" We write to taste life twice, in the moment, and in retrospection ... we write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to speak with others."
- Anais Nin
God’s been all up in my grill with flashing this particular quote at me in all kinds of ways.
And, then because practice makes perfect good, I’m getting lots of opportunities to apply the principle to real life.
Turns out this little saying applies to pretty much everything.
That Voltaire … what a smarty pants. And then there’s God with the whole “Hey, turn down the volume and tune in” thing.
Which is totally not what I meant to write at midnight on a work night. I just miss writing here and while I’ve been applying the aforementioned philosophy effectively in other areas I haven’t done it with blogging yet. (Will I ever learn to like that word?!)
Tonight, I just wanted to hop on here and share how much I am loving learning more about the awesomeness that is modern technology.
I always wait until a better time to Skype with my parents and surprise, surprise it never comes. So tonight I sat outside after I came home from a meeting that ended blessedly early and we chatted for a bit and I was so grateful for the technology to do that from my little phone!
And then it got even better! I saw earlier from a blog I follow The Mom Creative that a book I was interested in reading was available for free on Kindle. Too bad I don’t have that.
Oh, but wait! I do! On my phone. Which I found out super randomly when I was checking to see if the screenshot I took while Skyping turned out. There was a message informing me my Kindle update was complete.
It gets cooler. So then I download the book which has some impressive author blurbs from the likes of Ree Drummond, Ann Voskamp and Beth Moore.
In this post by Melanie Shankle --who is about to have her first book released --writes:
“As much as it all still doesn’t seem real, I look at Sparkly Green Earrings sitting on my bookshelf and it’s a reminder that God sees us. He sees the little dreams we have that we’re scared to voice out loud but whisper as a prayer in the dark. And then he works all things together for his good and puts pieces together in ways we never could have imagined.”
So when Sam asks me how it is I know for sure that God answers my prayers I can say because I am listening for them … when I tune in, that is.
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Although I write every day for a living since I got my reporting job, I haven’t been moving forward in my fiction projects.
Until last week when I jumped in to take a class from my friend and writing coach Christina Katz.
I adore her for her genuine nature and
supportive ass-kickery …among other attributes.
I leaned into the “yes!” voice in my head and signed on to take her 21 moments class which entails a prompt a day for 21 day to write 21 moments.
It’s up to each student to decide how to organize them, with a host of ideas from Coach Katz.
From a collection of memories triggered by the prompt for authentic scrapbook pages, to drafts for a memoir to short stories, students take their pick.
I decided to use that as encouragement to go back to my novels … my works in progress for many years now. I might not finish them this year, or ever. But I am loving working on them again moment by moment.
Here’s a little scene from when Ani is in the hospital and learns she’s pregnant. Unfortunately, she’s surrounded by several people she’d rather not tell.
But, staff in the rural hospital she finds herself are evidently unencumbered by HIPAA laws.
“I guess it’s as good a time as any to quit smoking,” Mac grinned at me before tossing my nearly full pack of smokes into the garbage can across the room.
I can see how he thought I, a grown woman, wouldn’t hide something like smoking from my parents. Clearly he didn’t understand that ours was a relationship based on illusions, appearances and deception.
“You’re pregnant?” My mom.
“You smoke?” My dad.
“You’re screwed.” My brother.
“Shit.” Mac.
So, I answered all of them at once: “Yeah.”
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drinking the last of my leftover white chocolate peppermint soy mocha from yesterday.
appreciating Sunday morning.
watching Matt try to get a car unstuck for Jake for the 100th time.
laughing at the memories I’m pulling out of my “polaroids” box."*
eating too much sugar lately.
willing us to have the kind of Sunday that is restorative instead of rushed.
waiting to see what my hard drive search shows up for my finished short stories.
prepping for spring cleaning.
opening to new possibilities.
sleeping in new pajamas.
remembering so much I’d forgotten as I look through these pictures and scraps.
brainstormingnew chapters to round out Kickin’ it with Ralph.
wearing the aforementioned new p.j’s.
considering where to start working out again. At this point feeling like I’m so out of shape no effort will help. So changing that thinking is probably a great place to start!
making cheese and carob chip pancakes for breakfast, per Sam’s request. I’ll have the eggs. Which reminds me, I need to boil a bunch for dying.
feeling like I need to take the asthma and pre-diabetes thing seriously.
getting nervous about the issues above.
lovingthe morning I had yesterday with Jakey, just the two of us.
listening to an old Beach Boys soundtrack, Matt’s choice, which I prefer to NPR first thing on a Sunday morning.
acknowledging my “to do” list for today is too ambitious and I’ll have a better day if I revise that this morning instead of by default at bedtime.
enjoying being back in the swing of writing my books … I can’t help it parts of the third one are coming together faster than the first two but I’m happy to be getting it all down.
thankful for all the bits and scraps I’ve kept over the years especially now that I’m pulling together an easy way to retrieve, and an attractive way to store, them!
*
A box containing scraps of overheard conversations, quotes from people I love and random stories on napkins, coasters and index cards. Written polaroids … inspired by Anne Lamott.
Thank you to Ali Edwards and Elsie Blaha who inspired this list of reflections in my life right now.
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“Really? You’re taking a class on how to organize your pictures?” Asked the imaginary voices in my head when I consider what The Random Others might think.
Mmmhmmm. And I am loving every minute of it. Of course, it’s not even about how to organize pictures, instead it’s about the stories behind them, stories I want to share with my family and friends.
If I get swallowed by a sinkhole today, I would have piles of pictures and boxes of memorabilia that mean everything to me, but nothing but a mess to clean up behind me for everyone else.
Unless I act on my best intentions and find away to live with my pictures and scraps of life in a way that is enjoyable instead of embarrassing … or guilt-inducing as in “I should really get those in an album.”
“ I should really put people we know in that frame!”
“What pile is that picture I need right now in?”
Enter Stacy Julian and her method of Finding Photo Freedom … it was love at first sight for me. She had me at “library of memories.”
Libraries and memories being two of my favorite things, and all.
Total detour: For a few months I’ve been conflicted about this blog, it’s direction, what I should – and shouldn’t - write about.
Partly because of my new job, and partly because I have such a varied readership – some of you want more about crafty,creative stuff, some ask for more of the writing in real life stuff while others consider it emotional TMI, then others want more journaling, some about writing, some about parenting, but most not all of the above.
Mostly, I am thankful that anyone wants to read this stuff, much less comment on what they like to see, but in an effort to create balance, I went underground completely.
Turns out that isn’t what anybody wanted, including of course, me!
(What’s that expression about not being able to please everyone? I’m still in people-pleaser recovery over here.)
In the spirit of posting something that matters to me instead of the little I’ve been doing recently, here’s the scoop on my current happy crack project:
I am taking Stacy’s class through Big Picture Classes (yes, the same place I’m so excited to be teaching my Art of Self-Preservation journaling class).
I started a DIY version of her system years ago after reading her book The Big Picture. *
But it was more like a “start it yourself, then stop” version, really.
This time, things are falling into place and I want to convert everyone into trying something like this because it is really that awesome.
So, here’s the books for each of the following categories:
Things we do |People we love
Places we go | All about us
The orange binders are Project Life books from 2012 … not finished, FYI.
Here’s the start of my category lists just brainstorming the different things we do/people we love, etc. Just the start of the list, if you know I love you and you’re not on that list, I might already have your tab made!
The tools I tweaked to help me keep the rating and sorting of photos going so I can do it in five minute chunks. (It’s working!)
Photo triage in action … so fun to go through these and find unexpected connections.
These will eventually become four category drawers that I’m working on this week.
The first connection I made for a class assignment, me jumping in the pool circa 1980, my son jumping in the pool in 2011 … We have so many water-related pictures I’m thinking of making “Splash” one of my category tabs in the Things we do drawer.
More later on this and many other things connected and otherwise; I just wanted to share these little bits for now.
* As an Amazon Affiliate, earning my pennies where I can, I included the link to Amazon if anyone is interested in buying the book, or anything else on Amazon, I get a few cents for transactions, so I appreciate you getting to Amazon through my site!
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As the calendar turned to the end of the month I realized my Raising the Hardy Boys column was due again and that means I’m really late in posting February’s column about my beef with the entire notion of “kid food.”
Some call it a soap box, I call it a passion.
I will preface this by saying I have totally handed a few french fries over the backseat, back when we used to eat in the car, but for the most part I really do try to live by these principles, at least when it comes to the boys.
Me? I’m a total hypocrite and am actually dealing with that this year. No, really
Reporter Mama Observation: This work thing is time consuming!
But, I’ve been writing draft posts … not to mention the collection in my head so hopefully one of these days I’ll get caught up on them.
In the meantime, here are a few overheards from last week and a link to my most recent column “Meaningful action starts with silence” chronicling my reaction to the rash of tragic shootings.
Ironically, this column with the word “silence” in the title brought a lot of emails in response, and I’m thankful for all of them because it’s always nice to know when your words resonate with others.
Overheard in the newsroom:
Context: Reporter on the phone.
Quote:
“So, you’re saying I misquoted you but you haven’t read the story?”
- Name withheld to protect the innocent
Overheard on the beat:
Context: I’m paraphrasing but this was said during a meeting addressing a man who appears to one of Yamhill County’s own hoarders. In reference to all the junk on his property the man said:
Quote:
“It might look like junk but really it’s camouflage.”
- Name withheld because I kind of felt bad for the guy.
But, I can’t wait to tell Matt all the crap on our front porch is … camouflage. That’s totally going in the book.
Overheard in the minivan:
“I wish we could take a boom truck to heaven and make sure Lucy is still alive there. And pet her. I still love her.”
- Sam
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As I was on deadline for another column I couldn’t believe I haven’t told you guys yet about my Lucy Baby.
It doesn’t feel like a month ago that she died. My sweet, crazy pup. I still cringe pulling into the driveway late at night, lest she bark and wake the boys. But, she doesn’t.
Finding her stocking in the Christmas trunk is just what I was talking about in my last column, dedicated to her: Grief laced with gratitude.
I miss her. I hate that she’s gone. But, since it’s been a month … I’m actually writing this without crying. The acute, shocked fog of my grief has faded.
Reading my blog archives remembering her, how intensely I loved her … my first baby … that brings tears to my eyes and a sharp twist in my heart. But that will probably always be true.
Lucy was special for a lot of reasons, but one that might not make sense to a lot of people is that she taught me that it is possible to love someone/something as if it were your own … for years I struggled with the possibility that my parents couldn’t really even though they said they loved me, and seemed to mean it, but secretly I wondered, really? Wouldn’t you love me more if I was biologically yours?
This is a ridiculously simplified version of reality, but the condensed version of this story is that in loving Lucy, in taking care of her as a puppy, worrying about her ahead of myself … I learned that yes, without a doubt, my parents could love me as much as anyone else’s even if we didn’t have our blood types in common.
I learned a lot from my Lucy Baby, but that’s one of the lifetime lessons she gave me.
Guys, I know there’ve been some bummer posts on here but I have to tell you … there is still joy in my heart and gratitude … so know that despite the hard stuff, I still see and seek the good and we are doing alright. This is just … real life.
Now, I know there are some elf haters out there … but since Finn the Elf made his debut, fun posts to follow!
Also … super excited to share THIS weekend I’m turning in the final documents for my journaling class The Art of Self Preservation I get to teach through Big Picture Classes.{Hello, dream come true!}
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So, part of overcoming challenges is recognizing you have them, right? And, naturally some are tougher than others.
For instance, me vs. food is kind of a pickle … but when it comes to writing it recently occurred to me that one thing that gets in the way of my writing here more frequently is my compulsion to be chronological.
Like, I can’t possibly tell you one story without filling in all the blanks in between. Because why? Working with the concepts of Stacy Julian’s Library of Memories and taking the compulsion to be chronological in my scrapbooking has opened up a new world of possibilities, and I trust that could be true here, too.
So, for this morning because I hear the sounds of little people waking I’ll leave you with a few of my good intentions that, um … stayed that way.
1. As with every November, I considered doing NaNoWriMo and then remembered I still need to finish the novel, Coming Clean. Yep, the one I started FIVE years ago. Yep, the one that’s had several working titles before landing this--perfect--one if I do say so myself.
2. I meant to make my kids’ Halloween costumes. In my mind they were going to be Legos. I had it all planned out, for just the cost of spray paint and tripping on a pile of boxes and toilet paper tubes for a month. I pretended it was going to go down like that until the Friday before when I went to my dear friend Amazon.com and express ordered Angry Bird costumes that were on sale.
3. I meant to send this picture out as a card for Halloween. But didn’t.
p.s. FYI I am still under the illusion that I’ll be making Christmas gifts this year.
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I found another entry for my kitchen memoir Not like the Picture this weekend.
I am working on a personal life improvement project. One of the concepts I’m working with is how to stop complaining about the everyday things that must be done whether I’m cheerful about them or not, things like making meals for people three times a day, every day.
I’ve mentioned before that I kind of hate dinner and the fact that it comes around every. single. night.
But I don’t hate dinner, really. And I certainly love the people I make meals for … so it’s actually a matter of figuring out how to streamline the whole process so I’m not re-creating the wheel every morning/evening.
So, I figured I’d try it at home. In keeping with the apparent theme of my life where things don’t turn out like the picture, here’s how the eggs actually turned out:
See how mine aren’t perfectly round … or perfectly anything?
But, whatever, with a couple slices of ham tucked between a whole wheat English muffin … I think I’ve got breakfasts made for awhile.
I put them in sandwich baggies and then a freezer bag so we can heat and roll. No, I don’t hate the Earth, yes I plan to reuse the bags and absolutely I’d love to find a better way to do it.
Regardless of appearances, I do love knowing I have a bag full of pre-made, good for us breakfasts that were super easy to make. Thank you, Pinterest.
(You guys are on there, right? It is pure awesome sauce!)
Next time I think I’ll toast the muffins and try the updated version with spinach … and as per her suggestion, I will try scrambling them.
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I'd stopped on my way home to catch a candid picture of one of the candidate's I'm covering putting up campaign signs. I was close to home when my husband called. There was an accident ... he started to tell me a baby got hit in front of our house ... it's pretty bad. But at the same time just before I rounded the corner to my house I saw the flash of a police car.
I heard the drum that beats inside to say something’s not right. I came onto my street and saw my house surrounded by police cars, caution tape and chaos. My husband was in the front yard – distraught.
He'd just told me a baby. Not Sam, not Jake. A baby. But time lapsed and all the information didn't click in my mind as I hurried into the madness. Could it be my boys?
I couldn’t get my car any farther down the street.
“You can’t go down there.” One of the world’s hall monitors informed me.
“I have to.” I shouted, trying to remember how to park my car.
what is happening? I ran.
I heard wailing coming from the left. I ran faster.
A toddler. Hit by a car.
Simultaneously I saw for sure that it wasn’t one of my kids because the toy-car wagon in the grilll of a Ford sedan didn’t belong to my boys.
It was Alex’s, next door.
Alex, a little boy who just barely got to the world before getting taken out on a random October afternoon. He just celebrated his 1st birthday September 22.
I never met him. But will keep a candle lit for him in my heart for the rest of my days. Because to me, the moment of relief I felt that my boys were okay, meant that someone else’s baby wasn’t.
I’ve done crisis counseling. I know what that’s called, I know it’s not rational: survivor’s guilt.
None of that helps when I can’t sleep in the middle of the night thinking of the baby, his sister, his brother, his father … his mother a few houses down. His grandmother, his grandfather, his babysitter … all people I only knew in passing … but now I hear them cry in my sleep. And I wake up with my own pillow wet from my own tears.
They each have their own stories … the stories that don’t get into the news because they’re happening at the same time as the news is developing and they’re happening in hearts and heads … not headlines.
There’s the story of his sister, Jessica. I can’t tell you her story, because I don’t know it. But I can tell you where my life intersected with hers, on the corner of 4th and Meridian.
A beautiful young girl, 14, sitting in the street, wearing one black Ked and hitting the pavement over and over and over again. Screaming for her brother to wake up. Screaming at the man who hit him. Screaming for time to come back. Screaming. Her grandmother never let go of her … shaking and bearing witness to the grief around her, holding her own inside.
The next day I came over to the house I saw Jessica, in a dark room sitting by his crib, she was still saying his name, clinging to the crib, Wake up, Alex. Wake up.
Then there is Javier. A handsome 17-year old who said he waited his whole life to have a brother. They were just about to share a room together – Javier planned to paint the lighting McQueen lightening bolt in their room. Maybe he still will, he can’t think about that now.
I met Javier at the same intersection as his sister, but hours later. The scene was silent now. The only evidence of the afternoon’s tragedy and chaos was the little red toy car still in the car’s grill … the street still taped off, the wailing echoing in the minds of neighbors but save the sound of detectives talking in low voices it was quiet now.
No one came to pick Javier up from practice. He learned something was wrong, but not what exactly. He ran all the way home. He was nearly there when he saw the tape, like I did. Saw the wagon, like I did.
But there was no relief for Javier because it was his baby brother. I told him what I knew. I held him, this boy I’d never met, this boy who just learned his brother was in a horrible accident and fighting for his life in a city an hour away. A boy who was alone to process all of that.
So I hovered around his house, in case he came out. He did. We talked a bit, I introduced him to another neighbor, the one who’d given his little brother CPR, somehow information was helping, at least it gave him something to process, perhaps.
If he needed anything I told him to come over. At 8 p.m. he came to the door. My heart lifting, I thought he was coming to tell me good news. Instead, he just wanted to let me know his brother didn’t make it. But he was braver than me and used all of the words: my little brother … died.
And he had to go talk to his little sister, who’d come from a friend’s house. I came home with him, not because there was anything I could do to help but because I could be there, to hold them, to let him grieve without having to be the adult in the room for his sister … and that’s all I did. Held them until he was ready for me to go. I haven’t seen him since but I think about him every day.
I do see the grandfather every day as he comes out to check on the flowers, tidy up the memorial site, bring fresh water, straighten what the wind has bent.
I talk to him a little bit as I come to tie the balloons back up in the battle against gravity, the rain has come to put the candles out, the chalk messages are wiped away, the markings in the street are fading … but the memories, the sounds, the moments of that Monday afternoon no one can take back.
Those stay. Those stay forever. The impact permanent. And that’s just for me. So I literally can’t draw a full breath when I put myself in any one of their shoes. The best I can do is what I told the little boy’s mama: though I never knew him, I will never forget your son.
Alex’s story hit home for most everyone in my home. Matt has his own story, one he’ll most likely keep to himself. But he’s not sleeping well either. He heard the impact. He called 9-1-1 knowing what happened before he saw what happened.
Sam, well, how do you tell a five-year-old this story? We’re working through it. Sometimes he understands, sometimes he doesn’t Same as me. He says he dreams of Baby Alex. And in his dreams, they are playing Legos, and running, lots of running Sam says.
But I did not cover this story. I was a part of this story. Their stories are now a part of me.
I share them with you as a reminder to always, but always, remember this moment matters.
p.s. some of you are asking for more information about the accident itself as well as what possessed me to tell my son about it. This photo is taken in front of my house, does that help answer that?
And the other questions are really good ones too and I’ll come back with the answers I have as soon as I can.
And some have also wondered - yes we have a collection envelope for them and you can message me for more information if you would like to contribute something to this family ... I understand things are tight and there are a lot of things vying for our attention and resources, if you feel moved to share a few dollars, let me know.
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