Sunday - Saturday, Sammy and I tried to find a good spot to view how much snow fell Friday night / Saturday morning (answer? A LOT). I LOVE this spot for taking pictures and I thought the 'to the seat' bench was a perfect, well, benchmark!
Monday - This is the face of a kid with a cold...
Tuesday - Feeding the baby doll breakfast. (Not shown: the baby carrier fashioned out of a rubber band, wrapped around the arm and carried, bungee cord style)
Wednesday - architecture legos...Sammy's new love
Thursday - Book Club! Which means my camera didn't come out all night because I was too busy discussing my love of the Irish. Mmmmmm....wait. Where was I?
Oh, my. My first writing group was about a week ago. Let me start by saying that I haven't been involved in a writing group since...college? Maybe? Anyway, it's been "awhile". A few months ago, I did some work for an author who, in turn, introduced me to some friends who had a local writing group. So Thursday I gathered up a few things and left the house about the time I'm usually winding down for the night, more nervous than a first date.
Let me start by saying that the other three people there were perfectly lovely. They treated me with respect and acted like I actually belonged to be there. I really appreciated that. So. Lovely people. Great to talk with; I enjoyed the conversation and getting to know them. I loved 'talking shop', which is something I haven't done in a really long time. HOWEVER...
I felt like SUCH a loser. Well, maybe just an impostor. All three of them are published. With novels. Or publishing deals. And then? There was me. The one who hasn't seen my name in print in...5? years. And who doesn't write novels. I felt out of place, out of touch and like I'm completely starting over my career. I came home and talked to Isaac about it and he mentioned that OF COURSE I felt like that. He reminded me I never think my writing is good enough, ABOVE enough to hold its own. He reminded me that I self edit so much that I edit myself out of anything good. Including opportunities like this. And he's right. I know he is. So it's hard to argue that point. But, still...
I don't understand why I do this. Well, mostly. My divorce and motherhood put doubts in my mind, but I'm troubled that I can't seem to shake them. That I give in to the thoughts that I'm not a 'real' writer and ride that wave. Even though I am! And, now...well, now, I'm standing at this cross roads. And I told all of you. The starting, that isn't the hard part. The tough comes with the continuing, for me. And now that I'm nervous and intimidated at being so far away from my career goals, staring at the face of people who continue to write through everything I've used as excuses the past few years, I can feel it happening. The literal making excuses, putting up walls and plotting the reasons why this writing group isn't for me. And it's interesting to feel this internal battle going on, when I clearly knew it was going to happen.
I have something to take to the next meeting and I'm determined to go. To face this ridiculous notion in my head that my writing is less than. That I don't belong. Because, really, the others were lovely. And helpful. And treated me as an equal. Which I am and should learn to embrace. I'll keep you posted on how it goes.
We had this cardboard record when I was little. It was scary. Granted, I'm not big on scary things, but this really WAS scary, I promise. It was called The Hitchhiker. And nothing could give me nightmares faster. Except that scary movie my older brother and sister forced me to watch while my parents were gone...I still can't look in mirrors at night TO THIS DAY. OH! And my brother telling me, at my other sister's wedding, that Big Foot was after me. Which was completely believable to a 7 year old in Seattle for the first time...
Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yeah. The record. We had that one and a plastic record of Sweet Pickles that we played fairly constantly on our little orange and white record player. I'm sure there were others, but those two stand out. Especially The Hitchhiker. I was...somewhere, the other day when I heard a door bell. A door bell that sounded EXACTLY like the door bell on the record (it's a sound burned on my brain!) and I shuddered. But then I started remembering how, when we were older, we would change the speed from 45 to 78 and it made the narrator sound like a muppet and the door bell became really fast and funny. Too bad it never stopped the nightmares...
(a recording of the story is here. Click at your own risk. Or, you know, just don't be a 6 year old scaredy little girl and you should be ok. Or...will you? And, um, I only listened to about 1 minute of the clip because of the 'mares, so if you are RickRolled half way through, sorry. But, you know, not really.)
A few weeks ago, my friend posted this link on facebook (seriously...go read it!). I read it and immediately thought of my post I wrote last month. The posts mingled in my mind for quite awhile and I tried to formulate thoughts about it.
Last Thursday, my lovely friend, Lora, posted this on her blog. And, as she knows, my heart breaks for her. But I also know that she goes through her days, outwardly smiling and being ok. People she meets would never know of her inner heart break. But. That is the same for us all. We all have hard things. And reading her post, I started to wish we really could all wear signs.
I really don't have anything earth shattering to say about it all. My heart hurts for humanity, sometimes. I wish that everyone could think before speaking and treat everyone gently. Lora and I were talking adoption during our knitting night - mostly how a few people have no idea what is involved with it and talk as if we were picking out towels at Kohls instead of the emotional roller coaster that is trying to convince someone to give you their baby. It's not that easy and one of the reasons we have chosen NOT to go down that route. It's not for us. But I had someone, for the first time in a LONG time, ask me why we weren't adopting a couple of months ago. I have a little history with this person - she's not one to shy away from topics and is blunt to the point of rude a lot of times. After my surprise, I started wondering what SHE is feeling in her life. People shy away from her abrasive nature and I wonder if she's lonely.
This topic seems to be a recurring theme in my life lately and I'm trying to sit still and listen to what I really should be learning with it. Empathy? Patience? I'm not sure. But I'm trying to see people as my 4 year old sees them: with only the benefit of the doubt.
There is something I've been thinking about lately. Probably due to holidays and birthdays that crowd the end / first of the year. I've been trying to flesh out my feelings on it and feel no closer now than I did before. I'm not anti, but I'm definitely not pro. But I have been trying to figure out how to deal with bringing new things into our home.
My mom has a lot of awesome pie plates. I've asked for them. She's said I could have them, in addition to a few other things I've asked for. With my new found fondness of living minimally, she's expressed concern (and concern and a little more concern) that these would eventually be tossed in a purge. To which I've replied that, no. They will not. They fall in one of my "categories" and will stay safe. I can't think of a time that I wouldn't want to have those lovely pie plates in my possession.
As I've been carefully carving this simple life of ours, I've been trying to set some guidelines. Some categories, if you will. Things to purge, things to stay, things we love, things we need, etc. I went through my books and sold a few of them. I'm sure as the year goes on, I'll find more to sell, as well. But the bulk of them will stay. It's one of my "things we love / to stay" categories. I did the same for every other room in the house: my closet, the master, Sammy's room, the office, the family room and all closets. If it didn't fall into the "need / love" category, it went into the garage. This also bled over into media. I've spent some time online, thinning my google reader list and deleting my twitter account (hallelujah!). Trying to get my bookmarks under control and be honest about the things I save on-line. It's an on-going project, but I think I'm making progress.
But this all started with the kitchen and my mother's worry over pie plates. I scoured the kitchen, taking everything out of the cupboards and majorly purged that room. Anything I hadn't used, left. Things that I had double of, left. Dishes I didn't love, left. This created quite a bit of room on my shelves for reorganization and inclusion of dishes that I absolutely love: my Fiestaware. My student pottery sale mugs (which I love so much more than my store bought mugs!). My piles of Pyrex and the baking dishes I needed or loved. At the end of this process, I had a completely empty cupboard and I think one more pass through and I'll have the perfect kitchen. Completely full of things we actually use. Instead of those drawers stuffed with things I don't even remember buying. Or what the intended use was! Before, my kitchen was so full, I had no room for anything. And when I bought some beautiful orange glasses over Christmas, I knew push had come to shove and we needed to get back in control of our stuff. I didn't love a lot of our dishes and the ones I did, kept getting lost in the mix.
So, really, I started this purge in order to better use and love the things handed down. The things I will get from my mom. The things I already have from my mom. Making pies for my family and friends is something I truly enjoy and something that brings me pleasure. And something, I think, that will create the kind of life I'm trying for.
