…and nothing…

Well, this is my last full day relaxing here in sunny southern cali and as if doing it’s part to help me prepare for the transition back home, to rainy western Washington, the clouds have made an appearance here in the valley. It’s still a gorgeous morning, and one that I’m hoping to use as a productive one, seeing as how I’ve done so little writing while I’ve been here. I embarked on this trip with lofty plans of an utterly carefree relaxing week, spending time accomplishing nothing of consequence with my best friend, catching up on some sleep, reading, and brainless television, od’ing on vitamin d, and of course going home with a full manuscript written, edited, and ready for publication – the words magically flying from my fingertips due to my amazing new surroundings.

I’ve accomplished everything, save the last. I’ve been sure to dedicate time each morning and evening to sit with my laptop, open a blank document, and wait… After too much impatient waiting, I’ve found myself opening the files of pieces that I’ve been working on for the past year and for whatever reason feel like there is just one or two small things missing before they’ll be complete. Sadly, I’ve yet to stumble over any of those missing pieces either, but I have reread them, a few times, and while disgusted with them at times, I’ve found that for the most part I have a great sense of pride over the pieces that I’ve created in the past year. It was after all just about a year ago now that I attended my first writers conference, in beautiful Coupeville, Washington – and whether it was the location, the like minded company, the intuitive leadership, or perhaps it was just the right time for my stories to be told – but I returned home with what would be a prize winning short essay for the Reader’s Digest Magazine, as well as solid starts for 4 other essays, and best of all, a newfound confidence in the power and validity of my own “voice.”

I suppose I was hoping for the same kind of magic on this trip. Believing that perhaps removing myself from the hum drum of my daily routine, the chores that are constantly beckoning, and the phone that seems to be always buzzing; that I might allow myself a moment to breath, and to purge another piece or two of those thoughts, memories, dreams, and fears that I’ve been carrying.  While I haven’t been writing, I have been reading and just finished re-reading Bag of Bones by the infallible Stephen King – a story that I suggest for anyone and everyone, whether you’re looking for an escape from reality, a good fright, or in my case, inspiration and reassurance that even an award winning novelist created by the master, experiences (and overcomes) writers block every now and again.

Alas, the day isn’t over yet, and either way, this has been an amazing vacation spent with a kindred spirit and I’ll be flying home tomorrow refreshed, and as ready as one can be to reenter the 9-5 life of a working stiff.

~ m

Vitamin D, if you please…

I feel like a hypocrite, a traitor. Turning my back on everything I know, and the land that bore me. Being a Northwest Washington native, I find myself constantly playing defense to the plethora of negative insults and slander so often associated with the region that I call home. Yes it does rain, a lot, but without that constant moisture we wouldn’t have one of the most uniquely lush and green areas of the United States. This past Friday morning, I strayed from home in order to visit with a good friend who lives in LA, far down in Southern California, away from the rain, and calm that soothes me – and instead place myself in the midst of the hustle and bustle of horrible drivers who are either unaware of or completely oblivious to the invention of the turn signal – dry heat and more differing shades of brown and beige than a girl could ever know existed.

I landed in LA a little before 11am, the flight was smooth, with just enough turbulence to unnerve the Hispanic woman sitting beside me, and cause her to cling to her husbands arm like an owl clutching a vol.  Personally, I enjoy the little shakes and rattles experienced in the sky. It’s a reminder that while man may have mastered the power of flight – the forces on the exterior of our large phallic shaped vehicles will never be defeated completely, nor will they be ignored. On this particular flight the turbulence served an even greater purpose of quieting said Hispanic woman, allowing me a welcome, albeit brief, intermission midway through her rather detailed, and yet crudely enunciated life story and vacation plans. I quickly learned, well not that quickly, her English was lacking and my Spanish skills will get me nowhere but a bathroom or a bar, that this trip would be the first she and her husband had ever enjoyed, without their children. And, while she did miss her 3 kids, now that they were attending college, and creating lives of their own, she was giddy with anticipation for this much awaited trip, just the two of them. I’ll spare you the gory details, as I wish she had been kind enough to do, but will tell you that she’s got some serious plans for her husband and his appendages over the next few days. Horny Hispanic Lady has definitely been one of my most memorable “single serving friends,” as Tyler Durden would say, thus far.

I’ve been in LA 2 days now and am having the time of my life. The weather is amazing, aside from my having been tailed by a few stray rain clouds, which excites the natives here, and while helping to stifle any homesickness I may have experienced, I’m okay with them burning off and clearing way for the sun.  Saturday afternoon we went for a beautiful walk around the neighborhood, which included plenty of grass covered hill sides, horses, surely wicked tree remains, and breath taking view points. Aside from a handful of great photos, that still come no where close to doing the actual place justice, I also took home two of the largest blisters I’ve ever seen, one on the bottom of each foot. How is it I always manage to find a hiccup of sorts that will make my vacation less than enjoyable? I suppose it’s my subconscious’s way of keeping me in check, or perhaps it’s my mothers way of confirming I will return home and not decide to stay. (A recurring fear for her, for whatever reason.) But did this trips discomfort have to lodge itself on the sole of my feet? Ugh! Perhaps I’ll feel brave enough (read: inebriated enough) to perform surgery this afternoon, and I won’t look like I have such a large stick up my ass when I walk tomorrow.

This morning, Sunday, my friend and host took me for an amazing drive through the Malibu Canyon, and along the Pacific Coast Highway, cruising the coastline, to the invigorating purr of  CJ, his cherry red 1970 Dodge Challengers engine, and the relaxing lull of the ocean breeze. The drive was absolutely gorgeous, and shows a much softer, playful side of California, than the overcrowded, smog locked, barren desert I tend to think of.  That is of course leaving out the 3 minutes of driving through fields that for whatever reason smell disturbingly of celery. It was amazing to see how differently the Pacific Ocean looks here, than it does from my coast at home. The Washington coast always looks a little disgruntled, and maintains its undertone of grey no matter the weather pattern, with the waters edge dotted heavily by large boulders and jagged – but along the Pacific Coast Highway here in California, that same ocean has seemingly transformed into a crisp refreshing blue, complete with crashing waves capped in frothy white foam, reminiscent of the peaks on a well prepared lemon meringue, meeting a sandy graham cracker crust at the waters edge.

~ m

The End… (?)

Working part time as a caregiver for a handful of elderly clients has definitely introduced me to some unique individuals, as well as cementing my belief that each of us are different from the rest; that each of our stories is completely our own, and need to be shared. I have one client who remains as sharp, witty, and caring as she must have been 70 years ago, when I visit with her we chat about our days, our families, the weather, politics, and we people watch. Whether it be on tv, out the window, or in the lobby of her complex; giggling, poking each other, and making less than complimentary comments about some of her neighbors – those that she deems “the old folk.”

Another woman I work with has lost all use of her short term memory, leaving her with only recollections of her past. She seems to recognize me, and we greet with a hug, like old friends being reunited after too long apart. But soon she begins to ask me about my family, and quickly expresses great concern about my lack of a husband and any children. “You’ve got to find a good man soon,” she lectures me daily, “before they’re all taken, have grown beards, or are worn out.” She also explains to me with great care, daily, the importance of marrying a man with money, a nice house, a good job, and most importantly, “he must be a Menonite, or else our children will rot in hell!” *yes, that’s a direct quote*

This morning though, I met with a new client, a gentleman who while older than the rest, appears to be much younger. He’s presently struggling with the early onset of memory loss, and his doctors fear, dementia. While chatting in his comfortable living room, and getting to know each other, we discussed the weather, politics, family, and his daily routines. Then, after a few moments of silence, he quietly asked me, “if you could know, when you’d go, and how – would you want to?” I paused, and told him that no, I don’t believe I would want to posses that knowledge. I’d rather continue as I am, living my life, ignorant to the cause and time of my demise. I asked him what he believed, and he told me that he would prefer to know.

He explained that a few years back he decided that his family, his children, their children, and the babies after that, should know who he was, the life he lived, and the mistakes he made. Thus, he sat down, and in the course of a year, he penned his autobiography – he explained that it came in just under 100 pages, and that he printed copies for 20 or so family members. Pausing, he smiled over at me and whispered, “if I do too much more livin’ I’ll have to change the end.”

Once Upon A Time…

This past week Northwestern Washington received a rather large dumping of white stuff. And, which pleasing to school aged kids, seeing as how they’ve gotten the entire week off school, and still somehow find it enjoyable to be cold, wet, and lack sensation in their appendages. But, for us adults, a snow storm means shoveling, extra laundry, higher heating bills, and more groceries being utilized. For myself, the storm has been nasty enough that I was actually “snowed in” for a few days, leaving me with little to do aside from clean the house, bake, watch movies, read, and grow more and more depressed as the snow continued to fall. It took me two days, but I finally realized that this is the writing time I’ve been looking for, waiting for, hoping for… I’ve been so busy with small assignments from the local newspaper lately that I haven’t had time to even look at my own pieces, stuck in limbo for whatever reason.

So, yesterday afternoon, I curled up on the couch with the laptop and a mug of adult hot cocoa. I started with perusing the Poets & Writers site as they have a great list of Literary Magazines that are currently seeking submissions in all different genres of writing. I quickly started noticing though that the need for creative non-fiction/memoir/personal essays is lacking, while the desire for fiction, short and long, is overwhelming! I commiserated about this to a friend of mine, read: whined, and he promptly informed me that as a woman, I’m genetically equipped to be a better liar and more deceitful than most, so the ability to write fiction should really be like second nature to me! While I appreciate his honesty, and will spare you the sad story that is his dating history, I’ll summarize by saying he has horrific taste and I’m quite surprised he’s not jumped onto my plan of a one way ticket to a convent, well, monastery for him. Anyways, I explained to him that I can lie off the cuff like none other, pulling god know what out of god knows where at a moments notice when needed. After all I’ve worked (and excelled) in customer service, sales, and insurance for the past 12 years! But, that talent leaves me completely when I sit down and attempt to write something that isn’t true, something that I don’t know, something that I have to create.

Why is it that there’s such a huge difference for me do you think? I know that my inner editor, Agnes, is partially to blame. Her incessant mutterings and suggestions are bad enough when I’m writing about something that I have first hand knowledge of, but when I start creating something, from the ground up, piecing together a skeleton for a creature that only I know exists, *whew* her rants gets damn near unbearable!

So please, help me out here, if anyone’s actually reading this, and if any of you are fiction writers, or if you might just have a suggestion or two to toss my way – just about anything is appreciated! I’m setting a goal for myself to have a solid fiction piece, no word count restrictions, no topic as of yet, just that it has to be solid enough that I feel proud and hopeful in submitting it somewhere, prior to June… So let me have it, what’s the secret to bullshitting on paper?!?!?

* Sidenote: While googling for some sort of an image to include with this post I stumbled onto this site – Books of Adam – seriously?!!?!? If that guy can have THAT much creative energy, and pull some of that stuff out of his ass – I’ve got to be able to pull just a little tiny piece from my own – right?!?! And, I’ve now been reading through his site for 30 minutes, and will most likely be stalking him for possible inspiration – absolute hilarity!

This year I resolve to…

(The following is something I wrote a few weeks back, and was happily surprised to find printed in this past weeks local paper under their monthly “Women Talk” column – thought I might repost it here as well.)

… actually keep my new years resolutions! Or, more specifically, I resolve to not completely dissolve them prior to the end of January! As women our resolutions usually tend to fall into the same categories, year after year, or at least mine do. Since I can remember, I’ve sat down on January 1^st, usually with a bit of a headache, and slightly closer to early afternoon than late morning, a gigantic cup of coffee, a cheesy fried breakfast and a task – to decide what goals I’m going to set for this new round of 365 days. What’s going to be different this year, to make this one stand out (for good reasons) from the rest?

I’m sure we’re all familiar with the memorable definition of insanity – doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results – this year, I’ve decided I’m finished being insane, 2012 is going to be my year of health, success, happiness, and only mild awkwardness – a huge step away from true insanity! And so, I sat down bright and early on December 1^st to set my 2012 resolutions; hedging my bets a little bit by opting for an entire extra month in which to start building the foundations for these great new habits I desire to possess, and amazingly, thus far it’s worked like a charm! While some of my resolutions are the same as in years past (losing weight and having a healthier lifestyle), I’m adding a few new ones as well (to more actively pursue relationships that will lead me in the direction of my dreams). And, I’m attacking all of these goals in a different way. Changing my method of madness if you will.

Starting in December instead of January was just step one. I’ve also decided that I’m making my goals public knowledge, not just to my close family and friends but to you, the entire community. Meaning, I’m no longer standing alone, struggling to hold myself accountable against the rest of the world; instead, I’m using the positive thoughts, and inspiring comments from my fellow ladies as fodder for morphing into the woman I intend to be. As Hillary Clinton said, “It takes a village;” not only to raise a child, but also, I believe, to raise a well adjusted, self sufficient, proud, community minded, adult.             Women, talk. We do. It’s an inherent fact that young or old, Amish, Hindu, Catholic, or Greek, we, as women seek out others, like ourselves, kindred spirits, to hypothesize, discuss, debate, and gossip about our daily lives, struggles at home, office politics, and soap operas. So why not use that? Why not band together to form a larger support system to hedge the bets in our favor? I’m confident that with each other, we can make some pretty miraculous changes – in the world at large, in our small town communities, and in our own personal lives.

So, there you have it, my hopes, dreams, goals, plans, and weaknesses on a silver platter – please treat them with care. But, it’s your turn now, tell me, what are your goals for this year? What new habits are you going to adopt that will make 2012 a year to remember? And how can we, your newfound support system help inspire you? Lets tap into the collective positive power of our fellow women and make this year our best yet.

Devastation & Celebration

There are few situations where we find ourselves so harshly torn between the emotions surging through our bodies, as in a time of mourning the loss of a loved one. This afternoon I attended the funeral of a good friends little sister. Sadly, premature deaths like this are nowhere near as rare as they should be. And, more than anything it urges the questioning of ones own mortality, and the unknown of when our own journeys will end.

The family and friends that joined together today, seeking to celebrate and remember the vibrancy, independence, and success of this amazing young lady were also brought together by their confused respect for a girl who struggled in silence with choices made, lessons learned, and adventures yet to experience. One of her sisters shared a poem that really struck a chord with me. It depicts so well how each of our paths is unique, and the wind or breeze that will move us in our right, and intended direction, can’t be summoned or commanded by our own selfish desires, it’ll only commence when the universe knows we’re truly ready.

If only this adored young woman had been able to hold on for a moment more, and seek out a confidant to help her brave her storm. She will be missed, her memories treasured, and her inspirational yet short life remembered as one of creative milestones, room brightening smiles, and all knowing eyes. My thoughts and prayers are with you as you steadfastly march onto your next adventure, as well as with your family and friends here as they struggle to find a new rhythm and make sense of their lives without you here. Your body may be gone, but your spirit will never be forgotten.

Raven, teach me to ride the winds of change

Perch where the wind comes at you full force.
Let it blow you apart till your feathers fly off and
you look like hell.
Then abandon yourself.
The wind is not your enemy.
Nothing in life is.
Go where wind takes you
higher lower
backwards
The wind to carry you forward will find you
when you are ready.
When you can bear it.

— Margaret Wheatley

It’s in his kiss… Or is it?

I remember being young, much younger than I am now, and getting absolutely giddy at the thought of receiving my first real kiss. Well, that first kiss came and went, without so much as a firework, or butterfly in sight. Honestly, it was quite a memorable experience, but for all of the wrong reasons. The setting, not a first date, or movie-theater with a boy I’d been passing notes to (circle yes or no), or crushing on from class. But instead, it was at a friends 11^th birthday party, yea I know, I started my “research” early.

It was the first, of many, real boy-girl parties I would attend. “Real” meaning that we had finally outgrown running naked through sprinklers together on the neighbors lawn with unabashed enjoyment, overcome our immature fear of invisible yet life threatening cooties, and were starting to realize there was something strangely intriguing, unknown, and tempting about the opposite sex. A few of my friends had older siblings, and had overheard (read: eavesdropped on) stories about what games & frivolities were expected at parties like these, now that we were so much more mature, pin the tale on the donkey and freeze tag just wouldn’t cut it.

After a few minutes of whining and prodding from the birthday girl, her parents decided we weren’t in any immediate danger, and relocated themselves to the kitchen upstairs, no doubt to refill their party cups with spiked punch. As soon as the door closed behind them, we found ourselves being drawn by some yet undiscovered gravitational force into a misshapen circle on the well worn shag carpeted floor, in the dimmest corner of their quasi-finished daylight basement; all eyes nervously watching the partially filled 2 liter bottle of Dr. Pepper laying precariously in our midst. The walls had been decorated with magazine posters of our favorite boy bands (NKOTB and Hansen *squeal*) and television stars (Devin Sawa, Jared Leto, and Leonardo DiCaprio *swoon*), the ceiling above dripped with colorful streamers, & limp oxygen filled balloons, and our pulses raced with prepubescent hormonal excitement.

Flash forward 5 minutes and don’t blink or you’ll miss my first kiss, with a red headed, freckle faced, annoyingly nerdy boy from school. By todays standards it would have been called a peck, or perhaps just an accidental brushing of his lower lip over my chin, and top lip across my teeth – or rather, my braces. I had been so excited about graduating from the group of “never been kissed losers” to the club of “chicks that’ve been kissed” that while I smiled awkwardly over my recently tightened brackets, he leaned in, and, we missed. Only now, looking back, do I realize what a gigantic moment of embarrassment I sidestepped. My newly blooming love life would have gone up in a poof of smoke right then and there if he had sliced his lip open, or even worse, if he’d been an orthodontia ridden preteen like myself, and our brackets had locked?!?!!? I could be sitting in a convent right now, instead of on a well-worn leather sofa in a local coffee shop. Renewing my vows of chastity and modesty instead of allowing my gaze to rest on the tender lips of the well-dressed civil servant next to me sipping his espresso.

Now, as I prepare to bid adieu to my 20’s, and march steadily, head held high, into my 30’s, I realize that so many of my past relationship attempts have begun with a kiss, much like my first, where for whatever reason, whether it be my smile, his anxiousness, or simply bad timing, we’ve missed. I can honestly say that I have yet to experience a firework lighting, goose-dot creating, toe curling first kiss, and anxiously look forward to the day it happens. Until then though, I’m biding my time, enjoying my solo adventures, and smooching a frog every now and then. I maintain the hope, and faith, that someday, that frog just might be the oddly nerdy prince I’ve been waiting for.

So, there you have it, the embarrassing story of my first kiss that really wasn’t. Your turn now – tell me, what do you remember about your first kiss? Was it a complete disaster, or are you one of the few blessed souls whose first kiss was with their soul mate?

Daydreaming….

“Hope is a waking dream,” so said Aristotle, and I for one, believe he had it right.

I also got an amazing phone call yesterday afternoon. To bring you all up to speed, I recently became gainfully unemployed (end of September) after 11 years of working full time + without a break. So, it’s been a bit of a shock to my system, having so much time for myself, my writing, reading, napping, and focusing on making some serious life changes. I’ve been looking for work over the past month plus, but to use the same line as hundreds of thousands of others, due to the economy, and lack of jobs that I have the knowledge, skillset, and training for – it’s been a little difficult to find something. I’m also being picky, not just taking a job, because it’s offered to me. I don’t want to find myself in another situation where I’m in a dead end job, dreading the office every morning because of one thing or another – I want to hold out a bit and find a position doing something that I can be passionate about, and with a team that I can feel a connection with.

So, as you may have noticed, I love to write… whether it be blogging, journaling, articles for local publications, essays for larger ones, or just doodling on a napkin in a coffee shop. A few months back, the local paper approached me about an interview & column that they wanted to create about me! Regarding my status as a small town local gal, seeking out the limelight of stardom as a writer. Well, yesterday afternoon, that same paper (who did print an amazing article about yours truly) contacted me about an open position they have for a freelance reporter & photographer!!! I meet with the editor tomorrow morning to discuss specifics… But, I really believe that this is the position I’ve been waiting for. And, the timing couldn’t be better. With the track I’m traveling now, towards a healthier, happier, stronger, prouder me… I can now add that I may be working in a position that I’ve always dreamed of!!!

~ m

Walkin’ On Sunshine…

Well, this months NaNoWriMo attempt is turning into a bust.   It’s just about noon on the 21st, and instead of being at 30,000 words, like I should be – I’m just over 15,000. Alas, it’s 15,000 words more than I had 21 days ago, right? I’m proud of what I’ve done, and will challenge    that NaNoWriMo beast again next year – this time, to the death!

I also received an email last week, congratulating me on placing within the top 10 submissions, for the recent Reader’s Digest, My Life contest. They received just under 5,000 entries, and while quite of few of them were moving, I chose a more realistic, humorous approach, as I usually do – and it was a success! I still can’t believe I placed so high, and along with the cash prize (WooHoo), I have the chance of being published in a magazine that’s a staple in every American bathroom!!!

Aside from that I’m still submitting an article monthly for the local Entertainment News Northwest Magazine (www.ennw.info) and have recently been asked by a friend to contribute a few columns to a “Women Talk” section of the local weekly paper!

You might say that things are really turning around for me lately. I feel supremely blessed, not only for the doors that seem to be opening for me, but for the opportunities I’ve had in the past, allowing me to grow, mature, and become more aware of the world around me. And, of course, for the amazingly inspirational and supportive family & friends that have never let me imagine failure as an option. To you, I am eternally grateful!

So, for today, I’m dancing in the streets, skipping under a rainbow, and walkin’ on sunshine, here in the frigidly cold northwest!

~ m

Ready?… Begin!

          I’m not sure how it happened, but October is at it’s end, and for once in my life I’m not suprememly stoked about Halloween and all of the costumed, children spooking, skin crawling, sugar high, in ebriated goodness it seems to leave in it’s wake. This year, my insomnia inducing excitement is due to the impending month of NaNoWriMo that at some point in the last few weeks I decided, for whatever reason, might be a good idea?!!?!?!?! Shoot me now! *lol*

For those of you that haven’t fully embraced their word slut nerd yet, NaNoWriMo is a celebration, as well as a self mutilation of sorts. It’s the worldwide celebration, nay, observance of November, which is National Novel Writing Month. Being the rebel that I am though, I’m participating with a bit of a twist. Instead of tackling a 50,000 word novel in 30 days, I’ll be slaving over a memoir, telling the story of my paternal grandmothers life, struggles, successes, and passing. She’s someone that I’ve known next to nothing about, because of some of those complicated stuggles within her life. Things that at the time weren’t spoken of, because of their taboo nature, and since, have been swept under the rug because they aren’t things that people long to hear about. But, in hoping to know myself better – I’ve realized I need to take a closer look at my past, as well as the lives of those that have come before me. Those that, in the case of my grandmother, I wasn’t able to know.

 So, please realize that for the next 30 days I’ll most likely be MIA – since I’ll be using every word I can eek out of myself to help make that 50,000 goal! Even if their meaningless gibbers that I would usually post here – I’ll need them in the original manuscript to edit out later… Have an amazing Halloween, a great Thanksgiving… and I’ll see you again bright & early December 1st!

~ m