So where will you be when the ball drops and the year comes to a close?
Will you be with your sweetheart?
Will you be with friends and family?
Will you be alone in a room full of strangers, wishing for someone?
Will you even be awake?
For me, the year shall transition the same as it has every other year in recent memory...without fanfare. It will quietly slip off, wordlessly offering a soft kiss good-bye, making room for a year full of its own promises and possibilities.
Perhaps next year will be different when one calendar year replaces another; but for now, this is where life has me. Yes, I will have eyes open when the clock strikes midnight, but I will kiss no one. No one will turn to me and say Happy New Year, no one will stand beside me to step into the new year.
But I still know that there are plans being set in motion, plans just for me. I don't have a clue what 2014 will become, but I know that God is guiding it. God is watching the ball drop and whispering His benediction on my future. God is holding my hands and kissing my face, bestowing me with blessings that I do not yet understand.
For that, I am thankful. For that, I raise my proverbial glass in a toast. And for the family and friends I have been given––for them, I wish only the best as they greet their own New Year.
Be Blessed, and Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
Two Days and Counting
The two very last days of the year are hanging by a thread, lonely little reminders of a year gone by, the two sole survivors on the island of 2013. Unfortunately for these two, no amount of wilderness preparedness or sudden infusion of supplies is going to bring about their rescue. They shall pass into memory like all 363 of their fellow comrades, some looked upon with fondness, some looked upon with sneering disdain. Some viewed through a lens of pain. Whatever camp they share, each was, undeniably, unique in some way to shaping the year as a whole. One minute begat another, one day informed the next.
So what, I can't help but wonder, will 2014 hold in store? What new discoveries will be made? What relationships will form or crumble? What opportunities will be realized? What dreams will be crushed? As the year unfolds, it will do so without thought or consideration of how much we've accomplished, how much we want it to slow down or speed up. It will become what it will become. But right now, it is still there, shiny and whole and unblemished. Full of hope and promise and possibility.
In these last two days, what can we accomplish? How can we close out the year? Are there grievances that need to be aired, fences that need to be mended, loves that need to be declared? Are there words that you need to say? Don't put them off. There's still time to redeem, still time to release the year with a wish of blessing, to light it on fire and watch the smoke rise like sweet incense rather than see it burn into bitter ashes.
Make it count, so that when the countdown comes, you can savor those last few seconds, even as you take your first taste of the new year being set before you.
So what, I can't help but wonder, will 2014 hold in store? What new discoveries will be made? What relationships will form or crumble? What opportunities will be realized? What dreams will be crushed? As the year unfolds, it will do so without thought or consideration of how much we've accomplished, how much we want it to slow down or speed up. It will become what it will become. But right now, it is still there, shiny and whole and unblemished. Full of hope and promise and possibility.
In these last two days, what can we accomplish? How can we close out the year? Are there grievances that need to be aired, fences that need to be mended, loves that need to be declared? Are there words that you need to say? Don't put them off. There's still time to redeem, still time to release the year with a wish of blessing, to light it on fire and watch the smoke rise like sweet incense rather than see it burn into bitter ashes.
Make it count, so that when the countdown comes, you can savor those last few seconds, even as you take your first taste of the new year being set before you.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
The Lost Mail
Amazingly enough, Christmas is over...already! So much rushing, rushing, preparing, and stressing, all slamming smack into the big day. And despite the fact that most of the things that were planned for the span of time between Christmas Eve day and Christmas Day didn't quite go off as anticipated, things happened the way they needed to. My hard and fast schedule melted into a warm, sweet formlessness––like a bar of chocolate left too close to a firelight. The timeline was crumpled and tossed out with the discarded wrapping paper, and the simplicity of being together was savored with as much appreciation as the finest wine.
Even without the exchange of wrappable gifts, the day itself was something to treasure, something that cannot be recaptured or recreated. There were so many nuances, so many emotions, so many memories that were reflected upon. There were bittersweet moments of the reminders of the people that have been lost, the seemingly small differences that––taken together––were heavy realizations that some things will never be the same.
For me, one of the most noticeable came with the absence of a card.
The card never came in May. It was the first, and will, of course, only be the first of many. It was lost in the shuffle, a forgotten piece of printed cheer that would have assured me that things were normal, that the year was taking its forward march. That the new number declaring my age had not gone unnoticed or uncelebrated by the grandmother who had always taken such care to send cheery little notes and cards at the appropriate points throughout the year: Easter, Valentine's Day, birthdays, Halloween, Christmas.
There was no Happy Birthday, Granddaughter! resting happily in my mailbox, no phone call with her voice on the end of the line wishing happiness on my day. No reminder that I had been born on a Spaghetti Night, thirty years ago.
As September rolled around, the next card noticeably, undeniably absent from my tiny mailbox was simply a card that should have held a check, carefully calculated and designated for my treasured and much-anticipated task of playing Santa's helper. She would have scrawled a note of thanks, each slant and curve of her cursive script so familiar to my eyes. She would have reminded me that Christmas was coming through the simple posting of that note. And before she closed the card and licked the flap of the envelope, she would have penned words to remind me that she loved me.
That card was, in the end, replaced by a plain envelope with a scrap of paper and a quick note in the masculine strokes of my grandfather's handwriting. Chicken scratch formed by years of scribbling figures and plans and signatures. The handwriting of a man accustomed to working with his hands. The writing of a man who was now tasked with things that his wife had so long attended to. The note, as always, thanked me for the shopping I was about to do. But it was in that unfamiliar hand, one that will now replace the feminine script of a woman who so dedicated herself to sending all those missives, those Hallmark moments and silly reminders of the progression of the year. Most of those cards will never be sent again...and it is that realization that seems most devastating.
In a way, though, it also serves as a reminder. That we should take notice, that we should pay attention and not let the year slip by. That the simple sending of a note can be such an important way to say, "I love you. You matter."
Pick up a pen and say I love you.
Even without the exchange of wrappable gifts, the day itself was something to treasure, something that cannot be recaptured or recreated. There were so many nuances, so many emotions, so many memories that were reflected upon. There were bittersweet moments of the reminders of the people that have been lost, the seemingly small differences that––taken together––were heavy realizations that some things will never be the same.
For me, one of the most noticeable came with the absence of a card.
The card never came in May. It was the first, and will, of course, only be the first of many. It was lost in the shuffle, a forgotten piece of printed cheer that would have assured me that things were normal, that the year was taking its forward march. That the new number declaring my age had not gone unnoticed or uncelebrated by the grandmother who had always taken such care to send cheery little notes and cards at the appropriate points throughout the year: Easter, Valentine's Day, birthdays, Halloween, Christmas.
There was no Happy Birthday, Granddaughter! resting happily in my mailbox, no phone call with her voice on the end of the line wishing happiness on my day. No reminder that I had been born on a Spaghetti Night, thirty years ago.
As September rolled around, the next card noticeably, undeniably absent from my tiny mailbox was simply a card that should have held a check, carefully calculated and designated for my treasured and much-anticipated task of playing Santa's helper. She would have scrawled a note of thanks, each slant and curve of her cursive script so familiar to my eyes. She would have reminded me that Christmas was coming through the simple posting of that note. And before she closed the card and licked the flap of the envelope, she would have penned words to remind me that she loved me.
That card was, in the end, replaced by a plain envelope with a scrap of paper and a quick note in the masculine strokes of my grandfather's handwriting. Chicken scratch formed by years of scribbling figures and plans and signatures. The handwriting of a man accustomed to working with his hands. The writing of a man who was now tasked with things that his wife had so long attended to. The note, as always, thanked me for the shopping I was about to do. But it was in that unfamiliar hand, one that will now replace the feminine script of a woman who so dedicated herself to sending all those missives, those Hallmark moments and silly reminders of the progression of the year. Most of those cards will never be sent again...and it is that realization that seems most devastating.
In a way, though, it also serves as a reminder. That we should take notice, that we should pay attention and not let the year slip by. That the simple sending of a note can be such an important way to say, "I love you. You matter."
Pick up a pen and say I love you.
Monday, December 23, 2013
Checked the List?
Well, I'm done with the actual present-buying phase...now I still have to hit the Dollar Tree for all various accoutrements to wrap said presents, then actually wrap the aforementioned presents, run to the grocery store(s) for a few last minute things, load up the little car for my trek over to my parents' place for Christmas Eve sleep-over, and be ready to go over there tomorrow early afternoon (by which time I will hopefully be all done with all of this and actually prepared to relax a bit between Christmas Eve service and Christmas morning).
Dear God, give me enough time and sanity to do it all!
Maybe it would seem so gloomily daunting if a peek out the window didn't yield the sight of a gloomy gray sky and temps that seem to be dipping by the hour. Not exactly my idea of happy weather for Christmas. For me, this kind of weather inspires nothing but the desire to curl up in a little ball around a HUGE cup of scalding hot liquid with a book and a blanket. Or maybe swap out the book for a good ole couch sesh involving a marathon run of my favorite Bravo shows. Or just a nice, burrowed DEEEEEP under the covers nap.
Whatever the case, I'm sure you get the point that I really, really don't want to have to tackle the rest of my list. Yes, I very much want all of those tasks completed and crossed off, but I don't want to have to be the one actually doing them. So where are Santa and his elves when you need them?
Maybe they took off when the government went on strike, and they never came back? Maybe they, like the rest of the world, have taken everything online and no longer actually leave the North Pole? Maybe they've gotten so stressed out that they've gone off to find some inner peace at a retreat and are no longer reachable by traditional (or modern) means...in which case, I guess we're all screwed, as I doubt any of us would actually be able to achieve that higher plain to which he and said elves have ascended. At least, not in any way considered legal by the local governing authorities.
But I digress.
My point here, is not ultimately complain, but to remind myself (and anyone who happens to be reading this) that amidst all of the last minute craziness that seems like it will never get done, we still have time to actually enjoy the season. Even if it's taking just a minute here and there to click over to YouTube and watch the musical paradox of David Bowie and Bing Crosby harmonize over Little Drummer Boy or shove a candy cane up your nose to win a drooly grin from the baby across the dining room in the restaurant so crazy with glassy-eyed shoppers. Tune it out, and listen for the magic. Watch for the magic, and you'll find it. Sprinkled here and there, like the glitter that somehow ends up stuck to everything, picked up from God-knows-where, since you haven't used glitter on anything since that one time you just had to try the gel-glitter eyeliner. Mistake. And one you'd live down, too, if not for the magic of the Internet...
Find the season, and you'll find the joy.
Put that on your list and circle it. It's not something you'll want to cross off the list...
Sunday, December 22, 2013
It's December WHAT?!?!?
I wish I may, I wish I might have one more week till Santa's big night...
Maybe if I click my little red heals together three times and say it...
Or close my eyes and chant the words with my eyes closed, standing on one foot...
Nope. Still here
The twenty-second.
Of December.
Should I do the Home Alone freak-out?
Oh, that I could...I think my downstairs neighbor might take issue with the resulting stomping on our paper-thin floors, though, and I try to stay on her good (read: totally avoid her when at all possible, since she doesn't seem much a fan of anyone who breathes) side.
Anyway. Since I don'r seem to have any say in the time-space continuum, I guess I'm just going to have to deal, and soldier on through my list.
And such a list it still seems to be, even through I've been chunking away at it everyday.
How does that happen?
On the upside, though, I'm not feeling out of touch with Christmas. I'm feeling quite in touch with it, actually. At this point, I think it's begun to breathe down my neck with gingerbread cookie-scented breath.
Still shopping to to, still ALL of my wrapping to do, still baking supplies to buy and then use.
And the clock marches on.
As the saying goes, time waits for no one, and I think Christmas has even less patience than any other time of year.
HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?!?
So what to do, what to do?
Well.
I guess I could self-medicate with the peppermint schnapps, but I prefer sobriety. So my only recourse is this: to remember that this only happens once a year, and that I WILL get everything done that needs to be done. That anything that falls off the list really isn't that important anyway. To realize that this is a celebration of the people in my life and to give them even just a sliver of all the joy that they bring to my life. These gifts are about appreciation, and if they can bring even the barest hint of a smile to the person unwrapping them, I've done my job. And everything that might not have gotten done is––in the long run––is as unnecessary the caroling bass that springs to life every time the front door opens at your Uncle Morty's.
Slow down, breathe, and remember that this isn't about the rush. It's about showing love to the people who give you so very much. It's about taking a day to remember that we are given much by a God who loves us. It's about bringing joy.
Merry Christmas.
Maybe if I click my little red heals together three times and say it...
Or close my eyes and chant the words with my eyes closed, standing on one foot...
Nope. Still here
The twenty-second.
Of December.
Should I do the Home Alone freak-out?
Oh, that I could...I think my downstairs neighbor might take issue with the resulting stomping on our paper-thin floors, though, and I try to stay on her good (read: totally avoid her when at all possible, since she doesn't seem much a fan of anyone who breathes) side.
Anyway. Since I don'r seem to have any say in the time-space continuum, I guess I'm just going to have to deal, and soldier on through my list.
And such a list it still seems to be, even through I've been chunking away at it everyday.
How does that happen?
On the upside, though, I'm not feeling out of touch with Christmas. I'm feeling quite in touch with it, actually. At this point, I think it's begun to breathe down my neck with gingerbread cookie-scented breath.
Still shopping to to, still ALL of my wrapping to do, still baking supplies to buy and then use.
And the clock marches on.
As the saying goes, time waits for no one, and I think Christmas has even less patience than any other time of year.
HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?!?
So what to do, what to do?
Well.
I guess I could self-medicate with the peppermint schnapps, but I prefer sobriety. So my only recourse is this: to remember that this only happens once a year, and that I WILL get everything done that needs to be done. That anything that falls off the list really isn't that important anyway. To realize that this is a celebration of the people in my life and to give them even just a sliver of all the joy that they bring to my life. These gifts are about appreciation, and if they can bring even the barest hint of a smile to the person unwrapping them, I've done my job. And everything that might not have gotten done is––in the long run––is as unnecessary the caroling bass that springs to life every time the front door opens at your Uncle Morty's.
Slow down, breathe, and remember that this isn't about the rush. It's about showing love to the people who give you so very much. It's about taking a day to remember that we are given much by a God who loves us. It's about bringing joy.
Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Off the Christmas List
My pink tree is un-boxed and cheerily casting a rosy glow in my apartment. I love the sight of it, and it's amazing what kind of effect the simple addition of that little tree has done to make me feel more connected to Christmas. True, I haven't busted out the mini ornaments yet, but its mere presence is reminder enough that Christmas is coming, and that I have so many things to be thankful for...like my friends, my wonderful family, my work (and the fact that I actually LOVE my work), a God who loves me beyond the scope of my imagination, the roof over my head, and the food in my fridge...and the simple fact that I can have a pink tree in my apartment without worry of ridicule.
It occurred to me the other day that this is the first Christmas in a long time that nothing on my Christmas wish list has to do with my love life (or lack thereof). For many years before I got married, I asked Santa (not really, but you get my point) to bring me a boyfriend or husband...love of some kind. Last year, Christmas was so turned upside down by my husband's death that I was pretty much at the point of wishing it all away. This year's list for Santa includes NO MEN at all––in no way, shape, or form.
I'm turning over a new leaf, I guess. Strange, but true. And kind of liberating, now that I think about it. I'm not on the man hunt, and it's really not something I miss. If one comes to me, fine. If not, fine. I know now that it's important to let things happen as they happen. Not to push. Not to expect the magic-ness of my life t depend on the presence of romance. There are still gifts to enjoy, wonders to experience, moments to treasure, and memories to make. They're still there, waiting to be unwrapped...and if I forget that, I can find a rosy reminder in my little pink tree.
It occurred to me the other day that this is the first Christmas in a long time that nothing on my Christmas wish list has to do with my love life (or lack thereof). For many years before I got married, I asked Santa (not really, but you get my point) to bring me a boyfriend or husband...love of some kind. Last year, Christmas was so turned upside down by my husband's death that I was pretty much at the point of wishing it all away. This year's list for Santa includes NO MEN at all––in no way, shape, or form.
I'm turning over a new leaf, I guess. Strange, but true. And kind of liberating, now that I think about it. I'm not on the man hunt, and it's really not something I miss. If one comes to me, fine. If not, fine. I know now that it's important to let things happen as they happen. Not to push. Not to expect the magic-ness of my life t depend on the presence of romance. There are still gifts to enjoy, wonders to experience, moments to treasure, and memories to make. They're still there, waiting to be unwrapped...and if I forget that, I can find a rosy reminder in my little pink tree.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Pink is the New Green
Black Friday is but a distant memory, and Cyber Monday is creeping around the corner. Actually, I should probably amend that. It seems to be stomping up and boldly declaring its early arrival. Yup. Cyber Monday has already begun, and it's only Sunday. Seriously, I think these people never got a handle on the whole concept of calendars and days of the week. Maybe they need to go back to school...
Oh, well. I don't make the rules, and it seems no one has any plans of letting me make them...not that that's necessarily a bad thing. Not sure I could handle the pressure of being an official "rule maker." I'm enough of a control freak as it is, so why add fuel to the fire?
But I'm straying away––oh so far away––from my intended topic, so I'm going to try to get back on track. Black Friday was actually a success for me this year. Yay! Not only did I score some deals and get some much needed Christmas shopping taken care of, I also got to spend some very much needed and long overdue time with my beautiful sister. Good for me, hopefully good for her, and good for the to do list. A win-win all around, if I do say so myself.
Steps made in the right direction, as far as feeling festive, too. It's always nice to see things decked out for the season, to start seeing the proliferation of Christmas lights on people's houses and all of the bits and baubles that signal the upcoming holiday. I just wish I was hearing more Christmas music...
Last night, I got to check one more thing off my list in my quest to make my mood more Merry. I found my tree! It's four feet of pinked-out pre-lit bliss. Now I just have to take it out of the box....
Twenty-four days left...
Oh, well. I don't make the rules, and it seems no one has any plans of letting me make them...not that that's necessarily a bad thing. Not sure I could handle the pressure of being an official "rule maker." I'm enough of a control freak as it is, so why add fuel to the fire?
But I'm straying away––oh so far away––from my intended topic, so I'm going to try to get back on track. Black Friday was actually a success for me this year. Yay! Not only did I score some deals and get some much needed Christmas shopping taken care of, I also got to spend some very much needed and long overdue time with my beautiful sister. Good for me, hopefully good for her, and good for the to do list. A win-win all around, if I do say so myself.
Steps made in the right direction, as far as feeling festive, too. It's always nice to see things decked out for the season, to start seeing the proliferation of Christmas lights on people's houses and all of the bits and baubles that signal the upcoming holiday. I just wish I was hearing more Christmas music...
Last night, I got to check one more thing off my list in my quest to make my mood more Merry. I found my tree! It's four feet of pinked-out pre-lit bliss. Now I just have to take it out of the box....
Twenty-four days left...
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Calendar Confusion
As I continue my campaign to immerse myself in the holiday frame of mind this year, I find I'm still having trouble wrapping my brain around this one. Thanksgiving is a mere five days away. And, as yesterday's Countdown to Christmas alert on the Hallmark Channel so cheerily showed, Christmas is 32 Days away.
Make that 31 Days.
Still so much to do!
I have presents to buy, a pink tree to score, and wrapping accouterments to procure. Then the wrapping itself. Those are just the things that HAVE to be done. There are still things that I WANT to get done, as well...I WANT so badly to send out Christmas cards, bake some goodies and give them away to my favorite people, and revel in the glow. I want to feel like I have time to FEEL CHRISTMAS! And I feel like it's slipping through my fingers like sanding sugar. Or melting snow.
Not that it feels warm enough for snow to melt. In fact, I've spent pretty much all day freezing my tuccus off, even though I'm safely tucked indoors at my favorite home-office-away-from-home-office. It's a frigid day outside, as well, which might be one reason that the idea of decamping is a dreaded one. I hate cold. With a passion. Too bad that fiery hatred of cold doesn't do anything to warm me up inside...
Anyway, back to the conundrum at hand––FEELING the season. Hmmmm. Maybe it's time to buckle down and find that tree, so that my apartment is visually bathed in the warm pink glow of my newly found festiveness.
More updates to come...
Make that 31 Days.
Still so much to do!
I have presents to buy, a pink tree to score, and wrapping accouterments to procure. Then the wrapping itself. Those are just the things that HAVE to be done. There are still things that I WANT to get done, as well...I WANT so badly to send out Christmas cards, bake some goodies and give them away to my favorite people, and revel in the glow. I want to feel like I have time to FEEL CHRISTMAS! And I feel like it's slipping through my fingers like sanding sugar. Or melting snow.
Not that it feels warm enough for snow to melt. In fact, I've spent pretty much all day freezing my tuccus off, even though I'm safely tucked indoors at my favorite home-office-away-from-home-office. It's a frigid day outside, as well, which might be one reason that the idea of decamping is a dreaded one. I hate cold. With a passion. Too bad that fiery hatred of cold doesn't do anything to warm me up inside...
Anyway, back to the conundrum at hand––FEELING the season. Hmmmm. Maybe it's time to buckle down and find that tree, so that my apartment is visually bathed in the warm pink glow of my newly found festiveness.
More updates to come...
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Anything But Boring
I don't know about anyone else here, but if I'm perfectly honest, most of the time I feel like the most boring person on the planet. For me, an exciting Friday night generally includes dancing with my Dirt Devil as we chase away the little bit of dirt and dust that might have accumulated on the apartment floor over the past week, sniffing the pungent odors of eau de Windex and Scrub Free as I'm scrubbing down the bathroom, and folding laundry as the latest string of Say Yes to the Dress and House Hunters plays in the background. A swingin' single I am not. So am I boring?Perhaps yes, perhaps no.
But for me, there are moments of greatness even in the mundane. And even those are far less than the greatness that God is holding out to us, if only we reach for it.
In his book Boring: Finding An Extraordinary God in An Ordinary Life, Michael Kelley (B&H Publishing) challenges us as readers and fellow Christians to "see the greater purpose in the seemingly small and mundane details of life...When Jesus enters a situation, even the most mundane things become extraordinary."
So what exactly does this mean, and how can it change us? Look at your life and be present. Appreciate the gifts that God has given you and continues to give you. These are the things that make our days far from ordinary, even if they seem boring on the surface. We are here, now, and God has a specific purpose for each of us. We are far from boring.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Value the Vets
It's Veteran's Day, and to all the men and women who serve or have served, I say Thank You. You do so much for every one if us every day, and too often you go unrecognized for these sacrifices you make.
Thank you, too, to all the spouses of these service members, their families who serve right along with them without reward or pay. You give to us by being their support, by sticking by them and loving them. The ring on your finger forms an inextricable link to their uniform, and your heart beats in time with theirs.
Veteran's Day is all bout saying thank you, for taking a minute to remember that we would not be the country that we are today without your selflessness, without your call to be who you are, without your dedication to that uniform and everything it represents. You are a warrior for all of us, and for that you should be celebrated.
Wherever you find yourself today, know that there are people who may not ever know you personally, but think very highly of you and are grateful for your service. Those boots march for us as you march into danger, those uniforms form a tapestry of strength as you become our first line of defense. You draw and define the battle lines and fight evils in our honor.
For all if this, we honor you.
Thank you for being brave for us––we're proud of you. Thank you for making and keeping us free.
Thank you, too, to all the spouses of these service members, their families who serve right along with them without reward or pay. You give to us by being their support, by sticking by them and loving them. The ring on your finger forms an inextricable link to their uniform, and your heart beats in time with theirs.
Veteran's Day is all bout saying thank you, for taking a minute to remember that we would not be the country that we are today without your selflessness, without your call to be who you are, without your dedication to that uniform and everything it represents. You are a warrior for all of us, and for that you should be celebrated.
Wherever you find yourself today, know that there are people who may not ever know you personally, but think very highly of you and are grateful for your service. Those boots march for us as you march into danger, those uniforms form a tapestry of strength as you become our first line of defense. You draw and define the battle lines and fight evils in our honor.
For all if this, we honor you.
Thank you for being brave for us––we're proud of you. Thank you for making and keeping us free.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Sweet and Savory
Wow, I can't believe its Sunday again already! I'm not ready for this, are you? I blinked and it was Friday, then I blinked again and it's Sunday! Time whips by with an insane speed, doesn't it?
Not that I'm complaining about what was accomplished this weekend. Far from it, actually.
Yesterday was one of those happily unexpected days of prolificness...Is that a word? If not, it should be.
I'm hoping today follows suit, but one never knows, does one? I'll just have to play it by ear and see how it goes, see how quickly the fingers fly over the keys and the mind composes what looks to be a masterpiece.
The sky is a beautiful shade of blue and perfectly temperate, a happy gift in the midst of what were a few days of gloomy, cold misery. These are days to savor, like a rich piece of chocolate melting slowly on the tongue. These are the days that make me thankful and remind me that every minute really does have something to treasure and hold, if only we pay attention.
The holidays are coming with warp speed, and I'm hoping that this year I'll allow myself to notice, to stretch them out and find their magic.
Too many years recently I've allowed myself to forget why these days exist: To be together. To give back. To remember that life is good and extraordinary. The turkey might be forgotten in the freezer until too late, the mashed potatoes might be gummy. But there are stories to make from these days of Whoopsie Daisy. Make the Uh Oh! an Aha! and find your unexpected sweetness...Remember the five second rule and realize that things don't always go like you've planned. Sometimes they turn out better.
Not that I'm complaining about what was accomplished this weekend. Far from it, actually.
Yesterday was one of those happily unexpected days of prolificness...Is that a word? If not, it should be.
I'm hoping today follows suit, but one never knows, does one? I'll just have to play it by ear and see how it goes, see how quickly the fingers fly over the keys and the mind composes what looks to be a masterpiece.
The sky is a beautiful shade of blue and perfectly temperate, a happy gift in the midst of what were a few days of gloomy, cold misery. These are days to savor, like a rich piece of chocolate melting slowly on the tongue. These are the days that make me thankful and remind me that every minute really does have something to treasure and hold, if only we pay attention.
The holidays are coming with warp speed, and I'm hoping that this year I'll allow myself to notice, to stretch them out and find their magic.
Too many years recently I've allowed myself to forget why these days exist: To be together. To give back. To remember that life is good and extraordinary. The turkey might be forgotten in the freezer until too late, the mashed potatoes might be gummy. But there are stories to make from these days of Whoopsie Daisy. Make the Uh Oh! an Aha! and find your unexpected sweetness...Remember the five second rule and realize that things don't always go like you've planned. Sometimes they turn out better.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Not a Good Look for You
I've been looking over my blogposts from last month, and I realized just how much I was letting my worry edge into my writing. Well, maybe not so much edge as shove its way into. And I hate how gloomy and hopeless it made me sound.
Yes, I worry.
But if we're honest, all of us worry, right? If you don't worry about something on any given day, I think you might be in the minority, and a very fortunate one at that.
I have a great tendency to worry and an even greater tendency to let it get a viselike grip on me to the point of being overwhelming. Like a bride wearing an overpowering mass of whiteness that completely swallows her up, my worry was wearing me, rather than the other way around.
And it's not a good look for me.
It's not a good look for anyone.
God designed us to be triumphant, to live our best lives in glory to Him. And living in constant worry and fear isn't doing that. It's giving in and living a defeated existence. A life lived in fear is only half lived.
I don't know about you, but I want to live a full, happy life that shines.
That's a look that's good on anyone.
So with that in mind, I want to rip that worry apart at the seams and wear the sparkle, rather than the fear. I want to rock the runway.
Maybe not literally, but you get my point.
I want peace and joy to be my best accessories.
Time to clean out the closets and get rid of the tattered mess.
I want to wear only what looks good on me.
Yes, I worry.
But if we're honest, all of us worry, right? If you don't worry about something on any given day, I think you might be in the minority, and a very fortunate one at that.
I have a great tendency to worry and an even greater tendency to let it get a viselike grip on me to the point of being overwhelming. Like a bride wearing an overpowering mass of whiteness that completely swallows her up, my worry was wearing me, rather than the other way around.
And it's not a good look for me.
It's not a good look for anyone.
God designed us to be triumphant, to live our best lives in glory to Him. And living in constant worry and fear isn't doing that. It's giving in and living a defeated existence. A life lived in fear is only half lived.
I don't know about you, but I want to live a full, happy life that shines.
That's a look that's good on anyone.
So with that in mind, I want to rip that worry apart at the seams and wear the sparkle, rather than the fear. I want to rock the runway.
Maybe not literally, but you get my point.
I want peace and joy to be my best accessories.
Time to clean out the closets and get rid of the tattered mess.
I want to wear only what looks good on me.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Typeography
It's not an HP or a Dell or a Mac-anything. It has no operating system, no battery or cord. It doesn't hum with the rhythm of some electronic power source. It's not portable or mini, and it has no screen. If you tried putting it on your lap, it would probably break your legs, and lifting it requires Herculean effort.
But this piece of machinery––this beautiful piece of equipment made of shiny black steel and studded with keys, their round white faces poking up from the hulking inkiness of this colossus––just as thoroughly represents industry and creativity and communication as any of the most up-to-date gadgets on the market.
Maybe more so.
After all, this antiquated mass of metal is the precursor, the harbinger of things to come.
It is a typewriter.
And not just any typewriter. A Remington, from sometime in the early 1930s, when writers sat in offices heavy with smoke and thick with sarcasm. When women were "gals" and men were "fellas," and the closest thing to an email was a telegram. When "cut and paste" was done with actual scissors and glue, when the end of a page margin required the swift movement of hands to shove the paper drum back into place until a magic bell dinged. Fingers were well-muscled from aggressively typing keys, fingertips blackened with the ink of a thousand ribbons.
True, I might never have plans of actually ever using this wonderful piece of history, but as it sits proudly on the shiny white surface of my desk at home, my typewriter is a reminder.
It speaks of progress, of innovation. Of respect for the written word. Of the importance of communication.
More personally, for me it also represents an affirmation. An unspoken show of support for me and my dreams of being a writer. A confirmation that the people I love believe in me and see talent in me.
This Remington might not be on the leading edge of innovation; but for me, it's priceless.
To Uncle Michael, Kevin, and Grandpa––how can I thank you enough for the joint effort made in finding my treasure? I love you all.
But this piece of machinery––this beautiful piece of equipment made of shiny black steel and studded with keys, their round white faces poking up from the hulking inkiness of this colossus––just as thoroughly represents industry and creativity and communication as any of the most up-to-date gadgets on the market.
Maybe more so.
After all, this antiquated mass of metal is the precursor, the harbinger of things to come.
It is a typewriter.
And not just any typewriter. A Remington, from sometime in the early 1930s, when writers sat in offices heavy with smoke and thick with sarcasm. When women were "gals" and men were "fellas," and the closest thing to an email was a telegram. When "cut and paste" was done with actual scissors and glue, when the end of a page margin required the swift movement of hands to shove the paper drum back into place until a magic bell dinged. Fingers were well-muscled from aggressively typing keys, fingertips blackened with the ink of a thousand ribbons.
True, I might never have plans of actually ever using this wonderful piece of history, but as it sits proudly on the shiny white surface of my desk at home, my typewriter is a reminder.
It speaks of progress, of innovation. Of respect for the written word. Of the importance of communication.
More personally, for me it also represents an affirmation. An unspoken show of support for me and my dreams of being a writer. A confirmation that the people I love believe in me and see talent in me.
This Remington might not be on the leading edge of innovation; but for me, it's priceless.
To Uncle Michael, Kevin, and Grandpa––how can I thank you enough for the joint effort made in finding my treasure? I love you all.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Finding Festive
I know it's only the beginning of November, but there's no escaping the upcoming Christmas festivities. I may be well on my way gift-wise (at least,as far as my niece and nephew and sister go...) I have to admit, I'm not mentally prepared. This has been such a strange year, and I've lost my footing as to just where on the calendar reality has us. If I'm really and truly honest, the past few years have been strange as far as Christmas goes, and I haven't really allowed myself to get fully in the spirit of things.
I really want this to be different, so as part of that, I've been taking advantage of Hallmark Channel's early embrace of Christmas movies. Their Countdown to Christmas movie marathon is now on rotation in my daily TV viewing, if for no other reason than to give me a little reminder that Christmas is coming soon, and I really should take the time to enjoy it.
This year, I want to put up a tree. And not just any tree. A PINK tree. Yes, a pink one. I have a new apartment and a new life on my own, and darn it, I want to take advantage of the fact that no one can object to a really-freaking-pink tree.
So I'm keeping my eyes open and hopeful that I'll soon stumble upon the perfect pre-lit pink specimen. I need a little sparkle to light up the holidays this year. I need to see a daily reminder that there is magic still to be had. That Christmas is supposed to be full of joy, not only for the itsy-bitsy people known as children, not only for the in-love people of the planet.
I need to be tickled by excitement. I need to be tickled pink.
I really want this to be different, so as part of that, I've been taking advantage of Hallmark Channel's early embrace of Christmas movies. Their Countdown to Christmas movie marathon is now on rotation in my daily TV viewing, if for no other reason than to give me a little reminder that Christmas is coming soon, and I really should take the time to enjoy it.
This year, I want to put up a tree. And not just any tree. A PINK tree. Yes, a pink one. I have a new apartment and a new life on my own, and darn it, I want to take advantage of the fact that no one can object to a really-freaking-pink tree.
So I'm keeping my eyes open and hopeful that I'll soon stumble upon the perfect pre-lit pink specimen. I need a little sparkle to light up the holidays this year. I need to see a daily reminder that there is magic still to be had. That Christmas is supposed to be full of joy, not only for the itsy-bitsy people known as children, not only for the in-love people of the planet.
I need to be tickled by excitement. I need to be tickled pink.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
The Lost Hour
Sure, in theory, we "gained" an hour. But did we really?
If you ask me, it feels much more like we lose an hour with the time change––after all, to make use of that hour, one would have to wake up an hour earlier, as the tail end of the day is shortened. At least, for those of us who are not high on the Night Life.
And I, for one, am not. While I might not be someone who gets many hours of shut-eye, I do feel like it's time to roll up the sidewalk and tuck in for the night when darkness falls. I'd rather be home than romping around in the blackness, however well-lit it might be.
Call me a fuddy duddy or a kill-joy, that's just the way I am. And so, consequently, I feel like that so-called "gained" hour should actually be considered a loss. After all, it means earlier dark, earlier time to roll up the sidewalk.
Once upon a time it didn't bother me so much, but that was before.
Life has changed a lot since then––the clock has slipped and slided. The years have reshaped the night and what's to be found there. And for now, I retreat to safety. Where dark is outside my door and not welcomed inside. Where light is within reach. Where shadows can be chased away.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Wikking Out
It's official. Fall has fallen and winter is fast approaching. One look at the dismally low thermometer reading, and there's no denying it. And while the calendar is screaming at you that Halloween is no longer creeping up but instead poised to pounce in all its menacing glory and goriness, at the back of your mind is the sound of another alarm bell. Yes, soon those costume-stuffed aisles at the store will soon be marked down on clearance and shoved aside to make way for dressings and decorations of another kind...the kind that clearly announce the arrival of Thanksgiving. Which, consequently, means the official kick-off to the holiday season.
So if you've got kids, the upcoming months means you're in for several substantial blocks of time to fill as those little angels face the seasonal school holiday vacations. Chances are, you'd like them to have at least a few hours in there that aren't spent in the glow of some sort of screen, so why not get their creativity going and give their tiny little fingers something to do that doesn't involve a keyboard? Wikki Stix has the perfect solution. Reminiscent of the old pipe-cleaner art projects, Wikki Stixx are candle-wick-like pieces of wax coated string in various colors that can be bent and formed into all kinds of fun and interesting shapes. Check out their new Tons of Fun Kit––it's a convenient carrying case case absolutely packed with everything your little ones could possibly need to make critters and creatures, design cards, doodle, play games, decorate bags...or anything else they imagine. The kit includes 96 Wikki Stix packed in a see-through vinyl case with red braid trim and handle, making it easy to pack up and go! (www.wikkistix.com) $16.95.
Whether you're getting ready for those idle hours away from school or thinking ahead to Christmas shopping, the Tons of Fun kit has you covered!
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Financial Peace?
This may shock you...get ready for it...Are you sitting down?
I'm worried.
Wow.
Yes, I the self-admitted Queen of Worry an, once again, worried.
Ta da! I knew you'd be surprised.
Okay, so this is dripping in sarcasm. But bear with me. Today, I'm not fretting over the weather or the amount of work in my Inbox (give me a few minutes and the sentiment might change...). Right now, I'm worried about the government and whether or not its going to be fixed. True, it's had countless problems for longer than any of us can remember, but this one is looming large and in-charge right now and weighing heavily on all of our minds (and budgets.) So I'm biting my fingernails and trying to concentrate on work and making my most valiant attempts at not worrying about things that I have absolutely no control over. I'm sending up prayer after prayer and trying to let God be God and do what He does best, but I'm going to be REALLY honest and own up to the fact that I don't feel like I'm having a very successful time of it.
I want things fixed.
I want security (or some teeny tiny form of it).
I want to know that things are going to get paid for.
Sounds like my own life.
Which makes me start worrying about that, too.
Fabulous...
Dear God, be with our government a they make decisions today. Give them wisdom. Give them grace. And give us all a little peace. And please, please, please...give me a piece of that peace.
I'm worried.
Wow.
Yes, I the self-admitted Queen of Worry an, once again, worried.
Ta da! I knew you'd be surprised.
Okay, so this is dripping in sarcasm. But bear with me. Today, I'm not fretting over the weather or the amount of work in my Inbox (give me a few minutes and the sentiment might change...). Right now, I'm worried about the government and whether or not its going to be fixed. True, it's had countless problems for longer than any of us can remember, but this one is looming large and in-charge right now and weighing heavily on all of our minds (and budgets.) So I'm biting my fingernails and trying to concentrate on work and making my most valiant attempts at not worrying about things that I have absolutely no control over. I'm sending up prayer after prayer and trying to let God be God and do what He does best, but I'm going to be REALLY honest and own up to the fact that I don't feel like I'm having a very successful time of it.
I want things fixed.
I want security (or some teeny tiny form of it).
I want to know that things are going to get paid for.
Sounds like my own life.
Which makes me start worrying about that, too.
Fabulous...
Dear God, be with our government a they make decisions today. Give them wisdom. Give them grace. And give us all a little peace. And please, please, please...give me a piece of that peace.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Making the Grade
It's funny how much focus lately I've been giving to weather conditions––both the literal and the metaphorical kind. It's just proven to be such an apt comparison, in light of how I've been feeling. I'm hoping that changes soon, especially since most days of kate have been rainy and gloomy. I don't want to be the gloomy chick. I want people to think of me as sparkling, engaging. Fun to be around and uplifting. I want people to feel like I've blessed the moments of the day that have been shared by my company.
I don't ever want anyone to end time spent with me to wish that they had stayed away; to think that their day had been wasted. To regret meeting me. I hope that I'm doing that. That I'm shining light into people's day––even if it's only for a few moments.
I want to be the best me I can be, and for others to think that that me is pretty great.
I know that some people would probably tell me that I care to much about other people's opinions, that I should just be who I am and disregard what other people's reactions.
But I do care.
I've always cared, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.
I'm a perfectionist when it comes to myself and how other perceive me. Of whether I'm living up to expectations––whether mine or someone else's, real or imagined.
I want to get higher than an A, and most of the time, I don't feel like I fall anywhere in the realm of an A. Not even an A minus, if I'm going to be completely honest.
More like a D.
Whether that's where I actually fall is up for debate, I suppose. But at this point in the game, that really is how I feel. Which doesn't exactly bode well for not hitting the gloominess of my internal weather pattern. Actually, it generally only exacerbates the problem.
But what can you do, when you're feeling like your grades are falling? The simple answer, I suppose would be to study. To learn your weak points and find out what you're missing. To strengthen your foundation.
I'm sensing a call to the pages of the Bible. A reconnection to my knowledge base. A plug in to my power-source. I think I let myself go too long sometimes, without taking the time to dig in and meditate on the Word. I'll read it to cross it off my list of Things to Do. One more accomplishment to my day. But I don't often enough take the time to truly reflect on what I'm reading and studying.
It may be a common problem, but it's not one I'm proud of. Especially in times when I'm called to be an ambassador, an example. A light. And my lack of knowledge leaves me less than prepared to make the A I so desperately want, and I'm left feeling like a D has been marked at the top of my test.
Again, I'm being metaphorical here in all of this. God doesn't give out grades like a teacher in school. He only wants our best––whatever that might be.
But I want to be able to give that best and know that it really is my best.
I want to feel like I'm making the grade.
I don't ever want anyone to end time spent with me to wish that they had stayed away; to think that their day had been wasted. To regret meeting me. I hope that I'm doing that. That I'm shining light into people's day––even if it's only for a few moments.
I want to be the best me I can be, and for others to think that that me is pretty great.
I know that some people would probably tell me that I care to much about other people's opinions, that I should just be who I am and disregard what other people's reactions.
But I do care.
I've always cared, and I don't see that changing anytime soon.
I'm a perfectionist when it comes to myself and how other perceive me. Of whether I'm living up to expectations––whether mine or someone else's, real or imagined.
I want to get higher than an A, and most of the time, I don't feel like I fall anywhere in the realm of an A. Not even an A minus, if I'm going to be completely honest.
More like a D.
Whether that's where I actually fall is up for debate, I suppose. But at this point in the game, that really is how I feel. Which doesn't exactly bode well for not hitting the gloominess of my internal weather pattern. Actually, it generally only exacerbates the problem.
But what can you do, when you're feeling like your grades are falling? The simple answer, I suppose would be to study. To learn your weak points and find out what you're missing. To strengthen your foundation.
I'm sensing a call to the pages of the Bible. A reconnection to my knowledge base. A plug in to my power-source. I think I let myself go too long sometimes, without taking the time to dig in and meditate on the Word. I'll read it to cross it off my list of Things to Do. One more accomplishment to my day. But I don't often enough take the time to truly reflect on what I'm reading and studying.
It may be a common problem, but it's not one I'm proud of. Especially in times when I'm called to be an ambassador, an example. A light. And my lack of knowledge leaves me less than prepared to make the A I so desperately want, and I'm left feeling like a D has been marked at the top of my test.
Again, I'm being metaphorical here in all of this. God doesn't give out grades like a teacher in school. He only wants our best––whatever that might be.
But I want to be able to give that best and know that it really is my best.
I want to feel like I'm making the grade.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
What's the Forecast?
The skies are blue here again, crystal clear and threatless. What troubles me at this moment is not the weather outside, but the weather inside. Most specifically, the weather inside of me and my heart and mind. This is shaping up to be one of those weeks that seems painfully, panic-inducingly silent weeks when I do largely nothing apart (work-wise, anyway) from sending out query letters and manuscript proposals. When the actual, paid work is decidedly missing and I'm left wondering if (and how) I'm possibly going to be able to stick it out for the long-haul. When I wonder if I'm being absolutely foolish in my waiting. If I'm being ambitious enough. If I'm good enough.
If I'm enough.
After all, I could look at this empty space on my assignment calendar and decide that I need to be going out to look for a job outside of the realm of my laptop. Would I be being more industrious or realistic or responsible by literally hitting the pavement and applying to bricks-and-mortar jobs?
At this point, I don't know what the answer is.
I don't know what the weather forecast is.
Will it be sunny skies or stormy ones for me?
At this point, I'm still watching; waiting; and praying. Hoping that God will give me wisdom to see through the fog when it rolls in; that He'll show me what do to and that I'll listen. That I'll be wise enough to wait out the rumbles or evacuate while there's still time––whatever I'm supposed to do.
I'm just hoping and praying for the weather forecast. I'm hoping that it will shine happily on me, and that it will come soon.
Please...Readers, followers, faithful friends. Please tell me what you think when you read. I want to hear from you! I welcome your thoughts and criticisms. Just let me hear your voice!
If I'm enough.
After all, I could look at this empty space on my assignment calendar and decide that I need to be going out to look for a job outside of the realm of my laptop. Would I be being more industrious or realistic or responsible by literally hitting the pavement and applying to bricks-and-mortar jobs?
At this point, I don't know what the answer is.
I don't know what the weather forecast is.
Will it be sunny skies or stormy ones for me?
At this point, I'm still watching; waiting; and praying. Hoping that God will give me wisdom to see through the fog when it rolls in; that He'll show me what do to and that I'll listen. That I'll be wise enough to wait out the rumbles or evacuate while there's still time––whatever I'm supposed to do.
I'm just hoping and praying for the weather forecast. I'm hoping that it will shine happily on me, and that it will come soon.
Please...Readers, followers, faithful friends. Please tell me what you think when you read. I want to hear from you! I welcome your thoughts and criticisms. Just let me hear your voice!
Sunday, October 6, 2013
The Worry Tax
Rain has come in, washed ashore, and caused its fair share of panic. But is it over? At this point in the day, I'm not sure. And I'm more than a little apprehensive to check the weather reports. Remember now, I'm terribly guilty of worrying over things I can't control––which definitely includes the weather. I'm glad that no one can fine you for the offense of worry, especially useless worry. If they did, I wouldn't be able to afford more than fifteen minutes in this wonderful world of potential worry. I would be severely in debt, financially, from what that worry cost me.
Fortunately, there aren't any kinds of fees or fines imposed on worry. But there are certainly costs, aren't there? If you stop and think about it, it's absolutely amazing what worry an actually cost us. It can keep you from doing things that you've always wanted to do. It can cost you relationships and experiences. It can become so huge in our minds that it costs us time and energy that we can't get back, ever.
Even as I write this, these seemingly sage words of advise telling you not to worry, I struggle to hear them, to heed them. After all, isn't it so much easier to give advice than to actually take it? It's easier to try to fix someone else's life than it is your own––you have less stake in it. You can look back from a place of objectivity and see shortcomings and potential solutions without ever feeling like you're the failure if something doesn't work. You're the one passing judgement, not the one being judged.
So yes, it's so much easier to sit here behind the anonymity of my computer and tell you to stop worrying about the things beyond your control. It's easier to say it than for me to do it; and I deal every day with my laundry list of worry, trying to figure out if it really is worth worrying over this or that.For the most part, I think I have it figured out. I whittle the list down pretty well, but I still struggle with some that I have definitely allowed to become super storms of worry. They control me, and they disregard my boundaries. They cause my inner worry-wart to go scurrying off to the store, loading up my carts with enough water, canned goods, flashlights, and batteries to take me through the Apocalypse. They cause me to wring my hands and waste my time and sacrifice things that I want to do, all out of fear of being caught unprepared and out of control.
They make me into the weather man, working from a forecast that no longer applies and does no good, impotent and ineffectual and uninformed. So while everyone else is walking around, happily content in the sunny skies, I lumber along, weighted down with unnecessary umbrellas and rain gear, waiting for the next storm.
They go to the beach, while I cling to the inlands, never seeing the crystal clear beaches of carefree days. What has it cost me?
Fortunately, there aren't any kinds of fees or fines imposed on worry. But there are certainly costs, aren't there? If you stop and think about it, it's absolutely amazing what worry an actually cost us. It can keep you from doing things that you've always wanted to do. It can cost you relationships and experiences. It can become so huge in our minds that it costs us time and energy that we can't get back, ever.
Even as I write this, these seemingly sage words of advise telling you not to worry, I struggle to hear them, to heed them. After all, isn't it so much easier to give advice than to actually take it? It's easier to try to fix someone else's life than it is your own––you have less stake in it. You can look back from a place of objectivity and see shortcomings and potential solutions without ever feeling like you're the failure if something doesn't work. You're the one passing judgement, not the one being judged.
So yes, it's so much easier to sit here behind the anonymity of my computer and tell you to stop worrying about the things beyond your control. It's easier to say it than for me to do it; and I deal every day with my laundry list of worry, trying to figure out if it really is worth worrying over this or that.For the most part, I think I have it figured out. I whittle the list down pretty well, but I still struggle with some that I have definitely allowed to become super storms of worry. They control me, and they disregard my boundaries. They cause my inner worry-wart to go scurrying off to the store, loading up my carts with enough water, canned goods, flashlights, and batteries to take me through the Apocalypse. They cause me to wring my hands and waste my time and sacrifice things that I want to do, all out of fear of being caught unprepared and out of control.
They make me into the weather man, working from a forecast that no longer applies and does no good, impotent and ineffectual and uninformed. So while everyone else is walking around, happily content in the sunny skies, I lumber along, weighted down with unnecessary umbrellas and rain gear, waiting for the next storm.
They go to the beach, while I cling to the inlands, never seeing the crystal clear beaches of carefree days. What has it cost me?
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Weathering the Worry
I admit it. I'm trying to control the weather with my mind. Not that I'm the first person to do this; but based on the fact that I can in no way, shape, or form do this with anything even bordering on success, I know that, logically, I should just try to stop worrying an get on with my life. Granted, I'm getting on with my life and trying to do things are need to be done; but at the back of my mind is that stupid screaming voice that wants every ounce of my attention, commanding me to worry.
Unfortunately, by trying so hard to ignore it that I start talking about it is also a strange form of giving it power. Bizarre, perhaps, buy still true.
So I'm trying to look out the windows, soaking in the sunny skies and denying the thought that somewhere out there, something potentially scary is headed this way, I'm trying to take the perfect blueness of the morning and the fluffy white clouds as a sign that we're going to coast on through this Coastal threat. I'm trying to be optimistic and not worry that this is literally just the calm before the storm, that this will amount to nothing beyond a short-lived bust of panic among the locals.
This is the part of the year I hate––those six months of tenuous Tropics, when I avoid weather reports like the plague and wish like crazy that I could bury my head in the sand until December officially shows itself.
Alas, I cannot, so I have to face reality and try not to give in to my inner worry wart and just breathe. I stay aware, but try not to brood. After all, I can't control the weather––but I can do damage control on my internal tropics. God is the weatherman––the key is to remember that.
Unfortunately, by trying so hard to ignore it that I start talking about it is also a strange form of giving it power. Bizarre, perhaps, buy still true.
So I'm trying to look out the windows, soaking in the sunny skies and denying the thought that somewhere out there, something potentially scary is headed this way, I'm trying to take the perfect blueness of the morning and the fluffy white clouds as a sign that we're going to coast on through this Coastal threat. I'm trying to be optimistic and not worry that this is literally just the calm before the storm, that this will amount to nothing beyond a short-lived bust of panic among the locals.
This is the part of the year I hate––those six months of tenuous Tropics, when I avoid weather reports like the plague and wish like crazy that I could bury my head in the sand until December officially shows itself.
Alas, I cannot, so I have to face reality and try not to give in to my inner worry wart and just breathe. I stay aware, but try not to brood. After all, I can't control the weather––but I can do damage control on my internal tropics. God is the weatherman––the key is to remember that.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Affirmative Words
There's something oddly affirming about the mere idea of work to me. I feel like I'm not simply taking up space, rather, that I'm in the realm of potential. Otherwise, I feel like there's something I'm supposed to be doing––some great task that I'm neglecting, some job that I could or should be applying to so that my bottom line is increased.
It is an odd thing, to be a writer. You live so much in your own head, in your own world, even when you find yourself in the midst of a throng of people. I don't know about anyone else, but I never feel a true sense of security, either. A strange occupation to have, I admit, for someone who craves security and control.
Therein lies the rub. As much as it steals control, writing also gives control. You can manipulate the words, create people and places and situations. No one does anything without your final approval, and the backspace and delete keys are always at your fingertips.
And yet.
When you write for a living, you learn to be alone, you learn to listen more, to observe more. There's a lot of more involved, but there's also a lot of less. There are more ways to create, more ways to speak out, more possibilities to find a story or inspiration in every person you meet. But there is also more worry and less money. Less certainty that another job will come, less contact. More days of burying your head in the sand so that you can truly focus on the formulation of the words.
To be a successfully dedicated writer, you have to understand that success doesn't come right away, and nothing is certain except for one thing: You will learn the meaning of rejection. Many, many times. The key is remembering that somewhere among all the nos is a yes––a great, powerful word. And all it takes is one.
It is an odd thing, to be a writer. You live so much in your own head, in your own world, even when you find yourself in the midst of a throng of people. I don't know about anyone else, but I never feel a true sense of security, either. A strange occupation to have, I admit, for someone who craves security and control.
Therein lies the rub. As much as it steals control, writing also gives control. You can manipulate the words, create people and places and situations. No one does anything without your final approval, and the backspace and delete keys are always at your fingertips.
And yet.
When you write for a living, you learn to be alone, you learn to listen more, to observe more. There's a lot of more involved, but there's also a lot of less. There are more ways to create, more ways to speak out, more possibilities to find a story or inspiration in every person you meet. But there is also more worry and less money. Less certainty that another job will come, less contact. More days of burying your head in the sand so that you can truly focus on the formulation of the words.
To be a successfully dedicated writer, you have to understand that success doesn't come right away, and nothing is certain except for one thing: You will learn the meaning of rejection. Many, many times. The key is remembering that somewhere among all the nos is a yes––a great, powerful word. And all it takes is one.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Spooked Yet?
Is it just me, or is anyone else just floored by the fact that it's October?
Seriously.
The end of the year is just two short months away.
Two. Months.
Yup, and then that 2013 we all just got used to writing will become 2014.
I, for one, thought we might all be driving around in flying cars by the time 2014 rolled around, but that hasn't happened yet.
Not sure whether I'm glad about that or disappointed.
At any rate, I don't feel ready.
There are things I wanted to have accomplished by the end of the year, things I really don't see happening at this point. On the flip side of the coin, there are things that I've accomplished this year that I never saw coming.
I guess it's all in how you choose to look at things.
What matters most, I suppose, is the take-away.
What have you learned? What have you given? What have you been given?
Are you looking forward to the end of the year, or are you spooked by the idea?
I think, if I'm honest, I have to say I'm a little of both.
There are things I'm looking forward to and things I'm dreading. Whatever category things may fall into, though, I'm realistic enough to know that the inevitable is coming, and that calendar change is going to happen. I can't put the brakes on things or clamp my eyes shut to avoid the steady march of time. I can only pray that God looks at the last year of my life and sees things that make Him happy. I want God to be proud of this time––to see that I've made the most of my "talents" and haven't squandered them.
I don't want this to be a year that haunts me––rather, I want to be able to celebrate it and all of its milestones.
There may be tricks, and there may be treats. But there will definitely be things to treasure.
Seriously.
The end of the year is just two short months away.
Two. Months.
Yup, and then that 2013 we all just got used to writing will become 2014.
I, for one, thought we might all be driving around in flying cars by the time 2014 rolled around, but that hasn't happened yet.
Not sure whether I'm glad about that or disappointed.
At any rate, I don't feel ready.
There are things I wanted to have accomplished by the end of the year, things I really don't see happening at this point. On the flip side of the coin, there are things that I've accomplished this year that I never saw coming.
I guess it's all in how you choose to look at things.
What matters most, I suppose, is the take-away.
What have you learned? What have you given? What have you been given?
Are you looking forward to the end of the year, or are you spooked by the idea?
I think, if I'm honest, I have to say I'm a little of both.
There are things I'm looking forward to and things I'm dreading. Whatever category things may fall into, though, I'm realistic enough to know that the inevitable is coming, and that calendar change is going to happen. I can't put the brakes on things or clamp my eyes shut to avoid the steady march of time. I can only pray that God looks at the last year of my life and sees things that make Him happy. I want God to be proud of this time––to see that I've made the most of my "talents" and haven't squandered them.
I don't want this to be a year that haunts me––rather, I want to be able to celebrate it and all of its milestones.
There may be tricks, and there may be treats. But there will definitely be things to treasure.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Tweet Tweet
I've become a certified member of the Twitter-verse. Not that I really wanted to or anything, but because I felt like it was in my professional best interest to do so. Granted, I could certainly be hitting the Tweet button more often than I do, since I only do it about once a day, if that. But I really don't think I have that much to Tweet about, and I refuse to be one of those nut-jobs who Tweets about everything, from what they ate for breakfast to how many times they blew their nose. Who cares? If you have a valid opinion about something or see something truly interesting, sure, by all means, Tweet away. Tweet to your heart's content. But if you'r just spewing random things just to feel important, keep your fingers to yourself and stop the Twitter-feed!
Admittedly, it does get a little addictive to see how many followers you have (I currently have 31!!!), but don't abuse the system. Make use of it. Use it wisely, or else you'll find yourself either Unfollowed or Followed simply because you're like a train-wreck: people just can't look away and are fascinated by your complete and total idiocy. Yes, there are those. Plenty of those.
Make yourself stand out. Use your 140 characters to your very best advantage, and you won't be just another bird on the wire.
Admittedly, it does get a little addictive to see how many followers you have (I currently have 31!!!), but don't abuse the system. Make use of it. Use it wisely, or else you'll find yourself either Unfollowed or Followed simply because you're like a train-wreck: people just can't look away and are fascinated by your complete and total idiocy. Yes, there are those. Plenty of those.
Make yourself stand out. Use your 140 characters to your very best advantage, and you won't be just another bird on the wire.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Getting Raw
Making raw dishes may seem like it would take forever, if you really want to find unique flavors and recipes that appeal to more than your teenie tiny handful of friends who are embracing the whole movement. Fear not! The new cookbook Raw, Quick, & Delicious! by Douglas McNish (Robert Rose Publishing) is full of more than 175 recipes for fun, tasty dishes that take only five ingredients and 15 minutes or less to whip up. Fun desserts like Mini Chocolate Banana Flax Cakes, silky smoothies, hearty breakfasts like Date Muesli, savory entrees including Mushroom Tarts, fresh drinks and juices,
tasty snacks, crunchy salads, dressings––even pasta and noodle dishes. You'll be absolutely blown away by all the possibilities and the colorful photos that bring the mouthwatering recipes to life. The book is informative and easy-to-follow, sure to make its way onto your favorite cookbook list. (www.robertrose.ca)Friday, September 20, 2013
Just One of Those Days...
I stare into the face of another weekend, as it's Friday afternoon; and the end of the workday creeps ever closer. My e-mail inbox remains frustratingly clear of the messages I need––the ones that answer missives I've sent today and over the week that now slides into the past, the ones that will reassure me that I'm doing my job properly, the ones that will affirm that I am doing what I was meant to do. It's amazing, isn't it, what little things can upend your mood in a day? What minor detail can either make your spirit soar to drag you into oblivion? Maybe, being a writer and a creative type, I'm especially vulnerable to such highs and lows. One word of praise from someone can make me feel like I've been given the moon, while the slightest bit of criticism––or sometimes even simply silence––can leave me feeling incompetent and inconsequential.
It's days like this that I find myself praying hard for some sign, some un-ignorable and undeniable message that I am, in fact, going to make it. Going to thrive and prosper where I've planted myself. That I'm being a good steward of the gifts I've been given and am not idly squandering them.
As I sit here in my "office," tapping away the hours on my keyboard and making the occasional trip to the coffee pot, the bathroom, the counter to request a refill of hot water for my tea or more pickles to feed my soul, I can only wait and pray. Wait and pray.
And say thank you that this is another day that I have made it, that this is another day that I am doing what I love to do. And maybe one day soon, that really big sign will come. In the mean time, the occasional little one is nice to have––and so I savor those along with my pickles.
It's days like this that I find myself praying hard for some sign, some un-ignorable and undeniable message that I am, in fact, going to make it. Going to thrive and prosper where I've planted myself. That I'm being a good steward of the gifts I've been given and am not idly squandering them.
As I sit here in my "office," tapping away the hours on my keyboard and making the occasional trip to the coffee pot, the bathroom, the counter to request a refill of hot water for my tea or more pickles to feed my soul, I can only wait and pray. Wait and pray.
And say thank you that this is another day that I have made it, that this is another day that I am doing what I love to do. And maybe one day soon, that really big sign will come. In the mean time, the occasional little one is nice to have––and so I savor those along with my pickles.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Sermon on the Server
It's Sunday again (Already?!?!?!)...which means several things:
The weekend is THIIIIIS close to being O.Ver.
Monday is THIIIIIS close to being here.
And I'm sitting here feeling half-guilty for playing hookey from church for the second week in a row.
Yes, it's confessional time.
I'm not Catholic, so I don't mean that in the light-a-candle-and-confess-my-sins type way; but I mean I'm laying it out there. Getting honest and saying, yes, I was less than ideal in my pursuit of Christian fellowship this morning and didn't attend a service.
To my credit, though, I did attend a virtual one. Today is one of the (many) days that I am thanking God for the invention of the internet and the geniuses of the techies who put sermons online for all of us who have been less than vigilant about physical church attendance.
Today I am thanking God for His provisions for me, for the blessings He has given me in doing work that I love. Today I'm sitting in a sanctuary where the pews are replaced by pleather boots, the church members are a mish-mosh, and the elements of my communion are pickles and hot tea. Despite the fact that my feet did not cross the threshold of a traditional church, today I have had a connection to my God and heard Him speak.
Today, I plugged in to meet with my Lord, and He was––as always––waiting for me to listen.
The weekend is THIIIIIS close to being O.Ver.
Monday is THIIIIIS close to being here.
And I'm sitting here feeling half-guilty for playing hookey from church for the second week in a row.
Yes, it's confessional time.
I'm not Catholic, so I don't mean that in the light-a-candle-and-confess-my-sins type way; but I mean I'm laying it out there. Getting honest and saying, yes, I was less than ideal in my pursuit of Christian fellowship this morning and didn't attend a service.
To my credit, though, I did attend a virtual one. Today is one of the (many) days that I am thanking God for the invention of the internet and the geniuses of the techies who put sermons online for all of us who have been less than vigilant about physical church attendance.
Today I am thanking God for His provisions for me, for the blessings He has given me in doing work that I love. Today I'm sitting in a sanctuary where the pews are replaced by pleather boots, the church members are a mish-mosh, and the elements of my communion are pickles and hot tea. Despite the fact that my feet did not cross the threshold of a traditional church, today I have had a connection to my God and heard Him speak.
Today, I plugged in to meet with my Lord, and He was––as always––waiting for me to listen.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Something's Cookin' in the Kitchen
If you're looking for a way to work healthy foods into your lifestyle, check out a new cookbook from David Cote and Mathieu Gallant, co-founders of the Crudessence restaurants of Canada. Raw Essence: 165 Delicious Recipes for Raw Living (Robert Rose books) is packed with gorgeous, mouthwatering photos and recipes for healthful, easy dishes that embody the raw food philosophy...without being overly complicated. The recipes are supplemented by useful information and advice on how to embrace the raw lifestyle and the benefits it will bring. This is one inspiring book! (www.robertrose.ca)
Ah, pie...Who doesn't love a pie? In a cupcake and cake pop crazed society, pies can seem a bit...uncool? Flip through 175 Best Mini-Pie Recipes: Sweet to Savory, and pull out the napkins...your pie hole is fixin' to start watering! This colorful, inventive cookbook by Julie Anne Hession (Robert Rose books) proves that pies can not only be wickedly tasty, but also fun and portable. Traditional recipes are repackaged into mini versions, packed into smaller, turn-over style delights that make great additions to any party, lunchbox, or meal. Or maybe just because you're really craving pie...Whatever the reason, take a bite out of one of these great recipes, which range from traditionally sweet to more inventive new takes and flavor combinations––there are savory recipes as well as vegan and gluten-free versions. Try out Lemon Meringue Tartlets, New England Lobster Pies, and Classic Apple Pies. Get crusty! (www.robertrose.ca)
There's a reason you have that stand mixer...sometimes you just forget exactly why that is. Especially when you're having to dust around it as it sits, hulking and unused on your countertop. Re-discover your love for the mixer and become a Mixer Maven! A new cookbook from Meredith Deeds and Carla Snyder called The Mixer Bible (3rd Edition): 300 Recipes for Your Stand Mixer (Robert Rose books) includes user-friendly, scrumptious recipes with 125 step-by-step photos to aid you in your quest to conquer the kitchen by way of the mixer. This great book will walk you through each recipe and familiarize you with the various applications of that tried and true kitchen appliance. Mix things up a little! (www.robertrose.ca)
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Just Plum Tasty
Babies have a much more refined palate than we give them credit for...even in-vitro, those baby taste buds are highly-developed. In fact, third trimester babies have more taste buds than adults do––which means their sense of taste is way more spot-on than ours are. Tiny food critics in the making...
So why not develop that, rather than limiting it to bland and unimaginative flavor profiles? Babies don't like boredom any more than we do! Change it up with the fun, tasty line of foods from Plum Organics––baby foods for every stage made from organic ingredients that introduce babies to herbs and spices and flavors that most conventional baby food brands shy away from. Packaged for easy, on-the-go meal-times, these Plum Organics foods will definitely be a hit from infancy to toddlerhood!Want to try one at a time? Just Veggies (4 months and up) is a Stage 1 baby food line with 100% vegetable blends that baby can eat as single items or blended together for unique combinations. The Just Veggies line features two varieties with an extra boost of flavor: Just Peas with Mint and Butternut Squash with Cinnamon. Looking for more? Stage 2 blends with Greek Yogurt are for the taste buds of babies 6 month and older. Give your budding foodie some protein accented with a hint of Ginger in Plum’s Mango Carrot & Greek Yogurt. Your six month-olds will also love the Stage 3 meals, protein-packed and accented with spices that include sage, cumin, basil, and tarragon. Available in Barley, Kale & Spinach + Basil; Chickpea & Tomato with Beef +Cumin, Quinoa & Leeks with Chicken +Tarragon; and Corn & Carrot with Turkey +Sage. Organic vegetables, whole grains, and free-range or pasture-raised meats are blended together in Bistro Bowls, each with over 30% of your little one's recommended daily value of protein, 2-4 grams of fiber, and 10-25% the daily value of iron. Bistro Bowls contain a variety of spices to tantalize your tot ––including coriander, thyme and rosemary. Available in Tuscan Greens & Beans; Beef, Barley & Wild Mushrooms; and Chicken, Corn & Quinoa. Great for toddlers!
Dancing in the Dark
Crickets rubbed wings to the jitterbug dance;
Gila monsters swished to the monster-mash.
Centipedes tapped while the night hawks rapped–
Quail tangoed in the moonlit bash...
Friday, August 16, 2013
Season When?
It's that time again...the "end" of summer, when kids go back to school, people start thinking about autumn (even here in Florida, where fall seems to make sporadic appearances in between the last gasps of summer weather and then plunges into the strange unpredictability of winter chills). For those of us who are out of school and childless, the impending month of September means different things. I'm in magazines, so I always notice the fact that the September issue (BIGGER and BETTER than normal issues) is on the newsstands...another strange way I keep track of year placement?
Television seasons.
Don't judge, you know you do it, too.
Right now, I'm happy as a clam because it's smack in the middle of Project Runway (can I get a HALLELUIA), Top Chef is about to start, and the fall lineup will soon be rounded out by the Great Food Truck Road Race and the Housewives of New York (my fave of the Housewives). Admittedly, admitting this isn't my finest hour, but that's the reality (TV, ha!) of it right now. I have to stay entertained somehow, right? And there are certainly worse vices to have.
So last night, I geeked out to my first (yes, I'm behind) episode of the current season of Project Runway. Oh, how I love Tim and Heidi. Meeting them is on my bucket list. Maybe one day....
So where are you? How do you keep track of the year? Is it the leaves or the lineup? However you mark your calendar, remember to savor. Time flies too fast––unfortunately, we can't skip the unpleasant or annoying commercials or hit the pause button.
Television seasons.
Don't judge, you know you do it, too.
Right now, I'm happy as a clam because it's smack in the middle of Project Runway (can I get a HALLELUIA), Top Chef is about to start, and the fall lineup will soon be rounded out by the Great Food Truck Road Race and the Housewives of New York (my fave of the Housewives). Admittedly, admitting this isn't my finest hour, but that's the reality (TV, ha!) of it right now. I have to stay entertained somehow, right? And there are certainly worse vices to have.
So last night, I geeked out to my first (yes, I'm behind) episode of the current season of Project Runway. Oh, how I love Tim and Heidi. Meeting them is on my bucket list. Maybe one day....
So where are you? How do you keep track of the year? Is it the leaves or the lineup? However you mark your calendar, remember to savor. Time flies too fast––unfortunately, we can't skip the unpleasant or annoying commercials or hit the pause button.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Time Warp
So...another Wednesday. Another half of a week gone, and another half month has passed. Where does the time go? Is time, like Einstein hypothesized, like a river? If it is, we are apparently unlike salmon...while they have been naturally programmed to swim back upstream, we don't quite have that ability. Will we ever? Does some untapped possibility exist for us to time travel and go backwards hours, days, months...years?
If it did, would you want to? Would you buy a ticket on the time machine?
Sometimes I think I would, but then sometimes I think it would just be a bad idea. A very, very, VERY. BAD. IDEA.
After all, what might be the repercussions of changing one minute little detail of the past? Haven't there been enough movies and television shows about exactly that? And they all turn out badly. Very badly. Someone always ends up regretting the whole thing, someone usually ends up making themselves "unborn." History might be changed for the better in one small way, but usually, the bigger picture is BEYOND POLLACK.
So no, as many things as I might like to undo in my own personal history, I won't be booking seats for time travel anytime soon. My river of time might be muddy in some places and a bit rocky in more than a few; but it's part of my journey, and I wouldn't be me without it. I'd rather travel somewhere new to make new memories. The old ones are past––they're stamps in my passport, and I'd like to see more of them.
If it did, would you want to? Would you buy a ticket on the time machine?
Sometimes I think I would, but then sometimes I think it would just be a bad idea. A very, very, VERY. BAD. IDEA.
After all, what might be the repercussions of changing one minute little detail of the past? Haven't there been enough movies and television shows about exactly that? And they all turn out badly. Very badly. Someone always ends up regretting the whole thing, someone usually ends up making themselves "unborn." History might be changed for the better in one small way, but usually, the bigger picture is BEYOND POLLACK.
So no, as many things as I might like to undo in my own personal history, I won't be booking seats for time travel anytime soon. My river of time might be muddy in some places and a bit rocky in more than a few; but it's part of my journey, and I wouldn't be me without it. I'd rather travel somewhere new to make new memories. The old ones are past––they're stamps in my passport, and I'd like to see more of them.
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