When I was little, the most exciting part of my summer was the neighborhood Fourth of July parade. Kids in the neighborhood were all invited to enter. We could decorate out bicycles in red, white, and blue tissue paper, with balloons and flags added for good measure. Or, if you were industrious, you could make a float out of your red flyer wagon. For the Halloween lover's you could dress up as well. There would be kids dressed like firecrackers, Uncle Sam, Betsy Ross, flags, even picnic tables. The parade route was a two block area that went down one rather steep hill on one side, and then up another hill on the other. In the middle was a judges stand, manned by neighborhood parents. Two days before the parade, a man, dressed in the obligatory holiday colors, drove through the neighborhood in his corvette convertible with a bull horn announcing the parade. "Come to the big parade," he would say for all of us to hear. "Come one, come all! Bring your bikes. Bring your floats. Come to the big parade." The morning of the parade he would make his rounds again saying the same thing, only adding that "today was the day!"
That little parade was the highlight of my summer. I remember decorating my bike. I remember dressing in red, white, and blue and roller skating the parade route. In that day, one didn't wear the nice in-line skates they have today. My skates were the old silver ones that clamped on over your shoes, the kind that adjusted with a skate key. One year two of my little girl-friends and I dressed up as ballerinas and joined the walkers in the parade. Every entry was judged and winners were presented with ribbons at the end. All participants got a Popsicle. I never won a ribbon. Always enjoyed the Popsicle. And found my excitement for next year's parade returned with the leaves every spring.
The night before the parade, I never slept well--too much excitement. I would be up before sunrise, sitting on the windowsill watching and waiting for the man in the corvette to come driving by, calling me to the parade. My stomach was a roller coaster of emotion, excitement, nervousness, fear. (What if I fell riding my bike down the hill?) I waited all summer for that parade, and there was always a sense of sadness when it was over.
I have repeated this pattern all my life. As a teenager, I couldn't wait to go to an Osmond concert. As a young adult, I couldn't wait to go to college, fall in love, get married. As a young married I couldn't wait to start a family. Once the family was started then I couldn't wait for the baby to walk, talk, start school. With all of those experiences, there was the great anticipation of the wait, the same butterflies in the stomach, then the wistfulness as it was all realized. What would be the next great thing to wait for?
Life has a way of providing the next great thing. Now that my family is nearly grown, of course, there is retirement to wait for and anticipate. On a smaller scale, I am currently waiting to hear from a publisher about my book, David's Song. One day last week, I opened my email to find a request from the publisher for an electronic copy of my work. They wanted to send it out to other reviewers. Of course I happily complied, sending out the copy that day. Now, here I sit, waiting. And the funny thing is, every morning as I open my email, I feel that same roll of the stomach that I felt as a kid the morning of the Fourth of July parade. Will it be good news? Will they say, "Thanks, but no thanks."? Either way, experience has taught me that there will be the same sense of wistfulness at the end. But life has also taught me, there's something else coming around the bend. I can get excited wondering about what it will be? Certainly it will be worth waiting for.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Sunday, December 18, 2011
From Reading to Looking
I've never been a huge poetry enthusiast, which is a shame since I am married to an accomplished poet. (Here's my plug - he has a new book available on Amazon entitled Adam's Dream, by Douglas L. Talley) I have been taken in on occasion by the sentimental or inspirational poem. But after nearly thirty years of marriage to a serious poet, I have begun to associate sentimental poetry with greeting cards, and inspirational poetry with Hallmark Channel movies. They're not bad per se, but not good either. Serious poetry has often left me perplexed. I finish the poem and wonder why it was written? What was the poet trying to say? What was his inspiration? Usually I follow the poet until the end of the poem and then find myself saying "Huh?" or "So what?" I feel bad when I have this reaction. I see what my husband goes through trying to find the 'perfect' word for a poem. I know that poets work hard at their craft. So when my reaction is - "So what?" - I know that I have totally missed the point and find myself frustrated in the process.
A few years ago, one of my daughters introduced me to a poet named, Billy Collins. For Mother's Day she sent me to a link of Mr. Collins reading one of his poems entitled, "The Lanyard." I loved it! It was well written, accessible, and I wasn't left with my customary questions at the end. My husband picked up a Billy Collins book of poetry not too long ago and left it lying around (in the reading room, if you must know) for me to pick up at my leisure. I did just that, a few weeks ago and read a poem entitled, "First Reader." The poem was about the books that were used to teach children to read - at least in my day they were, I don't know that they are used any longer. It was a treatise on Dick and Jane, how they were always pointing to something and telling us to "look!" What intrigued me about the poem was the closing line where Billy Collins points out a surprising truth. Commenting on how we looked at the pictures in those first readers, but then became fixated on - not what they wanted us to see - but on the words, the letters, capital and lowercase, and as a consequence, Billy Collins writes "we were forgetting to look, learning how to read."
I thought a long time about that truth and it's subtle implications. How I, personally, had forgotten how to "look." I was so wrapped up in my duties as a wife, mother and homemaker that I forget to look. Fortunately, my husband, the poet, did not. He noticed moments when our children would run through the house, trailing toilet paper behind them, or use cups as shoes. He listened when my son repeated a new word over and over again and my husband heard music - poetry. He made note that within twenty-four hours of our second daughters birth that she, too, was blessed with gifts like the Savior had been by the wise men. Her gifts were asters, a full moon, and the first snow.
Two things have happened in my life to help me 'Look' again. The first was becoming a grandparent. I'm not to busy now to appreciate the little antics of my grandchildren. When my grandson, Carston, does a perfect impression of "the smoulder" from the movie "Tangled", I see it. I savor it. When I watch two other grandchildren run to sit in their grandfather's lap at church, I see their joy and wish I could run up the aisle with them. I'm starting to 'look' as my husband has over the last thirty years and I am seeing a lot. Perhaps he has always been looking because he was a poet - a writer.
That leads me to the second thing that has happened, I started fancying myself a writer. Learning to write has forced me to 'Look.' Now I notice expressions, eye color, dress, mannerisms, like I never noticed them before. People are a treasure trove of inspiration. I see a man walking down the terminal of the Denver airport dressed in a pair of plaid shorts, a sleeveless ribbed t-shirt, dark socks and shoes, dragging a small square-shaped bag on rollers behind him, and talking into his bluetooth. I wonder what his story is. To me, he looks like a businessman who somehow lost his suit. Or I see a shirtless young man riding a bike down a crowded Austin sidewalk with an unusual backpack across his shoulders. On a closer look, I see that the backpack is not a backpack at all, but a cat, who acts like it's the most normal thing in the world to ride down a busy city sidewalk on his owner's back. There is a story there. Not only do I get to see or 'look' at the treasure that humanity provides, but I can also 'look' into my own imagination and see a whole new world - an entirely different story.
So perhaps as I learned to read, I may have forgetten to look. But certainly as I learn to write - I am remembering to see.
A few years ago, one of my daughters introduced me to a poet named, Billy Collins. For Mother's Day she sent me to a link of Mr. Collins reading one of his poems entitled, "The Lanyard." I loved it! It was well written, accessible, and I wasn't left with my customary questions at the end. My husband picked up a Billy Collins book of poetry not too long ago and left it lying around (in the reading room, if you must know) for me to pick up at my leisure. I did just that, a few weeks ago and read a poem entitled, "First Reader." The poem was about the books that were used to teach children to read - at least in my day they were, I don't know that they are used any longer. It was a treatise on Dick and Jane, how they were always pointing to something and telling us to "look!" What intrigued me about the poem was the closing line where Billy Collins points out a surprising truth. Commenting on how we looked at the pictures in those first readers, but then became fixated on - not what they wanted us to see - but on the words, the letters, capital and lowercase, and as a consequence, Billy Collins writes "we were forgetting to look, learning how to read."
I thought a long time about that truth and it's subtle implications. How I, personally, had forgotten how to "look." I was so wrapped up in my duties as a wife, mother and homemaker that I forget to look. Fortunately, my husband, the poet, did not. He noticed moments when our children would run through the house, trailing toilet paper behind them, or use cups as shoes. He listened when my son repeated a new word over and over again and my husband heard music - poetry. He made note that within twenty-four hours of our second daughters birth that she, too, was blessed with gifts like the Savior had been by the wise men. Her gifts were asters, a full moon, and the first snow.
Two things have happened in my life to help me 'Look' again. The first was becoming a grandparent. I'm not to busy now to appreciate the little antics of my grandchildren. When my grandson, Carston, does a perfect impression of "the smoulder" from the movie "Tangled", I see it. I savor it. When I watch two other grandchildren run to sit in their grandfather's lap at church, I see their joy and wish I could run up the aisle with them. I'm starting to 'look' as my husband has over the last thirty years and I am seeing a lot. Perhaps he has always been looking because he was a poet - a writer.
That leads me to the second thing that has happened, I started fancying myself a writer. Learning to write has forced me to 'Look.' Now I notice expressions, eye color, dress, mannerisms, like I never noticed them before. People are a treasure trove of inspiration. I see a man walking down the terminal of the Denver airport dressed in a pair of plaid shorts, a sleeveless ribbed t-shirt, dark socks and shoes, dragging a small square-shaped bag on rollers behind him, and talking into his bluetooth. I wonder what his story is. To me, he looks like a businessman who somehow lost his suit. Or I see a shirtless young man riding a bike down a crowded Austin sidewalk with an unusual backpack across his shoulders. On a closer look, I see that the backpack is not a backpack at all, but a cat, who acts like it's the most normal thing in the world to ride down a busy city sidewalk on his owner's back. There is a story there. Not only do I get to see or 'look' at the treasure that humanity provides, but I can also 'look' into my own imagination and see a whole new world - an entirely different story.
So perhaps as I learned to read, I may have forgetten to look. But certainly as I learn to write - I am remembering to see.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
The Work of Writing
I am on the hunt again. In the last three days I have queried six agents in hope of finding one who will take on David's Song (and the other two books in the trilogy, that are written and people are asking about but that at the moment I am too cheap to publish myself). I have often told Doug that I feel a little guilty spending time writing because it feels like too much fun. I can see my seven-year-old self with my collection of Barbie and Ken dolls acting out scenes for a novel. To me, writing feels like play.
Finding an agent on the other hand is work. I found a website called QueryTracker that will help you find agents who specialize in your genre. (Make a mental note Sarah.) For romance there are four pages of agents. I began with agents who only accept online forms from their websites. I diligently filled them out explaining the premise of my book in less than 50,000 characters (which isn't a whole lot). Then did the same with my bio in even less characters. Then I sat down and wrote a query letter. Trick with Query letters is that you have to sell your novel and yourself to complete strangers on one page. You have to grab the agents attention with something brilliant and witty and then in two to three paragraphs do your sell job. Once you think you have a good letter then you start searching for agents. That means that you visit their websites, their blogs, you read interviews that are still available through a Google search even if they are ten years old. Afterwards you make your selection and start firing off the emails, personalizing your form query to each agent. I did this several months ago and received only one response - a rejection. I am starting again with hope that a new query letter and lots of prayers will turn up one agent who likes the story.
What I really want to do is go back to playing with my dolls, but I suppose success at anything requires some work. Even people who love their jobs will say that sometimes it is simply work. And if I do find an agent who will take me on . . . then they will do the work to get me published and I can go back to my play. Sounds like a good deal.
Finding an agent on the other hand is work. I found a website called QueryTracker that will help you find agents who specialize in your genre. (Make a mental note Sarah.) For romance there are four pages of agents. I began with agents who only accept online forms from their websites. I diligently filled them out explaining the premise of my book in less than 50,000 characters (which isn't a whole lot). Then did the same with my bio in even less characters. Then I sat down and wrote a query letter. Trick with Query letters is that you have to sell your novel and yourself to complete strangers on one page. You have to grab the agents attention with something brilliant and witty and then in two to three paragraphs do your sell job. Once you think you have a good letter then you start searching for agents. That means that you visit their websites, their blogs, you read interviews that are still available through a Google search even if they are ten years old. Afterwards you make your selection and start firing off the emails, personalizing your form query to each agent. I did this several months ago and received only one response - a rejection. I am starting again with hope that a new query letter and lots of prayers will turn up one agent who likes the story.
What I really want to do is go back to playing with my dolls, but I suppose success at anything requires some work. Even people who love their jobs will say that sometimes it is simply work. And if I do find an agent who will take me on . . . then they will do the work to get me published and I can go back to my play. Sounds like a good deal.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Vocabulary
Not long ago, my two daughters, Mary Jo and Gracie, and I discovered a couple new words. The first was neoologist (not sure if it's hyphanated or not - would be easier to read if it were). A Neoologist is a person who creates new words or phrases. Shakespeare was a neoologist creating something like 1800 words in the English language. My husband is a neoologist creating the word splunkular for a poem that he was writing (which, by the way, will be published in his new book which is coming out before the end of the year).
We also came upon the word - Lethologica. The meaning? A time when you can't remember a word or phrase that is needed at a particular time. I always thought that was just an age thing - apparently not. It's a malady suffered by many no matter their age.
We jokingly came up with the sentence - I am a neoologist who suffers from lethologica. I know. It doesn't take much to entertaing us.
Now you ask - why am I writing about this? Especially when I just posted a blog yesterday. Here's why. After posting yesterday, my daughter, Bethany, mentioned on facebook that I knew a lot of big words. That in the course of reading my blog she had to consult her dictionary. I went over the post and couldn't figure out what she was talking about - 0bviously because I knew all the words. It happened to be the word vacilate. Which by definition means to keep changing ones mind. It amused me to think that Bethany didn't know the definition of vacilate, since a few years ago changing her mind was her major occupation. She would call me at least twice a week with a new plan. "Okay," she would say, "I figured out a new plan. Instead of doing XYZ, I am now going to do ZYX." I would smile and know that in a day or two she would call and tell me she had changed her mind and now the plan was YZX. Since then she has noticably stabilized. That might be due to her admittance into the acting program at BYU and getting married. I'm not sure which had the greater effect.
Last night I became a neoologist. Because of the facebook exchange I had a dream where I made up a word. Are you ready for this? The word is 'cartecardiopendulum.'
What is a cartecardiopendulum, you ask? It is a devise to cut sheet metal. That's right. In my dream I needed to cut some small pieces of sheet metal for the young women at girls camp to use for shooting practice.(Cuz don't the girls usually practice shooting guns at girl's camp?) I went to the hardware store to get the tool and it was called a cartecardiopendulum. So now when you need a tool to cut sheet metal you know what to ask for.
And the very best thing about the word cartecardiopendulum? It's worth about a zillion points in Scrabble!
We also came upon the word - Lethologica. The meaning? A time when you can't remember a word or phrase that is needed at a particular time. I always thought that was just an age thing - apparently not. It's a malady suffered by many no matter their age.
We jokingly came up with the sentence - I am a neoologist who suffers from lethologica. I know. It doesn't take much to entertaing us.
Now you ask - why am I writing about this? Especially when I just posted a blog yesterday. Here's why. After posting yesterday, my daughter, Bethany, mentioned on facebook that I knew a lot of big words. That in the course of reading my blog she had to consult her dictionary. I went over the post and couldn't figure out what she was talking about - 0bviously because I knew all the words. It happened to be the word vacilate. Which by definition means to keep changing ones mind. It amused me to think that Bethany didn't know the definition of vacilate, since a few years ago changing her mind was her major occupation. She would call me at least twice a week with a new plan. "Okay," she would say, "I figured out a new plan. Instead of doing XYZ, I am now going to do ZYX." I would smile and know that in a day or two she would call and tell me she had changed her mind and now the plan was YZX. Since then she has noticably stabilized. That might be due to her admittance into the acting program at BYU and getting married. I'm not sure which had the greater effect.
Last night I became a neoologist. Because of the facebook exchange I had a dream where I made up a word. Are you ready for this? The word is 'cartecardiopendulum.'
What is a cartecardiopendulum, you ask? It is a devise to cut sheet metal. That's right. In my dream I needed to cut some small pieces of sheet metal for the young women at girls camp to use for shooting practice.(Cuz don't the girls usually practice shooting guns at girl's camp?) I went to the hardware store to get the tool and it was called a cartecardiopendulum. So now when you need a tool to cut sheet metal you know what to ask for.
And the very best thing about the word cartecardiopendulum? It's worth about a zillion points in Scrabble!
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Latest Happenings and Musings
Before I get another not-so-subtle reminder from my children that I have not posted in a while,I thought I should update my blog. I have nothing specific to post this time, but a few small things that are on my mind at the moment.
I spent the last half hour catching up on my children's blogs. They are as varied as the personalities of my children. Sarah's was full of Harry Potter wisdom (I will have something to say about that in a minute.) Bethany's was all about Grad School and her anxiety as that era of her life draws closer (very understandable.) McKenna's was an update on all that she has been doing lately, like celebrating her first anniversary and the Harry Potter movie. I must say that I usually get a chuckle from McKenna's blog. If I'm ever down in the dumps I can look at her blog for some humor. Shannon, bless her heart, has been too busy to update hers (Something else I will talk about in a minute.) Same with Anna's, although there were pictures of the kids on her blog that I had not seen. And then there was Gracie's which bubbled with the effervesence that naturally spews forth from my youngest daughter. I hope it is always that way.
Currently, Shannon and her family are visiting with us. The visit has been wonderful and she and Brandt are enjoying the more temperate Ohio summer. Carston is a wonderful mixture of sweetness and little boy. He can rough and tumble with the best of them, but also loves to give hugs and kisses. He does give some 'interesting' kisses on occasion - smack on the lips and a little longer than comfortable - but still very innocent and sweet. He is as smart as can be. I've listened to him repeatedly try to get his own way by using his parents discipline techniques on them. He will try and try to argue another minute on the computer or the Wii by telling them that he won't do something that they want him to do if they don't allow him another turn. He hasn't quite figured out that when you are 4 parents have ultimate power and so eventually he caves to their will.
Much to our surprise (and Shannon's as well!) just before they came to visit they recieved a blessing straight from heaven. A baby girl, born on Father's day of this year, was left for adoption in Alabama. Shannon recieved the call that they could come and get her the very next day. So when Shannon arrived here, she had little Faith - all of a week old - in tow. She is a sweet baby and a blessing beyond measure to our family. So since Shannon is now parenting a newborn we will excuse her lack of posting on her blog. :)
With company here, my writing life has been put on hiatus. About the only thing I am able to do is work on some revisions of David's Song. I decided I would send the manuscript to Shadow Mountain Publishing to see if they might be interested in the work, but realised that it was loaded with grammatical errors. There were also some minor changes I wanted to make in dialog and narration. As I have worked on the other books and on my current project (which has no name) I know that I have learned some things about writing (Some thanks to my creative-writing-major-daughter, and my husband, who also has some writing experience) that I hope to incorporate into the work. What has surprised me about this revision process is how much my emotions vacilate as I work. Sometimes I'm excited at the improvements I think I'm making. At other times I am convinced I am wasting my time - that no one is really intersted in Jeremy and Annie and David - I should put writing aside and be productive somewhere else. But I keep going back to it, so obviously, I don't hang around in that thought pattern for very long.
And then there is Harry Potter. This weekend the last of the HP movies opened. If Bethany and Sarah were here, I would have attended the midnight showing with them. However, sanity and sleep won out and Doug and I went the next morning to one of the first showings. I enjoyed the movie. I think it was the best of the Potter movies. It was action packed, emotional, and true to the book - all good things. What I hadn't anticipated was my gutteral reaction. I remember vividly seeing a Rosey O'Donnal Show back in the late 90's where she talked about Harry Potter. Knowing that Sarah liked to read, I bought her one of the books (Vol. 3). I didn't realize that it was a series and would make more sense if you started reading it with the first book. Sarah immediately started to read - and after a few days, she came to me and told me that she was really starting in the middle of the story and could I get her the first 2 books. I did. I had no idea what I was starting. Doug and I have read all the books. Shannon, Matthew, Sarah (of course), Bethany, and Mary Jo have read all the books. There were many discussions in our home about the characters of these books - Ron was ridiculous, Was Sirius Black really dead?, Was Snape secretly in love with Lilly? Hours and hours were spent in discussion about these books. Harry Potter was the kid next door. I knew all about his friends, his family, his struggles in school. As the the movie came to a close Friday morning, I found myself fighting a major emotional meltdown. (I'm not proud of this.) The meltdown wasn't so much an ending of Harry Potter - but a feeling that I was really saying goodbye to Bethany's and particularly Sarah's childhoods. They are adults now. My goodness - Bethany is married now - of course she is an adult. I truly felt like an era of life was ending. And it was sad - still is sad. There will be no more conversations about Harry Potter. My daughters - and son - will no longer gather in my kitchen to discuss fictional characters as if they were pals at school.
I will miss those conversations. I will miss sharing something whimsical, but still enlightening with my children. They are moving on and I am so proud of who they are becoming.
I guess it felt like I was closing the cover on the book of my earlier family life. That story has ended and now new ones are beginning. Those stories are exciting as well, but they will never be taking place in my kitchen, with all my children stitting at the island, or on the counters talking about something we've shared. The ending of Harry Potter is one of those departures that life takes. It's sad to see it end - but exciting to see what will come.
I spent the last half hour catching up on my children's blogs. They are as varied as the personalities of my children. Sarah's was full of Harry Potter wisdom (I will have something to say about that in a minute.) Bethany's was all about Grad School and her anxiety as that era of her life draws closer (very understandable.) McKenna's was an update on all that she has been doing lately, like celebrating her first anniversary and the Harry Potter movie. I must say that I usually get a chuckle from McKenna's blog. If I'm ever down in the dumps I can look at her blog for some humor. Shannon, bless her heart, has been too busy to update hers (Something else I will talk about in a minute.) Same with Anna's, although there were pictures of the kids on her blog that I had not seen. And then there was Gracie's which bubbled with the effervesence that naturally spews forth from my youngest daughter. I hope it is always that way.
Currently, Shannon and her family are visiting with us. The visit has been wonderful and she and Brandt are enjoying the more temperate Ohio summer. Carston is a wonderful mixture of sweetness and little boy. He can rough and tumble with the best of them, but also loves to give hugs and kisses. He does give some 'interesting' kisses on occasion - smack on the lips and a little longer than comfortable - but still very innocent and sweet. He is as smart as can be. I've listened to him repeatedly try to get his own way by using his parents discipline techniques on them. He will try and try to argue another minute on the computer or the Wii by telling them that he won't do something that they want him to do if they don't allow him another turn. He hasn't quite figured out that when you are 4 parents have ultimate power and so eventually he caves to their will.
Much to our surprise (and Shannon's as well!) just before they came to visit they recieved a blessing straight from heaven. A baby girl, born on Father's day of this year, was left for adoption in Alabama. Shannon recieved the call that they could come and get her the very next day. So when Shannon arrived here, she had little Faith - all of a week old - in tow. She is a sweet baby and a blessing beyond measure to our family. So since Shannon is now parenting a newborn we will excuse her lack of posting on her blog. :)
With company here, my writing life has been put on hiatus. About the only thing I am able to do is work on some revisions of David's Song. I decided I would send the manuscript to Shadow Mountain Publishing to see if they might be interested in the work, but realised that it was loaded with grammatical errors. There were also some minor changes I wanted to make in dialog and narration. As I have worked on the other books and on my current project (which has no name) I know that I have learned some things about writing (Some thanks to my creative-writing-major-daughter, and my husband, who also has some writing experience) that I hope to incorporate into the work. What has surprised me about this revision process is how much my emotions vacilate as I work. Sometimes I'm excited at the improvements I think I'm making. At other times I am convinced I am wasting my time - that no one is really intersted in Jeremy and Annie and David - I should put writing aside and be productive somewhere else. But I keep going back to it, so obviously, I don't hang around in that thought pattern for very long.
And then there is Harry Potter. This weekend the last of the HP movies opened. If Bethany and Sarah were here, I would have attended the midnight showing with them. However, sanity and sleep won out and Doug and I went the next morning to one of the first showings. I enjoyed the movie. I think it was the best of the Potter movies. It was action packed, emotional, and true to the book - all good things. What I hadn't anticipated was my gutteral reaction. I remember vividly seeing a Rosey O'Donnal Show back in the late 90's where she talked about Harry Potter. Knowing that Sarah liked to read, I bought her one of the books (Vol. 3). I didn't realize that it was a series and would make more sense if you started reading it with the first book. Sarah immediately started to read - and after a few days, she came to me and told me that she was really starting in the middle of the story and could I get her the first 2 books. I did. I had no idea what I was starting. Doug and I have read all the books. Shannon, Matthew, Sarah (of course), Bethany, and Mary Jo have read all the books. There were many discussions in our home about the characters of these books - Ron was ridiculous, Was Sirius Black really dead?, Was Snape secretly in love with Lilly? Hours and hours were spent in discussion about these books. Harry Potter was the kid next door. I knew all about his friends, his family, his struggles in school. As the the movie came to a close Friday morning, I found myself fighting a major emotional meltdown. (I'm not proud of this.) The meltdown wasn't so much an ending of Harry Potter - but a feeling that I was really saying goodbye to Bethany's and particularly Sarah's childhoods. They are adults now. My goodness - Bethany is married now - of course she is an adult. I truly felt like an era of life was ending. And it was sad - still is sad. There will be no more conversations about Harry Potter. My daughters - and son - will no longer gather in my kitchen to discuss fictional characters as if they were pals at school.
I will miss those conversations. I will miss sharing something whimsical, but still enlightening with my children. They are moving on and I am so proud of who they are becoming.
I guess it felt like I was closing the cover on the book of my earlier family life. That story has ended and now new ones are beginning. Those stories are exciting as well, but they will never be taking place in my kitchen, with all my children stitting at the island, or on the counters talking about something we've shared. The ending of Harry Potter is one of those departures that life takes. It's sad to see it end - but exciting to see what will come.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Mountians and Molehills
My quesition for the day is - why do molehills become mountains? Someone said something today that hurt my feelings. It wasn't a big deal, really. Just a comment that was in response to something I though rather innocent. The remark made to me was a little out-of-line and I should have brushed it off. I don't think it was intentially meant to be mean. But that little molehill of a remark became a mountain. Four hours of crying off and on (I'm still a bit weepy when I think about it)and I realized that it opened a pandora's box.
Calling it a mountain might be a bit of an understatement. It was more like the molehill became a volcano! My emotions exploded into thought patterns that are wholly unproductive and really hard to shake. I suddenly wondered why I dismissed my own feelings as insignificant. Where in my upbringing was I told that what I thought and felt didn't matter? That snowballed into a host of other inacurate thoughts...like I have no friends; Nothing ever works out the way I want it to; all my dreams in life are ridiculous...and so on. And then I realized that I was embarrassed because someone had hurt my feelings. I thought that made me weak and in tandem, unloveable. I found myself angry at those around me who seemed to be in control. On the other hand, those who were emotional, or tender, I emphasised with them to the point that I cried right along with them.
And the funny thing was - as much as I wanted someone to comfort me, tell me I was still an okay person, if they attemped to climb the mountain, I pushed them off. I was too proud to let anyone know or see what was at the heart of my red, puffy eyes. Too embarrassed to let people know that I wasn't strong enough to overcome a pebble thrown in my path.
So back to my original question. Why is it that one remark triggered an avalanche of thoughts and feelings? I think on one of my first posts, I mentioned that if I didn't like thinking about something I would slough if off and simply say "I'm just not going there." So what is it that made me go there? What is it that makes me conjure up everything that I think is wrong in my life, because one person said something hurtful? Am I the only one who does this? Please, even if I am, tell me others do it, too. I don't want to think I'm an absolute dork.
And then my other question is...is it wrong to make mountains out of molehills? Sometimes I think I have to once in a while to maintain some emotional health. If I buried everything all the time, I'd be constipated and cranky. I bury enough to stay cheeful, at least that's what I tell myself. So if something happens- a molehill- and I decided to make, or can't keep it from becomin, a mountian...is that so bad? Four hours later, and I'm on a relatively even keel again - I didn't let the lava flow for days. I feel a bit battered and bruised, but I'm convinced that a good night's sleep or a piece of watermelon will take care of that. Hmmm, watermelon. I told my husband once when he asked if there was food in heaven that there had to be. It wouldn't be heaven without watermelon. I'm suddenly feeling much better!
Calling it a mountain might be a bit of an understatement. It was more like the molehill became a volcano! My emotions exploded into thought patterns that are wholly unproductive and really hard to shake. I suddenly wondered why I dismissed my own feelings as insignificant. Where in my upbringing was I told that what I thought and felt didn't matter? That snowballed into a host of other inacurate thoughts...like I have no friends; Nothing ever works out the way I want it to; all my dreams in life are ridiculous...and so on. And then I realized that I was embarrassed because someone had hurt my feelings. I thought that made me weak and in tandem, unloveable. I found myself angry at those around me who seemed to be in control. On the other hand, those who were emotional, or tender, I emphasised with them to the point that I cried right along with them.
And the funny thing was - as much as I wanted someone to comfort me, tell me I was still an okay person, if they attemped to climb the mountain, I pushed them off. I was too proud to let anyone know or see what was at the heart of my red, puffy eyes. Too embarrassed to let people know that I wasn't strong enough to overcome a pebble thrown in my path.
So back to my original question. Why is it that one remark triggered an avalanche of thoughts and feelings? I think on one of my first posts, I mentioned that if I didn't like thinking about something I would slough if off and simply say "I'm just not going there." So what is it that made me go there? What is it that makes me conjure up everything that I think is wrong in my life, because one person said something hurtful? Am I the only one who does this? Please, even if I am, tell me others do it, too. I don't want to think I'm an absolute dork.
And then my other question is...is it wrong to make mountains out of molehills? Sometimes I think I have to once in a while to maintain some emotional health. If I buried everything all the time, I'd be constipated and cranky. I bury enough to stay cheeful, at least that's what I tell myself. So if something happens- a molehill- and I decided to make, or can't keep it from becomin, a mountian...is that so bad? Four hours later, and I'm on a relatively even keel again - I didn't let the lava flow for days. I feel a bit battered and bruised, but I'm convinced that a good night's sleep or a piece of watermelon will take care of that. Hmmm, watermelon. I told my husband once when he asked if there was food in heaven that there had to be. It wouldn't be heaven without watermelon. I'm suddenly feeling much better!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
8 Things a 5K Will Teach You
Okay, so last week I made the big announcement that I was going to run a 5K (that's 3.2 miles for the layman).
Here's a little background on this decision. At the end of December last year I decided I had had enough with my weight and made the big return to Weight Watchers (this isn't an ad, but I do have success with their program, just sayin'). I am now 20lbs lighter than when I started. Last week at their weekly meeting they challenged all of us to WALK a 5K. Pshah, I thought. I can WALK a 5K in my sleep. I do 40 minutes on an eliptical almost daily - and I've been increasing the resistance as I go. Walking a 5K is no challenge at all.
Tucked inside the info sheet for the 5K was a way to train to RUN a 5K. Silly me, I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. I'll do it, I told myself, it will be easy! And then I told all my friends on Facebook as well.
The next day I began my training. I was to walk for 5 minutes to warm up, and then run 1 minute and walk 1 minute, 10 times. Then walk for another 5 minutes at the end. With my terrific math skills I figured that was a good 30 minute work out. So I met with my personal trainer the next day and told him that I was going to run a 5K. He was all for it, because he's a personal trainer and they're like that, you know. I asked him (his name is Ryan for anyone interested. And he's just a kid, 26 years old, he's getting married and he's settling down to some degree....Oh, back to the subject!) So I asked him, should I train on the track or on a treadmill. He advised me to start on the track because it would be more like the race. So after a 30 minute lower body work out with Ryan I went up to the second floor track and started my training.
As I walked the initial 5 minutes, I thought - Hey, I feel pretty good! This is going to be a piece of cake! I'm in shape! I'll be able to knock of 3 miles in no time! Heheheheheheh! The joke was on me. I ran the first minute and thought - Wow, that was harder than I thought. I ran the second minute (after I walked a minute) and thought, that was harder than the first. By the time I got to my fifth set, I could no longer run a full minute.
But I came home and there were all sorts of posts on facebook telling me how great it was that I was going to run this race! And there were all sorts of posts telling me how much I was going to love it! And there was also some advice from experienced runners!
I am now in my second week of training and this is what I have learned thus far.
#1. Don't run after a 30 minutes lower body work out
#2. Never assume you are in shape!
#3. Be humble and take advice!(it was mentioned that I might be more encouraged on a treadmill. They were right!)
#4. Running is definitely harder than excerising on an eliptical
#5. Running on a treadmill is easier than running on a track
#6. Never run a marathon (or even a half)
#7. Your legs hurt after running
And last but certainly not least -
#8. Misery really does love company. It's a lot easier to think I am going to do this because there are other people who are going to run with me. (Well, they will probably run ahead of me, but think of all the cheering I will get when I get to the finish line!)
So I am committed. Barring any knee issues, I intend to run on June 18th. I will post pictures when the time comes, because I don't imagine I will ever do this again.
Week two training??? Run 2 minutes, walk 3 - check!
Here's a little background on this decision. At the end of December last year I decided I had had enough with my weight and made the big return to Weight Watchers (this isn't an ad, but I do have success with their program, just sayin'). I am now 20lbs lighter than when I started. Last week at their weekly meeting they challenged all of us to WALK a 5K. Pshah, I thought. I can WALK a 5K in my sleep. I do 40 minutes on an eliptical almost daily - and I've been increasing the resistance as I go. Walking a 5K is no challenge at all.
Tucked inside the info sheet for the 5K was a way to train to RUN a 5K. Silly me, I took the bait, hook, line and sinker. I'll do it, I told myself, it will be easy! And then I told all my friends on Facebook as well.
The next day I began my training. I was to walk for 5 minutes to warm up, and then run 1 minute and walk 1 minute, 10 times. Then walk for another 5 minutes at the end. With my terrific math skills I figured that was a good 30 minute work out. So I met with my personal trainer the next day and told him that I was going to run a 5K. He was all for it, because he's a personal trainer and they're like that, you know. I asked him (his name is Ryan for anyone interested. And he's just a kid, 26 years old, he's getting married and he's settling down to some degree....Oh, back to the subject!) So I asked him, should I train on the track or on a treadmill. He advised me to start on the track because it would be more like the race. So after a 30 minute lower body work out with Ryan I went up to the second floor track and started my training.
As I walked the initial 5 minutes, I thought - Hey, I feel pretty good! This is going to be a piece of cake! I'm in shape! I'll be able to knock of 3 miles in no time! Heheheheheheh! The joke was on me. I ran the first minute and thought - Wow, that was harder than I thought. I ran the second minute (after I walked a minute) and thought, that was harder than the first. By the time I got to my fifth set, I could no longer run a full minute.
But I came home and there were all sorts of posts on facebook telling me how great it was that I was going to run this race! And there were all sorts of posts telling me how much I was going to love it! And there was also some advice from experienced runners!
I am now in my second week of training and this is what I have learned thus far.
#1. Don't run after a 30 minutes lower body work out
#2. Never assume you are in shape!
#3. Be humble and take advice!(it was mentioned that I might be more encouraged on a treadmill. They were right!)
#4. Running is definitely harder than excerising on an eliptical
#5. Running on a treadmill is easier than running on a track
#6. Never run a marathon (or even a half)
#7. Your legs hurt after running
And last but certainly not least -
#8. Misery really does love company. It's a lot easier to think I am going to do this because there are other people who are going to run with me. (Well, they will probably run ahead of me, but think of all the cheering I will get when I get to the finish line!)
So I am committed. Barring any knee issues, I intend to run on June 18th. I will post pictures when the time comes, because I don't imagine I will ever do this again.
Week two training??? Run 2 minutes, walk 3 - check!
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