entertaining infinity

nap time

To the crazy, wonderful people who still come visit here:

Clearly, I've been taking a break from blogging.

Every other week I get an email with stat updates (a record of how many people have stopped by to visit) and nearly every time they come in, I ignore them. 

But I've been feeling a bit guilty about leaving this cyber-conversation hanging, so this week when the email came in, I opened it just to see if I really was leaving anyone hanging, or was it just my 'magination once again (running away with me). 

When I opened it I was amazed to see how many of you crazy, wonderful people are out there still stopping by to see what I might have to say.

So it feels like I ought to get official about this: it's time for the blog to take a wee nap.  Or for me to take a wee nap and break from the blog. 

I've been caught up in life and in other writing, and I've been feeling a disconnect from the process; I always wanted blogging to be a conversation, and over the last year or so, it feels a lot like I'm blahblahblahing out into the void (my own fault for sure, since i've been so sporadic with postings) ... but that's created a bit of a Catch-22, and it's one that has me less inspired to keep going. 

I hope that by making this "nap" official, I'll take the time to recharge and rethink what I might want for the future of ze blog, and when I come back (i can't see walking away entirely), I'll have a renewed bit of energy and vision for it.  (... and maybe when that happens, you'll say hi/chime in/play with me ...)

And until then, take good care of yourselves ... and hopefully I'll be "talking" to you again soon.

zzzz ...

and again ...

There's a high school not even a quarter mile from my home, and when it wasn't in session while I was in my heavy-duty-est mara training last year, I'd often include a few 'rounds around their track in my walks.  Like Rocky I'd run triumphantly up and down these bleachers each time I'd go around the track. 

Today I didn't do anything remotely resembling a run, but it's amazing what a little commitment and Dexy's Midnight Runners doing C'mon Eileen can do to this woman's spirits: a determined walk and a wee bit of a strut today ... and hell, I'll be running up and down these suckers again in no time.

along the way

At left? An accidental photo taken with my phone as I walked today.

And that's a little how life's been feeling lately. (zooming and spinning fast, sometimes surreal, often out of focus.)

I've gained 13 pounds since the mara; and although I am still working out, it's been sporadic, and I have been totally sloppy with my intake.  Getting off track has its advantages (cheese anyone? wine? champagne? baklava?), but months of doing this added up and I'd been feeling yucky and foggy with the added weight.

For me, weight gain is just a symptom anyway: proof that I've spun off center.  It doesn't just happen overnight, the axis slips slowly, gradually, and imperceptibly sometimes.

But once it does, it's scarily easy for me to get into ruts (no, really? note: my last post on june 8th ... and the one before that: april 22nd).  Luckily I never completely lost sight of the desire to improve my heath and get into better shape, and I recently came to my senses and recognized that it was time to work myself back into the healthy groove again. And just as weight gain can be a symptom of things spinning off center, the practice of changing it up - getting outside and walking and clearing my head - helps in the overall scheme. 

Still, there's more to my zooming and spinning (and the related negative health stuff) than walking alone will "cure," and my writing practice has always helped me make sense of the whizzing and spinning.  While my personal practice is still going, I've found that the public element adds something to the whole mix, so I'm committing to the universe of peeps who still visit on these rare occasions when I post, that this week I'll walk 4 times (or more).  And I'll post a photo from the walks and a few words for personal accountability. (blog-land as fitness coach)

And I promise ... no more spinning in the photos. 

Let's hope the same holds true in the life of the one who is taking them.

winding (still)

I promise that my blog will not become a daily weather report, but c'mon ... SNOW?  We had SNOW yesterday; cold, blustery, gray-day snow.  In NJ for cryin' out loud. 

You might expect snow in April in Maine, or Colorado, or Minneapolis ... but New Jersey? WTF?

OK, granted, it was 63 and sunny today, but really ... snow on April 8th?  How windy IS this labyrinth? (oh, wait ... that's the point, isn't it? you don't get to know ... y'just keep walking ...) (daaaamn)

(but really ... spring baby ... you can do it; come on ...) 

daring

April.  (ahh)

While we're still feeling that crazy not-quite-winter/not-quite-spring weather here in Joisey, the simple change of the date on the calendar brings with it just a little more hope for renewal.

So, isn't it fitting that National Poetry Month is also in April?  As Poets.org say on their NPM FAQ page: "T. S. Eliot wrote, April is the cruelest month. It is our hope that National Poetry Month lessens that effect."  (me too)

I love poetry.  For those who read my irregular musings with any regularity, you know how I do; I look forward to The Dodge Poetry Festival like a little kid looks forward to Santa.  Listening to poetry is a spiritual experience for me; an invitation to the sacred.

And while I write a lot (but clearly, not that often here), I don't identify as a poet.  I'm a prose writing gal pretty straight on down the line, but when I was a kid, I wrote poems like crazy. 

In junior high, my journal was the place I vented in excruciating detail about the crush I had on Randy (or bill or scott or ... whoever the boy of the week was), or how I was annoyed with any one of my they-don't-understand-me family, but poems (and song lyrics) were where I poured my soul without the story.  It was all feeling, all raw emotion and energy. 

I don't know when or why I stopped playing with poetry, but other than the rare stab I've taken over the years in my writing groups, poetry's something I read, hear, and love, but it's not something I do.

Then, in the last several months, I've been feeling a pull to write differently ... a little experimentally; and so I started playing with poems again (might post some if i'm feeling braver). When I was reminded that it was National Poetry Month, I went to Poets.org to see if I could get some ideas and inspiration for this month's writing group.  Almost immediately, I fell in love with this poster image ... and found the question simmering at the back of my mind a lot.  While I was wandering the site, I'd noticed NaPoWriMo.  NaPoWriMo (national poetry writing month) is an offshoot of NPM; and while I've been aware of it for a few years (a few of my blog buds participated in years past) I'd never even considered taking the plunge. 

The idea of NaPoWriMo is to do a full-on poem every day and post it to your blog, and while I'm not open to that much quick-change discipline and universe disturbance at once, I thought I'd venture out on a smaller scale: 140 characters of smaller, to be exact. 

Yep, this month I've committed to a Twitter version of NaPoWriMo - a 140 Twitter poem(ish) every day for the month.  It might be poetry, and it might suck.  (and it might be poetry that sucks ...) But I'm going to play with the structure and see how it goes.

If you dare to disturb the universe just a little, I invite those who Twitter to follow me @uncle_deb; let me know you're playing, and hashtag your bits with #twitterpoetrymonth and lets see if maybe, by months end, one or two of those 140 character poem-ish's inspires a little of that junior high passion. 

And when the month's done, we'll look at the universe, and well see ...

5

About this time 5 years ago, I was standing in a hospital room holding my mom's hand, waiting.  The doc said it was only a matter of time ... an hour, maybe less.  When he came downstairs to the surgical waiting room he'd told us: We can't put her back together, and I remember thinking he was talking about Humpty Dumpty, only he was talking about my mother. I know the docs busted their humps to make things right, going to great lengths to save her, but she was tired and there had been one complication on top of another, and meanwhile, the cancer was still quietly doin' its thing. 

One of the interns cried when he saw me come upstairs to the room where they'd moved her; he'd fallen in love with my mom (as many did) and like so many others who loved her - he was clinging to that slim bit of hope, even though he later told me I shouldn't have; I knew better. 

I was alone with her when she died; my father and brother had gone downstairs to wait for my sister to arrive, and even though Mom wasn't awake, I talked to her, just in case she could hear.

That morning she asked me to come to the hospital early; she wanted me there before Dad and Bean arrived because she knew she might not make it out of surgery and she wanted to talk.  We'd always talked a lot, and there had been lots of conversations about what might come after we'd shuffle off this mortal coil, even before she got sick.  That morning she told me that she wasn't concerned for herself: If I wake up dead, I wake up dead, she laughed; it's all of you that I'm worried about.

But we'd be OK I told her; not that we would like it, but we'd be OK.  I said it that morning, and I said it again in that room with the curtains drawn.  And we are OK.  We miss her; her absence is always felt, but we have done OK. We keep on keepin' on; what else are you going to do?   

And while I thought about it today (hard not to on the anniversary), I wasn't overcome with huge waves of sadness just because it's the day.  Sometimes I get sad about it for no particular reason, but today it just hung around like a mist.  It's there, but you can see through it.

And I guess it helps that I get something in a way I've only fully gotten since the sun rose on March 31, 2004: That until the day when you wake up dead, you wake up alive, and you get on with it. 

 

feelin' the love

In my (new-ish) life on Facebook, I've been fascinated by the wild craze that was (and still is, i guess) 25 Random Things About Me.  Today at my writers group, I had the babes play with a variation on the theme: Random Things About Love.

Just a few (random) things that came up among us:

It's hard to write about love without quoting songs.  (for me in particular) (no surprise there, huh?)

We've heard that "love is a many splendored thing," but none of us quite got what "a many splendored thing" was supposed to mean (but i remember there was a soap opera).

Divorce isn't necessarily a failure of love; sometimes its a changing of form.

Poetry is the ultimate all-access backstage pass to the soul.  (and rumi seems to be the ultimate guide, with hafiz coming in a close second ...)

We like sex but we like it better when in love.

Strawberries dipped in dark chocolate are really, really good.

Many of us associate good food with love.  (and when mickeyg writes about food, we all fall in love ...)

We are mixed on the whole Valentines Day thing ...

... but the Valentine Peace Project is a great way to re-think the day. (i don't see why it needs to be reserved for just one day though; i might do it tomorrow too ...)

John and Paul were right: Nowhere you can be that isn't where you were meant to be.

We sometimes get in our own way with love.

Hugs from kids accelerates heart expansion.

Sometimes the heart wants what it wants; we are not perfect.

It's easier (and harder) than you think to write randomly about love. 

But we still love love, and we love writing about love.

(oh yes we do)

(feel free to add/expand on this in the comments writer babes ...)  (and anyone else who cares to play ...)

bittersweet/peculiar times

I bought this print at a craft fair over 10 years ago.  It's moved back and forth across the country with me, and it always winds up in a place of prominence in my home (hinting, to those who might take a look, about the sort of woman who lives there ...).

A while back, I discovered that the artist (brian andreas) had a website with cards and e-cards (i like to send both), and while I was checking out his stuff, I signed up for his mailing list.  Like most artists (songwriters, writers, etc.), I don't like everything he does (some of the drawings/stories can be a little freaky, whimsical and far out even for me) ... then sometimes (like my print), he just nails it.

And this morning I was met by an email offering a free down-loadable e-book of some of his sketches called Peculiar Times.  I agree that these are, indeed, peculiar times, and since I think we need to arm ourselves with as much heart, laughs and hope as possible to get through them, I figured I'd pass the link along and hope you might get a little inspiration among the pages to walk through another slightly whacked-out day.

(and if like me, you go for the bittersweet, you can buy a copy of that print here.)

(hang in there peeps ... )

ch-ch-ch-changes (and not)

Sitting outside on the deck, I'm catching up on a few emails to friends, enjoying the cool night ... when I look at the candles and glass of wine on the table ... so familiar.  And I'm thinking of autumn evenings at COTU, hanging and enjoying the moment. 

And here am I again, and not. 

The world is a little crazy now; some would say a lot crazy.  And I suppose they would be right.  So much feels off kilter, out of whack.  But there is hope.  And there are so many moments of sweetness.  Right now I've got muscles aching just a little from a workout; thinking I may need another layer of clothing soon (autumn is here).  Enjoying my own company; not resisting some bittersweet thoughts that have been dancing at the edge all day; letting work and the news go (mostly); and looking forward to my weekend plans. 

And next weekend (oh goody), the delicious Dodge Poetry Festival.

Things may be a little nutty outside of this bubble, but for this moment: the candles are lit, the night is cool, the wine is yummy, and the music is playing ... life is good. 

new route

When I went to see Anne Lamott speak this winter, the thing that stayed with me the most was something she said during the Q&A.  Lamott is an smart, quirky, funny, cool, liberal, born-again-Christian writer (which is probably a quadrupled oxymoron ...) and I love her stuff.  She was promoting her book Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith, so many of the questions she got after the reading were about faith and god and her experience of those.  At one point someone asked if she believed in the devil and Lamott said she did but the devil wasn't incarnated ... instead (and i paraphrase hugely here) - The devil is the voice in your head that whispers: Yeah, you know you have to quit smoking, drinking (or engaging in some other addiction or behavior that enslaves your spirit or keeps you out of integrity) ... and you will ... of course you will.  But, the devil will say: not today. 

The reason this stuck with me was because, as you might suspect, I had my own "not today."  Not an addiction as such, this "not today" was stuff I just didn't want to shake up - things I was doing that wouldn't bring me what I wanted in the big picture if I kept it up.  And while I think live pretty intentionally most of the time, the things that hang on, hang on hard, and I had been quite happy to keep on listening to that voice: You will ... of course you will ... because change like this feels a little like a psychic amputation (and most people wouldn't willingly choose to go through such a process).  So, until very recently, every time I'd look at the equation and it didn't add up, I'd still listen to the voice telling me it wasn't today, not today, not today. 

And then, it was.  

I'm still reeling, feeling untethered and often alone (even though i know i'm not), but at the same time, I am sure it had to happen and I know that if I can slog through the tough stuff, it'll open up new space for healing and growth (and this is good).  At the same time, I still kinda wish there were some magic poof that could help me by-pass the hard stuff or make it OK not to have to change at all ... but since that's looking pretty doubtful, methinks this is the way to go and I just have to keep moving forward.

Then, last night I went for a walk - going my usual route (which often includes a few minutes on some swings in a local park), but little kids were still on the swings after I'd taken two loops around the park (the nerve of them), and since I still had lots of energy to burn, I decided to take a longer route home.  Going this way instead of my usual loop, I saw some sights I'd never encountered before - a beautiful slate patterned roof on a church, a sweet neighborhood garden - and I also discovered that it really IS fun (and feels like a major accomplishment) to run up and down high school stadium bleachers.  With some wonderful and inspiring tunes showing up on the iPod at the most perfectest of times, and cool breezes to keep me company, the walk brought on some moments of in-the-bones hopefulness about the recent arrival of "today." 

I know it won't last forever ... I expect there will more days of untetheredness to come, and more hard stuff to slog through ... but it felt good to get that hopeful feeling in my body for a while; it'll help to remember it when the harder moments surface. 

And since there was champagne left over from the other day (and i have a magic 'save-the-bubbles' stopper, so it's still good), I decided to have a glass with dinner.  Even though I feel far from celebratory, it was somehow appropriate to mark the moment.  Here's to today, and to bravely taking new routes (even  when y'don't wanna).