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Blog started in Jan 2005: 1st entries for Write in Every Genre. Then the REAL ME begins |
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It Hurts When I Stop Talking Sometime in Fall of 1998, when a visit from Dad was infrequent, and primarily at the mercy of his 88 Toyota making the 50 mile journey, I was being treated to lunch. The restaurant was my choice, I think. Sisley Italian Kitchen at the Town Center mall was somewhere my dad had not yet tried, so that was my pick. Either I was being treated to the luxury of lunch and adult conversation without my husband and 5 year old son in tow, or that's just how the moment has lodged in my memory. The more I think about it, they probably were there, but enjoying the Italian food too much to bother interrupting. Daddy and his lady friend at the time, Anne, came up together and made a day of it with me and the family. We were eating together and talking about some of my scripts, stories, coverages, poems and other creative attempts that really were not seeing the light of day. I think I'd just finished a group reading of The Artist's Way and was in a terribly frenetic mood over my writing. I think I'd just given them an entire rundown on a speculative Star Trek script. My Dad asked me point blank, “Why don’t you write it?? Anne agreed. It sure sounded like I wanted to write it. Why wasn't I writing seriously? It's what I'd set out to do when earning my college degree in Broadcasting many years earlier. Heck, I should, I agreed non-verbally. “I will.” But, I didn’t. Blogs can be wild, unpredictable storehouses of moments, tangents, creative dervishes, if you will. I'm getting a firmer handle on my creative cycle. My mental compost heap (which is a catch phrase from Natalie Goldman or Julia Cameron - I can't think which, right now) finally seems to be allowing a fairly regular seepage of by-products. That may be a gross analogy, but I give myself credit to categorize my work in raw terms. It proves that I'm not so much the procrastinating perfectionist that I once was. Still, I always seem to need prompts and motivation. Being a self-starter is the next step. My attempt to keep up in the Write in Every Genre Contest at the beginning of the year seemed like a perfect point to launch the blog. |
| I remember when teachers would reach the end of the year and would be taking down everything in the room – this has to be when my hoarding started. I'm sitting here staring at the laminated classroom attendence list from my daughter's 4th grade class; I'm certain she took possession of it from her teacher in the same treasure-laden glee I did at her age. First I'm struck by the history, the anthropology – numbered 1-30; the additions, corrections and scratched-off members of a year-long journey together. Proof that my daughter was in a class of 27- 29; fairly balanced between boys and girls. Names that I remembered having in my own elementary school education, the Michaels and Jackies, Johnnys and Alicias, And although there are many hispanic names, whether my grandmother realized it or not, I had many Hispanic, Fillipino, Asian and even Greek members of my San Gabriel Valley classes thirty-plus years earlier. All this from one item. And I'm seriously seeing a reason to repurpose a portion of it, since my daughter yesterday just came back from a week of camp and confessed to a small crush on an Asian boy, named Aaron. It's not the Aaron on this list from her own class a couple years ago, but Aaron is #23 to her #22 – without the numbers it will work for scrapbooking purposes. So, truly, I have things to organize and pack – I heard a lovely talk just a couple weeks ago about a process for de-cluttering. It boils down to acknowledging that these things I hold on to each have a story. Understandably, for a writer, this seems vital. But instead of the physical stuff, I should recognize and record the stories, shouldn't I? So the memories remain, and are perhaps shared in a more elegant way than dusty piles. The undated love note (on black lab puppy notepaper) from my daughter: mommy I love you So much and I know you too: So you have brown hair. You have bule (blue) eyes. You have a prfite (perfect) nose and you have a lovey (lovely) moth (mouth) So I love you so much and I know you do too. (I did not know I have a perfect nose!) And her February 2008 essay about her 4th grade teacher, Mr. A: There are many reasons why I like Mr. A. First, Mr. A is funny. He is funny because he lieks to say, “Easy as Sunday morning” after he explains something to us. Next, Mr. A likes to drink Monster energy drinks. He likes it because he calls it his sweet nectar. Last, Mr. A is a dad. Being a dad is great. My teacher is a great guy. I, myself, knew the last point about Mr. A, once having attended his daughter's birthday party with my daughter and, also, having a breif encounter with him as we both sent our daughters off to Outdoor Science Camp (a week away from home). He was present as “Dad” and spoke as much about his pride as his own fear having her away from home. |
| "You're my love from forever..." one of my favorite singers is currently serenading me; intoning this right into my ears via headphones. And my clutter is my fear and stories from forever. I got up with a hazy momentary goal -- to quietly clear away some of it. My "moments" last very long -- it takes me about 15 activities (and very easily an hour) to complete the task I may have started out intending to do "first thing." 6:25am Consciousness and first intention: Tackle clutter pile on floor near desk (reasoned this is a doable goal since I can do it in near darkness and not disturb the household like other intended cleaning might) I get a bag for recycling mostly paper --get about five minutes done; The area was once occupied by the holding box I've used for years to collect both my kids' school work (the adorable stuff). I pick up several school items of my daughter's that could be tossed since they've clearly been outside the box and possibly under the wheels of my desk chair several times. I struggle to decide if they're worth holding onto, re-purpose or trash. here's where I go "off track," but I think I'd like to call it "off-roading" instead, because it is fun! 1- turn on computer to access ripped music library 2- see wrap-around headphones in the pile of clutter I was originally focused on 3- go to internet so I can have WDC up for blog entry 4- notice the saved tabs in my browser; which will I use to open WDC on? Should I open a new tab? 5- look at the L.A. County Arboretum page; remember the survey I took -- decide to share it on Facebook 6- find a quote on the L.A. County Arboretum page to post with my link on Facebook Pat myself on the back for NOT continuing to meander ON Facebook 7- read the entire blog entry of the historical collection Curator on the L.A. County Arboretum page 8- click a link on the L.A. County Arboretum page; featured members -- read 9- look once again at the cost to support the L.A. County Arboretum as a member 10- check out the current events & classes on the L.A. County Arboretum page; hmm...composting 11- open Writing.com site on a new tab; log in 12- land on home page; go to email 13- begin unsubscribing from two sites sending me email I never care to read. 14- undoubtedly read some email 15- see a sidebar WDC item being advertised It hints at being an epic poem and Tolkienesque – how could I resist? 16- read the item 17- rate and review item 18- make a forum entry at The Lothlorien Forum for my Tolkien-loving WDC fellows 19- see I have a new email; rewarded 300 points for reviewing Jen's poem by the auto-reward system 20- write a group message to my forum members to tell them I love them 21- locate my blog; start writing this entry 7:25am finally at the point in my blog where I can make the entry I was first inspired to write 7:59am 1- discover the internet is down 2- open a word document to save my blog entry |
| I claim in the original description for this blog that the REAL ME resides here. It has been nearly six months since I put words to this blog, and the interesting thing is, in avoiding it, I kept out all the negativity that flooded through my daily existence in that time period. That's not to say I didn't vent. I simply created a different forum for that -- which at the time, I thought, might bring me a bit of fame. Clearly, despite what the outer reality does to me, or even has in store for me, I am still ME, unchanged. That unshakable sameness that is not a negative, for I AM and meant to be I AM. I had a scary moment of recognition last night while re-watching the J.J. Abrahms Star Trek movie. I caught myself shooting a remark over to my ever-so geekier Trek fan spouse that revealed I had reserved ranch-sized real estate in my head for this pop-culture monster and all its generations before it. I did not finish what I started to blurt; it was an instantaneous, "Oh no...really?" realization. Funny thing, I'm sure if I had stated my question the way it formed in my head, I would have received the same chirpy, matter-of-fact answer from my husband anyway. I just didn't realize I was this far gone. If there really was Big Brother to worry about, recording all utterances, the State would be seizing me from my living room sofa and retiring me to some place bouncy, and free from harm. What did I stop myself from saying, you ask? Simple. The story has already pulled-off two affecting vignettes explaining the early time line of young, James T. Kirk, and life as we are to understand it in his fabricated, future century. As an audience member, I am being introduced to characters that I know, having watched the original television show (and everthing else). Then a new scene opens up with young cadet Uhura ordering at the bar. She mentions a Cardasian Sunrise cocktail; my fan brain recognizes this Star Trek Universe location as something never mentioned, in my experience, until the Star Trek series of the 1990s. So, my question was logically skewering this, but it was phrased as if this scripted fantasy I was observing was a reality in which I lived myself. "Do we have knowledge of Cardasia at this point?" (Whoa, I said, we?!) No big deal? Maybe. Television and films have always been a big part of my life. Some series really capture me -- usually the Science Fiction, Fantasy or ones with Romantic, quirky drama. So, is this an escape from day-to-day, or do I really model my expectations on scripted drama? For that matter, let's think about the certainty that I am not the only one. Could be scary, could be deep. I hope the reserved rubber room is a group one with a TV. |
| Taken workshops or college courses under the direction of Carol Black Eloise Klein Healy Robert McDowell (aka The Poetry Mentor) Share the family tree with R.D. Armstrong (aka Raindog) Read and practice in the vein of Julia Cameron As for my taste in reading material, simply read my bio, as none of these encounters really speak to it; but perhaps, simply, to my love of crafting with words. Best line from Tin Man (2007) "You know you really should do something about that BITTER cynicism of yours Cain." |
| I've been happy to see news reports marking the anniversary of the signing of the Americans with Disabilities Act. I remember being a recent college graduate and in a new job for a disability-awareness non-profit in 1990. Today I was overjoyed to read the Los Angeles Times columnist, Steve Lopez' account of accompanying Nathaniel Ayers to a celebration at the White House this week. (Archive info: Main News pg 2 Wed. 7/28/2010). I just had to read it aloud to my husband when I got home from work. |
| Happiness is Prosperity and the harvesting of ideas that one allows to grow. |
| Tomorrow I end another class (as a student) -- one I've needed for some time. Principles of Financial Freedom. It was a rather unorthodox spiritual class. The workbook required coloring. And the pace always seemed furious. The last class assignment, a vow of prosperity. Once again I am being pushed up against the boundaries of my comfort. (Luckily. I like it a bit rough at times) And if you can forgive me for any perceived double-meaning (you don't really need to accept that I'm being outrageously honest), I hope you will be forgiving of my New Thought jargon-laced vow. I will probably re-write it in my own words (much of it is pre-written) and part of me thinks it will come out better once I thoroughly have my financial plan together. "In this most holy and sacred moment, in the Presence of God and the company of my beloved classmates, I take this sacred vow; I begin by releasing any thought, belief, idea or attitude that I might hold which would suggest that I must be impoverished to (be happy now) bring good into the world. For this is not the Truth. I hereby renounce any prior 'vow of poverty' I may have taken (either consciously or unconsciously). Additionally, I declare my intention to fully release the following beliefs:" I release my belief that says my work skills are diminished & that other work is now beyond me due to staying dedicated to one paper-pushing job. I release my belief that my mistakes or misconceptions should be hidden or held within I release my belief in allowing money to be the measuring stick which proves my worth. "I fully realize that these beliefs may have served me in ways I might not fully understand. Yet the time has come to graciously release them in order to embody a greater Truth. For I have come to realize the highest and greatest Truth is that 'God is my Source' and that Prosperity is the 'Way of God.' Therefore, I willingly take this 'Vow of Prosperity.' On this day I have also been called to rewrite the Lord's Prayer as something accessible to me specifically for my Prosperity practice from this day forward -- here it is. Great Father, all energy above, below and within. Each name attributed to you is sacred. All which you express that exists in the great glory of creation is in me, accessible to me, yet until I listen for your Truth, part of creation remains unseen until I express it. Each day that I go to you, I accept your energy as my source. Using forgiveness, I clearly see how all that I express to the world circulates back to me. Because of my belief in you as Love and Law, when I release everything to you, there remains no doubt nor temptation to do otherwise. The power of your infinite good is mine to express prosperously and gloriously now. Amen. "I fully open my mind and my heart to consciously accept the abundant nature of the divinity within me, so that the riches of God might flow through my hands into circulation in my life in order to create conditions of prosperity, abundance and opulence wherever I might be. I do this to glorify God and serve humanity from the highest level of my being. I further declare my intention to fully embody the following ideas:" I am a successful contributor in all that I speak, write and do. I am ready to respect the power of my relationships and fully receive God-given gifts. I am healing the world visibly and radiantly when I am a conductor rather than resistant to getting involved in Life. "In conclusion, I give thanks that God is the Wealth that I Am. I am grateful God is gracious. I am grateful that I am healthy, happy, prosperous and free! Amen." |
| I have been easily falling into funks lately. Vacation from work was great, but did not remove all sources of fear or frustration. When I stopped my husband just now for a moment, to tell him I'm sad. He said, "You need pie." Which, don't get me wrong, it make me smile and it was a good connection for him to make. Emotional eating is probably not my lasting solution either, huh? I have a choice to be happy or sad, productive or lazy, a shining example to my children or a misfit. I do know this. I long to live happily, however. Funks delay my action to do the right things to direct love upon myself and others. It does not seem easy when I face the clutter of my home, my questions about the future, my own understanding of love. I have loved long and devotedly, yet sometimes even this feels more sickness than healthy living in the moment. One friend has labeled this dependence. I am avoiding looking there. Shouldn't we all know how to be happy without depending on others? When I remember to connect through reaching out, whether it's in conversation or even just showing emotion, I am so much more pleased. By talking for just a few minutes, Art brought me full circle from wanting to write down that I was depressed and disconnected, to being sparked with a story idea. He'd read the summary of an anthropologist's paper on the linguistic developmental connection from bringing pets into tribal society. And the notion that Man might have to bring some other "tool" into modern societal groupings to evolve beyond basic language became my next question to ponder. |
| The way I handle this blog and my writing in general is like the energy construction (destruction) of a star or gaseous nebula spewing chunks of proto star limbs everywhere. I USED TO BE SO CAUTIOUS. Now, with social media, I post here and there and link; throwing out little insights. I'm so active, but so far removed from my once careful, and personal journaling |
| A rewrite: Why we are created with passion Is nay a mystery to unfold -- soon. Now, my own need empowers Mind's fruition. A bombardment o' inner thrill thrown To a goal, soon catches fire - warm glow'd Moves the body to action, so bold, And without warning, it shifts the world Until tastes and flavors refasten Your mind to every felt sensation. |
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