unfolding of the season and live each moment as it is.

Filed Under: Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Retreats, The Seasons, Travels

My Week On Retreat

January 21, 2012 By

Iphone camera with wide-angle lens.

What was it that I said last Monday?  Something about a retreat?  Well, in some ways it has been like that and in other ways it hasn’t.

It’s been a busy few days, that’s for sure.  There hasn’t been any lolling around.  I’ve been busy every minute.  At the moment I’m sick.  When Bill went off to New York he took his blasted cold with him.  I thought I was safe.  Hah!!  I took care of myself, took Chinese herbs, got plenty of sleep and ate healthy foods.  I was feeling great until yesterday morning when I woke up with a head that felt like it was filled with concrete.  My nose dripped like a faucet that hasn’t been properly shut off and I have not one scrap of energy.

I didn’t go to yoga. But with an ice storm on its way, I did hurry to the grocery to stock up the pantry.  I bought fruit, deli quinoa salad, greens.  Two small almond cookies went home with me. But I turned my back on the dark chocolate and those almond croissants I adore. I’m suffering now.

Iphone camera with telephoto. Don't like what's happened in the corners. Something to figure out.

Besides doing some writing, I’ve mostly been going through one of the boxes of old journals I’ve kept.  It’s been interesting and is helping me to get life events in order for my memoir writing.  Many of my entries are boring lists of what I was doing from day-to-day.  But there is meaty material as well. I’m so glad I didn’t burn those ratty looking notebooks. I threatened I do just that during the last move.  But Lisa, my daughter, came to their rescue, saying, “Don’t you dare.”  So their lives were spared.

Iphone camera with macro lens.

Just last week I discovered a range of inexpensive lenses made for the Iphone camera. (I think they’ll fit most cell phones.) They came yesterday and this morning I’ve had fun, trying them all out.  There is a macro/wide-angle lens, a fish-eye and a telephoto lens as well.  The instructions say to place the small, magnetic metal ring (provided) around the lens on the phone.  It has an adhesive on one side that is supposed to keep it stuck to the phone. But it didn’t stick to the glass the Iphone is made of and came off with the lens I was using every time I wanted to change it.  So I stuck it on the phone case instead and that did the trick.  You simply place the lens on the ring and it is held in place by the magnet. What fun!!

I have been head-over-heals in love with my Iphone camera.  It is amazingly as good as the fancy Mamiya I used for my work in fine art photography.  The only problem is stability and when you get to be my age and have a bit of a tremor, it’s a problem.  But with practice I’m hoping that will improve.  I’m very excited since I still love to do some photography but am well past wanting to lug around a tripod and a bag filled with heavy, expensive lenses. I can tuck these cute, tiny things in a pocket or my purse and be prepared to capture an interesting moment that I might want to use on this blog.

Iphone camera with fish-eye lens.

All in all this has been a great mini-retreat.  I’ve enjoyed everything but being sick. And a few days after Bill left, I remembered that I had to do his chores as well as my own.  I’d forgotten to clean out the litter pans and with three cats choosing to use the same pan, even when there is one for each one of them, it gets problematic if you forget.

Another problem is that there are only a given number of hours in each day.  I must have dreamed that when you are on retreat you get a few extra hours each day.

More Macro work.

Filed Under: Dreams, Memoir, photography, Retreats, stories, Writing

Making A Mess

January 11, 2012 By

Messing around with my Iphone camera!

Make a mess. Take a step. Fall down. Throw it away and start over. Be wrong and celebrate the dropped balls. What could be more miserable than to be human (the greatest storytelling creature in the history of the planet and maybe the universe) and believe that you are not creative?

David Robinson
The Direction of Intention
August 27th, 2011

Just before Christmas I gave my writing coach, Kevin, a quick draft of an important piece I had just written for my memoir.  Then I read it to a good friend who is hugely supportive and has helped propel me along my way.  It wasn’t exactly good writing. It was a first draft. None-the-less, I was excited and proud of it because it had been a hard one to get down on paper, bringing up lots of “stuff” that was, well, kind of scary.

I sipped my tea slowly and made notes as Kevin commented on it.  I agreed with everything he had to say.  He said things like, “This is your story, not your parent’s.  You need to make your presence known.  I want to know more about how you REALLY feel about your mother.”  I realized fear had been paying me a visit and was getting in my way. So I set about revising, trying to insert myself into the story so that I owned it. Then Christmas happened and time was short. It put it to rest until my return from North Carolina.  I thought a lot about it while I was gone.  I felt it was at a slow simmer on the back burner and while enjoying my visit with my grandkids, I was also looking forward to getting back to work on it.

Two weeks later and two days before I was to meet with Kevin again, I pulled the piece out of its folder and started to reread it.  It was awful.  It was embarrassing. I couldn’t believe that I had actually given it to Kevin and then read it to my friend.  I wanted to curl up into a tiny ball and die.  I dropped everything and rewrote the piece over the next two days. I tore the whole thing apart and started over, changing the order of things, deleting much and adding more. I wanted it be perfect.  Well, nothing is ever perfect, but loony person that I am I keep trying and then spend too many precious moments fearing I’ve failed.

Even final drafts aren’t perfect. I continue to pull out poems that I wrote ten years ago, believing they are done, then find myself revising them. I’m learning though. I’m learning about first drafts being called “vomit drafts” or the “shitty first draft” and letting them marinate in their own juices until they’ve had time to stew.  I know that perfect is a problem for me along with fear. But allowing myself to make big messes I’ll get over it.

The quote above is from my teacher and friend, David Robinson, whose blog, The Direction of Intention, is a wonderful place to visit.

Filed Under: Fear, Memoir, Perfectionism, Writing

New Beginnings

January 6, 2012 By

Zoe, Bill (also known as Granddaddy), and Noah reading Brer Rabbit.

I’m tired.  The period between Thanksgiving and January 1st, always leaves me out of breath and exhausted.  There is too much to do. Time to write, paint or stare into space is diminished.  Instead I get pulled into the rush, rush of the season, stay up too late, get up too early and am tempted by the yumminess that pervades store shelves, edible and otherwise.  It isn’t that the holidays are nasty. It’s that these big celebrations come all at once and last for well over a month.

Bill and I had a fun visit with our daughter, her partner and our two amazingly wonderful grandchildren in North Carolina.  We rented a small Townhouse just a quarter of a mile from their house for a week.  We took turns cooking, went to see the movie, Tin Tin on Christmas eve, and spent Christmas morning wading through gift wrap. Zoe spent two nights with us, Noah only one.  He said he heard strange noises in the night and couldn’t sleep.  We did a lot of walking and I was thrilled that Lisa took me to her Groove class, a delightful dance/exercise class featuring fantabulous music and soaking wet clothing by the end of the hour.  The weather was cold but perfect.

This morning, I’m finally feeling that I can get back to things I left on the back burner while I was otherwise engaged.  Last night, I decided it was time to get over the big overwhelm and holiday grind.  I plan to take a long walk today instead of going to Yoga.  The day is sunny and on the warm side.  I slept in until 7:30 (I know, I know!) and took my time walking Sam and having my breakfast.  From my kitchen window, I caught a glimpse of a neighbor I haven’t seen in months and ran out to give her a hug and meet her new dog, Mystique.  It felt wonderful to renew our connection and we promised to get together soon for tea and allow Sam and Mystique get to know each other.

I’ll tackle the heaps of paper surrounding my computer.  They keep sliding down onto my mouse pad, making writing extremely difficult at times.  And then there is the stuff in my head that needs attention.  Things I haven’t had time to write about, like the fact that I have made the commitment to write a memoir.  It’s been hard for me to say it out loud or to jot it down on paper because once I put it out there it becomes a fact. I can’t hide from myself anymore or the voice of my inner critic who screeches, “Who the !#@$ do you think you are?  Write a memoir?  You can’t do that.  There is nothing in your life that other people would be interested in reading!!”

Sound silly? I think it’s pretty typical and since that screechy voice comes from someone I envision as being about three feet tall and wears her hair standing on end, I can only laugh.  I tell her,  “It’ll be okay.  I am writing a memoir … because I can, because I want to, because I need to understand who I really am and how I got that way. I can file away all my stories in my head, but they will never become clear to me until they are written down on paper.”

Bill is going on a trip for a week this month.  I’ll use the time to tend to myself and retreat from the usual business I get bogged down in.  I did it for a week in the fall at the beach and it was lovely. At home I’m tempted to ramp up that kind of alone time with too much stuff. Since I’ll miss Bill, keeping busy helps the time pass quickly until his return.  But I won’t do that this time.  I plan on rolling in and out of bed when I feel like it, not knowing how the day will unfold.  I’ll just let it happen. Let it be a surprise. Take long walks, deep breaths, write, read and leave the holiday season behind for another year.

Filed Under: Christmas, Classes, family, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, Retreat & Workshops, stories, Thanksgiving, Travels
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