Scribble Scrabble Blogspot

Scars...

2009-09-01T09:54:00.000-07:00

I've gotten comments from friends that they can't leave comments on my other blog, cindyluck.blogspot.com, so I'm hoping you can leave some here. The other blog is dedicated to my writing life and there are prompts there, so if you'd like to use them feel freee :-)

This morning when I wrote my morning pages, I wrote about 'scars' -- something I plucked from my inspiration box which brims full of possibility for spur-of-the-moment surprise ideas to write about.

Here's what I came up with. It's not the scars that leave visible marks on our knees or chests, breasts, or hands that haunt us as much as the ones we can't see -- the lies we've been told, the deception or humiliation we've experienced, words that cut deep into our hearts, lost loves we won't see or speak with again, words left unsaid and more.

Whether or not you are a writer, we all have something to say about our own scars...

writing writing writing --I've moved

2009-06-26T18:06:00.000-07:00
I've not been very good at posting on this blog -- because I've been posting prompts and goodies about my writing life on cindyluck.blogspot.com

Come check it out. Frankly it gets pretty lonely there ... won't you drop in for a visit?

Thanks!

Book in a Week

2009-05-18T11:31:00.000-07:00
I finished my class, Book in a Week last week. The class was amazing.

I set an unrealistic goal of reaching 50,000 words, but life happens and there were a couple of things that I didn't want to give up like spending time with my grand children, taking them to yoga class, going to my own yoga class--those sorts of important things. Speaking of yoga, by the end of the writing week, my left arm felt the pinch of too much computer work and too few breaks. My yoga teacher, Mary Smith, at the Danville Yoga Center worked with me during class, and when I left, and for the first time in a week, I was pain free. Pain free! Yoga is amazing.

Okay, back to the class. I wrote a total of 26,000+ words--a little more than half my goal. I felt I let myself down, but 26,000 words was more than I most probably would have done if I hadn't taken the class.

Here's what I learned about myself as a writer:

~I love to procrastinate. However, if I completed my day's work knowing where I planned on beginning the next day, I found my way to the page much quicker. Otherwise it was to Starbucks for coffee, a load of laundry, a telephone call, answering emails, you know what I mean?

~Once I start writing, I don't like to stop, hence the sore arm. So, I needed to have a stern talk with my stubborn self.

~The best laid plans as they say--I had my plot figured out and by golly my characters wanted little, if anything to do with it.

~When I get out of my own way, my work is much more successful.

~A collage of pictures for the characters in my book was incredibly helpful. When I could see faces, I slipped into their heads easily.

~I am my own worst enemy! I suppose most of us are.

~Pay attention to synchronicity events--it led me where I needed to go!

The class and support from the group, not to mention April, was just as good as having your own personal coach giving a gentle nudge when needed!

April will be holding another class in early June. Here's how to contact her:
aprilkihlstrom@yahoo.com

Write a Book in a Week, are you kidding???

2009-04-24T14:36:00.000-07:00
Two weeks ago I began an online writing class called Book in a Week. I heard the instructor, April Kihlstrom (www.aprilkihlstrom.com) speak four years ago at the East of Eden Writing Conference in Salinas.

A book in a week? Come on now! I've been working on Nineteen Darby Way for four, yes as much as I don't want to admit it, it's been four years. (My husband says it's taken me longer to write my book than it did to write the bible, but that's another story--not the bible--the comment).

We're just finishing up week two and then we have one more week of preparation before beginning to our week of writing. And, I'm procrastinating by writing on my blog instead of figuring out the flaws my characters have. I figure, if I gave each character one or two of my own flaws, they'll be all set and maybe, just maybe they'll teach me something, like how to rid myself of them.

We'll see, first I have to get to writing.

If you've thought of writing a book, I can't recommend April's class enough. She's written seventeen books, is so informative, answers all emails with suggestions and new ideas, and has the whole class developing characters, plotting, using post cards, and making collages. We're all making progress.

Check her out, again her web site is www.aprilkihlstrom.com

Poor me

2009-04-16T09:56:00.000-07:00
I've been so busy posting on my new blog, cindyluck.blogspot.com, that I almost forgot about my old buddy, scribblescrabble! The place where I got my experience, sort of like the entry-level position at a factory, Macy's stockroom, or K-Mart, when you were sixteen and owned the world.

Speaking of entry level positions, reinventing myself as a novelist is proving to be quite a challenge. Trying to hold my heavy head high after receiving what I consider more than my fair share of rejections for my novel, Nineteen Darby Way, has not easy, nor fun, and it's humbling. At first I said, "well, now I'm that much closer to a 'yes'" but I don't think I even fooled myself with that one.

So I gave my baby to a woman who is very 'literary' and am waiting for her opinion, a decision made after rewriting the first four chapters in another tense and person. I hoped maybe that would work, but after chapter four it didn't and it was time consuming and frustrating. It was a dreadful experience.

This book, my baby, may be the book that finds its' way under the bed until I reach the best seller list (tee hee) with the next book--then I can dust it off and everyone will be clamoring for it, right? right? well, maybe?

Anyway, I've heard that every writer has at least one, two, or possibly three unpublished babies...maybe Nineteen Darby Way will be mine. But the fight is not over yet!

Lounging...

2009-04-08T13:14:00.000-07:00

Oh dear, this could be dangerous, this downloading pictures trick I now know how to do--sort of (I can't figure out how to see the pictures before I download them, so this one was snapped before our backyard remodel).

Anyway, here's Jake lounging in the backyard...which is where he'd probably like to be right now -- but it's cold and rainy today. I don't want him outside laying on the cold ground or on the flagstone because at his age (ten and counting) I worry about his hips.

As with most larger breeds (Jake is part Golden Retriever and part Grand Pyrenees) hip 'challenges' are always a concern and we want and try to keep those challenges to a minimum. So enjoy the picture of our peaceful baby taken a few years ago! It's easy to see why he's so special isn't it?

I know I know--beauty is in the eye of the beholder and although his head is too big for his body (and actually his tail looks a foot too long is this picture) and he doesn't have "golden retriever" ears, he's still the best, most handsome dog I've ever seen. What I need to do is take a close-up of his soulful brown eyes, then you'll understand!

Jake The Dog (and my first picture)

2009-04-07T16:59:00.000-07:00

When we got Jake, we had no idea how he'd change our lives...and as you can see, he had no idea how we'd change his. Rick and I were given these cozy little vibrating slippers from the grand kids for Christmas and thought it would be fun to put them on Jake. Can you believe how sweet this dog is? To let his parents humiliate him like this? I know, it's cruel, however, you will notice that aside from the cruelty, he does pretty much have run of the house, er...and the furniture.

I'd like to mention that this is the dog my husband said we could have (after my begging for literally years) if I promised not to let him sleep with us, let him lay on the sofa or eat people food. Guess who breaks all the rules? Yup, my husband. He and Jake are best buddies.

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I want to be Jake.

Younger Hair...

2009-04-03T18:43:00.000-07:00
I was flopped out on the couch yesterday afternoon during my three o'clock slump and thought it would be a good oppotunity to relax and sort out the mail since we'd just returned from O'ahu.

There were piles everywhere. I usually rifle through them with the expediency of the mail carrier, but yesterday, I took my time and looked at the quirky ads, magazines, and flyers.

You know those packets that have coupons stuffed into them? Or little pamphlets with the best deals in town. Well...

in one of said pamphlets, I found an interesting advertisement... so worry no more ladies....

Younger hair is here AND, not only does it give you beautiful tresses rich with REAL hair in an assortment of lengths and colors, but the wig has (and I quote) "an incredible face-lifting feature that makes you look ten years younger."

Can you believe this?

A wig that has a face-lifting feature?

It feels like society has stooped to a new low, doesn't it? If a face lift will make you feel better, go for it. But in a wig? What happens when you take the wig off and your stretched skin falls forward like that of a bloodhound? I know, not a pretty visual.

Their website is www.faceliftingwig.com in case you want to check it out.

Why can't we be beautiful just the way we are? Why can't society value women (and men) for their wisdom instead of trying to make the norm of fifty, sixty, and seventy year-olds look like surgical experiments? Go figure...Don't get me wrong, I'll drive you to the hospital to have a facelift, but if you're going to be pinning your skin under a wig, I think I'm busy that day :)

Curves Closing

2009-03-19T07:48:00.000-07:00
For the past six weeks or so, I've been working out at Curves to firm up, slim down, lower my BMI. There have been times when I've been unable to make the recommended three times a week because of my Friday yoga class (which my 15 month old grand son calls goga) but I'm out there trying.

I showed up yesterday to find fliers taped to the outside windows and hanging on the purple and green walls inside: ATTENTION CURVES MEMBERS ....

and so the tight economy has hit my favorite new workout spot. On April 10, Curves will close its doors. I'm sad. I'm sad for me, for the women who have formed friendships and supported each other throughout the years, and I'm sad for the owners.

A gal I spoke with yesterday, one who works there, said she feels like a family member has died. Many women have had to cancel their memberships as residents of our little town, like every other town, tighten belts and let go of things they can't afford.

But there's always a silver lining isn't there? It took me awhile to find it, but I found my own personal one, two actually...

There's another Curves way on the other side of town, so I can drive there. But what really put a smile on my face was that I didn't realize my commitment was that strong. . .I really didn't know that!(I know, its only been six weeks...so we'll see)

Hopefully, I'll keep movin', shakin', sweatin', and firming up! I'm already seeing results.

The Power of Power Pals

2009-03-17T09:12:00.000-07:00
Here's the article I wrote for the California Writer's Club Tri-Valley Branch this month. Hope you enjoy it.

A couple of years ago, a few writing colleagues and myself used the Artist’s Way as a guide to help us deepen our writing practice and to live our lives as writers more fully. We did morning pages, artist dates, visited art galleries, read, got to know our inner critic, and how we sabotaged ourselves. We had our aha moments and our “I don’t agree with this” moments. Occasionally we faltered and fell, other times we accomplished our goals, and always, held each other up with support, respect, and accountability to each other. These were my Power Pals.

I’ve had the same Power Pal for a couple of years now, who holds me accountable and helps me reach my goals simply by being there. Not criticizing, not judging, not lecturing, just being there. I’m sure there are lots of ways to work with a Power Pal, but here’s one suggestion.

Make four lists:
Goals for the week
Yahoo (things you accomplished during the last week)
Boohoo (things you listed and didn’t accomplish)
Toodle-oo (items listed for three or more weeks and I still haven’t accomplished).

Email your Power Pal on Monday morning with your goals for the week. (keep a copy of the list taped to your work station so that you can see it easily and check off your accomplishments as you complete your tasks).

The following Monday, report your progress (your four lists) to your Power Pal via email. The beauty of these lists is that you can celebrate your successes (Yahoo) which is the most important, set your priority compass for the following week (goals), including the items you hoped to accomplish but didn’t (Boohoo), and finally, take a look at those things that appear week after week and remain undone (Toodle-oo). Once you identify those, you can make a decision to put the item on hold, scratch it completely, or make the commitment to do the activity that week. If you don’t, take it off the list. It is weighing you down for whatever reason.

As a coach, I can’t stress enough the power of a Power Pal.

Where do you find one of these gems? Just ask. Maybe at a CWC meeting, a critique group, a trusted friend. Remember, the effectiveness of a Power Pal comes in support not criticism, so choose wisely. Good luck reaching those goals!

Do you suppose...

2009-03-11T12:10:00.000-07:00
Some of my most thoughtful moments occur when I walk our golden retriever, Jake. This morning as we were traipsing up and town the hills, I was thinking about the economy and wondered what the silver lining in all of this might be ...

Suppose we're facing an economic crisis because...

it's time for all of us, not just a few, to get in touch with what's really important in life?

or that maybe, just maybe, we learn to measure others not by what's on the outside, but who they are on the inside?

or that it's time to conserve (and I'm not talking about coming from a place of lack) and having enough doesn't mean huge opulent excess? That frugal is in and excess out?

that economic hard times bring us to a new place of discovery within ourselves, who we were, who we are, and who we might become?

or that this challenging time gives us the opportunity to spend time and develop stronger ties with people we care about, not putting them on the back burner while we're off to pursue meaningless activities that pull us away from what matters most?

or that it's time to even out the balance of power???

I don't know.

I wish Jake could talk, my big old Buddha boy, he'd have the answers for me if only...!

Rumi ~ 700 hundred years ago ...

2009-03-09T11:40:00.000-07:00
The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

~ Rumi ~

This was sent to me by a friend. It's so beautiful I had to share it. Imagine if we could accept the 'house guest' in ourselves and in others, what do you suppose the world would be like?

Happy Monday

Saying Yes to Life

2009-03-04T07:15:00.000-08:00
It seems that all I hear about these days is how we need to be pulling in our belts, tightening the reins, and hunkering down. It's understandable. But at what cost? I'm not suggesting that we all go out an splurge on expensive items, but what about saying 'yes' to the things we love. Our happiness and well-being count, too. Joy don't necessarily come in the same package they did last year, but there are plenty of ways to have joy in our lives without breaking the bank...or touching it, such as enjoying...

A sunrise and sunset,
a child at play,
a happy puppy,
a good book from the library,
a cup of steaming tea or coffee,
a conversation with a friend,
a walk in nature--or around the block,
doing something for someone else,
and maybe an occasional splurge.

Saying yes to life is all about being conscious not only of our choices, but of living in the very moment we have.

I think we've become so 'outer' oriented, spending and accumulating 'stuff,' that we forget just how resourceful we are...and how many pleasures in life are free. I thought about this the other day. In the morning I spent time with my daughter and my three grand children who live close by, in the late afternoon I drove to Oakland to spent time with my older daughter and my grandson. It didn't cost a penny. How grateful I feel for these wonderful gifts in my life.

If the dwindling stock market, investments, bank account have you down, remember that enjoying life in the moment is totally free and in fact, can have a longer lasting effect than something that costs money...and saying yes to life is a diversion from all the negative energy floating around out there!

Vagina Monologues

2009-02-28T12:36:00.000-08:00
Last night I went to dinner with friends and then the five of us drove to the Bankhead Theater in Livermore to watch Eve Ensler's, Vagina Monologues, the proceeds of which benefit Tri-Valley Haven, a place for women of domestic violence. Here's their website if you'd like more info www.trivalleyhaven.org

I knew several of the performers, none of whom is a professional in the field of drama. They are artists, poets, writers, volunteers, working women, women just like us.

The play is hysterically funny and painfully heart-breaking when you hear true stories about our sisters in foreign countries (and in our own) who are raped, suffer genital mutilation, and beaten. Sometimes these women can't leave their abuser, some do, some take their secret of rape or battering to their graves.
The last page of the Monologue program says,

"Tri-Valley Haven creates safe homes from abuse,

contributes toward a more peaceful society,

one person,

one family,

one community at a time.

Together, we build a world without violence."

120 Minute Hours

2009-02-12T20:56:00.000-08:00
My husband has been skiing all week. I dropped him off at Oakland Airport on Sunday morning and I'll pick him up tomorrow afternoon. Could I tell you how many plans I mentally made for myself before he left? Everything from staying in my pajamas every day until noon to going out to dinner with friends every evening. Funny how things don't always work out as you planned...

Monday morning I had a dentist appointment and because I'm dental phobic I take heavy duty drugs the night before my appointment, which I couldn't do Sunday evening because I during dinner with a friend I drank two glasses of wine.

I took my double dose of nothing-phases-me-in-the-least in the morning, my friend Sue drove me to and from the dentist's office and I think I slept through most of the appointment. After Sue dropped me off, I slept until the phone rang at 6:20 p.m.--which gave me ten minutes to get ready to go out to dinner at a neighbor's house.

And that's how my week went--spinning my wheels or sleeping through the entire week! I'm still scratching my head trying to figure out why. But, on the positive side I did attend my sexual assault training (did you know that about 10% of rapes/sexual assault are actually reported?), attended one yoga class (that kicked my butt), signed up at Curves (easy decision--I couldn't make it around the 'circuit' once without huffing and puffing ), and I did do rewrites up to page 141 on Nineteen Darby Way. So the week wasn't a complete loss. The best of course, was getting in grand kid time.

An old friend told me to repeat

"I now experience 120 minute hours."

If you're looking to stretch time, try it. It didn't work for me this week because I forgot to try it, but when I've used it in the past, it has worked.

Happier Than God...(Walsch's new book)

2009-02-06T10:45:00.000-08:00
I've been reading Neale Donald Walsch's book, Happier than God. I heard him speak last year (I think it was last year) at Barnes and Noble when he was running around the Bay Area promoting his book.

If you've never seen him, his looks took me by surprise. He's got intense eyes, white hair, a beard, and a kind face...kind of like ... well, you know who... Interesting.

I am not religious, but here are some of the things I love about his book is:

~if you want something for yourself, do it for someone else

~ this was one of my favorites: "The meaning of everything is the meaning you give it."-- I underlined this on page 89 and then thought it was absolutely brilliant on page 221 "Nothing has any meaning, save the meaning I give it" ...which tells you that I was a tad unconscious when I underlined it the first time.

~ "Judgment is not discernment, and observation is not judgment. It's healthy to be discerning, and natural to make observation"....Walsch say an observation says "what's so" and a judgement says, "so what?"

~and .... "Let it go" ~ just breathe and relax.

Don't you feel better already????

~Smile -- it's true, when you smile you can't help but feel better and in these difficult economic times, a little feeling better can go a long way...

Happy Friday~~~

The Beauty Hoarder

2009-02-01T19:19:00.000-08:00
My side of the bathroom vanity is a mess. My husband's side: A water glass. A pill box.

On my side stands body lotions, face soaps, facial creams, perfumed lotions, perfume, and so many different hair products I could give all the neighborhood women stand up straight, curl down tight, or slick 'n smooth, hair do's.

This morning after I shampooed my hair, added hydrating leave-in conditioner, slapped on goo to thicken my too thin individual hairs, I went to grab a jar of hair paste to get that chunky look. Very carefully, using my best agility skills, I dipped my hand into the middle of a rats nest worth of jars, cans, plastic bottles, sprays, and I nicked one with my thumb, BA-BOOM -- one by one everything fell like a seamless row of dominoes.

I am a hoarder (not to mention insecure AND lest us not forget feverishly looking for the Fountain of Youth). Imagine my surprise when I realized the hoarding bit. I had no idea! If there's a dab left of whatever it is--face wash, fine line wrinkle creams, deep wrinkle cream, vitamin C cream, "serums," hair sprays and countless lotions--it's saved. What would happen if the small wrinkles came back and all I had was deep wrinkle remover? What then, huh?

And so it goes. There are lotions to firm my butt, put my ankle skin back where it belongs, push boobs up up up--do you suppose that's where double chins come from? I hadn't thought about that until now!

I have serums not only get rid of wrinkles, but to erase all the sun damage I've created since being an inhabitant of earth (shame on me!), and remember the myriad of deodorants, perfumes, mascara, make-up, blush, lipstick, eye liner, lip liner, eye shadow, blush brushes, shadow brushes, lip brushes, hair brushes, tubes of lipstick so old they could be used as Spackle, and of course lip gloss, who could live without lip gloss??? Need I go on? I'm exhausted thinking about it!

My conclusion? In order for me to be really organized, I need the shelving of a Sephora cosmetic shop or at the very least, the cosmetic and personal products lane at the local Safeway.

With all the products available for us to fluff up, slim down, even out, plump, dump, hydrate and so on, isn't it amazing any of us actually have the nerve to show ourselves in public?

So I had to do something this morning, and I did. I put everything on the counter in a several baskets, and put them under the counter now I don't have to look at it, I just have to find it ...ack!

Life is good so enjoy~~~~

Fun Calendar Color Coding

2009-01-20T17:06:00.000-08:00
I should know this from being a coach. If it's not on the calendar, it most likely won't happen. People like to-do lists and they like to cross things off once they accomplish them. I like that, too, but I also like color coding...

I paid a small fortune this year for a Franklin Planner. (Well, it wasn't that it was so expensive as much as the price went up once I decided I didn't like it) But, it's very chic--bright red leather, smooth to the touch, smells great. I knew I'd love feeling the leather every day and I would have except what I didn't love, or even like, was the daily calendar I chose to fit inside it.

I couldn't see a week-at-a-glance every day and I knew that would make me nervous. I need to know what I've got cooking, even if I forget to look. There safety knowing that I've written my life down someplace and I don't need to remember everything.

So I began the search for another new-new calendar. And I found one at Border's. I checked office supply stores but nothing quite hit me the way this one has. It was love at first sight. It's perfect. Not only can I see a week at a glance, but I can also see the whole month vertically! Isn't that cool?

And, now I've color coded everything. Please don't think that this means I'm anal. Anyone who looks at my home office, in my purse, or the house when my husband is out of town knows that anal would not be a word to describe me, not one bit.

But color coding is fun! And it shows me when I am doing too much of something. For example, I have little yellow squares around my social engagements/appointments, blue blocks around anything having to do with the book, green around any freelance work.

Looking at my color coded week-at-a-glance, the book will be finished in 2120, I will have won the Miss Congeniality contest several times, and I'll be eating Ritz crackers forever.

Once I discovered this, I had some work to do ... but not today (there's that old dog procrastination--not really). I decided to let things sit the way they are, and in February, I will curtail my social activities somewhat!

This new system of color coding is such an easy and efficient way to keep track of my time! And it looks so pretty to see blue, green, yellow, purple, brown on the pages!

Just color me pink :)

Old dog learns new yoga tricks...

2009-01-16T18:43:00.000-08:00
This morning I went to a yoga class -- one designed for people over fifty and while I'd rather not, I fit into that category. I'd debated and debated whether or not to go, thinking that the class would be too slow for me. But, since it was Friday and I've committed to one class a week (a new year's resolution....) I thought how bad could it be?

I parked the car in the lot, grabbed my purple rubber mat from the backseat, and began speed walking up the meandering path toward the yoga room, almost running over a fifty plus plus woman's back.

Then my judgments kicked in. I decided that everyone looked older and stiffer than me. Certainly I was not as out of shape as any of them appeared. The room was crowded and everyone was clamoring to put their yoga mats near a wall--to hold themselves up I thought.

I paid my fee, unrolled my magic purple carpet in front of a small wall which meant I didn't have to share wall space with anyone else. It would have been smarter for me to be along the same long wall as others because there were a few near collisions with feet in my face and arms slapping across my belly during the class. As I said, class was full.

A very tall man walked in, unrolled his mat, and sat fairly close to the space I'd claimed. He pulled a bolster under his skinny white legs and as he did so, he began to lean toward the left until eventually, in what seemed to be slow motion, his head hit the wall followed by a face plant in the carpet.

Think Artie Johnson on Laugh-In back in the 60's. He'd come on stage riding a little tricycle wearing a yellow rain slicker and hat and fall over--as though he and the tricycle were one object.

Several people asked him if he was okay and he said yes. He didn't look one bit embarrassed. I couldn't help but think if that were me, I'd be red faced and ready to crawl under my mat. Then I thought -- this class is SO not for me.

But I stayed. I stretched and stretched and pushed myself and at the end of the 90 minutes I'd had a good workout.

After class I headed back back to the car. I noticed that my pace had slowed considerably, I felt the sun warming my back, appreciated the lush green plants along the pathway and felt myself standing taller after those marvelous yoga stretches.

And then it hit me.... This was a class of mature men and women who were there to improve their balance and flexibility, not to impress anyone. No competition. No Lycra. No water bottles lined up like birds on a fence. Everyone in sweats, old tee-shirts, comfortable clothing.

Isn't it funny where you learn your lessons? I thought I'd come to class to stretch my body. But instead I learned a different kind of yoga stretch -- a lesson in flexibility of the mind...

We're all here doing our own thing,

regardless of age~

having our own successes and learning
from our own mistakes...
or face plants

Letting go of my judgments allowed a new flexibility and awareness to enter. These old yogis were terrific. My calendar is marked for the next six weeks...same class and I hope, same students, except maybe the guy who did the face plant.

the query, the summary, and oh--the sloth

2009-01-08T17:26:00.000-08:00
I've been working on my query and two page summary, which I thought I'd perfected before the holidays. I sent them to six agents and received three rejections. I sort of panicked even though I knew I'd get a few -- or many.

Then I came to realize in a way I hadn't before that this query and two page summary business are the two things, (at the risk of sounding Sarah Bernhardt dramatic), that will make or break my success in the literary world...

at least with my novel, Nineteen Darby Way

If I can't provide a whale-sized hook to interest the agent and she's
bored
she won't continue to read. Neither would I, I suppose.

Yesterday, even though I had a gazillion things to do, I managed to really hammer away and hone in on what I think needed to be said in the summary.

Today, I had to write an article for the paper which was so fun, partly because it's about the Paws to Read program at two of the local libraries, and partly because it kept me from doing 'the work.'

I hit 'send' to my editor and found myself looking at other writer's blogs, skin care products, and searching up and down the 680 corridor for a yoga class. The thing about the yoga class is that I have information being mailed to me about a yoga class in Walnut Creek that sounds perfect. I could have waited until I'd done at least some work on the query.

Then, when I finished that pseudo important task, I put my 'favorites,' back on my toolbar. They'd mysteriously disappeared. I can now procrastinate by reading others blogs with ease again!

I do enjoy watching how I try to trick myself...and I will not let myself feel guilty, not one bit.

So, to all my writing buddies faced with the same problem ~~~
Go into procrastination WITH GREAT GUSTO! Enjoy it, play in the muck, and when you're finished, get right back to work!

We all need a little break from our 'should' list every now and again...

and again...

and again...

Ain't life good?

Christmas Dog Bones

2009-01-01T20:29:00.000-08:00
Last year at Christmastime, I whipped up a few batches of dog bones to give to the dogs Jake played with at the soccer field nearby. I bought little doggie bags with pictures of brown pups with black ears, threw in a bunch-o-bones and tied a nice festive bow around the bags.

Jake had been underfoot hoping for a few scraps since I began baking so I gave him a little treat. Jake weighs in at ninety pounds. He's a big boy with a very hearty appetite. He stood still at the kitchen sink with his treat in his mouth, savoring the flavor, dropped it on the floor and gave it a really good sniff. Finally, he picked it up, walked over to his bed, laid down, and lopped his hefty paw on top of it. And there the bone stayed. I grew tired of waiting to see how long it took him to actually eat it. I left the room.

The next day, I brought the bags to the soccer field along with some extra treats and began to distribute them. I was a bit concerned and with good reason. Jake's playmates reacted the same way he did. Every dog put the treat in his mouth, stood still, dropped it, gave it a sniff, picked it up and found a little spot to lay down and looked at the treat. Eventually they were all eaten.

Aren't dogs supposed to eat everything? Even things that make them sick?

The dog moms and dads tried not to laugh, but it was funny and eventually we all had a good laugh. I was a little embarrassed, but really, did it matter? It must have...just a tad...

because not to be outsmarted by man's best friend, this year I found a recipe in the newspaper for doggie Polenta-Parmesan-Parsley treats. These were going to be soft. I wasn't about to try anything with the hard factor of a golf ball.

After breakfast on Christmas morning I began spinning the golden magic. I added polenta to boiling water, like magic it began to thicken. I stirred and stirred. I added the Parmesan and parsley. It smelled pretty good. I spread olive oil in a glass pan and then spooned the mixture into it and put it in the refrig. An hour later, I took it out. Soupy. I put it back in. However, time was of the essence. We were on our way to my daughter's house for Christmas brunch and I wanted to take their dog, Maggie, a few treats.

I pulled the polenta out of the fridge at the last minute, grabbed the cookie cutter and cut Christmas trees. By the time we got to our destination--about 40 minutes away--the trees had turned to bushes, rapidly deteriorating to flat corn tortillas.

I gave Mags a hug and brought her into the kitchen. I tried to pick up a treat off the dish, but it slipped through my fingers, sort of the way an egg might. Maggie wasn't the least bit deterred. She licked my hand, the plate of bushes and seemed to be quite happy. I felt this was a semi-successful outcome.

As soon as we got home I raced into the kitchen like a woman possessed to check the polenta. (you'd think I would have had more to worry about since we were having company for dinner, but no, the Polenta-Parm-Parsley was foremost on my mind). It look great! But where were the the morning tree cut outs? The polenta had slid to one end of the pan. Undaunted, I once again pressed the tree cookie cutter into the polenta. I tried to pick it up without the benefit of a spatula. So soupy. It stuck to my fingers like loose cold oatmeal, but still not solid. As an eternal optimist, I gave it another hour. Finally, I had to admit that we all have talents, but dog treats isn't one of mine. I threw half of it out and gave the rest of the mush sans trees to Jake, who seemed relatively happy to lick it up.

Next year I'm buying squeaky toys at the pet store.

Waiting for January 5, 2009

2008-12-30T08:14:00.000-08:00
I love going on walks at night with Rick. We leash the Jakester up and enjoy the crisp night air. It's especially fun right now looking at the Christmas lights that don the houses in our neighborhood. Everything is sparkly--like the houses have personalities of their own -- showing off their holiday colors like peacocks in heat. There's electricity in the air.

But I'm really, really ready to move into January 5, 2009. I'm ready for life to go back to normal. The normal where I get up in the morning, feed the dog, drink a cup of java or hot tea, read the paper or a few pages of a book (right now that would be the The Heretic's Daughter by Kathleen Kent), do my morning pages, and early on, find my way to my office and write, with my husband happily on his way to work.

But he's not. He's has taken the past two weeks off. We've had such a good time going to movies (which we love), running those errands we never seem to find time to take care of (which is great) and eating out (which isn't--nothing fits, my waist is creeping up and under my breastbone and my pants have nearly all become capris). I've not done anything around the house. No cleaning. Little writing. No exercise.

There are piles of things that need to be put away. The tree needs to come down. Christmas presents need to find homes in drawers, cabinets, or closets, mail is stacked up waiting for me to sort through it, and growing kitties of golden retriever fur swirl on the hardwood floors when I walk by, and I won't mention laundry. Ack!

I need a day at home and I know it will come, but not until Rick's back to work on January 5th. I should be happy that we get along well enough to spend so much time together, and I am -- but I miss my normal. A lot.

So, this morning I got up early. I quietly crept downstairs with my little Alphasmart tucked under my arm to do a little writing. YAY, I thought, I have time to write. The house was church-quiet. I was ready for a pretend normal morning. I fed the dog. I made a cup of tea. I curled up on the couch and took a deep breath. I put the Alphasmart on my lap, poised my fingers ... and then I heard it, the bedroom radio blaring.

I just want my normal back. I'm afraid that when Rick retires, I'll be swallowed up by too many movies, too much food, exploring too many new places, and noise, a lot of it. The real fear is that I'll love it, and then what? Will I stop being me? Stop writing? Stop being my silly independent self?

Oh Chrismas Spirit, oh Christmas Spirit, where are you????

2008-12-19T13:47:00.000-08:00
I was listening to the radio yesterday, driving from our house to Alamo, and the DJ said that there is always that moment, a singular moment when you know you know you have Christmas spirit. I can't put my finger on exactly when it is for me, I'd venture to say that it arrives somewhere between midnight, December 25, and the morning of December 26--after the peak, after the excitement, the rush. Who knows why?

Every year I swear that this will be the year we'll dust off the Christmas tree box, lug our artificial friend into the house and then, right after Thanksgiving, maybe even the day after, line up their color coded branches, stick the metal ends into the skinny trunk, string up the lights, oooh and ahhh, and begin to decorate the prickly branches. Then, we'll stand back and admire our handiwork--just as we do every year, but this time, we'll have time to enjoy it before it's time to take it down.

Yesterday morning I emailed our friends to ask if they'd like to come to our house for Manhattans, dinner, and to help decorate the tree. I signed the email Ba and Humbug Luck. Our friends are remodeling their downstairs, (translate no downstairs heat, stove, sink, dishwasher, etc.) We thought they'd enjoy a nice warm house and a Manhattan or two.

And so it would make sense that our heater went out about five minutes after I sent the email, and on the coldest day of the year, with frost on hillsides, rooftops, and grass. The water in the water fountain was iced over, there was snow on the top of Mt. Diablo (which my husband called me outside to see barefooted at 6 am before he left for the gym), and our friends were looking forward to a nice cozy evening with heat, which under normal circumstances we wouldn't be a problem.

When I told them we'd be chilly they still wanted to come. They must have been near desperate for a home cooked meal or a Manhattan. I think it was the Manhattans. My husband makes the best Manhattans.

After drinks and dinner the guys roped the lights around the tree, we all hung the ornaments and then we had dessert in the family room. They brought their two dogs with them, so along with our one and their two dogs we had a full and furry house.

Now I have Christmas spirit. It came right after I'd finished dessert...a very quick, experimental dish--so easy--so simple--so delish that I'm including it here so you can enjoy it, too. I can't tell proportions because I made it up.

Buy Pepperidge Farms frozen pastry cups. Bake according to directions
Cut off tops
Heat 2-3 tbs butter in a large saucepan until bubbly
add 2-3 tbs of brown sugar
Heat
Slice two bananas into 1/2 inch pieces
Add bananas to melted butter/sugar and stir. Cook until the bananas are warmed through. Scoop banana mixture into the cups, replace tops, drizzle remaining sauce over top of pasty cup and add a dollop of ice cream. Simple. Delish. Enjoy~

Cinnamon Christmas

2008-12-17T17:51:00.001-08:00
Once Halloween hits, I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach reminding me that Christmas is almost here. The legs of time make a gigantic leap over Halloween and Thanksgiving and we’re plunked into a sea of Joy to the World, Silent Night, spending too much money on presents and all thought of what the holiday is really about, vanishes like candy in a kindergarten classroom.

My mind pulls and tugs, trying to hold back time as it ticks, like a bomb, toward Christmas. The holiday buzz begins. Running from store to store like a whirling dervish, buying to buy, wrapping to wrap and giving to give…and because I must. Colorful, glitter-laden Holiday greeting cards point out the ‘reason for the season’ but it, too, seems to get lost in shark-like buying frenzies and grabbing Christmas red sweaters on sale for half price.

How can I keep the focus on what has deep, rich meaning? Staying present and doing something for others less fortunate than myself is what I’ve learned bridges the gap from materialism to making difference during the holiday season. Here’s how it all began.

Each year at the start of the holiday season, I begin baking. It’s really the only time I bake in mass quantity. Strangely enough my now adult daughters do the same thing, as did my Mother. I didn’t want to be like my mom, and well, my girls pride themselves in their own individualism. But, what we do have in common is, we bake, we cook, we have to we're feeding children, adults--families.

When my kids were small, at the ages when baking with Mom was fun, out came the baking utensils, yellow measuring cups, ¼, 1/3, ½, ¾, 1 cup, worn metal measuring spoons, big white Rubbermaid bowls, lots of creamy butter, sugar, salt, flour, cracked eggs hopefully without tiny sand like pieces of shell. Cinnamon, allspice, and nutmeg dotted the countertops along with other spices, and the baking began. We’d make cinnamon sugar Snicker doodles, gingerbread boys and girls with red-hots for eyes and m & m’s for buttons, red and green colored Christmas butter cookies, thumbprint cookies with strawberry jam and small loaves of cranberry bread. The best part was licking the leftover batter from the bowl with their fingers and for a moment, I’d worry they’d get salmonella from the raw eggs, which by the way, never happened.

I’d watch their deft little fingers drop cookies into Christmas tins and boxes with pictures of Santa Claus and reindeer on the top, counting to make sure each box had the same number of cookies. We’d pile into the old blue station wagon and drive to the local Homeless shelter, senior housing center or Battered Women’s Alternative, dropping off cookies. Then we’d go home, spread an old red, white and blue snowflake flannel quilt on the floor and eat snicker doodles and drink hot chocolate. We'd watch the Charlie Brown’s Christmas special on television. When I’d ask them what the best part of the day was, eating cookies came first but giving cookies to the folks who were less fortunate than us, they’d say, would make them ‘tickle inside’.

Now, the ‘reason for the season’ is seeing my children volunteer and give back to the community, to those less fortunate, and watch life come full circle.

I miss those days. They sped by much too fast. This year the cookies will be made with the grand kids, and that's just as special.

December CWC Tri-Valley article

2008-12-17T17:42:00.000-08:00
Seasoned writers will tell you that after they finish their short story or novel, the road to publication is still far away. Unfortunately some of our little darlings as we like to call them, those words we just love but aren’t needed, must be slashed from the text. But tightening your prose makes your work more powerful and interesting to read.

The 10% Solution, by Ken Rand, is an unsuspecting little powerhouse of less than 100 pages, under ten dollars, and contains relatively easy, but dynamite suggestions which will help you polish your project.

For example, Rand recommends doing a word search/find for all the words that end in “ly,” specific words such as that, was, like, or specific names that might be overused. When you find them, you can decide whether or not the word should stay, go, or be replaced.

He also advises reading your text out loud. Listen for glitches, stilted and awkward conversations, or repetition.

Both Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and David King, and The First Five Pages by Noah Lukeman, site problems, pose solutions, and at the end of each chapter they provide examples for you to edit or questions to ask yourself about your own work to help improve editing skills.

As writers, sometimes we’re too close to our own work to catch redundancies or notice that in chapter five the protagonist has red hair and in chapter 23 his hair is suddenly salt and pepper. If you fit into that category, ask your critique group for help, hire an editor, or have a few trusted friends read your material.

Remember, when shopping for an agent you want to submit material that is squeaky clean and error free. Hopefully the above suggestions will set you on the path to both.

Scrabble Guilt

2008-12-12T18:30:00.000-08:00
At last month's Bunco game, I sat next to a woman with perfect hair--stylish, fun, a little sexy, highlighted in such a way that it didn't look like a paint by number head--which is my big thing with highlighted hair--sometimes it looks too uniform. We began chatting and I found out that she's a hair stylist (surprise??) and she loves to play scrabble. So do I.

She told me about a web site, scrabulous.com, that she plays every day. So, when I came home that night, I sat right down at the computer only to discover that the site is defunct. Big disappointment, but not to be deterred, I googled 'scrabble' and found other, many other, scrabble sites...all of which I wish I'd never found.

You don't even need another player--your opponent is the computer. It means that while I'm playing scrabble with a machine I can avoid doing the things I probably should be doing. It feeds right into the procrastination hole like nail filler.

The good news is I've learned new two letter words. And I've won one game. Only one--it's never good when a machine is smarter than you, is it? Also, if it takes too long to create a word, you run out of time and then have to wait to see if your opponent i.e. the computer, will give you extra time. So far it has, I guess it feels sorry for me.

Right now, it's 7 pm and it's time to relax so if I'd like, I could play scrabble. But, I think it's more fun to play when I'm not supposed to, don't you?

Give it a try, you'll wish you didn't :)

I'm back...

2008-12-10T18:29:00.000-08:00
I had all but decided to give up my scribblescrabble.blogspot but then Kelly, editor of the California Writers Club Tri-Valley Writers newsletter, wrote an article about blogs and lo and behold, I saw that she gave my blog address for all members to check out! Now I'm ashamed! Not really...

I didn't really want to give up the blog (mostly because I couldn't think of a catchy name if I wanted to start another blog--fresh--without the big gap in time), but I'd gotten so lazy. My last entry was in the middle of October for gosh sake, the motivation factor was pretty low. But I do believe in omens and Kelly holds me to a higher standard so I'm back. And in a snap, too. I read the newsletter about ten minutes ago and thought oh %*&# I need to write something!

Being held to a higher standard because someone else sees that in you is a great motivator. It's sometimes the only thing that will make me write if I'm feeling really dreadful and can't get out of my own way. Fortunately, that doesn't happen often to me. I love to write. I write every day, although not on the blog. And granted, most of the writing might not make sense as I scribble scrabble my way through the day, but the point is, I do it. Julia Cameron, author of The Artist's Way, suggests writing every day, just three pages. Three pages doesn't seem like much at all especially after you read Carolyn See's book about the literary life and writing one thousand words a day. And that's what I've been doing on my little Alphasmart, which by the way, is the handiest and dandiest writing tool I own. Check it out at www.alphasmart.com and see what you think. It gives me the freedom to write anywhere. Uses a couple of AA batteries that last (no joke) 700 hours! I don't mean to sound like an advertisement for them, but it is a dynamite machine. It automatically saves, has a thesaurus, spell check, will cut, paste, copy, houses eight files which hold up to twenty-five pages each ...and more.

So if per chance you happened to stop by my blog to read, please say hello by leaving a comment and feel free to read some of my past blogs. Once again, I'll try to get back on track with entertaining little stories about the writing life, my grand children, yoga, books, and life's challenges and mudslides.

It feels good to be back:) Thanks for dropping by!

Attitude

2008-10-13T09:17:00.000-07:00
A friend sent this to me in an email. Enjoy!
There once was a woman who woke up one morning,
looked in the mirror,
and noticed she had only three hairs on her head.
"Well," she said, "I think I'll braid my hair today."

So she did and she had a wonderful day.

The next day she woke up,
looked in the mirror
and saw that she had only two hairs on her head.

"H-M-M," she said,

"I think I'll part my hair down the middle today."

So she did and she had a grand day.

The next day she woke up,
looked in the mirror and noticed
that she had only one hair on her head.
"Well," she said, "today I'm going
to wear my hair in a pony tail."
So she did, and she had a fun, fun day.

The next day she woke up,

looked in the mirror and noticed

that there wasn't a single hair on her head.

"YAY!" she exclaimed.

"I don't have to fix my hair today!"

Attitude is everything.

Be kinder than necessary,

for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

Live simply,

Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly.......

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...

It's about learning to dance in the rain.

Books, Books and More Books

2008-09-23T18:01:00.000-07:00
I have an addiction to books. Much the same as people have to cigarettes, heroin, crack cocaine. I hear something about one and I dash right out to buy it...even though I tell myself to wait.

Today I went to the book store and bought three more books. It's embarrassing. I couldn't not.

One is by Carolyn See, Making a Literary Life -- recommended by a gal that I met at the East of Eden Writers Conference. (I can't hear the name of a book that comes highly recommended and not buy it). I've already gotten my money's worth from it -- I sat right down and pumped out 1,000 words.

Then I picked up Lost and Found by Jacqueline Sheehan quite guilt free because it's my book club book this month.

Then I found Jeff Herman's guide to finding agents and I've wanted to get that one, too, so I thought what the heck! Right? Not to mention the books on craft that I just bought at the writers conference two weeks ago.

And last night, I went to Towne Center Books to hear the women who Cheryl Jarvis wrote about in The Necklace, talk about their experiences wearing a diamond necklace -- 118 diamonds, 15.24 carats...women between the ages of 50-62 :-) The necklace has been worn~

to make love
have a GYN exam
grocery shop
teaching class

to name a few!

But the best part is the transformation that takes place in these women as they share the magical necklace with friends.

I've only read the first chapter and it appears to be a very quick read, which is great because of that stack that continues to shout in my ear from the nightstand, the table outside our bedroom, the bookshelf in my office, screeching out of my red brief case, or sitting on top of the table in the family room, and hiding in drawers.

There's something about the smell of the paper and cracking that fresh new spine...the thought of being entertained or learning something new, or relearning something old or, or, or...must go read.

Slugs...ewe!

2008-09-17T09:10:00.000-07:00
I spent some time with my grand daughter yesterday. We sat on the sofa cuddled up like two bugs telling stories. Sammie loves stories, so I make them up as I go. I tell her stories about frogs that fly, about people who slink into the television set and can hop out in any home they want, or how Jake the Dog, our dog, chases rabbits and tigers and cougars who live in the house across the street where they cook great meals and have elephant guests for dinner. Sammie's supply of questions is bottomless, prompting the stories to snowball into more and more outlandish characters and predicaments.

The below story, however, is very true...really!

"Nan, I have a new pet," says my four-year-old granddaughter.

"Really, I didn't see one when I came in. What do you have?"

"Oh, its a slug."

"A slug! Now that's an interesting pet, huh?" I say remembering that I did see all 1/2 inch of him last week, clinging to a leaf (and probably his life) in a see-through plastic jar.

"Yes, and my Mom found the perfect place for him to live." Sammie is just so proud and happy that Mom did this. She sits up straight and puts her nose up in the air. But I know my daughter -- slimy things aren't quite her cup of tea. If the truth be told, she apoplectic when she sees a spider.

"Where would that be?" I ask.

"In the vacuum cleaner."

"What a great spot for a slug!" I'm trying not to laugh.

"It's the perfect spot Mom said because slugs like dirt."

"Your mom is really great at finding special homes for little creatures, isn't she?"

"Nan, she's the best."

Sometimes I have to pinch myself to keep from laughing. But more than that, I marvel at the miracle of innocence and how little children see their parents as perfect. Isn't life wonderful?

The Writing Life

2008-09-15T09:50:00.000-07:00
Each month I write an article for the Tri-Valley branch of the California Writer's Club. Here's part of this month's piece. Those of you who write might enjoy it, and those of you who don't, might want to start.

Now that the kids are back in school and summer vacation is nothing more than a faded memory, it's time to hunker down and get serious about writing.

But where to you begin? How do you get that "umph" back into your writing?

Writing prompts. Writing prompts will remind you what it is about writing that you love. And, if you do it every day, it can become addictive. That's why it's a great jumping off place, if you've abandon your writing routine and ritual, during the summer. Schedule time to write.

Book in a Month by Victoria Lynn Schmidt, Ph.D., says "What you resolve to do first thing--or at least early in the morning, you will do." She compares exercising first thing in the morning to writing, and your exercise is writing. Here's a site that can help.

Visit The Story Starter http://thestorystarter.com. This site boasts more than three million story starters! So the excuse of "I can't think of anything to write about," or "I have writer's block" will quickly vanish once you set your eyes on this gem. The site was also selected as one of the 101 best sites for writers. Don't by shy. Each time you click, you receive a different prompt.
Happy fall, happy writing.

Are you embarrassed to?

2008-09-03T14:30:00.001-07:00
When I was a kid my parents would tell me that the world was a crazy place, nothing like the place they grew up in. They told me that there were more dangers than ever. Fast forward please.

Considering the vast numbers of people alive today, modes of communication and our more "tell all" philosophy, I sometimes don't think things are that different--there's just more of all of it. Except .... when it comes to politics, maybe things are worse.

The current political campaign is the dirtiest I can ever remember. A campaign, seemingly designed to elect the most well-suited candidate, has apparently taken a turn into Trash Town.

I consider it both a privilege and a responsibility to vote and I'm too much of a control freak to not put my two cents in. Right now though, I'm not so sure.

This is a very exciting time in our country. Regardless of who wins, this election is of historic proportions. Either the first black man or the first woman will hold one of the two most coveted seats in our country.

I wish them all luck. If I were a candidate? I'd drop out.

And for all the politicians and their staffs and members who want things to be better for children? How about if they start by setting a good example?

She's back...

2008-08-28T12:58:00.000-07:00
The other night I took Jake out to get some fresh air and as usual I glanced up to where the Bird family used to live. And they're back. I couldn't believe it. I ran right over and welcomed Ms Bird who cocked her head and looked curiously at me with one small pebbly brown eye.

Our little mourning dove has returned!

After they deserted their nest earlier this summer, they'd sit squished together on the five or six inch downspout at our next door neighbors house cooing. Who needs words?

Anyway, does anyone know if mourning doves (who do btw, mate for life) have more than one ?litter ?gaggle ?brew ?bunch? What do you call baby bird siblings? I don't know. And I'm sure it's something simple and when someone tells me I'm going to feel like an idiot.

I did have the "talk" with Ms Bird and asked her is she needed bird control, but she just blinked. Maybe they're Catholic. I have to say that I'm afraid she's going to be worn out.

And wouldn't you know it. The temperature has spiked since her arrival which is exactly what happened the last time she lived here. So I worry...

You don't suppose she's responsible for global warming do you?!

I'll keep you updated.

School Days, School Days, lalalala....

2008-08-25T17:51:00.000-07:00
School is back in session. Not having kids at home anymore, it doesn't touch my world the way it used to. But I won't soon forget shopping until I thought I'd hide under a rounder (or have to rob a bank to pay for everything), blocking off hours and hours in my calendar and leaving work (after asking a crotchety boss) only stand in one snaking registration line after another to enroll my three kids.

And I don't care how much money you have, you actually can't ever have enough when it comes to registration. On registration day, you register for EVERYTHING -- would class pictures (way more expensive if you're "student" as the teachers call them, is a senior), class parties, uniforms, all sports activities, student body things, parking permits (if you're lucky enough to get one), charitable donations. I'm not sure,but I think there's a charge for breathing campus air. And those are only the things my foggy mind can recall.

Then, once they've emptied your checking and bank accounts, you're shamed into volunteering or making cupcakes which certainly you have time to bake in order to support something else the school needs, and to which you've probably already given a financial donation. The list was endless and from what I hear, it still is, only worse--which I can't imagine.

We always began school right after Labor Day. Labor Day was the end-of-summer demarcation, the line in the Cape Cod sand, if you will, that a new chapter of life was about to begin.

That said, Mother Nature routinely tricked us with fabulous Indian Summers which without fail began the first day of school when all of us kids arrived to school sporting our fall clothes. Heavy woolen fabrics, quilted material, winter pants and heavy jackets. Ugh!

We'd swelter and sweat and break out in heat rashes if we didn't fall flat over from scorching sun and enclosed classrooms without, yes, without air conditioning. "Offer it up," was Sister Mary Laura's best advice. She whose hands and red face were the visible part of her, the rest hidden the yards of fabric that made up her black and white habit.

Today, I still feel that After Labor Day is when I get serious about this next chapter of my life. Who can be serious about life when everyone's wearing shorts and tank tops? Or two piece bathing suits? Or swimming? (well, I don't wear those things because I'd scare people but I see them on others)

"Serious" comes with the cold weather, when you're forced to pull yourself inward and get crackin'! Or something like that. When a hint of fall rolls around, you can smell it in the air--crushed leaves, decay, the slight chill in the air, then I'll get serious. Fortunately here in California, that's a bit away yet...

Fonts

2008-08-22T19:22:00.000-07:00
When I first began writing, I didn't think too much about the font I used. A font is a font is a font. I've since come to my wingding senses and realized just how wrong I was!

When I started submitting stories I found instructions on margins, font size, and the font itself ~~ Times Roman, Garamond, Arial Narrow, one was supposed to use.

Take a look at the youtube abaout fonts. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3k5oY9AHHM
After viewing it, you'll understand that each font has its own personality and you might think twice about submitting in plain old Arial Narrow! My personal favorite is Comic Sans who saves the day, er, fonts!

Enjoy

Yogi in Brief Training....

2008-08-20T20:49:00.000-07:00
Have you been watching the Olympics? We have. In fact, it's hard for me to do much else at night, except watch. I live vicariously through these amazing athletes. I imagine myself on the end of the diving board or butterflying through the water with lightening speed, just like Michael Phelps! Except he gains the Gold while I, Ms Couch Potato, gain the weight.

So my motivation to attend a new yoga class came from couch potato-ing it. I may have felt shamed into it. I mean, if those athletes can practice every day for years to keep their bodies firm and shape and win medals, the least I could do was resume a yoga class a couple of times a week right?

The instructor, new to me, (but who wouldn't be-I haven't been to a yoga class in about eight months) was just the best. Greg is tall and lean and gentle and funny and like most Yogis can probably twist himself with the agility of a rubber hose, but he didn't. Frankly, it was the best class I've attended, not because of the workout-although the workout was super--it was more about who he was in front of the room. Sort of like the athletes--it's how they show up--professional, doing their best, bringing the best out in themselves and others.

I left Greg's class last Thursday feeling refreshed, energized and happy that I'd done something good for my body. However, that didn't last too long. Once those taut muscles I stretched out like warm taffy started a chorus of "Tylenol, Tylenol, Tylenol" a little air went out of the "exercise" balloon to return to class this week.

And wouldn't you know? Conveniently enough, Tuesday and Thursday, right at noon, (the time class begins) filled up like a glass of milk! So, I'm going to go to miss my favorite class, but plan on attending an early evening one.

Who knows, maybe I'll be too tired to go.

Speaking of the Olympics, check out the balance beam on this youtube video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EO_BnsrWMnI (this was borrowed from my friend Eileen's blog: http://feistysideoffifty.wordpress.com/ )

Home again...

2008-08-11T14:36:00.000-07:00
Do you like my new colors? I got bored of the "blogger" drab gray and decided that my blog needed a sprucing up. And since I write with a purple pen all of the time, I just thought why not?

We recently returned to the Bay Area after a stint in Montana to visit my husband's family. Montana has breathtaking views of the Mission mountains, twitching white tailed deer, elk, brown bears (which I've yet to see), old brick homes, Indian reservations, rivers and Flathead Lake.

Flathead Lake is where we spent our vacation. Every time we leave it, I feel like I've left a little part of myself on the dock. I'd get up in the morning, sit on the deck and write overlooking the Lake. I never quite knew what to expect from the water -- smooth as glass, mini ripples, or angry swells (but not the sort of swells we East or West coasters have seen), nonetheless, swells. Most days the sun would shine, although we had a few chilly days, so I'd wrap up in a blanket and find my way to the deck with a notebook and tea.

As much as there are a pangs of sadness to leave the Lake, mountains, and wild life, I'm happy to be back in the Bay Area. My Dad was a bartender in Framingham MA. for years. When Tony Bennett would entertain where Dad worked, he'd dedicate I Left My Heart in San Francisco to my Dad who much later, moved to Walnut Creek with my mom. I know why.

The Bay Area has been my home for thirty-five years and although we pay a price to live here, I've yet to be someplace I'd rather live--we're so close to so much. Okay, maybe, just maybe, I'd live in Kauai (but then you worry about living on an island).

Kidding aside, It's good to be home. I'm hoping to get back into the swing of blogging, using it as I intended months ago, as a journal of the silly, the serious, and sappy things that happen in life.

Oh! Update: The bird family moved out before we left for vacation along with their two babies. Precious. Adorable. Sweet. One day the parents were gone, the next day one baby, the following day, the other. I keep looking up at the next when I walk outside to get the mail and sometimes, even when we take Jake for a walk. I miss them. New life is addictive!

I took pictures of the babies, and if I can ever figure out how to get the darn things on this blog -- you can see them.

Home sweet home...twigs, heat'n all...

2008-07-08T11:44:00.000-07:00
My home office (my only office come to think of it) sits above the garage. To the left of the garage door, between the wall of the house and a drainpipe, sits a vacant bird's nest - up until a few weeks ago.

We're now the proud landlords of a pregnant mourning dove. Yup, she moved right in, without so much as signing a lease!

We've had other residents who've come and gone like bird thieves in the middle of the night. No one's stayed before. I don't know if Ms Betty Bird decided to move in because there were no other places to rent or the lease fell through on the condo she really wanted. With today's staggering inflation Betty's getting a pretty good deal. But...

Summer rentals here at our house do come with a high price. It's noisy--so close to the ups and downs of the garage door -- and then there's me, frequently running outside to check on Betty like a feral cat.

I'm worried about her. She's alone. No one's dropping off meals or water, and in her condition, she needs to stay well hydrated and eat.

She never leaves the nest. Who feeds her? And gives her a little respite when she's tired of egg sitting? Or when she wants a bath? Speaking of which, I put a bowl of water out there for her to cool her off but I haven't seen her use it yet.

What bothers me most is the fact that we have three small spotlights under the eaves. One of the lights shines on little Betty Bird every night. It doesn't seem to bother her, but it bothers me.

Can't you see it now? She hatches her eggs in the nest. The birds grow up and all fly the coop, so to speak. Then, two years from now the they take turns reclining on the bird psychiatrist's straw and jute couch...

"I can't sleep. My home life was pretty traumatic. When I was a baby, we lived in a noisy nest. We'd hear grinding noises, things skittering across the driveway--newspapers and magazines I think, cars, garbage and mail trucks rumbling by, the land lady running out at all hours scaring the worms right out of us. It was like we were being tortured. The worst part was that it stayed light until midnight and then before you knew it, the sun came up. We were just exhausted all time. I think we're all suffering from PTSD."

Bird Psychiatrist takes the pencil out of his beak and jots a few notes.

"And the landlords were very odd looking birds--no feathers, very fleshy, must have had some molting problem--were no help at all. They gave us a dish pool but the darn thing nearly boiled our mother one hot July day when the sun shifted and heated it up. It was awful."

Then the astute psychiatrist would tell them to eat more worms and move to the countryside ...

Anyway, last night when we got home from walking Jake in the 100 degree heat at 8:30 p.m., and still bothered by Betty's plight, I said to my husband, "I wonder if we should change the timer so the lights goes --" when I heard a "pop." The light, well, all the lights in the neighborhood for that matter, went out! Now how's that for a direct link to the Powers that Be?

Not bad, huh?

So Betty stayed cool last night, had a restful sleep in the dark, and this morning when I went out to say hello, she looked pretty chipper. Now, if she'd just take a little dip in the above ground pool in the evening, I'd feel a lot better.

To the Birds ... Hummingbirds, that is

2008-06-25T09:21:00.000-07:00
Now that our backyard overhaul is finished, I thought it would be fun to put a hummingbird feeder in a Japanese Maple tree, nestled in a corner right outside the kitchen window. I love Japanese Maples--we have a couple of green ones in the front yard, too, and one dwarf that is the most spectacular plum color.

Lowe's has dozens of hummingbird feeders so it took about thirty minutes to weigh the pros and cons of each one (no rash decisions for me). I finally decided on one that, come to find out, is the most poorly engineered feeder that's made, but that's okay because this was my virgin experience with hummingbird feeders. (I now have my eye on one at "The Gardener" on Fourth Street in Berkeley--hand blown glass, red, ruffled glass around the mouth--perfect).

Once the water and sugar (four parts water one part sugar) were boiled, cooled, and poured into the poorly designed feeder, I hung it in the Japanese maple. Hummingbird swooping action and long drinking began less than ten minutes after it was hung. I stood at the kitchen window in awe.

Three hummingbird facts:

wing beat approximately 53 times per second (no, I didn't count :-)
heartbeats over 1000 times a minute
resting hummers breathe 250 times per minute

I've also discovered that when they fly over my head or past my ears they sounds like they're dive bombing, which is a little unnerving (I'm not going to think about a bird weighing ounces having the ability to scaring me!. And, they're territorial, too. So the one who sits on top of the feeder keeping guard we've named, "GP," short for "General Patton."

While I love the placement of the feeder, right there at the window where I can see these little guys up close and personal all the time,I do have to stop whatever I'm doing--washing, rinsing, cleaning, peeling--because once they see movement, they fly away. I I don't want to disturb them. And they drink for a l-o-n-g time.

I found myself getting a little impatient. Here I am trying to get dinner on the table and it's like I'm playing a game of "FREEZE," all of a sudden turning into pillar of stone. Can you imagine being irritated looking at nature's beauty? It got me thinking...I need to slow down!

So, I'm taking the Eckhart Tolle approach to all of this and use it as a moment of divine stillness. I watch, fully present, open hearted, loving -- who couldn't be gazing at such a miracle?

If you want to see them in action drop by OR click on the title of this entry to watch a quick little hummingbird clip!

Squaw or Squawk

2008-06-22T08:34:00.000-07:00
A friend of mine submitted a body of work to Squaw Valley Writers and was accepted! Very exciting, very prestigious. I'm really excited for her, in fact, we critique each other's work, so I'm especially happy and proud of her.

I thought about submitting but decided to take a different path. I asked a published writer (of several novels) to review my work. Also, we're going to be out of town during the weeklong conference and I wouldn't be able to attend anyway.

So my husband and I were getting ready for bed the other night and as I was standing over the sink getting ready to brush my teeth, I told him my friend's good news and that as thrilled as I was for her, I still felt the bite of that little green-eyed monster lurking and he said, "How can you be jealous? you didn't even submit anything." He's right, I didn't but still ... you know?

Should I have applied anyway, even though I couldn't go? Suppose I applied and was accepted! What then? I had this great fantasy about Squaw while I stood in front of the bathroom sink brushing my teeth ...

I'm at my desk writing and I hear the mailman's truck drive up. I'm torn--write, get the mail, write, get the mail (I have little self control and I'm very nosey--but aren't most writers?) It's a Saturday afternoon, I walk downstairs, out the door and follow a dirt path through a meadow with wildflowers blowing in the breeze (don't you love make believe???) and make my way to the mailbox. I'm wearing something "writerly" (although I have no idea what that would be) probably something "flowy" or gauzy and my barefoot toes are sending up little puffs of dust as dirt quishes into them. Obviously, I'm clutching a pen in my left hand, too. I'm distracted because I'm in the middle of an important scene, but the call of the mail was too loud and I had to, just had to get to the box. I open the small mail door, eagerly stick my hand in and find an envelope with the Squaw Valley Writers return address (let's pretend it's a manila envelope) With trembling fingers I slice through the envelope and guess what? I'm accepted! I hoot and yell and jump for joy -- and then I sit down and pen a note saying, "Gee, I'd love to attend, I so appreciate the invitation and I'm thrilled that you like my work (Sally Fields you like me you like me) but unfortunately, I can't.

There, done. I love fantasy ... maybe that's why writing works for me. But what I also know is that when I feel this way (with the green eyed monster) it means there's something I need to be doing. So I always use things things in two ways:

1) as a sign from the Universe that something related and very exciting is coming my way

or

2) that I have work to be done -- otherwise I wouldn't feel any pangs of jealousy

All of the above said, it's sort of silly to be jealous, although I am very happy for her, because I didn't even apply. It's like being sad you didn't win the 10K when you slept in...

Com"pout"er problems...

2008-06-16T14:11:00.000-07:00
I've been away from my blog for too long but I have a good reason ...

My computer, Marcel, has been sluggish for the last month or so. But, I'd gotten so used to him being slow (or maybe I've slowed down so much) that I just didn't notice how bad it had really gotten until Saturday morning. I could have prepared a gourmet meal before I could finally get online. And, since I often have newspaper deadlines, I thought perhaps the time had come for me to take Marcel in for a thorough examination.

My daughter told me about WEB DISPATCH (www.webdispatch.com) where she recently took their computer. Apparently her screen looked like it was off when it was really on--just black all the time--she didn't know if one of the kids did something to it, it was in the process of dying, or already dead.

She was so impressed with Web Dispatch's customer service and service, that I thought I'd give them a try. In the past, I've taken Marcel to his birthplace in Dublin for service, or I've used one of their guys who, for a hefty sum, will make a house call. Even so, I'm always concerned that Marcel will end up in the wrong hands. And now I know why...

I called Web Dispatch and after talking to Scott on the telephone, I drove my little Marcel down to their store in San Ramon, which would be his home until Monday morning. As soon as I walked in the door, I was helped immediately. Immediately. Now, when was the last time that happened in a major computer store? For me? Never.

The tech, I mean The Prince otherwise named Walt, who worked on Marcel told me this morning that the spyware hadn't been installed properly and that one of the programs in my less-than-two-year old computer (remember this is the year 2008) was a reinstall of a 2002 program!

I don't know how long Web Dispatch has been in business but the word needs to be spread. I think their service is less expensive than major computer stores, they're willing to go the extra mile for solid and quick service, and I think they're pretty honest. If I were a movie critic, I'd give them two thumbs up!

Sleepover Success...

2008-06-11T09:22:00.000-07:00
Who says a old dog can't learn new tricks? When my grand kids slept over last week I did. For example:

~who knew that beverage coasters could be used as hockey pucks and zip across the floor like it's ice--and more fun than a suitcase full of cars and trucks?

~or that when you took a bath you could be totally entertained with two clear plastic caps and bubbles (NanaBanana forgot to bring toys upstairs for bath time entertainment after the kids were in the tub and had to get really creative)

~or that it's almost more fun to cuddle in bed and make up stories instead of reading them every so often

I'd forgotten that "why" is the chain word of the English language, sewing one answer to the next--and makes for very long (why), long (why), long (why), conversations

I also rediscovered just how much fun it is to marvel at pink, lemon yellow, and red rose petals, gather them up (along with a few sticks) in a Baby Gap bag, and glue them onto paper.

I learned that I don't know the names of many bugs, can't explain the aerodynamics of birds, or what that little clicking sounds was that kept JD from falling asleep until 10:30 p.m. while Sams was sacked out long before.

I also found out that several of the playgrounds in Danville were still closed for renovation, but that the bulldozer and tractors sitting at Diablo Vista unused at 11 a.m. on a Friday, were fun to imagine operating.

Osage Park was and is open, ready for climbing and romping, with little nooks and crannies for hiding in. And who knew that NanaBanana would be so nervous that one of her grand kids would fall, trip, or be kidnapped at the park, that she now has many new gray hairs (if that's even possible) to cover up with Loreal?

Ah to be three or four again~

Oprah -- Choosing Brilliant Health ... right

2008-06-06T15:32:00.000-07:00
I read an Oprah and Friends email a few minutes ago called Choosing Brilliant Health. I'm wondering -- do three waffles with real butter, real maple syrup and a bowl of fresh strawberries for breakfast -- and lunch (minus the strawberries)-- count toward choosing brilliant health?

I had a bucketful of strawberries this morning because as we all know, that's what Costco carries -- bucketfuls. So, that part was healthy ... which means it was okay to eat the waffles for breakfast.

But for lunch, well, for lunch it was too late to be picky, or go to the store, or think about it too long or hard, because by the time I returned home from runnin' around this afternoon dinner time is closer than lunchtime.

I snarfed those pups up like candy and they pretty much are once they're smeared with butter and swollen with syrup.

So there you have it.

You know, it seems like it takes a lot of energy (which if I'd eaten some protein I might have) to dedicate myself to eating healthy. I do want to improve my dietary habits, but I think I'm just kinda lazy or maybe it's weak minded (translated: little will/won't power).

I start the day with good, make that fabulous, intentions (okay today doesn't count--but what about the strawberries?) but by 10 pm I've consumed either (and sometimes both) too much of something or a calorie laden dessert held together with lard.

I think if I eat more berries--strawberries, elderberries (make that "younger"berries), blueberries, and blackberries, because they contain the highest of antioxidants, I won't have to worry as much as I think I do, er, should. Anyway, I've included the link if you want to see the article, just click on the title above. I liked that it saves one from beating oneself up, but rather suggests a change of mind. (change your mind, change your life)

Enjoy!

Writer's Cramp

2008-06-04T13:57:00.000-07:00
I have writer's cramp. No, no, no, it's not my hand, but my head.

I need to write a few additional scenes for my book and I can't seem to get into a creative mood. Sort of like getting excited about planning your own surprise birthday party. . .knowing I have to do it has taken the fun out of it.

It's been such a long time since I've written anything off the top of my head, except for my blog, articles for the newspaper (those aren't really off the top of my head) and my almost-without-fail-every-morning free writes, but still, Monday morning I sat down at my messy desk to write. Nada. So, I thought, I need to get out of the house.

I slipped my Alphasmart into my snappy red leather case and raced off to Borders and found myself sitting with the rest of the late morning throng I didn't expect to bump into and still couldn't write (noise pollution, cinnamon bun smell pollution, new book smell pollution, turning page pollution, sniffing pollution, slurping pollution, etc). See my problem?

I'm feeling like I've been so confined to
in the box writing
(because I've been editing and rewriting for so long)
that I don't know how to write out of the box this week
I have to admit, this is a frist, I mean first. Usually I pick up a pen or plunk my fingers onto the keyboard and one, two, three--go!

Who knows why???

Anyway, this has absolutely nothing to do with the youtube I've posted here. If you click on the title above, Writer's Cramp, it will take you right to it.

For many of us writers, it's a dismal look at writers ability to market,(which we'll identify with) and for those who aren't writers, a) you'll be grateful you don't, b) you'll see just how insane we are and c) you'll see how sometimes un-savvy we are when it comes to marketing ourselves and our work. Mostly it's funny ~ enjoy.

Sleep Over...with me...Nana Banana

2008-06-03T12:06:00.001-07:00
I miss being a mom. I miss having my kids under my feet and wiping their noses, drying their tears and feeling needed. I mean, I'm needed in a different way now, at this stage of my life, but anyone who needs me has someone else who needs them more--except my husband, I suppose. But, he's so darned independent he doesn't really need me either.

Okay, so Jake needs me but only because he doesn't have opposable thumbs to open the door to let himself out to pee.

So, to fulfill my need to be needed two of my grandchildren are sleeping over on Thursday evening. We're going to eat lots of gooey food and play games and stay up a little late (they're only four and three).

Sammie's had her overnight suitcase packed since I mentioned, on her last day of school, that maybe she'd like to sleep over this summer. She's ready: several changes of clothes, special books she wants me to read (or maybe she'll read to me), and the directions to make clay!

And JD was so caught up in Sammie's excitement, it turned out that it included him, too, saying things like "Nan, when we sleep over...." or "Nan, should we bring our suitcase when I sleep over" or "Nan, where are we going to sleep..."

So this complicates things just a bit. He's got a little more energy than Sammie who tends to be more cerebral. She's perfectly happy to sit someplace and do something--crafts, read, color, those kinds of things.

JD is a bit more "active." This means I'll be running up the stairs and in and out of the workout room where he'll be wanting to ride the elliptical. And, he's curious about everything--what it is, how it works--he asks hundreds of questions--he's more of a hands-on sort of guy.

I'm tired already. I think I should take an old person's nap before the kids get here...except I'm too excited to sleep!

Plum Saga ... continued

2008-05-30T14:54:00.000-07:00
I got up at 6;15 this morning, poured a cup of coffee and sat down with my cookbooks to find the perfect plum dessert recipe. It took quite a while, but eventually, like truth, one surfaced.

I drove to Safeway, purchased all the required ingredients, came home, assembled everything, measured out the crust ingredients, and luckily hadn't forgotten anything at the store. (As my husband says, if we need two things--two trips to the store). However, when I cut the first plum I smelled something I didn't like--rotting fruit. Can you believe it? The plums had gone past their prime, way past, and here I am ready to make a plum galette with no plums.

Now what?

I drove back to the store, grabbed an angel food cake, (I've had it with those litle plums--traitors!) blueberries, mango, rasberries, and strawberries, came home and concocted something I am not sure will be edible.

I simmered port and brown sugar until it was syrupy, poured it over the fruit, then layered the fruit and cut up angel food cake. I'll serve it with vanilla bean ice cream.

We'll see what happens. It all else fails, I made chocolate covered strawberries...

Plums...

2008-05-29T20:58:00.000-07:00
Anybody have a good recipe that requires plums? Tarts? Cookies? Cake? Cobbler?

Last week I found a recipe in Gourmet Magazine for a plum tart and since we were having company during the weekend, I thought I'd try it out on them before I fed it to my book club, The Sexy Savants. (I didn't pick the name)

I zipped into Costco and bought the required bushel of plums, because that's the way they sell things there--in enormous bulk. At the time, bulk made sense. I'd be serving the same yummy dish to approximately thirteen people, so the more plums the merrier!

Before I served the tart on Sunday, I gave our guests my disclaimer: "You are the first victims to be served this dish. Please, give me your honest opinion, I'm thinking about serving it to my book club, The Sexy Savants, on Friday night."

They said they loved it but after they'd gone home and I collected the dessert plates, the truth was in the pudding, I mean the tart. And it wasn't pretty. Remember when you were a kid and you didn't want to eat your food, so you "fooled" your parents by pushing everything around the outside of the plate? I rest my case.

I asked my husband (the man who just last week I told "you're the most honest person I know, Rick, I so appreciate that in you.) Maybe I spoke too soon, maybe honesty isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I couldn't get him to commit to saying it was sthe worst dessert he'd ever eaten (really how bad could plums be swimming in a brown sugar/port syrup), he did, however, comment on how tasty the ribs he BBQ'd were. (they were tender and juicy--but I was having a crisis)

So, I have a partial bushel of plums sitting on the kitchen counter fermenting into whatever plums ferment into and I don't know what to do with them. Soon gnats will be buzzing all over the place and then I won't have to worry about it. I still won't have a yummy dessert, though.

I checked the Food Network certain I'd find the perfect recipe, and I did, except it only serves six. Doubling the recipe means I need more plums (which won't have ripened to the same degree of sweetness as the others) so that won't work, not to mention that we'd be eating plum tarts until July. And we all know where the tart calories would go, don't we? I thought I could make the recipe plus one half, but how do you half an egg? See my dilemma?

The ridiculous thing is that hardly anyone reads this damn blog so the chances of squeezing a recipe out of anyone is pretty slim.

Maybe someone out there in cyberspace who has a plum tree in their backyard will psychically intuit me need and send a recipe...I'd be forever grateful and so would the book club.

The Toy Fairy

2008-05-29T18:33:00.001-07:00
The Toy Fairy visits my grand children's home at night, not every night but she drops by unexpectedly, leaving with whatever toys haven't been picked up and put away. We don't know where the toys go. So my daughter has trained the kids to pick up up their things before they go to bed. Isn't that the cleverest idea? I think it's great -- avoid the middleman, I always say! However, my grand son is "cleverer."

They were picking up their toys the other night, well, JD wasn't, but his older sister was while he lolly gagged around not doing much in the helping department. So, his mom set the timer and told him if his toys weren't picked up by the time the buzzer went off, he could say adios to his toys. He paid little if any attention to her.

When the buzzer went off at the end of five minutes and his toys were still strewn all over the family room floor, she proceeded to pick them up telling his that the Toy Fairy would be by later and he'd most probably lose the privilege of playing with them.

He got a little frantic, running around looking for something--he said was looking for something to give the Toy Fairy. My daughter kept asking him what it was. It took him a while to articulate it (after all, he's not quite three yet) but then he got his words together and said, "I want the rules. I want to give the Toy Fairy back her rules. I don't like them."

Clever, huh? Not quite three, already outsmarting his mother and the Toy Fairy. Sometimes it's really hard not to laugh at the things he does and says, like calling the UPS truck the NEW PS Truck. And he calls the people who live next door, the next store neighbors, cute, huh?

Cute comes in handy especially when he does things like smear liquid soap on the floor of the shower stall so he can slide while the baby's being fed .... ah to be almost three!

Wouldn't ya know...

2008-05-26T17:56:00.001-07:00
Wouldn't ya know that as soon as I announce and post to the world that I'm technologically challenged, I think "comments" is working! It would be very cool if it were, I think...

Double edged sword, this hitting "send" or "publish post."

Years ago, many many years ago (ouch--that many) I had the great misfortune of working as an administrative assistant, and a very, very bad one at that. The company I worked for (which shall remain nameless, although it was a Fortune 500 company) had an in-house computer system that could broadcast email of a sorts to other branches all over the west coast.

Let me tell you, if you're not cut out to be an administrative assistant (and I was not) hitting "send" should only be done after another human being has proofread your work(because there was no spellcheck at the time...)

I cannot tell you the errors that flew across the western division. Luckily my boss was applying for Saint of the Year award that year, the thirteen months I worked for him. (although I may have ruined him forever and no, I didn't get fired, I quit, I couldn't stand the work)

One day I had to mail (now you're probably wondering how could she possibly do something to the mail?) Well, It's not easy. I had to mail the Western Division's Annual Report back to headquarters in Washington (or someplace) and I added a little something extra. . .the secretary downstairs gave me what she said was the ORIGINAL recipe for Mrs. Fields cookies (I couldn't wait to try it!) -- and somehow I included the instructions in the package to the president. Not very professional. That's what happens when you're not organized--things find their way into packages that shouldn't be there.

As I said, my boss was a saint. Bless him. And, I would have baked some of those yummy Mrs. Fields cookies for him, you know, to say thank you but ...

HELP! I need a technology nerdie

2008-05-26T17:43:00.000-07:00
I don't know what I've done, comments can't be posted on my blog. I can't figure out why. Yesterday, I tore my little blog design apart, "re-saved" all the settings, which will probably positivity assure me that no one will ever be able to leave a comment again, but of course that wasn't my intention. I know so little about these things. And, it's very very frustrating.

For a while, I thought it would be fun to blog without people's comments--I thought I could just use it as a "free write" but it's lonely not to have anyone visit and comment. I've come to realize that I like the human contact a blog brings. And I can't have it. Wah, wah, wah.

If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to email me. (visioncoachcindy@aol.com) I wish there were 1-800 telephone number I could ring up and find out what's going on...

Maybe I'll need to get another blog address except what happens if I encounter the same problem? I mean, really, how many blogs can one person have?

American Idol

2008-05-22T17:09:00.000-07:00
Rick and I have been watching American Idol or as half the population calls it, AI, (no, not the other controversial AI) for the last what? 19 weeks? The grand finale was quite spectacular last night with old AI winners singing and prancing around the stage--great fun to see them.

I remember little Carrie Underwood, whom I absolutely adore. The year she won, she looked like the girl next door who drank warm milk every day straight from a cow, and spoke with a cute twang.

Man oh man alive, has Underwood changed! Her entire body shape is different. It's model perfect now, legs that go on forever and skin as clear as a fogless day in San Francisco--and about that spectacular, too. Her voice, as great as it was when she won, is even better. If I remember correctly, she liked singing Jesus songs. Which is fine with me. I enjoy listening to her sing. I don't think she's singing Jesus songs anymore, the latest, I Don't Even Know Your Last Name, about a gal who goes to bed with some guy whose last name she doesn't know. And, if anyone can belt it out, Carrie Underwood can--and did.

I digress. The Davids. I really wanted David Cook to win so for me the outcome was perfect-o. I thought I'd feel bad for the one who lost (and I thought it was going to be David Cook), although Simon said there were no losers last night and I do believe that.

But the whole point I want to get to is how sad I felt on Tuesday evening when everyone kept telling David Archuletta that he was the best, etc. Each time they said it, poor David Cook had to crawl back up to the microphone and sing again, only to be told he was good, but nah, not really. In my book, he deserved to win for being humiliated in front of millions of television viewers and not flipping anyone off.

It surprised me that the votes were so high for David Cook. I thought it would be close race but it sounded like Cook got twenty million plus votes more? Is that possible? I've never voted. I've thought about it, but I haven't done it. Maybe next year.

It'll be so fun to see where these guys end up and I'm really curious about Syesha, too. As the weeks went on she absolutely blossomed! Awesome. I would have been happy if she won, too.

Congratulations to Rocker David Cook! Who-hoo.

Yay to David Archuletta for being such delight and wonderful talent to listen to and watch.

Procrastinating Again ... (my new favorite hobby)

2008-05-21T17:05:00.000-07:00
I'm procrastinating again.

I have my manuscript beside me and today my job is to work work work on the revisions. But, every time I look at them, I get tired. 319 pages is nothing to sneeze at, I mean, there aren't 319 pages worth of changes, frankly if that were all I had to do, just slip in commas, add a few caps, end sentences a bit earlier, I'd be closer to being done. But, my wonderful editor, is asking me to make other changes--adding a character at the beginning of the book instead of nearer to the end, putting in some details that I'm not quite sure how I want to add yet. Things that are making me tired.

I've gone downstairs on at least four occasions to grab a little something to eat, then waddled back upstairs to work more, called a friend, done a little reading, went to Borders thinking perhaps smelling paper and books, or being where racks of books lived, would inspire me. It didn't. So, I went next door to Baja Fresh for another "snack" and then drove home certain as soon as my feet hit the hardwood floor, I'd be, once again ready. I'm not. I've read a few blogs, not commented on any of them, and now I'm blogging, because it's easier to blog than to recreate I think. Anyway, at least I'm writing....

Oops ... what about writing?

2008-05-19T07:30:00.000-07:00
Here's what I'm re-reading right now: 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff and I just began The Almost Moon by Alice Sebold

The other day I wrote about my love for books--the smell of them, the smoothness of the pages and sometimes rougher skin of the cover, the font and shape of the letters--all of it, oh, and the words. Today, I must (because I want to) give a earth-quaking nod to my other love - writing.

My morning pages (which admittedly don't happen sometimes until well past eleven p.m.) is the girfriend who sticks by me no matter what. I don't have to worry about it being good or bad, precise or loose, heart wrenching or cold hearted, breathtaking or breathless. It is what it is. And, like that fabulous friend, it's the best therapist I've discovered so far.

On the page, all life's curiosities and problems, bumps and blips, work themselves out if I stick with it and write to resolution. I can usually go from hurt or craziness to finding peace and the truth in most situations in less than a thousand words. Not bad, huh? On the occasion that I don't, I go back, begin again, and eventually the truth surfaces in a way that has integrity and honesty and clarity--and the solution is always the best for everyone. The fog lifts and I have my 'aha' moment.

I am so grateful for the gift of writing and the fullness it brings into my life. It rounds out the rough edges, makes me look at things differently, and begs the question "what if." Writing makes me want to create, fantasize, think, and wonder.

For those of you who don't write, I hope that there's a passion in your life that brings you the same sense of oneness with with world that writing brings to me...

Ode to Reading

2008-05-17T10:37:00.000-07:00
I'm obsessed with reading. Obsessed. I read drinking coffee or tea in the morning--first the newspaper then whatever novel or nonfiction book I'm in the middle of, and sandwiched in there someplace is often spiritual reading.

I read everything I get my hands on, especially when I sit at the kitchen counter grabbing a sandwich--advertisements, cereal boxes, magazines. I read in every room of the house...kitchen, dining room, extra bedrooms, our bedroom, family room, yes, the bathroom.

Some days the house looks like messy library, overrun with books and magazines that I "must" get to. They sit in stacks calling me, beckoning me to open them. I can't resist the smell of the pages, the feel of the paper, the print, or the new knowledge or fantasy that awaits, so the call works.

Years ago, when I chauffeured the kids to soccer, dance, or wrestling practice, I'd have a book to keep me company. I'd be itching to open it up as soon my SUV full of kids deployed out.

When we go on vacation, I've been known to pack a separate suitcase of only books -- I never know how many I'll have time to finish when we're on a trip and I don't want to be caught short handed, so I take more than I think I could possibly read on the airplane, at the hotel, poolside, in the car...

And, I never, ever read one book, not even two, its three or for our five. Sometimes, I'll finish several in the same day, sometimes not.

So don't make the mistake of asking what book I'm reading, you'll get an earful.

Fed Ex - Ground Delivery

2008-05-16T17:33:00.000-07:00
My manuscript arrived safely at my editor's home on Wednesday night--she shot me a quick email to let me know ... "On page 14--Ronald, that asshole." So, at least she liked the beginning.

I wanted the experience of mailing it to be special--not just stuffed down the gullet of any old mailbox, so I drove to Mailboxes, Etc. with my manuscript cradled next to me, filled out the address label, carefully placed it in the no-rip bag and handed it to the old sourpuss who stood impatiently drumming her fingers on the counter. She was a bit disappointing but that's okay I did my part.

When I walked back into the house, manuscript-less, something felt off, the way it does when I come home after dropping Jake at Shampooches. Hollow. And, that's how I felt about my book being on its maiden voyage, unattended--hollow.

For more than two years I've been working on this book, writing if not every single day, very close to it, carrying it with me everywhere I go physically or psychically -- vacation, to sleep, to my daughter's, Starbucks.

I'm hoping it'll be shipped back next week so I can make the necessary rewrites and begin sending queries to agents.

And having the book on "vacation" gave me a few days to play with other ideas for the next book. And the one I've come up with has been simmering for quite some time, so I'm jotting down notes, making character sketches, figuring out names, -- I'm excited!

Exercise . . .ewe!

2008-05-14T07:54:00.000-07:00
Here's what I'm reading ... Case Histories by Kate Atkinson - so far, so good. I'll keep you posted. I'm on page 28

I finished reading Jacquelyn Michard's The Breakdown Lane, on the return flight from Montana. The book is about a woman who, after her husband leaves her in a near-mutual decision, discovers she has a debilitating disease. Great book, moves along at a nice pace, quirky characters.

The book made me think about all the people in the world who do have debilitating diseases, serious illnesses, or even a week's worth of cold and flu and the enormous impact health issues have on life.

My small sampling of strep throat was an eye opener. Sure, there were many people who would've been happy to drive me to the doctor, pick up medicine, or make chicken soup, but I didn't want to bother anyone. But what's it like if you need a ride every day or every other day or every week to the hospital for radiation or chemotherapy, not to mention doctor appointments? What do you do if you're feeling too weak or sick too your stomach to get yourself wherever you need to go? So, I had a little conversation with myself...

Monday morning I dusted off and hopped on the elliptical which has been sitting in our "workout room" (another word for joke) since 2006--unused. This is the Precor I begged Rick to get. We both needed to start exercising again. Rick used it for a really long time, until he decided to join a gym because he wanted to also to do strength training, lift weights and things I can't even imagine.

For the first week or so after we got the Precor I exercised faithfully, but after that, who knows what happened. I know what didn't happen...

The key to exercise for me is similar to what fuels Jake--food. If I'm faithful about it, I can eat more of what I want. The excuse that walking Jake twice a day for about thirty minutes doesn't hold up anymore. I'm packing on pounds I don't want.

The bottom line is this: I need to exercise to stay heart-healthy ... oh and so I can fit into my summer clothes :-)

Better Living Through Modern Chemistry...and thank God!

2008-05-14T07:51:00.000-07:00
I thought for sure that the scratchy throat I'd felt a week ago Sunday morning was just the remnants of a late night the evening before. We'd friends over for dinner, I'd had had a busy week, maybe I overextended myself. I never get sick.

But the scratch didn't go away, in fact it got worse and worse, and in all my brilliance, I canceled an pre-scheduled doctor appointment on Tuesday morning because I was too sick to drive. I could have asked my husband to come home from work to drive me, I could have called a friend (I'm sure anyone would have delighted in taking me to the doctor--the ride home, however, once they learned I had strep might have been tricky) but I felt too awful leave the house. My head hurt, my right ear throbbed, I couldn't swallow my own saliva, and I had the chills. I went to the medicine cabinet certain I'd find a magic pill, but when I saw the size of the Aleve I knew my constricted, red, swollen, and yes, white dotted throat couldn't do it.

My throat burned all the time, I couldn't concentrate. So I couldn't read, writing wasn't an option, I knew that. I could hardly talk and believe it or not, walking wasn't too great, either. I canceled everything, no one questioning a thing once they heard my voice and believe me, there was no argument once I said I had strep.

Not swallowing is like telling yourself not think of the color lemon yellow. It's impossible. The more I couldn't swallow, the more I'd wanted to and the more thought I had to. And when I did, it felt miserable, like a vice closing around my throat.

The doctor visit was Wednesday morning. Eureka! Hail the virtues of better living through modern chemistry. He gave a prescription, a Z Pack. Six pills, two at once, then one each day for four. That is one powerful antibiotic. I felt like a rising super woman the next day, less than twenty-four hours after the initial dose.

The only thing that felt good sliding past my tonsils was ice cream. It may not have been the right thing to eat, but the cold against my sizzling throat was perfect.

Being sick is like being on vacation--all the things I couldn't do last week, have piled up for this week ...argh...the difference is if I'd been on a beach in Kauai, I wouldn't mind the work, feel fully rested and content to have relaxed for a week.

NOTE TO ALL:

1) Best way to avoid strep? Doctor said wash your hands very often (personally I think I should have used a mask on the airplane to/from Montana)

2) My cousin told me to use Motrin instead of Tylenol or Aleve, etc, because it's an antiflammatory -- good advice -- it really worked.

Stay healthy and again, here's to modern medicine!

Happy Day-After May Day :-)

2008-05-02T12:05:00.000-07:00
Belated Happy May Day!

Did you celebrate it yesterday? My old neighbor, Debbie, used to put a fresh bouquet of spring flowers on my doorstep every May first ... a May day custom, she'd say. I'd never heard of that before, but each year I looked forward to her colorful arrangements.

Anyway, I forgot all about it this year. I was too busy racing around -- left the house at 7:15 a.m. and returned at 4:15 p.m. -- geesh! The whole time I was out, I kept thinking about the next thing I had to do until I remembered that I am trying to practice the principles in A New Earth ...and living in the present moment because all we really have is NOW. (Maybe that's why Tolle named one of his books The Power of Now)

Living in the present moment is SO easy in that you don't worry about the past or the future because the job is to focus on now. Remembering to focus on the NOW, however, presents problems because my brain is very busy (even right now) for example, wondering about something else. We're having company for dinner tomorrow night and I can't decide what I'll serve. (future) I won't make that yummy pumpkin-spice-ginger-crust cheesecake because the last time I made it, the crust turned out like mortar. (past)

The challenge? We're conditioned to base our judgements, opinions, criticisms, way of life, -- everything -- on past experience instead of seeing each moment as fresh and new. If we could do that, have each moment be present and new, oh if we could just do that, then we could see possibility and not defeat or same outcome in everything. Interesting, huh?

So, I'm trying to focus on the present moment -- by watching my breath, taking time out to just take a couple of breaths to get back to center, back to the place of stillness deep within -- even in my chaotic world.

I'm not nearly as articulate as Tolle, but he said something that helps me get to that place. He used the example of stillness of the ocean ... the waves could be choppy on the surface (representing chaos/life), but underneath the water is calm (the stillness within). That's the place from which a wellspring of new ideas and possibilities live. :-) (my interpretation)

Okay, so now that I've done this I can go make that BLT I've wanted all day -- tee hee (past and future--what about NOW?)

Home Again...

2008-04-30T09:17:00.000-07:00
We're back from Montana. Such a beautiful place to visit. We had a three hour wait in Salt Lake City and as I sat at one of the computer tables focusing on finishing up my column for the newspaper, I looked up and out the window to see it snowing sideways! That good old wind whipping across the tarmac. And it snowed while we were in Missoula, too, sometimes just flurries, sometimes enormous flakes. I can't help but wonder how each and every flake is different. Remember, you learned that in school? That every snowflake is different? Every single one? I can't imagine.

We needed jackets outside and sweaters inside. The mountains, visible from my in-laws beautiful home, were covered in white. On Sunday, however, everyone sat outside soaking up the sun and eating brunch after Rick's two nieces' baby baptisms. By California standards it might have been a bit too cool, but those thick-blooded Montana folk didn't mind it at all. Talk about weather seems rather prevalent in that part of the country.

We saw lots of white tailed deer munching on tasty new buds and flowers they happen to come across. Their long spindly legs, too big ears, Bambi faces and twitching white tails--I was in love.

So, we're back to the grind. Rick racing out of the house this morning for a 7:30 a.m. conference call. Me back to editing Darby Way and determined to finish by the end of the week, which is fast approaching. Jake the Dog under the desk patiently awaiting his morning walk.

I love visiting out of state family, but there's nothing better than coming home. Back to Jake (whom we missed terribly), back to our own "dirt" (of which we left plenty), and back to our own bed (even in not-so-fresh sheets). It's the best.

Monday Morning Ramble

2008-04-21T10:27:00.001-07:00
Ah, another Monday morning -- last week I actually reached all of my writing goals except to finish reading A Change of Heart by Jodi Picoult. Since I read several books at a time, finishing one can pose a problem ... I want to finish it before we leave for Montana because I don't want to lug it on the airplane. I'd rather pack my carry-on case with lots of paper backs. So, I'm focused on finishing A Change of Heart before we leave.

What I like about Picoult's work is that she writes about difficult situations, ones in which you need to think (not quite as dramatic but sort of -- if your husband and child were drowning and neither could swim, who would you save?) The protagonist's daughter is in need of a heart transplant (make that desperate need) and the "perfect match" couldn't be more imperfect. I don't want to give away the plot but it's worth the read. I'm not sure I'd pay full price (I got it at Costco) but I'd definitely get it at the library or in paperback.

We leave to visit family in Montana on Thursday. I am grateful I love visiting my in-laws...they're wonderful. The only thing that's hard about leaving here is saying goodbye to our dog and furry child, Jake, and not seeing the grand kids :-( That's the tough one. I know Jake will be fine. We've found a great sitter who stays here at the house and keeps him company. And, my daughter who lives nearby is really good about email a few pictures of the kids for us to see. My other daughter, the one who works full-time, doesn't have time to be emailing pictures, but I carry the baby's picture in my heart anyway so.

It snowed in Montana on Saturday but then melted the next day -- it will be interesting to see what the weather's like when we arrive. I never know what to pack, and in fact, usually feel under dressed. My husband's family are all great dressers, and frankly, I just don't care about clothes as much as I did say, ten years ago. That said, I did buy a few new things to pack--weather depending. My mind is in grounded in spring, sounds like Montana's mind is hovering somewhere between winter and a frigid spring!

Saw the movie "88" yesterday. It received a D- in the Contra Costa Times, which made us think twice, but they've been wrong (at least in our minds) sooooo many times before that we decided, after Rick looked it up online to give it a try. I just think you can't over think movies the way you can books...when I go to the movies I suspend my critical mind and just enjoy what I see--within reason of course. "88" was good: full of suspense, a good little twist, a little foreshadowing that completely flew right over my head (duh) but that Rick caught..Looks like it came in as the 4th seen movie during the weekend. Would I recommend it? Yup!I'm not the best judge, though, I LOVE going to the movies or maybe it's the popcorn...

Book Summaries/Law of Attraction...

2008-04-17T17:04:00.000-07:00
How do you summarize 80,000 words onto one page, single spaced? That's my job this week, to write a summary of my book. And, being the little wordie that I am, I want it to be fun. I reread it a few minutes ago, I decided I needed to take a break because I put something in the summary that didn't even happen! What's that all about! Geesh! Hummmm, maybe I should add it!

Anyway, it's an interesting process and I must say that going to the Times Book Club Gala Tuesday evening did give me a shot of inspiration. I mean, if other people in the world can write a book, summarize it, edit, re-write, find an agent and a publishing house, publish, so can I! Right? No? Yes, right. My brain is working overtime!

Those words--about other people doing it--come straight from the mouth of Michael Lozier, Oprah and Friends Abundance Guru. I love that when I'm doubting something, I can look at other people who've accomplished the same thing and think, well if they can do it, so can I.

He says to remember to ask for what you want, not what you don't. Makes such perfect sense in the eyes of the Universe and attraction, doesn't it? I mean, if you think about it, we're all energy fields, so it stands to reason that whatever we attract, we do so because of that field.

We attract what we think about so if I think I'll write a great book and it will be snagged up by a fabulous agent, it will be. I know it. And, if I go the other way and think no one will ever want it, well then, I only have myself to thank. Really. That's the way it works. I've seen it happen time and time again in my own life. We just have to watch what we think about. Lozier says something about learning how to catch yourself when you say, can't, won't don't...because they're negative. He suggests you turn it around to can will and do! Good, huh? Try it. I'd love to hear how it works. (BTW, I'm not saying I won't receive a rejection--only that the energy I'm putting behind the book, and into it for that matter, is postive and upbeat)

The funny thing about this blog is that I'm not broadcasting that I'm writing it anymore. This could be a huge mistake, but I've decided to use it more as a journal...I love journaling. I certainly won't put things here that would hurt or embarrass anyone, (especially me:-) ) but, it's a good way to keep the juices flowing. Writing pumps me up, and free writes are the best. These are first drafts, untouched, sort of preliminary work that we all do to keep the pump primed. So if any one's reading, great. Leave a note, if not, I hope the cyberspace molecules enjoy~

Times Book Gala

2008-04-16T08:32:00.001-07:00
Last evening, my friend Joan and I, (who bless her soul - was at the tail end of a migraine) trekked to Walnut Creek for the Times Book Gala event. There were four authors...and here's my own personal review.

If you haven't read Beth Lisick's book, Helping Me Help Myself, it's funny and a good read. And, if you have the opportunity to hear her speak, don't miss it. It's like comedy night at the Improv! She was clearly the most entertaining.

Sue Miller, who wrote several books that have been made into movies, is artist-in- residence at St. Mary's College in Moraga was very interesting and unusual. She didn't talk about her book per se, but spoke about the foundation for most of her books, which is home and hearth. I boughtThe Good Mother. Her newest one, The Senator's Wife, is supposed to be excellent. It's still in hardback.

Vendela Vida, a young (oh so young and beautiful) talented lady talked about her book Let the Northern Lights Erase Your Name and was quite interesting. She took three trips to Lapland to experience what life is like there in order to write this book. And, she read us the two paragraphs gleaned from her first trip -- long trip for two paragraphs, huh? She got the idea of writing this particular book from memories of pictures she'd seen as a child!

The only man on there, Andre Aciman, who wrote Call Me By Your Name, was pretty impressive too. After listening to him speak his book would be a wonderful read.

All of this brings me to my real point: have you ever known a reader/writer to pass up an opportunity to buy more books? So, now I have an additional two books to add to the collection, rows, and overwhelming pile of books I've yet to read.

I met one women there last night who told me that her son tells everyone she owns a book store, except she never sells any of the books. I can relate!

Lynn Carey said that the venue for presenting authors is going to change -- last night was the last Gala :-( I'm disappointed but she also said that a new venue would include one-on-one with authors which sounds great. We'll see. It's fun to hear several authors together but I like the idea of the one-on-one, too--to get a more in depth conversation going. So stay tuned to Lynn's writing in the paper to see what's up next. I'm sure it will be great!

A New Earth

2008-04-11T07:40:00.000-07:00
I'm reading Eckhart Tolle's new book, A New Earth, and listening to the podcast on Oprah every Monday evening at 6 p.m. It is a real eye-opener, so much in fact, that three other women and myself have decided to get together once a week and discuss the principles of his work. The book is divided into ten chapters and each week, one is covered on Oprah's podcast at www.Oprah.com. If you have any interest in changing your life for the better, pop in and take a look. If you've not been watching, all of the past pod casts are available to download for free.

I didn't know much about Oprah until about six weeks ago because if I let myself watch watch TV during the day, I find it difficult to pull myself away from it.

However, watching her on the podcast has given me such joy. She's an amazing, spiritual, giving, loving person ... and so wants to contribute to changing the world, which I must say, is not only a lofty goal, but one that the A New Earth program is doing.

Check it out.

The Cycle of Life ...

2007-11-26T20:42:00.000-08:00
The morning before Thanksgiving, actually most of that day, was spent running around buying raw vegetables and then racing home to wash, clean, chop, dice, season and mix this and that for Thanksgiving dinner.

My eighty-three year old mother came by to help and my oldest daughter dropped in with my grandson.

I couldn't help but think about the cycle of life -- watching Mom's head bent low fixing the traditional green bean casserole, her body stooped with age and degenerative disc disease. We tried to give her 'easy' things to do so she didn't have to use pressure on her arthritic fingers to chop. She needs to feel useful as do most of us. She's well into her sunset years.

My grandson, with his perfect toddler body, chubby little index finger bent out like a swaying bridge in a tell-me-what-that-is point, barely at the dawn of his life, and my daughter, chasing him around eager to share knowledge, to help him learn--I suppose she's at high noon.

I don't like to think about myself getting older or Mom already nailed firmly into old age.

I even see the beginnings of crows feet around my daughter's eyes! Never mind how did that happen to her, I want to know how the years sped by so fast rendering me with a daughter who has crows feet! I want to know how I could possibly have a 34 year-old daughter when I feel 34. I know I'm beyond the high noon years of my child, but I'm not at sunset yet -- I'm guessing I'm at 3 p.m.!

Then I thought about gratitude.

How very lucky I am to be surrounded by a loving family. How very lucky I am to have 'enough' and more than enough. How grateful I am to be blessed with a witty, generous husband; a bright son; another beautiful and sweet daughter and three other grandchildren; two sons-in-law I adore, in-laws I love to visit ... life is good. I feel humbled by all that I have been blessed with.

What makes all of this so sweet is remembering darker days when I didn't know how I'd afford the turkey for Thanksgiving or have enough money to put Christmas presents under the tree. Life was one big worry that there wouldn't be 'enough' and yet when I look back on those days, always and without exception, abundance prevailed. My God/Higher Power provided. I am blessed.

Life is so good...

There is much to be grateful for...

If I could put time in a bottle....the first thing that I'd like to do is to spend everyday ...(thank you Jimmy Buffett)

2007-10-25T17:56:00.000-07:00
By all standards, every standard you could possibly imagine, I am not an important person, but if you were to look at my day timer, you'd think even the president would need to wait in line weeks to meet with me. (actually he'd wait forever--but that's another story--or maybe I'd meet with him right away to straighten him out--that's another story, too).

I bought my Franklin Covey planner six or seven years ago. It took me hours to decide on the color -- but when I spotted the apple red one, my heart stopped!

The first time it took it out on a date, I attended a coaching conference in Marin County and left it on the seat of my chair as the 'THIS SEAT IS TAKEN' unwritten note for five minutes, or 300 seconds, while I ran to the ladies room. In my absence someone spilled water on it. My beautiful red leather planner now a mushy soggy smelly mess. I knew it would leave a big old water mark, too, which over the years faded into a 'new/old' color, dingy red.

Near the end of conference the woman next to me whispered that the gal behind us had a little 'water accident', she said pointing her finger through her ribcage. Little? She went on to say she told me this because she didn't want me to think she did it. Another check mark for high standards!

Anyway, I started looking at my planner -- there is time for everything except nothing. Let me clarify, there is time to do everything no matter what, but no time to do nothing. I guess we'd call that 'unscheduled' time, but it feels like a foreign phrase, doesn't it? Unscheduled time, huh. (gives you insight as to how spontaneous I am doesn't it? And a peek at my memory retention abilities...)

Am I the only one who's time constipated? One minute it's noon and the next minute my husband's walking through the door and it's dark ... and he says, "Oh, are we going out to dinner tonight?" Bless him he never adds 'again'.

Anyway, this time thing got me thinking. How do women who work full time and have a brood of kids at home do it? Or people who use wheelchairs? And people who have to walk instead of drive? Or people who never seem to have enough time? Or aren't good time schedulers? Or people who get caught up in their dreams and whoops, they've missed an important meeting? Does God give them extra minutes because they need it?

No wonder life is a chaotic lunacy.

Meditation? Who has time?

2007-10-23T14:26:00.000-07:00
Om, Om, Om. Meditation. Breathe. Relax. Ah,what would I do without it? I could describe the last six plus months and that would give you a pretty good idea.

The thing about meditation is, I need to make time for it.

When I don't meditate, I am a little snappy (not the good snappy as in 'chic' or 'snappy wit') but more like snapping turtle...not good. But who has twenty minutes twice a day, make that once a day, to meditate? I mean really. I have more important things to do than to be a slave to something that inspires grace, compassion and patience after I do it, don't I?

Why would I take time meditate when it pretty much guarantees my day will at least start out well, even if it begins to swirl and crumble during the middle of it????

In her book "One Continuous Mistake: Four Noble Truths for Writers", Gail Sher says, "Before his enlightenment, Buddha was also tempted to extremes. Afterwards he taught the middle way." I love that, don't you? I am no Buddha, but I am tempted by extremes --

To paraphrase Sher, the 'middle way' isn't the easy way out, it's not being rigid or lax, but living in the middle. For example, if you want to eat a box of candy, you allow yourself a few pieces. You're not depriving yourself of all of it (rigid) nor eating the whole box (lax) (and yum).

I decided to apply the 'middle way' principle to my meditation practice. What would happen if I meditated for ten minutes instead of a whole twenty? Would it work just as well? Would I have the illusive calm-compassion-grace I can only find with a twenty minute meditation?

Having had this love/hate relationship with meditation for years, I thought it would be interesting to try. Twenty minutes straight is hard. While it does works, it is torturous for me to sit that long. I get antsy. I get alligator eyes and must peek. I need to know how many more minutes do I need to endure this and then TIME IS the meditation. (the fact that the timer is set doesn't count ... ahem)

So I've been doing it, this sitting for ten minutes, my own personal 'middle way'. And it works. Yay!

Frank Sinatra sang (he was never one of my favorites but that's another story) ... "I Did It My Way". And doing it my way works -- for me that is.

Now I'm wondering where else I can apply the 'middle way' to my life. Yoga? Exercise? Food?

If you're struggling to do something and it isn't working, you might give the 'middle way' a try. After all, You've Got to Please Yourself (Ricky Nelson -- can't help it these things it popped into my head...)
~cindy

One time yoga damsel turned yoga matron

2007-10-17T10:47:00.000-07:00
Ever gone to a yoga class? I mean ever gone to a yoga class after a period of not going to one for a couple of months? Let me tell you...

I'll never again brag about being limber. Nope not one bit. I am a rubber band stretched just beyond her snapping point--but not snapping--just losing all of her elasticity like an old pair of, well all I can think of is, an old pair of underpants -- you get the point...

And, it all happened because I had to keep up with everyone else in class, that would be the yoga instructor wearing her cute pink yoga pants and hibiscus flower top, in what I can only assume is a size "0", and the 'girls' who were probably 18 to 20.

Yoga is supposed to help you focus, give you inner core strength and create a feeling of calm and peacefulness. That may just happen, but right now, in this moment, the focus is on pain, the inner core strength feels like I need help sitting up and calm and peaceful are coexisting only because I've taken more than my fair share of over the counter pain meds. And tonight might be a good night to drink...

Do I sound bitter? I don't mean to. I guess getting older is taking its toll on my ability to rationalize in a more mature way -- but wait -- if I'm mature, why can't I just accept that fact that, heck, I used to be young, now I'm not?

What does all of this say about me? I think it says I am way more competitive than I thought, that I can and did turn myself into a very proud pretzel but at what cost? (see above) And, was it worth it? (see above) Arrgghh!

The art of aging gracefully...I'm not there yet and you know, I'm not sure I want to...I don't think I'll do the pretzel thing again, though :-(

Story Board: 21 done, 10 to go

2007-10-12T09:10:00.000-07:00
I am upstairs in my office getting ready to work on my story board. I finished story boarding the first 21 chapters complete with summaries, seasons, place, time, characters, and the dreaded comic strip depicting the 'action' in each chapter. (that's one story board per chapter.) A big nod goes to my fabulous coach, Mary, who coached me to complete 21 story boards by the 19th. She did such a good job inspiring me that they were finished Sunday night. Yahoo and hallelujah! Thank you Mary!

The good news is I've graduated from potato heads to little action stick people. Some of my comic strips, make that most, look like a four year-old did them, but that's okay. They hang in our guest bedroom so I can figure out what the next step is and where to put the chapters still in need of a board. (I do feel a little sad for guests...)

The challenge is story boarding the last ten chapters. These are the chapters I couldn't figure out what to do with because of my poor organizational skills. I tried to hold all the information, chapter by chapter, in my head. Impossible. Between memory lapses and 'mental pausings' as my friend Eileen says, my brain couldn't do it. So, these last chapters need to find homes among the existing 21 story boards. There definitely are places for them --that's why I wrote them--I just can't remember where they belong. But, when I'm finished it will take care of my editor's question of "is something missing here?"

Apart from my lack of solid organizational skills, Nineteen Darby Way is coming along great!!! I love the protagonist and the various predicaments she finds herself --I just need to plug those incidents in the right spots so she doesn't appear to be in the middle of a psychotic break.

That said, story boarding is the best organizational tool! Finally, I know where I am in this sea of words and paragraphs and chapters. The goal now is to finish these last 10 chapters by the 19th -- wish me luck...
~c
Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT: The real truth is....

Procrastination

2007-10-02T11:14:00.000-07:00
Procrastination whispers in my ear ~ do this, do that -- but do it later. Right now, let's go have fun! Yes!

Anyone out there know what I mean? Come on, some of you must.

During the spring, I started working through the exercises in The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron with two writing friends.

So began our journey. We wrote 'morning' pages as Julia Cameron calls them, took ourselves out on artist dates, ruminated over the questions at the end of each chapter, and checked in with each other every week, as our built-in accountability.

My buddy, procrastination, would wake me up bright and early to remind me to do my morning pages--MORNING pages--not afternoon or evening pages, but morning pages, not almost three but THREE FULL PAGES -- handwritten.

Okay, fine. So some mornings grew procrastination legs deep into the evening and I'd scrunch up in bed at night and scribble out three morning pages to keep my commitment. Except they weren't MORNING pages, they were midnight procrastination pages, which left me frustrated. I started wondering...

Did my morning pages count if I didn't do them in the morning to start my day off in the right 'writing' frame of mind?

Are morning pages written in the morning the magic formula to being a good writer?

What did all of this say about me as a writer--did it say I was committed or should be committed?!

After a few weeks of driving myself crazy, taking little credit for writing every day unless things were done just right, I had a chat with my writing com padres -- they didn't say the word crazy, but I got the point: the point is to write, doesn't make any difference what time of day it is--it's about finding the right time for you, er, me.

Turns out the best time for me to work on my book is late afternoon and evening. But the morning pages? I do them mostly in the morning now because I get up a little earlier. But they count anytime -- day or night. They count if I only write 2 1/2 pages, too! And finding a good time to write takes most of the pressure off because I'm doing what works for me not Julia Cameron. Follow your own intuition!

Any time devoted to writing is good and working with your own body clock helps squash the procrastination bug.

Here's an interesting web site for writers with lots of articles about writing, organizang, etc. http://www.organizedwriter.com

Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT: The thing about procrastination is....

Hiking in Sedona

2007-09-27T16:36:00.000-07:00
We just returned from Sedona -- red rocks in odd and sometimes highly suggestive shapes and sizes, deep red dirt, vortexes, walking and hiking trails that take one deep into the heart of Indian medicine wheel country and spirits.

Rick and I found a little hiking trail behind the grounds where we stayed--piles of flat red rocks almost like slate (to walk on), red dirt (a mix of cinnamon and pomegranate color), insects, salamanders, the tiniest of birds perched in low bushes, cactus and prickly pears.

It didn't long for me to realize that I don't have the agility of a goat or those cows I see traversing the hillsides on the golden hills along Camino Tassajara. Rick on the other hand, forged ahead, stopping to snap pictures and take in the view. I spent a good deal of time looking down carefully calculating where each foot should land next and trying to keep up with him.

The thing about hiking is, one must stay present otherwise one might find herself splattered on red rock ... but once I realized that I WAS present, I could make the experience anything I wanted -- spiritual, meditative, fun, scary, and it became more meaningful.

And that experience reminded me of writing. To write I need to be present not to just show up at the computer or the note pad with pen in hand, but to consciously show up so that it matters that I've been there...

Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT: You were the gentle one ...
(and keep going for 20 minutes)

prompt from Pat Schneider's book, Writing Alone and With Others

Click Clack, Scarves and Women

2007-09-19T09:09:00.000-07:00

Autumn inspires me to knit. It's the swirl of cold when I walk Jake in the morning and the changing of leaves from green to crimson, yellow, gold and purple. The air has a hint of decay in it, and yet, for me it represents renewal, new beginnings. What could be fresher than the start of the school year? New Year's is a reminder to stay on track for all the things I wanted to start once 'fall' hit--after the ease and heat of summer.

But back to knitting...
I follow in the footsteps of my great grandmother, Hanna, who knitted dark green vests for World War 1 soldiers, my grandmother, Anna, knitted white cotton bandages on needles the size of a red cocktail straw for lepers, and my mother, Kay, who picks up her knitting when her arthritic fingers allow. She used to knit argyle socks for my dad, afghans, pink angora hats with white pompoms for me at the start of our New England winters, but arthritis has robbed her of long stretches of looping yarn and holding knitting needles.

I take the easy road -- I knit scarves -- just knit, no purl, no yarn over, no seed stitch, no sweaters, no shrugs, or cozy little slippers. Just knit. Twelve stitches. Size 15 needles.

I often knit when I sit in the living room listening to the television or when my husband drives. His driving makes my insides turn to jello. Knitting keeps my hands busy and my mouth shut and brings me back to another time of life--the smell of baked cookies, Mom's black speckled kitchen floor, our cat, Mittens, my children, and grandchildren. And it gives me time to think about challenges--it's another way to journal until I can get to my pen and notebook.

After giving several, make that many, scarves to each of my daughters who eventually said 'enough, Mom', I gave them to friends, but you can't keep giving scarves to people. After a while they might think I'm the crazy scarf lady or that I don't have anything else to do during the day... or night ... or anytime...

So, I'm looking for a homeless shelter where I know my scarves will be used to keep women warm. When I knit each one I offer gratitude for all I'm blessed with and offer hope that the receiver will have an abundant life soon. Once I donate them, I think it will help me sleep better at night, too, and in my teeny tiny way, I'm following in the steps of Hanna, Anna, and Kay.

Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT: This isn't the way it was supposed to turn out, I ....

Missing Flip Flop

2007-09-14T16:08:00.000-07:00
Recently, Flop, of my beloved Flip Flops, went missing. It was a favorite--midnight black, two rows of tiny rhinestones up each side of the plastic 'v'.

I looked at our Golden Retriever, Jake, sleeping on top of our bed -- my number one suspect. He usually eats Rick's things. His wreck and chew history includes a ratty, over the hill jogging Nike and newly repaired leather handle gnawed right off a piece of luggage. Eating the handle wouldn't have been so bad except it took Rick weeks to decide if the garment bag merited saving -- it must have been thirty years old. But once the decision to repair was made, we expected the trusty old bag might even outlast us.

Then a few short weeks ago, Jake nuzzled his nose into an orange bag, pulling out a signed A's baseball and chewed away. By the time we found the ball--full of slime and saliva--it looked as though it never had white leather nor red string holding it together. As he lounged in the dining room mucking up the last of the string, I grabbed it out of his mouth and chucked it in the garbage.

Anyway, Jake's preferences seemed to be for leather so I thought perhaps Ms Flop cleared his list of favorites. Nonetheless, I grabbed a flashlight and checked his haunts along with the rest of the house -- toy chest, the workout room, under beds and sofa. I had worn my flip and flops within the last 48 hours and some of the places I checked I hadn't visited in days~make that weeks.

The more I pitched sofa pillows and rummaged a stack of clothes for Good Will, I convinced myself that Jake the Dog ate Flop. I eyed him with great suspicion but he just looked at me like he always does -- dark chocolate eyes -- first to the left, then to the right, back again, tail wagging, occasional blink. Cute. I still thought he knew something I didn't, ahem, like the whereabouts of Flop.

This morning I threw a load of laundry into the mouth of our new front loading washing machine, the one that, combined with its matching dryer, looks like the control panel of a 747, slammed the door shut, filled the detergent thingie, and tapped the 'start' button.

Then I hear it. Yes, it is Flop taking her first shower, make that last shower--she came unglued--half of her rhinestones missing, half of them attached. I'm heartsick.

I like to think of myself as an optimist, so here's the good news ~ it's almost the end of our California summer, well, closer to the end than the beginning -- so new Flip Flops await....

Moral of the story? You can't always say the dog ate it and always check what goes into the washing machine before the door locks ....
~C
Wanna write? Here's a PROMPT:
The last time I looked, it sat ....
When I'm not organized, here's what happens ...

fill in the blank by writing for 20 minutes ~have fun

The Grim Reaper, a reminder to be mindful...

2007-09-11T11:05:00.000-07:00
I have a little habit of reading the obituary column in the newspaper, a habit I picked up from my grandmother. She'd sit at her Formica kitchen table every morning drinking Red Rose tea with cream and sugar (very English) while pouring over the obituaries in the Boston Globe.

The Globe is a good sized newspaper harboring column after column of deaths in tiny lettering, unlike our local paper where most of us don't need a magnifying lens to read the print.

When I see the name of someone I know it feels like a punch in the chest and within the last month or so, I've had a couple of punches.

Last month, my friend Steve died. As an artist, he created hundreds of oil and acrylic abstracts and silk screened scarves. He also worked as a rehab counselor, dubbed himself a beekeeper--with ten or twelve hives in his back yard, had a dry wit and always made me laugh. His office walls were covered with full-sized kites -- stop light red, kelly green and lemon yellow -- with sperm-like tails stuck into position with staples and push pins. Kites have always reminded me of freedom. Now they remind me of Steve.

Steve escaped the grim reaper for a few years after his diagnosis and then its knock came back with a vengeance. The last time I saw him, it was during his remission three years ago. We ate dinner at the Cantina in Walnut Creek and talked about life, our careers, and his fearlessness about dying.

And just this morning, I read about Eddi. Eddi and I found our way to each other through a mutual friend in grad school. I used to think we were a lot alike until I read her obituary today -- she was literally classified as a genius. (no wonder she didn't understand how I could never make friends with statistics or my inability to grasp the concepts all things involving numbers...).

She had a zest for life that shot out through her eyes -- I've still not met anyone whose eyes could out-sparkle those blue dazzlers. They were a mixture of excitement, curiosity and fun -- that made me want to jump behind them to see whatever it was she saw.

We shared a teary goodbye one foggy morning at the Safeway parking lot ten plus years ago when she, her husband, and their cat moved to Washington. Then we lost touch.

Their deaths remind for me to be conscious and grateful for the everyday things in life --the tight squeeze around my neck from Sammie or JD, Baby Kyle's cuddle and his contagious giggles, a sweet kiss good night from Rick, the simple yet so important conversations with family, friends--and strangers.

Here's to staying conscious~
~cindy

Writing prompt: 'When I look in your eyes ......' (write for 20 minutes about the first set of eyes that come into your mind -- doesn't matter if it's true or not)

~c

Laughter and Chocolate

2007-09-09T18:02:00.000-07:00
Last night on a whim, Rick and I went to Tommy T's Comedy Club in Pleasanton to see Ralph Harris (the comedian recently kicked off of Last Comic Standing -- huge mistake). I could hardly catch my breath from laughing, one joke falling on top of another, then another, and another--in a way that just can't be scripted, can it? How do good comedians do that?

Chris Titus is like that, too. In January of this year, for Rick's 'milestone' birthday we went to Tommy's to see him. We ached from out of control laughing. Titus be back at Tommy's in November and we'll be going back --In case you're interested: http://www.tommyts.com/

All of this made me think about author David Sedaris. One day I drove my Mom to Kaiser and while I sat in the waiting room inhaling hospital waiting room germs, I continued reading his hysterical book, Me Talk Pretty One Day. I laughed so hard that tears were streaming down my cheeks and the words on the page kept blurring. I had no Kleenex, just a wet shiny face.

A woman walked over to me and I thought, thank God--a Kleenex--instead she asked me for the name of my book. At first I couldn't decide which to wipe with my hand (or sleeve) first --nose? eyes? cheeks? before I spoke. I finally sputtered the name of the book out and she said she'd be stopping at the book store on the way home to pick up a copy.

~ laughter is like chocolate ~ everybody wants some. ~Yum~

Cindy

Rewrites, editing and fooling myself

2007-09-08T11:01:00.000-07:00
I'm finally into the 'rewriting' phase of my book, but I don't like the word 'rewrite', so I call it editing. Editing is doable -- a comma here, a hyphen or semicolon there. It's just a way to fool myself about the massive word changes that are taking place, but it feels so much more writer friendly, you know? It's like calling a hurricaine a spring shower.

This isn't the first time around for this book. The first time it was called Peanut Butter and Kisses, this time it's 19 Darby Way. In the first book I dug in for about 40,000 words, sat in utter confusion for weeks, then changed it from journal entries to first person present tense. Talk about editing ... in the first book, there were several unruly children whose whereabouts I couldn't keep track of and a flaky protagonist--hence part of why I began again, I kept losing the kids. In the new book, Katie, an only child--is manageable -- and she's a good kid. I like her and the protagonist and I really like fooling myself.

Greetings and Welcome

2007-09-06T21:13:00.000-07:00
Welcome to my blog. I wish we could sit and chat about life or at the very least, that I could offer you a hot cup of coffee or a great glass of cabernet as you browse my blog site, but I don't know if you're 21 -- you'll have to supply your own libation. Since this is the first entry, you'll be finished in a flash -- at least your coffee won't grow cold nor the cab too warm!

My blog is about any and all things related to writing: reading, writing, books, personal essay, freelance work, journalism, and about life. I think everyone can write -- if you can speak, you can write. Yes, there are those who can speak (and write) better than others, but I don't believe it when people tell me they can't write. Pshaw!

For example, take the phrase 'Right now I am .....' and fill it in. And keep going. (I'm borrowing this phrase from Hal Zina Bennett's book, Write from the Heart). I don't suppose he can own this phrase but since I use it and I did find it in his book, I feel I owe him a nod.

If I'm at Peets or Starbucks rummaging through my brain, picking and throwing things over my shoulder that wouldn't be worth writing about, I go back to 'Right now I am ....' and zap up comes up something. Just like leap frog I find myself hopping from one thought to another. Eventually, I have a story. Or I don't. Either way works. If it's not a good write, fine, I've practiced. If I've created something worthwhile, I can polish it up and send it out (maybe).

Right now I am .... looking forward to you visiting my blog.