A Walk on the Other Side

As a writer, I confess I’m a creature of habit. Writing comes easiest when I’m in my usual writing “space”—a room tucked away from TV and other distractions. I put on some of my favorite music, Billy Joel, Frank Sinatra, Chris Botti, and Norah Jones, and the words flow. Well, they flow most of the time…

Spending the winter in Florida where I write on a laptop in the dining room/living room while first football and now March madness prevails, however, has resulted in a bit of a block. My muse, it seems, stayed at home. And of course, the lure of sunshine, beach, and pool has also been hard to resist.

Still, I tell myself that's no excuse and call to mind one of my favorite quotes: "Those who write are writers. Those who wait  are waiters," coined by science fiction and fantasy author A. Lee Martinez. Yet despite my get tough stance, I still come up blank. All my forced sitting in front of the white screen seems to make it worse.

In desperation, I read a lot of how-to-break-through writers block articles on the Internet. The great number of the suggestions tells me I'm not alone in my dilemma. I find a common thread in many of the prompts that tells me I need to recall the joy that I first experienced when I began writing. One way to do this according to my research is to try a different genre, to take a “walk” on the other side—the other side of your usual writing, that is. If fiction is what you normally do, try a poem or a memoir piece, or vice versa.

So I decide to take a break and enjoy writing purely for writing’s sake without pressure. Why not play with words, I thought, like a kid in a sandbox? I can still visualize my now adult daughters as children just letting the sand sift through their fingers. Their joy in the texture wasn't marred by any need to create something permanent or profound. Inspired by that image, I take pen in hand and let my hand take over. I pick poetry as my "blockbreaker" because poets seem to truly love and treasure words. One of the sites I found helpful is Instant Poetry Forms.

Here’s a bit of fun I had with just a wee bit of poetry. It’ll never be in an anthology, but it was fun to play with the words and definitely the antidote to my writer's block. It does need one last line in the second stanza, though. Any idea, fellow writers? Send them to me! But only if you can have fun playing in my poetic sandbox...

A Writer’s Lament

Ideas aplenty come

As I sit by poolside

Long fled before I go to bed

Before the Sun’s memory leaves my skin.

The shower’s hour brings grand ideas

While I soap and shampoo

Gone, oh why, before I’m dry?


I'd also love to hear your solutions for those dry spells in your creativity. And remember:

Happy Valentine's Day!

 Whether you’re with good friends or the love of your life, I hope you are all celebrating this day. Promise yourself all good things not only this month but always. And as is so often said, “follow your heart” in all you do and grow your passion for whatever and whoever you love.

One of my joys is sharing my writing with others so here is a poem I’ve written that speak to love and passion.

Passion

 Plump, juicy strawberries nestled on ice cream

A first dance dress with rhinestone buttons

Valentine from first time sweetheart. 

The sounds of love first discovered.

The whisper of taffeta

A rocket firing.

 Tart, sweet cherry pie

Salt of blood from cut finger

Twisted licorice stick

Lush velvet curtains shutting out the light

Sunset on a hot summer day

Love, pure love, life poured out for another.

 

 

 

 

And So Today, My Potato Smiles

Every January, I take time to reflect on the past year and think of what I want to do differently in the New Year. While my resolutions always list many of the same goals—eat healthier, exercise more, and weigh less, I also like to add new pledges, too. Last year, I chose intentional kindness. Choosing a similar goal for 2013 was especially hard since the year began with the fiscal cliff, the rising debt ceiling, the aftermath of the tragic school shooting, and the memory of Hurricane Sandy’s devastation. I felt weighed down and arid.

I'm lagging behind and barely making my intentions by the end of January, but I tell myself it's never too late to choose a mode of self improvement or look for  a way to better the world. First, I realized I needed to get out of my funk.

I didn't have to go to Google to search. The answer was right in my kitchen. While foraging in the fridge for salad makings, I realized I wasn’t alone. There, on the middle shelf sat my potato bowl and in it, yes, my potato was smiling. I smiled back and ran to get my camera. That friendly potato lifted my spirits and set my mind farther along on my quest. But I wasn't where I needed to be yet.


The next morning I pulled out my plastic container of Florida strawberries. Plump and delicious, their fragrance beckoned. Lo and behold, inside nestled a strawberry heart. And just like the refrigerator light went on, I knew what course I should take. It was as evident as the smile on my potato's face and the curve of my fruited heart.

This year, I will look for the extraordinary in the ordinary, search for the beauty and uniqueness that a busy life often hides. I will try to view my world through a childlike lens.

That, I realized, was exactly what this year's special resolution should be. I needed to see the wonder of the ordinary. So, my goal this year is to see the world in new and different ways, to seek all its beauty and not permit the state of the world to make me lose an appreciation of what is before me. And so, that is where I am now. I’m pledging to become more childlike.

Rachel Carson said it so well: “A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.” With a conscious effort, I believe that doesn’t have to be so. And so, I am going to set out to view what was before me in a new and different perspective.

So, I invite you to consider joining me in purposely choosing to see the world through a child’s eyes. Searching for and treasuring the wonders that exist in our every day life won’t solve our country’s larger issues, but it will surely enhance our day to day experiences.

Here are a few more words on the value of nurturing your inner child:

“If you want to be creative, stay in part a child, with the creativity and invention that characterizes children…” Jean Piaget, Swiss developmental psychologist and philosopher

“The end of childhood is when things cease to astonish us. When the world seems familiar, when one has got used to existence, one has become an adult.” Eugene Ionesco, French playwright

"We must remain close to the flowers, the grass, and the butterflies as the child is who is not yet much taller than they are..." Friedrich Nietszche

                                                                                       
For more hints on successful goal setting, check out my blog, "How to make (and keep) Resolutions

 

The Good Old Days

Do you ever miss what you consider “the good old days?” Sometimes, I must confess I do find myself getting nostalgic about how life used to be. Billy Joel sums up those sentiments in the first verse of his song, “Keeping the Faith,” and as he says so well, it’s tempting to get “lost in let’s remember.”

Let’s face it. For many of us, the innocence of an earlier time in our lives can cause a longing for the past. In our memory those days evoke a simpler life style, one in which candy bars were bigger and a half gallon of ice cream was really a half gallon. I can also recall long summer days where getting lost all day, or at least until the real cows—not the proverbial ones—came home, was the norm. All that innocence of an earlier time can make one long for times past.

Unlike some of the images Billy conjures up in his iconic song, I was the “good” girl in the poodle skirt worrying more about whether my saddle shoes were polished to perfection or if that threat of a pimple on my chin would erupt before the Friday night canteen. My sole rebellion was hanging out of my friend, Jeannette’s, window puffing away on a cigarette. That adventure didn’t last too long as neither of us really enjoyed the taste or the smell of Luckies.

Still, I do look back on those carefree and rather egocentric days with pleasure, but I like to think “the past never got in my way.” So, if you think “I'm feeling older and missing my younger days,” read on.

Despite what I now consider some of my shallow teenage priorities, I also recall deep yearnings to live a life with greater meaning and purpose. I just wasn’t sure what path that should be. Deep within, though, I always “had the hunger,” a desire to find out where I was supposed to go and what I destined to do with my life. 

“Keeping the Faith,” as Mr. Joel states so clearly  involves holding onto the “desire” and the “music that “sets me on fire.”

Billy’s wisdom continues when he sings “you can get just so much from a good thing. You can linger too long in your dreams.” That’s what can happen when you believe all the good things in life are in the past. But here, I must disagree with my musical mentor. I don’t think we have to say “goodbye to the oldies but goodies.”

Instead, we need to put those days in perspective, not up on a memory pedestal as we are reminded that “the good old days weren't always so good.” That’s something we need to remember—sometimes social mores can bind us into corners. 

That became so clear to me recently when I found this picture of my husband and I posed on my parents’ porch, for the “Going off for the honeymoon” picture, one of the required photos in the ‘60’s wedding album. I recall that moment so well. I wore a pillbox hat, a suit with long sleeves, nylon stockings with the mandatory girdle though I weighed barely 100 lbs. The day of our May wedding was a record ninety degrees, yet the thought of wearing something cooler never occurred to me because I accepted the rigid social expectations of the times.

Finding this image got me thinking about how much I treasure my freedom now and  no longer have to worry about social trappings like not wearing white shoes after Labor Day or a hat to church. Now I’m completely unfettered, no more mental or physical girdles for me!

How about you? What do you not miss about your younger days? Then again, what do you miss? I do miss getting letters, those hold-in-your hand personal missives that you can feel and read over and over. But that’s a blog for another day…

So, I must finish with agreeing totally with the maestro when he stresses “And tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems.” For despite all the sadness and the turmoil in today’s world, I have hope.

 So, I sit back in my chair and listen, not to my 45’s, but to the music channel on my TV, sip my wine in my new stemless glass and think to myself, “ain’t it wonderful to be alive.” And plan on living as well and as long as I can while “the rock ‘n’ roll plays” and “the memory stays.”

Yes sir, I am “keeping the faith,” one lovely day at a time.

It's all in a word

            Recently a neighbor told me a story about an old man she’d met at a graduation party.

“How old was he?” I asked.

“Old,” she said, “Had to be seventy-five, at least.”

“Oh, you mean he was an old(er) man.”

She looked at me with a blank stare and must have realized that I had to be approaching the age of the man she was telling me about. It was at that moment I decided I would never be “old,” but simply “old(er).” So much young(er) sounding, don’t you think?

 

The word “old” is a word to describe food left too long in the refrigerator. It just doesn’t smell right. Or underwear with holes in it.  Something to throw out.

As I ponder the vast chasm created between these words simply by adding -er, I realize what power the simple suffix holds. After all, who wouldn’t want to be rich(er) rather than just rich, smart(er) rather than smart, or thinn(er) rather than thin. Ah, scratch that last one. I’d settle for just thin since that’s not been an adjective applied to me in too many years to count… But the adding of this mighty mite of a suffix can also have a negative voice too. After all, who would want to be fatt(er) than fat or mean(er) than mean?

Just below that article, I see another headline, "Baby delivered by Atlantic City Policeman." Now there's an age word that conjures all positive images like cuddly and cute. All good unless you happen to be a new parent, then you might add sleepless nights.

I begin thinking of other words that connote ages. Teens, now there's one that definitely has a note of cool to it. Then again, for parents, it probably translates to more sleepless nights. How about middle age? I remember viewing that milestone as the first stumbling block in the world of age descriptors. That term resonated as rather frumpy and indecisive. Looking back, I see it as the approach to the precipice of negative age words.

And now, I’m really feeling unnerved by this whole age quantifier. I decide to check out some of the experts’ views. Erikson, that’s where I’ll start. During my graduate counseling courses he was always my go to guy for a psychosocial theory of development. Each stage of life, he believed, involves a particular task in order to move on to the next stage of life. I consult my number one research tool: Google.

Definitely, a downer. Strange, I think, how as a forty-year old student, I believed he was right on target, totally hitting the bulls eye of life. Now I’m not so sure. I read on and see I’ve reached the eighth stage of development. The point at which I must answer the question,  Did I lead a meaningful life?

 

Wait a minute. I’m still in the midst of that meaningful life, busy trying to do all the things I never had time to do. No time to worry about the past. Maybe lat(er)… I read on and see that according to my former counseling super guru I am also at the final stage, the last step on the stairs, of my earth journey. That sounds so final. And according to Erikson, this stage started at age 65. I don’t let that number get to me, though, because a lot has changed since he developed his thesis sometime in the ‘50’s. 

 

     I continue reading and see my present life task is all about reflecting back on my past life. Well, I have to grudgingly admit he may have a point there. I do find myself thinking about my former experiences from time to time and I know my children and grandchildren get a glazed look in their eyes when I repeat stories they’ve heard a gazillion times. The word “gazillion” is one of their words, not mine. And so, I guess I must admit that I am in that place. Sort of, but not totally. 

But more than I think about my past life, I think of the present and the future with hope for what is ahead. Instead of focusing on reflections of past accomplishments and misdeeds, my efforts include tasks like finding a place to dance—before 11 PM to music I love. And if not, I can always dance in the kitchen with my lov(er), the old(er) man who’s danced with me for the past 50 years.

So, I will continue to grow old(er), but never be old.

  

psychology.about.com/od/psychosocialtheories/a/psychosocial.htm

Yoko and Me

I’ve always been a Beatles fan and after they split up, I continued to follow their separate careers. I confess John Lennon held most of my attention as an individual musician and song writer and the love I saw between Yoko and John fascinated me. I can recall vividly the scene of their 1969 bed-in and the buzz it created. They seemed so carefree to me despite the serious reason behind their gentle form of protest. At the time, I was twenty-nine and nearly drowning in motherhood—four daughters under the age of five. Wistfully, I wondered what it would be like to stay in bed for peace.

Later, I remember my great sadness when this gentle man was killed in 1980. By then, my children were in their teens and doing well, the youngest twelve. At the time, as most of the world did, I grieved for Yoko. Her sadness, I always thought,  reflected in her tight lipped smile in the years after his death.

 Recently, I saw her on television and was struck by a different look. I realized it was in her smile, now a wide open grin. She spoke of her long-envisioned project to connect the world through smiling. “It was hard for me, too,” she said, “After my husband John Lennon passed away, and I tried to smile for my health.”

She suggested we could begin as she did, at first in front of a mirror smiling at ourselves. Initially, Yoko continued, her wide smile felt phony, but the more she practiced, the more natural and real it became. Now she wants the whole world to smile and believes that can lead to peace.

Personally, I’ve always smiled a lot, but after listening to Yoko, I reexamined how I smile. I thought back to an incident in nursing school when I greeted a classmate with my usual wide open smile and a cheerful “good morning” at our 6:30 AM morning inspection. Her response was scathing. “You don’t know how much you depress me every morning with that big smile. It’s way too early for that.” As an impressional nineteen year old, I was stung by her comment stung, and couldn’t help worrying whether others saw me as she did. As a result, I think, I developed a restrained polite business kind of smile, reserving my full on grin for those I knew well.

Yoko inspired me. Yesterday, I gave the sad looking young man pumping my gas a wide sincere smile. “Thanks and have a real good day,” I said. His down turned lips turned up, his shoulders straightened and he gifted me with a full grin. “No problem and you have a great day, too.” As I pulled out of the gas station, I felt my spirit lift.

Yoko's right. Like their bed-in so many years ago,  her smile campaign is an intriguing idea and one that captures our imagination, but this time, unlike the bed in, we can all take part. I know I’ll be better giving my all to every person I meet.

I think you will, too. So give someone a smile today and if you’re alone give it to yourself. I like to think if John Lennon was still here he might add, “Give peace a chance, one smile at a time.”

Stopping the Clock

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.  William Faulkner                                                         

Whether you work from home or are retired, if you’re like me, you probably find days melt into each other without any break in your daily routine. When I still worked in an office environment, there was a clear divide with my Saturdays and Sundays sacrosanct set apart from the daily, humdrum tasks of the Monday through Friday week.

Time for a change: Will, my significant other, and I decide to take action. No more of this! Taking a pencil, we draw a large “X” through one day of every week for the next several months. This would be our special “take a break” day. No doctor’s appointments or grocery shopping or weed pulling would take precedence of our time out.

We float out ideas—a movie, special, long lunches at those places we never seem to find time to try, window shopping with no clear mission of buying anything unless we feel like it, long walks on the beach and even driving out for an ice cream cone—lots of good stuff that never seems to happen since as John Lennon said so well, “life happens while we’re busy making plans.”

Eliminating reminders of time: No more time to wait; we’re serious about this now. Ready, set, action. One of our ideas is to schedule a day without time—no knowledge of clocks, that is, as William Faulkner suggests. Get up when we wake up, eat when we’re hungry, and let the day unfold as it will. Then, we begin to think of what we’ll need to eliminate from our lives to make time stand still.

Let’s see: no TV, no computer. Mask the clocks, put the watches in a drawer. Okay, we’re all set. No, wait a minute. No cell phone, either. No house phone. It, too, gives us the time. Oops, don’t forget the microwave or the stove.

“Well,” Will reasons, “We can always drive down to the end of our island, walk on that part of the beach where we always find some sea glass. There’s no clocks there.”

“Wait a minute,” I say, “we’ll have to mask the clock in the car the night before.”

We realize that clocks are just about everywhere and very hard to escape. Still, we’re going to do it. Soon! We just need to find time to eliminate all signs of time. Fortunately, we’re feeling pretty confident we’ve identified all the possible spoilers of our plan.

We go out into the garden to ponder and think just when we should give this experiment a try. It’s a sunny May afternoon and we realize we still can’t escape a clock. There sits our sundial blabbing the time….

We giggle and realize what’s most important is not the presence of the clocks in our lives, but how we choose to live within our own time. As Golda Meir said so succinctly, “We must govern the clock, not be governed by it.”