After a year full of the deaths of friends and family, Janette was tired, emotionally hollowed out, and in need of closure. Or Fun. Or Both. So when her pagan friend Allie invited her to a Wiccan "ritual" with costumes, dancing, and an introduction to a hot guy she wanted to meet, it seemed like a good alternative to a night alone handing out (scarfing down) Halloween candy. As it turned out, Janette's dead were not as ready as she was to say farewell.Now on the wrong side of the veil between the worlds, Janette has to navigate across the Isle du Mort, making peace with "beloved dead" who want to weigh her down with rummicube rules, very odd favors, and midlife crisis advice. If she can make peace with every dead person she has ever known - and FAST - she might make it back to the world of the living in time for her date.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Synopsis for my NaNoWriMo novel - Maybe.
I promise nothing, but this MIGHT be a synopsis that will have something to do with whatever I end up writing this month.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Jump from a good platform
I only jumped from a very-high-dive platform once. I have no memory of where, or why or how anyone talked me into it, but I remember doing it.
I also remember wanting desperately NOT TO.
During the olympics I sometimes catch the diving, and although I admire the sport, watching it requires me to actively quiet a visceral cringing. It feels like every internal organ I've got is sandwiched between a convulsing spinal column and the shriveling of every skin cell covering my body. It is a recoil against height from the inside and out.
So now that I've decided to "leap into" writing more publicly, and chosen to do it from the tall, supportive backs of persons I know and admire, utilizing the very tall platforms of OTHER folks I know and admire...I'm having that moment where I'm high up in the air, and I know SOMETHING will go wrong.
My writing will be truncated. My intended message will fall flat. I'll write too much, or not enough. I'll look like an idiot...or worse, panic and take someone down with me into a fatal bellyflop.
So, I'm visualizing the climb, the foot-thick, solid, stable, grainy concrete platform, my toes are off the edge, and I'm just telling myself over and over, "It's just water."
I also remember wanting desperately NOT TO.
During the olympics I sometimes catch the diving, and although I admire the sport, watching it requires me to actively quiet a visceral cringing. It feels like every internal organ I've got is sandwiched between a convulsing spinal column and the shriveling of every skin cell covering my body. It is a recoil against height from the inside and out.
So now that I've decided to "leap into" writing more publicly, and chosen to do it from the tall, supportive backs of persons I know and admire, utilizing the very tall platforms of OTHER folks I know and admire...I'm having that moment where I'm high up in the air, and I know SOMETHING will go wrong.
My writing will be truncated. My intended message will fall flat. I'll write too much, or not enough. I'll look like an idiot...or worse, panic and take someone down with me into a fatal bellyflop.
So, I'm visualizing the climb, the foot-thick, solid, stable, grainy concrete platform, my toes are off the edge, and I'm just telling myself over and over, "It's just water."
Monday, October 14, 2013
Horror
I'm almost finished reading The Ocean at the End of the Lane. The boy is in the fairy circle, surrounded by all the spectres of seven years, and I have come to a sudden realization about why I don't write. As I am crying, and blowing my nose, and breathing in hiccoughs, I realize that I am afraid of writing and being a writer because I am afraid that I will write stories like this. Horror stories. Stories that I do not like to read.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
The Scroll of Years - A Review
The Scroll of Years
A Gaunt and Bone Novel
Having finished The
Scroll of Years by Chris Willrich only moments ago, I hereby judge that it
is not an average, everyday book. By that I mean it is not about a cast of
characters placed in stories and committed to the written word.
Instead, Willrich has written a magical invitation to peruse
a series of bound pages where, by happy chance, fantastic figures’ own paths
direct them to travel back and forth in this specific vicinity…and they happen
to have been captured by a sensitive translator.
My ruling on The
Scroll of Years is based on many things, but foremost the structure of the
book. Willrich’s debut novel is
comprised of long and short chapters, tales within tales, and shifts in time, location,
culture, perspective, and language. The
result is deceptive: the simple exterior of a fantasy softcover hides an
interior that is a complex literary work. This book insistently demands that any
prospective reader thrust away their grasp of linear tale telling as a
prerequisite to jumping into this adventure.
I will not mince words: This is not a book everyone will
enjoy. The protagonists travel an entire world of territory, and the stories
told are drawn from every major occurrence of a human lifetime. I found it
difficult at times to catch up again after putting it down, as if somehow the
story had continued to evolve while I wasn’t actively reading it.
To enjoy the work, I suggest that you be a reader who can be
dropped without warning or explanation onto the back of a Springfang, into a
bottomless pit, or through the portal of scholarly monastic life. This is not a
book for any reader requiring reason or exposition. Persistent readers will
find some of each inside this novel, but it will be wrapped carefully and
carried next to a character’s true heart.
The Scroll of Years
is a collection of tales about persons generally meeting the modern definition
of “westerners” and “easterners.” The travels and antics of the characters are
guides or perhaps crutches, for the reader seeking wisdom about an astonishing
range of life experiences. From the book, readers can steal treasures about true
growing up, forgiveness, partnership in love, parenting, and even coming to
peace with our own flawed selves.
The thrilling cover illustration of high-fantasy artwork,
and Willrich’s own description of the novel as “sword and sorcery” does the
book an injustice. I believe it is well
beyond what the traditional fantasy novel has provided. The Scroll of Years is
more than one rich world-building adventure; it is easily three or perhaps, lucky
seven. Characters go beyond the traditional troupe of scout, fighter, thief,
wizard, and cleric, to include the avocations of monks, politicians, assassins,
poets, mothers, fathers, adolescents, emperors, dragons, walls, ways, ghosts,
vampires, accountants, sailors, outcasts, and even a loyal log-chasing dog.
What I enjoyed about the novel was being tossed into a
wonderful new way to use language. Willrich has invented novel techniques for dialog
and storytelling that derive from opposites. His writing incorporates east and
west, man-on-the-street and sage, human and animal, child and adult. I can only
describe my reaction toward writing so completely new and different as similar
to how I felt reading Gibson’s cyberpunk for the first time. Reading this book is
likely to cause a disturbance in your Chi, but channeling will reward the
reader tenfold.
What I had to overcome to enjoy the book was the idea that I
was picking up a recreational-fantasy drug. This book requires attention,
commitment and participation from its readers. If you allow it, this book can
teach you more than a little bit about life’s biggest lessons. To the
inattentive, I imagine this book is just a muddied flood that will wash over
you, scrape you up with pointed words, and carry you away, without ever
allowing you to plumb its depths of meaning.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Writing Exercise: What smells would you want to take with you to heaven?
Exercise: Write about one smell (with prompts during continuous writing)
Open window in a stuffy room
The smell of an open window in a stuffy room hits me in the neck,
behind each ear. This part of my body relaxes as the fresh air pushes curtains aside.
There is blue sky outside and fresh green of the grass and
bushes outdoors. This smell makes me relaxed. My stuffed inside body
can expand with air, and the neck and ears get bigger, wider, longer.
The smell is always available but needs precaution from weather.
Rain into the stuffy room is best even when frills of lace get damp.
The day - end of day - is time to come home and open windows and chase out
the heavy waiting. Bird waiting for attention. Home waiting to be
lived in.
Each home needs to be allowed to steep - to become what it IS all day alone.
And then the people come in and open the windows and
let the fresh movement in. From outside. Fresh halts the decay.
Rejuvenates, sparkles the wooden floor, warms linens, releasing the
comfort smells of husbands and laundry and fabric softener.
A solitary smell. Open the window anytime, but the smell only comes when alone -
when there is time to just breathe. Maybe it could be shared with an
intimate loved one. Open windows merge the possible future and the
current moment. The outside of fresh with the inside of decay...or dust...or simply calm. Calm. Warm. Settled. Not stirred...moved...complicated. In/out and constant versus perpetual motion.
- Husband's forehead
- Cockatoo powder
- Fresh popcorn with real butter
- Bruising unexpected bushes
- Fresh, post-storm seaweed
- Hot, dry pine needles in the woods
- Horse brushing
- Horse manure
- Shampoo
- Hot, sweaty, buff guy running past on the narrow hiking trail
- Santa Barbara Sandstone dust in the summer
- Fresh bread
- Cinnamon
- Baked apples
- Lysol
- Dr. Bronner's peppermint soap
- Honeysuckle
- Starch - hot on the ironed clothes
- Warm clothes from the dryer
- Downy
- Freshly poured hard cider
- Fine cabernet
- Hot leather seats in the car
- Open window in a stuffy room
- Basement
- Concrete slab
- Crawl space under the house
- Wine cellar
- Doug's pipe smoke
- Hawaii
- Lemon verbena
- Grease paint make up
Exercise: Write about one smell (with prompts during continuous writing)
Open window in a stuffy room
The smell of an open window in a stuffy room hits me in the neck,
behind each ear. This part of my body relaxes as the fresh air pushes curtains aside.
There is blue sky outside and fresh green of the grass and
bushes outdoors. This smell makes me relaxed. My stuffed inside body
can expand with air, and the neck and ears get bigger, wider, longer.
The smell is always available but needs precaution from weather.
Rain into the stuffy room is best even when frills of lace get damp.
The day - end of day - is time to come home and open windows and chase out
the heavy waiting. Bird waiting for attention. Home waiting to be
lived in.
Each home needs to be allowed to steep - to become what it IS all day alone.
And then the people come in and open the windows and
let the fresh movement in. From outside. Fresh halts the decay.
Rejuvenates, sparkles the wooden floor, warms linens, releasing the
comfort smells of husbands and laundry and fabric softener.
A solitary smell. Open the window anytime, but the smell only comes when alone -
when there is time to just breathe. Maybe it could be shared with an
intimate loved one. Open windows merge the possible future and the
current moment. The outside of fresh with the inside of decay...or dust...or simply calm. Calm. Warm. Settled. Not stirred...moved...complicated. In/out and constant versus perpetual motion.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Scared to Breathe
Rob Brezny posted this as his FB status today:
12 hours after the medicine, the wracking coughing begins.
This means my body is strong - functioning well, and the drugs I'm taking to alleviate my symptoms are being efficiently used and flushed out of my system. I'm grateful for that strength, that functionality.
This cold/flu cannot last. It is probably not Spanish, and I am not small, tragic Lavinia.
Instead, this is my opportunity to read voraciously without guilt or distraction.
It is an opportunity to practice trusting my husband and communicating how best he can help and care for me. Like asking for salty, cheesy grits for breakfast. (OMG, YUM.)
It is an opportunity to cherish each breath - especially when I fear that the deep, healing breathing that will relax and energize me may also lead to the coughing fits. So it is also an opportunity to practice my mindfulness, awareness and "body talk."
"Hey, body. How's is going?"
"Not well."
"Yeah...More artificial help is on the way...the pain will be gone soon...but how can we stretch a little and make the stiffness and soreness go away? How can I help you? How can I keep you strong?"
"Piss off."
"Oh, come on."
"EVERYTHING HURTS, ASSHOLE."
"Everything?"
"Pretty much, yeah - everything."
"But it will hurt less in a little while, we just have to get the drugs in our bloodstream."
"I can't wait..."
"Sure you can! Don't give up! Think about how much we have to see and do together! We have to get strong, and be ready for the ride in a couple of months."
"Yeah, about that - It is one thing to be pushing all this extra hiking and cycling and spinning on me, but it is something else to pair that with all these extra fear and stress hormones. Can you try to cut those out?"
"I will try."
"Good. And another thing, you know where we got this flu bug dontcha? I bet good money on the YMCA. Lots of people, lots of kids, and lots of people with lots of kids. Germ factories! Wipe down the bicycle before and AFTER we use it for spin class, and get some hand wipes."
"Okay, I will do that too. What else? How can I help?"
cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough, cough>
"Careful! Yeah, okay. We can breathe. And stretch some. And lie back down. And wait for the drugs to kick in."
"Yeah, let's do that together."
"I resolve not to automatically assume that negative feelings are more profound and authentic than positive ones, or that cynical opinions are smarter and more accurate than the optimistic kind."I'm going to try to find the truly believable optimism as it applies to my Sunday, St. Patrick's Day morning:
12 hours after the medicine, the wracking coughing begins.
This means my body is strong - functioning well, and the drugs I'm taking to alleviate my symptoms are being efficiently used and flushed out of my system. I'm grateful for that strength, that functionality.
This cold/flu cannot last. It is probably not Spanish, and I am not small, tragic Lavinia.
Instead, this is my opportunity to read voraciously without guilt or distraction.
It is an opportunity to practice trusting my husband and communicating how best he can help and care for me. Like asking for salty, cheesy grits for breakfast. (OMG, YUM.)
It is an opportunity to cherish each breath - especially when I fear that the deep, healing breathing that will relax and energize me may also lead to the coughing fits. So it is also an opportunity to practice my mindfulness, awareness and "body talk."
"Hey, body. How's is going?"
"Not well."
"Yeah...More artificial help is on the way...the pain will be gone soon...but how can we stretch a little and make the stiffness and soreness go away? How can I help you? How can I keep you strong?"
"Piss off."
"Oh, come on."
"EVERYTHING HURTS, ASSHOLE."
"Everything?"
"Pretty much, yeah - everything."
"But it will hurt less in a little while, we just have to get the drugs in our bloodstream."
"I can't wait..."
"Sure you can! Don't give up! Think about how much we have to see and do together! We have to get strong, and be ready for the ride in a couple of months."
"Yeah, about that - It is one thing to be pushing all this extra hiking and cycling and spinning on me, but it is something else to pair that with all these extra fear and stress hormones. Can you try to cut those out?"
"I will try."
"Good. And another thing, you know where we got this flu bug dontcha? I bet good money on the YMCA. Lots of people, lots of kids, and lots of people with lots of kids. Germ factories! Wipe down the bicycle before and AFTER we use it for spin class, and get some hand wipes."
"Okay, I will do that too. What else? How can I help?"
"Careful! Yeah, okay. We can breathe. And stretch some. And lie back down. And wait for the drugs to kick in."
"Yeah, let's do that together."
Friday, January 04, 2013
Too Good to Use
It is time to admit something publicly:
For awhile after we got married, my husband and I only used our Wedgewood china for occasional dinner parties.
I'm ashamed, but it is true. I decided that dishes people had given us as gifts were somehow too precious, too good to use. What if they got broken? Chipped!? If the gilt edge…wore OFF!!!! DISASTER!
My husband's family has a phrase for this. You may have heard it. It applies to special feast day food, and gets pulled out at annual gatherings. Children often hear it, at that time before the clock strikes the appointed dinner-hour, but well after the children's stomachs are growling and their mouths are watering from amazing kitchen smells:
Don't eat that! That's for people!
THAT'S FOR PEOPLE.
(Not you. You are not people. You are not good enough to be "people.").
A phrase that translates to:
You may not use and enjoy your own dishes because you are not special enough for these dishes.
You do not deserve the gift of these dishes…you may only protect them, but not enjoy them.
After I had been married for awhile, I was invited to the home of an amazingly "perfect" couple. They had fallen in love and married when they were a bit older. It was a second marriage for one of them. When the time came to serve food, I noticed (because I am fond of beautiful things) their divine, all white, dishes. Plates, serving pieces, all white, and very fine, with delicious, subtle, botanical designs, and that melodic ringing sound as plates were picked up and set down.
"What lovely china," I said, admiring it.
"Isn't it wonderful!" my hostess said, genuinely looking at it and appreciating it anew herself. "We bought all white so that we could eat off of it and enjoy it every day. It makes me so happy to use it all the time. I reminded my husband to buy all the extra pieces so that we had a complete set before the style was discontinued, along with a few extra pieces…but we haven't had many break, have we, Darling…?"
And as she shared a moment of wonder and joy with her husband - about their everyday dishes - I thought of my china:
Tucked in dark cupboards.
Unrecognizable shapes in bubble wrap.
Or zipped up in padded, specially designed, quilted china covers.
(A small piece of foam in between each plate, bowl, and cup…serving pieces in the original plastic, for extra protection).
Bored, waiting China.
China despairing of ever being used.
Our china pattern, Persia, had seen only small dinner parties. We had a small wedding that we paid for ourselves, and we were not gifted a generous table of very expensive china. Despite small numbers, the few parties where we pulled out the china had been merry, and fun. The rich, burnt orange design included stylized pheasant and leopards that lent a bit of excitement to the parties. Eating the food off of our china revealed intricate designs and possibly even imagined vignettes.
I can count the dinners, and retell the tales because they are so few: A Corned beef dinner on St. Patrick's Day. An improvised community dinner of soup that got extended and extended and extended with cans of whatever from the cupboard as the numbers of people swelled. We ran out of the good china, and had to use old one-off dishes instead, but no one seemed to mind. At all of the parties there was much admiration of the china.
After our most recent move, I decided it was ridiculous to covet my own china. I should commit to it. Complete my set. Use it.
Despite reminders when the pattern was discontinued, my husband did not spend thousands of dollars to acquire a full set for twelve to sit for dinner. Our dining table could only hold eight, so eight was a good enough number. With eight settings, and some extra dessert plates, we put all the china in an easily accessible cupboard and vowed to use it.
That intention soon faded. Hand-washing fine, fancy dishes, when there's a dishwasher right there is not fun.
Today I have a cupboard full of very plain, dishwasher safe, white dishes. I have a second cupboard full of fine china. I pull it out when we run out of everyday dishes.
I covet the space my china is taking up in my cupboards. I dream of the money I could make selling off all the fancy china. I imagine reclaiming the cupboard space.
Every once in awhile I pull out a very pretty dish to eat off of. More often than not, I put it in the dishwasher when I'm done. Who cares about the gilt edge coming off? What good is ANY object if it is neither utilized nor admired?
No good at all, I now think. It might as well be given away, sold, or smashed. If it was a gift, the sin of under-utilization is even worse: not using the gift, not appreciating it on a daily basis is an insult to the giver.
I want to learn from my china to look carefully. Decide wisely. I don't want any gifts in my home too good to use! I deserve all of the beautiful things I have been given out of love. I refuse to keep food around that can only be eaten by people! I'm all the PEOPLE that matter, and if you are a guest in my house, if it is good enough for me, it is good enough for you.
I have outgrown a tendency I was somehow taught to preserve and protect objects. I strive to learn now to desire no object so precious that it loses its usefulness or its ability to bring me joy. If it cannot be used, or it is painful, I will take a picture of it, and get rid of it. Make a scrapbook of the objects I have loved, write about WHY I loved them. Why I coveted them as if they were not mine, because I wouldn't let myself enjoy them…even when they belonged to me.
For awhile after we got married, my husband and I only used our Wedgewood china for occasional dinner parties.
I'm ashamed, but it is true. I decided that dishes people had given us as gifts were somehow too precious, too good to use. What if they got broken? Chipped!? If the gilt edge…wore OFF!!!! DISASTER!
My husband's family has a phrase for this. You may have heard it. It applies to special feast day food, and gets pulled out at annual gatherings. Children often hear it, at that time before the clock strikes the appointed dinner-hour, but well after the children's stomachs are growling and their mouths are watering from amazing kitchen smells:
Don't eat that! That's for people!
THAT'S FOR PEOPLE.
(Not you. You are not people. You are not good enough to be "people.").
A phrase that translates to:
You may not use and enjoy your own dishes because you are not special enough for these dishes.
You do not deserve the gift of these dishes…you may only protect them, but not enjoy them.
After I had been married for awhile, I was invited to the home of an amazingly "perfect" couple. They had fallen in love and married when they were a bit older. It was a second marriage for one of them. When the time came to serve food, I noticed (because I am fond of beautiful things) their divine, all white, dishes. Plates, serving pieces, all white, and very fine, with delicious, subtle, botanical designs, and that melodic ringing sound as plates were picked up and set down.
"What lovely china," I said, admiring it.
"Isn't it wonderful!" my hostess said, genuinely looking at it and appreciating it anew herself. "We bought all white so that we could eat off of it and enjoy it every day. It makes me so happy to use it all the time. I reminded my husband to buy all the extra pieces so that we had a complete set before the style was discontinued, along with a few extra pieces…but we haven't had many break, have we, Darling…?"
And as she shared a moment of wonder and joy with her husband - about their everyday dishes - I thought of my china:
Tucked in dark cupboards.
Unrecognizable shapes in bubble wrap.
Or zipped up in padded, specially designed, quilted china covers.
(A small piece of foam in between each plate, bowl, and cup…serving pieces in the original plastic, for extra protection).
Bored, waiting China.
China despairing of ever being used.
Our china pattern, Persia, had seen only small dinner parties. We had a small wedding that we paid for ourselves, and we were not gifted a generous table of very expensive china. Despite small numbers, the few parties where we pulled out the china had been merry, and fun. The rich, burnt orange design included stylized pheasant and leopards that lent a bit of excitement to the parties. Eating the food off of our china revealed intricate designs and possibly even imagined vignettes.
I can count the dinners, and retell the tales because they are so few: A Corned beef dinner on St. Patrick's Day. An improvised community dinner of soup that got extended and extended and extended with cans of whatever from the cupboard as the numbers of people swelled. We ran out of the good china, and had to use old one-off dishes instead, but no one seemed to mind. At all of the parties there was much admiration of the china.
After our most recent move, I decided it was ridiculous to covet my own china. I should commit to it. Complete my set. Use it.
Despite reminders when the pattern was discontinued, my husband did not spend thousands of dollars to acquire a full set for twelve to sit for dinner. Our dining table could only hold eight, so eight was a good enough number. With eight settings, and some extra dessert plates, we put all the china in an easily accessible cupboard and vowed to use it.
That intention soon faded. Hand-washing fine, fancy dishes, when there's a dishwasher right there is not fun.
Today I have a cupboard full of very plain, dishwasher safe, white dishes. I have a second cupboard full of fine china. I pull it out when we run out of everyday dishes.
I covet the space my china is taking up in my cupboards. I dream of the money I could make selling off all the fancy china. I imagine reclaiming the cupboard space.
Every once in awhile I pull out a very pretty dish to eat off of. More often than not, I put it in the dishwasher when I'm done. Who cares about the gilt edge coming off? What good is ANY object if it is neither utilized nor admired?
No good at all, I now think. It might as well be given away, sold, or smashed. If it was a gift, the sin of under-utilization is even worse: not using the gift, not appreciating it on a daily basis is an insult to the giver.
I want to learn from my china to look carefully. Decide wisely. I don't want any gifts in my home too good to use! I deserve all of the beautiful things I have been given out of love. I refuse to keep food around that can only be eaten by people! I'm all the PEOPLE that matter, and if you are a guest in my house, if it is good enough for me, it is good enough for you.
I have outgrown a tendency I was somehow taught to preserve and protect objects. I strive to learn now to desire no object so precious that it loses its usefulness or its ability to bring me joy. If it cannot be used, or it is painful, I will take a picture of it, and get rid of it. Make a scrapbook of the objects I have loved, write about WHY I loved them. Why I coveted them as if they were not mine, because I wouldn't let myself enjoy them…even when they belonged to me.
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Jehovah's Witnesses look like realtors in my neighborhood
When I opened my door this morning, I thought I was being visited by Realtors. On my doorstep stood two women in careful outfits, hair coiffed, makeup applied tastefully. Their smiles were endearing, their pastels soothing, and they asked for my husband by name.
I was pretty surprised. Our usual Jehovah's Witnesses are men with terrible dandruff, in rumpled suits, carrying briefcases. I went to my husband's office and he swung his aeron chair around just far enough to tell me "I'm really not available right now."
If you've ever read a book, you know that there's a lot more to it than its cover. In fact, sometimes "covers" can be misleading in the most irritating ways. When I went back to the door and offered to take the reading material they offered, one woman introduced herself, and started to tell me about the literature.
"This is about current events, " she said. "Violence, an everyday thing. Just today a man was killed in New York. Do you think about these things?"
I took a deep breath, flashing to the fact that I had, in fact, heard Steve Inskeep on my drive to yoga practice this morning, discussing the violent death of a possible terrorist. It had made me feel melancholy and hopeless. Then during yoga, I spent 80 minutes breathing, stretching, and absorbing energy in a beautiful place, supported by caring people.
"That's an interesting question" I said, "and one that I am NOT going to discuss with you," I did NOT say.
"Well, we are Jehovah's Witnesses, and we think about these things. And we think about what God and the bible say about these things."
She flipped though, showing me some pages, and I looked down at the booklet in her hands. Then I looked her straight in the eyes. "But, Why?" I wanted to ask. "You are a friendly, articulate person, with excellent mascara application skills. Good on you for thinking about the world you live in, but why do you need "God" to help you with that?"
I thanked her politely and wished her a good day before closing the door.
The world is easier when appearances match our expectations. Today I was attracted to the cover of a book I did not wish to read. I don't want God or a church in my life. I want to be mindful and aware and think about my daily life experiences without having them colored or interpreted or commented on by a religious belief. If that is a perspective on the world that I am denying myself, so be it.
There are a lot of good books out there. The bible is just one anthology among many. I've read it, and I have other things to do with my time than talk with a stranger about it.
Now, if you're inviting me to your open house in my neighborhood, that's a different story.
I was pretty surprised. Our usual Jehovah's Witnesses are men with terrible dandruff, in rumpled suits, carrying briefcases. I went to my husband's office and he swung his aeron chair around just far enough to tell me "I'm really not available right now."
If you've ever read a book, you know that there's a lot more to it than its cover. In fact, sometimes "covers" can be misleading in the most irritating ways. When I went back to the door and offered to take the reading material they offered, one woman introduced herself, and started to tell me about the literature.
"This is about current events, " she said. "Violence, an everyday thing. Just today a man was killed in New York. Do you think about these things?"
I took a deep breath, flashing to the fact that I had, in fact, heard Steve Inskeep on my drive to yoga practice this morning, discussing the violent death of a possible terrorist. It had made me feel melancholy and hopeless. Then during yoga, I spent 80 minutes breathing, stretching, and absorbing energy in a beautiful place, supported by caring people.
"That's an interesting question" I said, "and one that I am NOT going to discuss with you," I did NOT say.
"Well, we are Jehovah's Witnesses, and we think about these things. And we think about what God and the bible say about these things."
She flipped though, showing me some pages, and I looked down at the booklet in her hands. Then I looked her straight in the eyes. "But, Why?" I wanted to ask. "You are a friendly, articulate person, with excellent mascara application skills. Good on you for thinking about the world you live in, but why do you need "God" to help you with that?"
I thanked her politely and wished her a good day before closing the door.
The world is easier when appearances match our expectations. Today I was attracted to the cover of a book I did not wish to read. I don't want God or a church in my life. I want to be mindful and aware and think about my daily life experiences without having them colored or interpreted or commented on by a religious belief. If that is a perspective on the world that I am denying myself, so be it.
There are a lot of good books out there. The bible is just one anthology among many. I've read it, and I have other things to do with my time than talk with a stranger about it.
Now, if you're inviting me to your open house in my neighborhood, that's a different story.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
There's Always Someone Worse Off
Here's a fitness tip: You should really stop whatever you are doing, and rest, and take care of yourself if you feel like you are going to cry. Same goes for puking. Just STOP. Not stop FOREVER...just stop for now.
Whatever physical activity you are TRYING to do, you are not getting enough air to do it. As my amazing yoga teacher says, "back off the intensity, and find your breath."
The training ride I planned for today made my workout buddy overtired, vulnerable, and about 3 miles from the end of my planned ride, weepy. She called her partner to be picked up and taken home. Ooops. I was quite happy and supportive of her decision to stop. I was SO grateful that she didn't try to "tough it out." I have zero interest in dealing with an injured or collapsed team mate. WHEW.
The situation was only hilarious because of all the time I worried over a route that would add mileage and some small hills to make it "hard enough" - to make it worth her while. Again with the Oops.
I've been riding my big heavy bike (nicknamed affectionately by my ALC team members "The Tank") to and from yoga class. I've been riding it up and down from the beachfront. I've been riding a LOT compared to her (apparently). So, even though she she can go twice (if not three times) as fast as me on her road bike with her clip pedals...she's just not as ready for hills.
So today was a reminder that when you take on any new challenge, beware assumptions. I assumed she was more fit and more prepared than me. Not so much. I assumed that because she had been "a cyclist" that she was mentally prepared as well. Now I know what being stretched a little too thin looks like for her.
Damn am I glad she was with me, and let me help her. How unbearable would it have been to be in that physically and emotionally beat-down state all alone?
I'm also very grateful - as horrible as it sounds - to have the reminder that there's always someone worse off than me. I may have a terrible time keeping off and losing weight; I may have a big, clunker of a bike; I may not be able to get to the top of a big hill without some slow, resting, catch-my-breath time...but I am surprisingly healthy. Fit. And getting fitter as each week goes by.
Whatever physical activity you are TRYING to do, you are not getting enough air to do it. As my amazing yoga teacher says, "back off the intensity, and find your breath."
The training ride I planned for today made my workout buddy overtired, vulnerable, and about 3 miles from the end of my planned ride, weepy. She called her partner to be picked up and taken home. Ooops. I was quite happy and supportive of her decision to stop. I was SO grateful that she didn't try to "tough it out." I have zero interest in dealing with an injured or collapsed team mate. WHEW.
The situation was only hilarious because of all the time I worried over a route that would add mileage and some small hills to make it "hard enough" - to make it worth her while. Again with the Oops.
I've been riding my big heavy bike (nicknamed affectionately by my ALC team members "The Tank") to and from yoga class. I've been riding it up and down from the beachfront. I've been riding a LOT compared to her (apparently). So, even though she she can go twice (if not three times) as fast as me on her road bike with her clip pedals...she's just not as ready for hills.
So today was a reminder that when you take on any new challenge, beware assumptions. I assumed she was more fit and more prepared than me. Not so much. I assumed that because she had been "a cyclist" that she was mentally prepared as well. Now I know what being stretched a little too thin looks like for her.
Damn am I glad she was with me, and let me help her. How unbearable would it have been to be in that physically and emotionally beat-down state all alone?
I'm also very grateful - as horrible as it sounds - to have the reminder that there's always someone worse off than me. I may have a terrible time keeping off and losing weight; I may have a big, clunker of a bike; I may not be able to get to the top of a big hill without some slow, resting, catch-my-breath time...but I am surprisingly healthy. Fit. And getting fitter as each week goes by.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Because some of you asked about the interview-that-won't-lead-to-an-offer, I thought I would share the crux of the mis-match:
I always do this exercise prior to job interviews. Unlike my husband, for example, who has a finely honed development skill that he applies to many different companies, products, types of software, I have a toolbox of different skill-sets that can be applied to a variety of job types. He tells me lovingly it makes me an excellent commodity in the job market. However, it does mean I have to define and manage my career with an eye towards the long term. Mere employ-ability does not a rewarding career make.
If I don't manage my positions carefully, I risk ending up doing work I am good at, but that does not excite me. Because I have experience and skills in many areas, choosing the wrong position means unhappy employers or clients, and more frequent job changes. Because I am a people-person, I enjoy developing and maintaining relationships for the long term.
As I try to broaden my ability to be "A Consultant," at a minimum that means acquiring clients and providing excellent services. That would be hard with a long-term, full-time job. I suspect the two are mutually exclusive for me, since I really like my evenings and weekends. I believe it would be especially hard with a full time job because of the work style and culture.
During the interview I was asked to describe why the position was a good fit for my career path.
Uh-Oh. I had spent about a week, trying to answer this question. And my answer had a lot of "IFs":
In reality, they clarified, they hope to make the position permanent.
So that is it. I applied for a position that was explicitly two-years and project based...which is not what they actually want. It will be interesting to see how this plays out, because in all other ways, I am a Lego fit for their criteria (they can just snap me into every aspect of what they need to build) .
Now that some firms are hiring again, the best way to approach the job market is by asking yourself: "Where do I want to be five to 10 years from now, and how do I get there?" - Paul Bernard
4 Tips for Getting Hired in the Improving Job Market
I always do this exercise prior to job interviews. Unlike my husband, for example, who has a finely honed development skill that he applies to many different companies, products, types of software, I have a toolbox of different skill-sets that can be applied to a variety of job types. He tells me lovingly it makes me an excellent commodity in the job market. However, it does mean I have to define and manage my career with an eye towards the long term. Mere employ-ability does not a rewarding career make.
If I don't manage my positions carefully, I risk ending up doing work I am good at, but that does not excite me. Because I have experience and skills in many areas, choosing the wrong position means unhappy employers or clients, and more frequent job changes. Because I am a people-person, I enjoy developing and maintaining relationships for the long term.
As I try to broaden my ability to be "A Consultant," at a minimum that means acquiring clients and providing excellent services. That would be hard with a long-term, full-time job. I suspect the two are mutually exclusive for me, since I really like my evenings and weekends. I believe it would be especially hard with a full time job because of the work style and culture.
During the interview I was asked to describe why the position was a good fit for my career path.
Uh-Oh. I had spent about a week, trying to answer this question. And my answer had a lot of "IFs":
- IF it is only two years...
- IF it is just this one, interesting project...
- IF it allows me to be a part of a specific community...
- The work was interesting
- The goals were aligned with my values
- I Love UC (Alumna, after all)
- The contract is two years
In reality, they clarified, they hope to make the position permanent.
So that is it. I applied for a position that was explicitly two-years and project based...which is not what they actually want. It will be interesting to see how this plays out, because in all other ways, I am a Lego fit for their criteria (they can just snap me into every aspect of what they need to build) .
Monday, February 27, 2012
Valuable and Necessary
I read a blog post and an article to meet my goals today. The first one was a FB link courtesy of a friend. Entitled Your Brain is a Horse Named Clyde, I couldn't have asked for a better inspiration to get on with my work!
Your Brain is a Horse Named Clyde is a post containing delightfully creative advice for novel-writers. I'm not finishing a novel (yet), but the most important piece of the post for me was the reminder that I have to self-manage my brain, my thoughts, my intentions. It is necessary for me to get clear on Who I Am and What I'm Doing...and valuable as well, as we will see later.
Kathy Hepinstall writes, "What you need to tell your brain, out loud, to yourself, in many words and gestures is that “You are a novelist and you are writing a novel.” Give your brain proof. A special pen. Books on writing. A candle-lit ceremony."
Valid advice, whether you are writing a novel or, as I am, seeking a perfect-fit career opportunity. You cannot find the perfect thing if you do not know what you are looking for. Keep in mind (and I would argue, heart and soul) who you are, what you do brilliantly, and what your steps are to reach that goal. I believe clarity of purpose is key, whether finishing a novel, or finding the company that needs you more than anyone else in the world, to take a job that fits like a glove.
The other reading I did today was an article providing some very interesting examples of the risks inherent in making assumptions about what is really necessary to provide value to a customer. Necessary and Valuable are Not the Same provided two current examples of how "we need that" thinking can lead to business failures. It is a reminder that lean manufacturing concepts apply to more than factories: Bill Waddell provides one example in the legal arena, and another in advertising.
Waddell writes that "Rationalizing costs that do not add value in the eyes of customers as necessary and unavoidable is just so much whistling past the graveyard...and there is apt to be plenty of room in that graveyard for you if you believe that ‘necessary‘ and ‘valuable‘ mean the same thing."
Waddell wrote the article for Lean CEO online magazine, and the message I take away is remove as many assumptions as you can about how you do your work: question everything! I love this basic idea behind Lean Manufacturing because I am by nature a problem-solver, brain-stormer, and (I admit it) trouble-maker. When it comes to how "It Must Be Done," a quick tool I enjoy for getting to what is valuable is to ask "Why?" at least 5 times in a row.
So to show myself that managing my career through clear and positive thinking is not only necessary, but also valuable to customers, I can ask why: Why is it valuable for a client to hire me, with my specialized skill set to train a potential user on Arena? [NOTE: lest you think I am illogical, or missing my own point, I'm not asking why a client would hire me INSTEAD of other training options.]
I am one of only a few experts who can train on the software.
Why?
My deep understanding of Arena software is based on understanding manufacturing basics, systems thinking, business processes, and the software design.
Why?
Without all of these pieces, it is difficult (if not impossible) to convey how to use the software to a variety of users who all do different work tasks.
Why?
Arena users are cross-functional, from many departments. It takes flexibility and multiple approaches to assess needs, build rapport, and provide information in a way that is immediately applicable.
Why?
Because successful manufacturing requires a workforce with a diverse complement of skills and work styles, users are also different in how they process information, learn, and complete tasks. Answering the specific questions about how Arena will be used in day-to-day work requires familiarity with what that work entails.
Why?
Arena is not a software package that does one thing, it does a LOT of things, and those things can be done in different ways. Training to the ways that will be easiest for the users also gets the fastest results and ultimately, the most effective implementation and use of the product.
Wow! So there's my value add in a nutshell: Clients should hire me because I remove non-value-add time and tasks by first asking what is needed at the organizational goal, company process, user task, and Arena product levels. Training can then be designed and delivered to result in increased efficiency and more successful use of Arena over time.
This is a clear path to finding clients and selling my services to customers who want immediate value...and that is only for one of my skill sets!
Why are YOU the very best at what you do, and how can you go about doing more of it?
Don't be afraid to pose and answer the question. If you don't like the answer, set goals and take steps to clear the path in your mind and heart, and get back on track!
I look forward to hearing how you articulate and reinforce your value,
Yvette
Your Brain is a Horse Named Clyde is a post containing delightfully creative advice for novel-writers. I'm not finishing a novel (yet), but the most important piece of the post for me was the reminder that I have to self-manage my brain, my thoughts, my intentions. It is necessary for me to get clear on Who I Am and What I'm Doing...and valuable as well, as we will see later.
Kathy Hepinstall writes, "What you need to tell your brain, out loud, to yourself, in many words and gestures is that “You are a novelist and you are writing a novel.” Give your brain proof. A special pen. Books on writing. A candle-lit ceremony."
Valid advice, whether you are writing a novel or, as I am, seeking a perfect-fit career opportunity. You cannot find the perfect thing if you do not know what you are looking for. Keep in mind (and I would argue, heart and soul) who you are, what you do brilliantly, and what your steps are to reach that goal. I believe clarity of purpose is key, whether finishing a novel, or finding the company that needs you more than anyone else in the world, to take a job that fits like a glove.
The other reading I did today was an article providing some very interesting examples of the risks inherent in making assumptions about what is really necessary to provide value to a customer. Necessary and Valuable are Not the Same provided two current examples of how "we need that" thinking can lead to business failures. It is a reminder that lean manufacturing concepts apply to more than factories: Bill Waddell provides one example in the legal arena, and another in advertising.
Waddell writes that "Rationalizing costs that do not add value in the eyes of customers as necessary and unavoidable is just so much whistling past the graveyard...and there is apt to be plenty of room in that graveyard for you if you believe that ‘necessary‘ and ‘valuable‘ mean the same thing."
Waddell wrote the article for Lean CEO online magazine, and the message I take away is remove as many assumptions as you can about how you do your work: question everything! I love this basic idea behind Lean Manufacturing because I am by nature a problem-solver, brain-stormer, and (I admit it) trouble-maker. When it comes to how "It Must Be Done," a quick tool I enjoy for getting to what is valuable is to ask "Why?" at least 5 times in a row.
So to show myself that managing my career through clear and positive thinking is not only necessary, but also valuable to customers, I can ask why: Why is it valuable for a client to hire me, with my specialized skill set to train a potential user on Arena? [NOTE: lest you think I am illogical, or missing my own point, I'm not asking why a client would hire me INSTEAD of other training options.]
I am one of only a few experts who can train on the software.
Why?
My deep understanding of Arena software is based on understanding manufacturing basics, systems thinking, business processes, and the software design.
Why?
Without all of these pieces, it is difficult (if not impossible) to convey how to use the software to a variety of users who all do different work tasks.
Why?
Arena users are cross-functional, from many departments. It takes flexibility and multiple approaches to assess needs, build rapport, and provide information in a way that is immediately applicable.
Why?
Because successful manufacturing requires a workforce with a diverse complement of skills and work styles, users are also different in how they process information, learn, and complete tasks. Answering the specific questions about how Arena will be used in day-to-day work requires familiarity with what that work entails.
Why?
Arena is not a software package that does one thing, it does a LOT of things, and those things can be done in different ways. Training to the ways that will be easiest for the users also gets the fastest results and ultimately, the most effective implementation and use of the product.
Wow! So there's my value add in a nutshell: Clients should hire me because I remove non-value-add time and tasks by first asking what is needed at the organizational goal, company process, user task, and Arena product levels. Training can then be designed and delivered to result in increased efficiency and more successful use of Arena over time.
This is a clear path to finding clients and selling my services to customers who want immediate value...and that is only for one of my skill sets!
Why are YOU the very best at what you do, and how can you go about doing more of it?
Don't be afraid to pose and answer the question. If you don't like the answer, set goals and take steps to clear the path in your mind and heart, and get back on track!
I look forward to hearing how you articulate and reinforce your value,
Yvette
Time for some 'Professional Development'
Each day that I am unemployed I plan to:
The first three bullets on the list above are things I should really have been doing the entire time I was employed. Like so many people I know, I never made the time for them. Now time is what I have - and only time will tell how badly I have fallen behind in managing my career...and how quickly I can refresh my knowledge and skills sets for the interviews that will land me my next paid challenge.
Because let's face it, career management may be critical, but it isn't always easy. In high school I knew that job security had gone the way of the dodo bird. Career Management was a skill that was explicitly taught in the mid 90s when I graduated from college. American - or at least Californian - culture had accepted that employer and employee loyalty was dead: 'At Will' was King. And the new King demanded those 40-80 hour work weeks in exchange for the privilege of bending to his will...oh, and a paycheck.
For the moment, I AM KING!
It feels pretty great to have that crown...but my kingdom feels a bit small. Maybe some of my fields and forests are overgrown. Maybe a few castles are in disrepair.
In this stretch of my unemployment, whether long or short, if I want to work on my "extracurricular" projects (feasting, hunting, jousting) I plan to hold myself ransom until my "work" is done. I hope that this will be easy, since I have a pattern and habit of working 8-10 hours a day, breaking for meals, tea, and exercise. It has become a question of re-defining what my daily "work" is and making every task count twice (or maybe 3 times): once for my job search, once for my professional development, and lastly for my personal development.
Do you try to do things everyday that count in all three categories? What do you do and how do you do it? Watch for daily posts, and I look forward to your feedback!
- Read (at least) 2 professional articles or posts
- Watch (at least) 30 minutes of video at Lynda.com to learn something new OR Attend one live webinar or web class
- Write (at least) one blog post
- Apply to (at least) 2 jobs
The first three bullets on the list above are things I should really have been doing the entire time I was employed. Like so many people I know, I never made the time for them. Now time is what I have - and only time will tell how badly I have fallen behind in managing my career...and how quickly I can refresh my knowledge and skills sets for the interviews that will land me my next paid challenge.
Because let's face it, career management may be critical, but it isn't always easy. In high school I knew that job security had gone the way of the dodo bird. Career Management was a skill that was explicitly taught in the mid 90s when I graduated from college. American - or at least Californian - culture had accepted that employer and employee loyalty was dead: 'At Will' was King. And the new King demanded those 40-80 hour work weeks in exchange for the privilege of bending to his will...oh, and a paycheck.
For the moment, I AM KING!
It feels pretty great to have that crown...but my kingdom feels a bit small. Maybe some of my fields and forests are overgrown. Maybe a few castles are in disrepair.
In this stretch of my unemployment, whether long or short, if I want to work on my "extracurricular" projects (feasting, hunting, jousting) I plan to hold myself ransom until my "work" is done. I hope that this will be easy, since I have a pattern and habit of working 8-10 hours a day, breaking for meals, tea, and exercise. It has become a question of re-defining what my daily "work" is and making every task count twice (or maybe 3 times): once for my job search, once for my professional development, and lastly for my personal development.
Do you try to do things everyday that count in all three categories? What do you do and how do you do it? Watch for daily posts, and I look forward to your feedback!
Friday, May 27, 2011
With the KiteSurfers
I am watching the KiteSurfers and WindSurfers on SF Bay. I do miss the view from the corporate office sometimes.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Beware dinner alone, without a net...
O.M.G. I walked out of my hotel room, across the street and have been sitting, eating an amazing dinner...with no way to pay for it!!! I went to reach for my purse. Mortified. Thank heavens the hotel was LITERALLY across the street. I explained to the scary, proper, waitstaff, who mumbled something about me calling with the CC number...but I just said, "be right back!" I left my iPhone, my husband's iPad, and my coat, gloves, scarf...and the cold hit me as I walked out. Yikes! So very embarrassed...but the hotel was RIGHT across the street; I was back in just 6 minutes...paid, left a better tip than I otherwise would have since service was slow and got out.
Now I am going to the fitness center to watch 30 Rock and try to work off some of the adrenaline...without barfing up my very, very...up until the last moment...nice dinner.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Friday, September 18, 2009
Home is where....
I must take some pics and somehow say goodbye to my childhood home.
I know there's a good story/storybook in here someplace, but how often do you take pictures of the outside of your house?
If you didn't have the ideal childhood, how do you contain the simultaneous desire to stock up on explosives...with the desire to chain yourself in "your room," throw a tantrum, and not let them take it away.
How do you separate a house from a home, and again from a home-town? What happens to all the memories of place...?
I know there's a good story/storybook in here someplace, but how often do you take pictures of the outside of your house?
If you didn't have the ideal childhood, how do you contain the simultaneous desire to stock up on explosives...with the desire to chain yourself in "your room," throw a tantrum, and not let them take it away.
How do you separate a house from a home, and again from a home-town? What happens to all the memories of place...?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
How far...How Fast?
10:58 PM
A friend's (new) husband is writing an SF novel, and she announced proudly today that he wrote 1800 words yesterday (about 600 words an hour, he modestly, but factually, stated). Which made me think: Okay, so I like to write, and I often write about strange things, but how many words do I write - and how fast?
Forgoing any concerns about spelling, accuracy and the fact that I am not writing ABOUT anything - not telling a story or actively working on our novel (though I certainly could, and perhaps shall in a moment or so), I was curious: how many words do I write? How fast do I write them?
So I have my start time at the top of the page, and I am just going to work for about 15 minutes, or however long it takes to say a little bit about today's fun, and see how many words it ends up being.
Today was fun, probably mostly because of a lot of Diet Coke: Caffeine, fake sugar, and a fun project with lots of folks around.
"I can't remember the last time you were this punchy, " A. said. Hmm...it didn't feel that strange to me. Yes, maybe I was a bit manic, but I was working with a big group of folks on a silly costume idea...and I liked the folks I was in close quarters with, and I thought the silly costume idea was brilliant and fun.
What idea, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did! You should see my friend K's LJ page for the full story, but my part is just this: I really like groups of silly people, and since this project was entirely silly...if anyone was going to participate, they were by definition, pretty much self-selecting.
Anyway, we were measuring, cutting, edging and ironing a lot of tabards with symbols on them so that we could all be the knights of the Log Table at the opening night of Spamalot in San Jose. The tabards all have mathematical symbols on the fronts, and on the backs have the symbols for K's 49th Birthday - similar to the Jersey's on a sports team.
(taking a moment to do the math to see how long 15 minutes is - 3 minutes to go)
It was fun to think through the problem of making them; Fun to take care of a big group - order pizza, etc. and fun to just be sewing in a big group too. The day was quite mild - overcast, warm, and a little humid. Occasional flashes of sunlight that make it too hot to stand in the sun, but perfectly comfy in the shade. I enjoyed cutting with the rotary, and sewing teenie, quarter inch bias tape in along the sides of the tabards. I very much like the smell of hot plastic adhesive from the iron on symbols. They take 5, long seconds, and at about 4 you can actually smell when they are sufficiently melting and fusing with the fabric.
Ha, ha! Done!
11:15 PM - 510 words in 17 minutes. So I am okay on quantity, if not quality....
Lights on at My Neighbor's house
Every evening the lights twinkle at Pixie's house. Every time I use the toilet, I see through the open bathroom window, and I'm drawn to the constant, sparkling lights through the trees.
The pragmatic me says that she must not have to worry about her electric bill, since she leaves pretty, sparkly lights on all night.
The romantic part wonders what is making that particular quality of light: lanterns? mini christmas lights? are they reflecting through the windows of her house? I want to know....
Pixie's lights are the mythological creatures that lured travelers into the bogs where they drowned...what are they called? Grrrr. They're in a Piers anthony book, but I can't remember right now.
Anyway, I think about my neighbor's lights a lot. Every time I have to pee. They are just over the back fence, between the big oak trees, and they are always friendly, welcoming and jovial - like Pixie herself.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Cannon Fodder
As I was biking to work today I saw something that disturbed me, because I make up stories in my head so quickly. What I saw:
A few hundred yards from the entrance of the high school, pulled over on the side of the road, half in the bike lane, half on the dirt shoulder, a common tan colored minivan. No distinguishing marks excpet the blue and white government license plates.
Approaching the van with a swinging gait, a low-slung jeans, hoodie wearing "teen". Black backpack, white stripes, white shoes - hands in pockets.
Pacing the teen, a few steps ahead and to the right, but looking back to talk, a white man also approaches the van. Brown, casual, zip-front jacket, pulled down over his hips. From beneath the jacket, navy slacks with a wide red stripe down the side. Polished black shoes. Tidy, but not severe haircut.
As I rode by on my bike, I heard the tone of the white man - clearly asking questions.
Here is the "story" my mind made up in a fraction of a second:
Marine recruiter, staking out the high school. Sees a likely candidate in his morning drive-by, pulls over, gets out and walks a little way to meet the young man, show an interest - plant a seed. The kid is early, not late. Walking, not driving to school. Obviously going TO the school, not away from it. Excellent candidate. It is April, and graduation is probably just months away. Prime time to find "cannon fodder" for the military.
I wanted to stop my bike and shout, "Get away from him!"
But I didn't.
Here is the next "story" my mind made up:
Who knows - maybe the kid is a meth dealer; un-prosecuted date rapist. No job prospects. No plans. Get him off the street. Give him someplace to go - some way to contribute...even if it is with his life. Who am I to say that the military isn't a necessary evil. Why shouldn't I agree to send him to keep "me" safe. At least ask him if he is willing to give his life for mine, subvert his anger and youthful violence against whatever enemy the government dictates. I am American, part of the country, a contributing member of the society. He isn't....yet, so why shouldn't he die for both of us?
Both of these stories are extreme - both are deeply disturbing. The reality is completely unknown. It might lie somewhere within my tangled observations. The acknowledged predjudices and beliefs I project onto the situation could be Sherlockian deduction or pure pessimistic, hyperactive imagination.
What is disturbing is to realize that the creativity of the brain is trained, for optimism or pessimism early and often. Imagine the threats, know the enemy so that "they" can be evaded. In that moment I could not stop myself from thinking and feeling all sorts of "the worst". Realizing it, and trying to be truthful about it, is the only way I know to resist being ashamed about those thoughts and feelings.
A few hundred yards from the entrance of the high school, pulled over on the side of the road, half in the bike lane, half on the dirt shoulder, a common tan colored minivan. No distinguishing marks excpet the blue and white government license plates.
Approaching the van with a swinging gait, a low-slung jeans, hoodie wearing "teen". Black backpack, white stripes, white shoes - hands in pockets.
Pacing the teen, a few steps ahead and to the right, but looking back to talk, a white man also approaches the van. Brown, casual, zip-front jacket, pulled down over his hips. From beneath the jacket, navy slacks with a wide red stripe down the side. Polished black shoes. Tidy, but not severe haircut.
As I rode by on my bike, I heard the tone of the white man - clearly asking questions.
Here is the "story" my mind made up in a fraction of a second:
Marine recruiter, staking out the high school. Sees a likely candidate in his morning drive-by, pulls over, gets out and walks a little way to meet the young man, show an interest - plant a seed. The kid is early, not late. Walking, not driving to school. Obviously going TO the school, not away from it. Excellent candidate. It is April, and graduation is probably just months away. Prime time to find "cannon fodder" for the military.
I wanted to stop my bike and shout, "Get away from him!"
But I didn't.
Here is the next "story" my mind made up:
Who knows - maybe the kid is a meth dealer; un-prosecuted date rapist. No job prospects. No plans. Get him off the street. Give him someplace to go - some way to contribute...even if it is with his life. Who am I to say that the military isn't a necessary evil. Why shouldn't I agree to send him to keep "me" safe. At least ask him if he is willing to give his life for mine, subvert his anger and youthful violence against whatever enemy the government dictates. I am American, part of the country, a contributing member of the society. He isn't....yet, so why shouldn't he die for both of us?
Both of these stories are extreme - both are deeply disturbing. The reality is completely unknown. It might lie somewhere within my tangled observations. The acknowledged predjudices and beliefs I project onto the situation could be Sherlockian deduction or pure pessimistic, hyperactive imagination.
What is disturbing is to realize that the creativity of the brain is trained, for optimism or pessimism early and often. Imagine the threats, know the enemy so that "they" can be evaded. In that moment I could not stop myself from thinking and feeling all sorts of "the worst". Realizing it, and trying to be truthful about it, is the only way I know to resist being ashamed about those thoughts and feelings.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A Morning Poem (of a sort. Possibly the bad sort)
Commute
PedalPedalPedal.
Three feline gargoyles
tails over chill cat toes
on rock at the water's edge
watch, and guard.
PedalPedalLook.
Four shore birds wading
on the mud flat,
tide low, rapid legs blur
until a lapping wave washes two away.
PedalLookLook.
One flash
through black boulder
of a reflected shining -
shard of the Emerald City, bottle green light in my eyes.
LookLookLook.
Here at last,
pedal slow. No more
quivering clumps of bay grass
crowned with long, soft, pink ears.
A better person at work today.
PedalPedalPedal.
Three feline gargoyles
tails over chill cat toes
on rock at the water's edge
watch, and guard.
PedalPedalLook.
Four shore birds wading
on the mud flat,
tide low, rapid legs blur
until a lapping wave washes two away.
PedalLookLook.
One flash
through black boulder
of a reflected shining -
shard of the Emerald City, bottle green light in my eyes.
LookLookLook.
Here at last,
pedal slow. No more
quivering clumps of bay grass
crowned with long, soft, pink ears.
A better person at work today.
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