The Februllage prompt is SHOES. And I put a shoe — singular — in my collage. Fail.
The collage is way too busy. It reflects my mind and my life. Semi-chaotic.
But a girl can dream, right? I needed that little girl, looking ahead to something beautiful, to appear in my collage.
It’s been a hard week.
Honestly, I don’t even feel like blathering.
Let me focus on some positives.
My daughter-in-law came to where I work and gave a presentation on silos. It was so good and so well-received. I wrote 23 words about it in a post called Letters of Introduction, but I forgot some of the letters that go after her name — CEO. She’s the CEO of the organization where she works. Those are pretty important letters — I can’t believe that I forgot them!
Game Night — Last Sunday night we had a family game night via Zoom. Honestly, one of the good things that came out of this pandemic was on-line group games. Maybe they existed before the pandemic, but they’re more prolific now, right? Despite some technical issues, family members in St. Kitts, British Columbia, and various parts of New York were able to join in the fun.
Cake — I’m such a sucker for cake. I heart cake. Yesterday at work, we had some drummed-up excuse for a staff get-together to improve morale. And there was cake. It may not have improved overall morale, but it WAS cake — chocolate cake with thick creamy vanilla frosting.
Here it is, another Saturday, another Stream of Consciousness writing prompt (perfection), another day when I allow myself to write more than 23 words — in other words, another day of blather.
I’ll admit that I’m one of those people who wants things to be perfect. Seriously, are there people who don’t? Doesn’t everyone like that feeling of having done something really well — in fact, so well that it falls into the realm of perfection. I mean, I get satisfaction from a perfectly folded towel, a perfectly baked cookie, a perfect question (you know one when you hear one), a perfect answer (easily recognized as well), a perfect evening spent with a friend.
Imperfection plagues me.
I read a poem by Brian Doyle earlier this week in which he talked about rejection. “Learn to be neighborly with no,” he said, and I thought, I need to learn to be neighborly with mistakes; specifically, MY mistakes.
Seriously, who wants mistakes as neighbors? Who wants to invite them in for a cup of coffee and a chat?
Blah.
It’s so much easier to show grace to others than ourselves.
Perfectionism is almost a cancer. Strike that — it IS a cancer.
I’ve had times when I wanted to throw in the towel. One tiny bit of advice carried me through those better than any other.
Children are a lot of work. Large families have a unique set of challenges.
For instance, when a family grows from two to three children, mom doesn’t have enough hands when walking to the library with the children. She can hold the hand of one child on her right and the other on her left, but where does the third child go?
When a family grows from three children to four children, they can’t all ride in one car, unless, I suppose, they have a bench seat in the front, which we didn’t.
When a family grows from five children to six children, they can’t fit into a mini-van. Driving a 15-passenger van is overkill, but there aren’t many choices or 12 passenger vans out there.
I had eight children. My mother-in-law had thirteen. Thirteen!
One of the first times I went to their house, she took me by the hand and we walked to their large vegetable garden. I still remember the feel of her hands, calloused and strong. She worked so hard. She earned those hands.
She was a hugger. My own mother was not a hugger. Sometimes huggy people feel awkward to those of us who haven’t always had those outward displays of affection. But it seemed such a natural extension of who she was.
Basically, she was amazing and made everything look easy.
One day I asked her when I was struggling with my two or three or six children — “How do you do it?”
In her sweet, sweet way, she said, “Oh, Sally, you just do.”
You just do. Those are hefty words to live by.
And honestly, I have failed at just doing sometimes too many times.
Still, that simple exchange was one of the most unforgettable conversations in my life.
The following blather is brought to you by “Stream of Consciousness Saturday.” This is the day of the week I give myself permission to write more than 23 words.
Last Saturday, I promised a reverse poem (one that can be read top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top). Good golly, I stared at my scribbles too long. And then, came up with a reverse poem that’s too short and a little awkward. But, oh well. Here you go:
History is boring Some people actually think that All those dates and foreign-sounding names matter And eccentric people worm their way into Those stories where the world changes I find history fascinating
Meh — not the best, but I’m going to check the “Done” box and move on.
I spent a few hours yesterday in the research library.
I wrote a post called The Negative Split not too long ago. I think I research in negative-split mode.
I got to the library a few minutes after my scheduled appointment. (Yes, we have to schedule appointments at the research library now. And wear masks.)
I had given myself two hours. For the first 45 minutes or so, I leafed through photographs, not really finding anything I wanted. Or maybe I did. A few new names, therefore a few new rabbit trails. (Side-question for you: What could the nickname “Dell” be short for, for a man in the late 1800s or early 1900s?)
The librarian left to find a few more boxes for me. I feel a little bad. She’s new on the job, and I kept saying Joe (the former librarian) did this or brought me that. Comparison to a predecessor has to be the worst.
Anyway, she brought me some boxes that Joe had never brought me. Suddenly I was lost in old correspondence and organizational reports. I looked at the clock and saw that I had been there well over my two hours.
“Let me just look at one more thing,” I said to the librarian. I was in my groove — researching faster and stronger than I had been at the beginning.
“Do you think you have a photograph of this?” I asked her about a specific place in town. She started hunting.
I kept reading.
And searching.
And wishing time would just stop long enough that I could pursue these many lines of inquiry.
I snapped a photo of a bit of correspondence because it had made me laugh out loud in the quiet of the library.
“Yours till Pancakes are a thing of the past.”
I could have spent the next three weeks looking for the pancake story that inspired that closing sentiment, but I’ll almost bet it’s an inside joke between two men that I will never know. Plus, it was way past time for me to go.
But if I had those three weeks to spend, who knows what other little stories I would have uncovered?
I lied I promised a poem and blather I may just blather I won’t give you a poem Not today I can do this thing Next Saturday
Yesterday, the prompt was “reversal” and, like an idiot, I all-too-quickly decided I would write a reverse poem. I used the word reversal instead of reverse because it actually shows up that way in the interwebs.
Last night I sketched out my idea — two opposing thoughts to put at each end with a few middle-ish words. This morning, I filled that page with words and arrows and crossing-things-out and carets to insert new words. It was a mess. It definitely needs more work.
So I got out my computer and stream-of-consciously wrote the intro to this post — which CAN be read forward and backwards, but it’s not really two opposing ideas.
Next Saturday, I hope to have a worthy poem to accompany my blather.
If we were having coffee this morning, I would bore you with all the new words and concepts I learned this week.
Check out this one: AESTIVATION. It has two definitions. In zoology, it’s a state of dormancy during hot weather, as compared with hibernation, which is that dormant state in cold weather. Snakes in the desert aestivate.
But the second definition is the one I fell in love with. In botany, aestivation is the arrangement of petals and sepals in a bud before it opens.
I also learned the concept “Homo Faber” which means “Man the Maker.” One definition I found talked about man making tools to “control” their environment. I prefer to think about it more along the lines of Dorothy Sayers in her book The Mind of the Maker. There she talks about us being made in the image of God and the only thing we really knew about God at that point in the scriptures is that He created. We were made to be creative.
After my father passed away in 2019, I had some pretty serious struggles. In the spring of 2020, I found myself going for frequent walks to think — but more and more my thoughts were dark and morbid. Finally, I reached out for help and found a mental health counselor. We talked A LOT — and we still talk. I also admitted my struggles to my primary care provider who prescribed an anti-depressant. It helped, too.
There were a few times that I tried to wean myself off the anti-depressant, but quickly saw the dark road again. Then, this past fall, I found that I was forgetting to take it. I tried a bunch of different systems to help me remember, but none of them worked.
And the truth was that this time I was not seeing the darkness. Instead, I found myself feeling creative again. I mean, look at me! I’m writing here again!
I talked to my counselor about it. “I think I’m doing really well,” I told her. I showed her some of the Christmas gifts I had made — MADE — for my co-workers. “Do you think it’s okay if I just stop the anti-depressant? I promise to start again if I see the darkness or feel the darkness or have those dark, dark thoughts. I just refilled the prescription so I have a supply ready.”
She gave me her blessing — with a thousand caveats, of course, as I presume she must. She confirmed that the anti-depressant could also stifle creativity. I would have talked to my primary care provider, too, but she has since moved on to another city.
I say all this not to give my own blessing to anyone who stops taking a prescribed medication. Always have someone else in your loop who can monitor you and keep an eye on you!
I say all this because I feel alive again. Grief threw me into a period of aestivation. Now I’m ready for my petals to start opening.
This post has been brought to you by true Stream-of-Consciousness writing (thanks, Linda Hill). 49% of me says that I still have time to delete, but the 51% wins. I’m leaving the blather in the hopes it will be what someone else today needs to hear.
First, let me just say HOLY COW!! WRITING ONLY 23 WORDS IS A CHALLENGE!!
There. Got that off my chest!
I was thinking about Sabbaths and how we need to take breaks — regular breaks — from hard things. There’s discipline and then there are nutso compulsions. I work at a gym, so I see a lot of those people who are very disciplined about their training, but I also see people who compulsively overtrain to a point where it’s pretty unhealthy.
Writing 23 words is not unhealthy. It’s hard, though! But I decided that I would be disciplined about it six days a week and on the seventh I would blather. Uncontrollably blather. And use Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness (SoCS) writing prompt as my excuse.
Today’s prompt: “out of the box.” This isn’t really an out of the box story, but it’s the first thing that came to my mind so I’m going to run with it.
Over the last few weeks I have found myself.
I know that sounds ridiculously pop-psychology 1980s, but when you’ve lost yourself and found yourself again, it’s kind of amazing.
For my regular readers, remember when I wrote this post: What’s Your Goal? I was incredibly frustrated by someone trying to help me by asking me about my goals. I was too lost in the darkness of a deep forest of I-don’t-know-what to even understand that question.
Fast forward to maybe two weeks ago.
No wait — in the intervening time — about 9 months — I took on some new duties with my job. I’m helping bring some senior programming to the facility where I work. To do that, I’ve been working with a woman who has been running a senior program at another location. This past Thursday, January 5, was the big day of inviting seniors in for an Open House.
Like I said, leading up to it, I’ve been meeting regularly with a woman who has been doing this job elsewhere. We’ve discussed rooms to hold events and places to store materials. We’ve discussed personnel to be involved and practical safety issues for the population we’ll be working with. It’s all been so good.
Then the lightbulb went on a couple weeks ago. I was talking to one of my daughters about it, about a few ideas I had. Specifically, I said, “We should have a ‘Bird’ month of programming. We could have one of the artists lead an art project involving birds. We could maybe build some birdhouses, We could have someone speak on backyard birding and ways to attract birds.”
I was on a roll and getting excited as the ideas started to flow. “We could go out birding. We could get out the badminton nets if people wanted to hit the birdie back and forth.”
“Mom,” my daughter said, “this is what you do.”
And she was so right. I’m an idea person.
That free flow of ideas had been so stuffed in for so long, for so many reasons.
Not everyone likes idea people. One of the people I work with is an idea-shutter-downer. “Stay in your lane,” she said to me when I made suggestions.
Out of the box may not be the right term for what I’m feeling.
Maybe out of the dark forest. Or out of a hole.
I feel alive again. The Open House was a HUGE success.
What’s my goal? To use my unique giftedness to serve other people. I LOVE doing that. Now I have an outlet for it with the senior programs where I work.
I figured I had better take advantage of this, the last day before my self-imposed challenge for 2023: writing only 23 words a day.
I started practicing 23 word cohesive writing in my new journal from my granddaughter — well, technically it’s from my son who drew my name in our family gift exchange. He knows what I like, though, so he made her a part of it. (That’s a cat that she drew on the cover of the journal.)
Today I give myself permission to write more words — like this rambling explanation.
I’m using the ever-so-original tag: 23 words or 23words. (Do I need a hashtag?) If you write 23 words and want me to read it, tag your post and I’ll check it out.
Here are 23 words as a look-back at 2022:
People I knew In 2022 Who had a positive impact On my life: Eadaoin KevinandMary Andrew Sherlee Bob Marleny Dayrelis Carole Thank you
Honestly, my list could be much longer. And I admittedly cheated with Kevin and Mary, but they are kind of a dynamic duo. They made a cardinal for me — a female cardinal who proudly stands where I can see her often.
Tomorrow my wordiness problem will altogether disappear. 🙂
One of the first things that came to mind was “preamble” and what a silly word that is if you consider what amble means. An amble is a leisurely walk, but a preamble is not what happens before a leisurely walk. A preamble is an introduction — like the Preamble to the Constitution: “We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union…” then something about domestic tranquility, common defense and blessings of liberty. Whatever all it says — and my memory is weak here — the preamble is not leisurely. It’s the gritty laying of groundwork for a legal document. What follows the preamble isn’t an amble either. It’s bedrock.
But I love language and that’s my “L” in this pitifully late A-to-Z Challenge.
There are so many avenues to explore in languages. Etymology of words, exceptions to rules, idioms.
You probably already know all of the these, but I’ll throw them in here anyway — If the plural of goose is geese, why isn’t the plural of moose meese? By the same token, mouse becomes mice, louse becomes lice, but house never become hice. Right?
And weird is just a weird word because the i comes before the e and there’s no c involved.
My husband used to work with a woman from Germany. Her husband called her once when she was running late at work and told her that she needed to pick up the pizza for their dinner and step on it. She turned to Bud asked, “Why does he want me to step on the pizza?”
Laurel has been saying the word “Schnikes” for a while. “Is that a real word?” I asked her.
“I think so,” she said, and looked it up. It sounds Yiddish to me, but it came from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
Aren’t words fun? Isn’t language fun?
When I was about two years old, we lived in Ethiopia and our housekeeper taught me to count to ten in Italian. When I was in high school, I took French and Latin. When I was in college, I took Latin, Greek, and Italian. A few years after college I took American Sign Language through a community college. Before I went to Croatia and Bosnia, I downloaded an app to learn some Croatian. (We actually got free admission to a museum after I attempted to ask for our tickets in Croatian.)
Now I’m learning Scottish Gaelic. In early May, I hit the 700 consecutive days milestone.
I may not be able to say amble in Gaelic, but I can tell you that I’m walking — Tha mi a’ coiseachd.
I love languages. I love learning. Two good L’s, eh? (<— that’s my Canadian.)
What don’t I like that begins with L? Hmm…. how about liver and onions? My mom used to make it. Not my favorite.
How about you? What do you like that begins with L? What’s something you don’t like?
Back at the beginning of June I had this brilliant idea to encourage myself to write — I would do my own A-to-Z Challenge for the month, choosing things I like and don’t like that begin with the letter of the day. Pshaw. Looky here. June is almost over and I’m only up to K. Still I will forge ahead with the goal of completing this before 2022 ends. Today I will tackle K.
I’m also using Linda Hill’s Stream Consciousness writing challenge to further encourage me and to get the job done. This week’s challenge is “product/produce.” She says, “Use one, use them both, use them any way you’d like. Bonus points if you use both. Have fun!”
K was a tough letter for me. I can think of a thousand things that I like that begin with the letter K — my son, Karl, being at the top of the list. I also like kayaks and kangaroos, kids, kindred spirits, and kookaburras. I could go on.
However, because I recently started delving into Kierkegaard, I’m going to use him as my like.
Soren Kierkegaard is fascinating. Utterly fascinating. He’s way over my head, but I feel like a beginner swimmer (I used to teach them) who delights each small success. I put my face in the water! I floated! I’m a long way from actually swimming, but when a tiny bit of understanding lights up my dense gray matter, I am thrilled.
At first, I dug in by trying to read one of his books. I was like a newborn baby trying to eat a steak. It didn’t go very well. So I started listening to podcasts discussing him. I started reading about him.
Since this is stream of consciousness, please forgive me if I don’t get this exactly right — but I heard this Kierkegaard quote, “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.” And whoever the podcaster was talked about anxiety being that staring into the abyss of too many choices. Whew! Yes!
Another podcaster (or maybe the same one) talked about Kierkegaard’s idea of losing yourself in the infinite — that dizziness of freedom — but also losing yourself in the finite — where you aren’t allowed to be yourself because you’re so busy conforming to prescribed ideas of who others think you should be.
It’s heady, mind-boggling, and I’m loving it.
(Non-Stream-of-Consciousness warning. I wrote this post just writing — true stream of consciousness — but I have a thousand and one misgivings about delving into controversial topics. Please feel free to stop reading here. I won’t be offended. And if abortion is a hot button topic, by all means stop reading. I’m not trying to push anybody’s buttons.)
What don’t I like that begins with K? This was hard. Even things that didn’t make my “like” list — for example, kebabs — didn’t make my dislike list either — I’m kind of neutral on kebabs.
However, yesterday’s Supreme Court ruling on abortion left me with so many mixed feelings. Please bear with me as I sort them.
I don’t like killing — that’s my K. I don’t like war. I don’t like murder. I don’t like the death penalty. I don’t like abortion.
However, abortion is such a complicated issue. When we reduce it to slogans on t-shirts or on protest signs, we miss that fact.
I know people who have had abortions. A high school friend. One of my freshman college roommates. Another woman who got pregnant in college. The wife of a Bible study leader. Yep — you read that one correctly. She was a diabetic and her kidneys started shutting down. Her husband said, “We can find another way to have a baby, but I can’t get another (fill in the wife’s name).”
I know people who have chosen to carry the baby despite adverse circumstances. The woman who cuts my hair. The daughter of some missionaries.
I know people who have adopted babies carried by unwed mothers.
In Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller talks about listening to other people’s stories instead of judging. It’s been years since I read that book, but I remember a part where he set up a confession booth, not to hear other people’s confessions, but to confess his own judgmental-ness.
We’re too programmed with our knee-jerk reactions. I’m too programmed with my own knee-jerk reactions.
I hate killing. I don’t like abortion. But, then, there aren’t too many people who seriously like abortion. The issue is just so much more complicated than that.
If you are 110% pro-life, you need to sit at a table opposite someone who has made that awful decision and listen to their story of their hows and whys. If you are 110% pro-choice, you need to sit at a table opposite someone who has lived with the regret of that decision, or who was forced into that decision by some well-meaning person, and you need to go watch an ultrasound of a 10 week old fetus moving and see its tiny heart beating.
It’s complicated.
I realize that I have not used produce or product once in this post. But, hey, I produced a post! There!
How about you? What’s something you like that begins with K? What’s something you don’t like?
This is my own A-to-Z Challenge for the month of June — likes and dislikes. I’ve fallen behind but haven’t given up! If you want to join me, just add a comment naming something you like and something you don’t like that begin with the letter J.
Also, I know this is Sunday night, but I’m going to try to incorporate Linda Hill’s (actually, this week Dan Antion’s) Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday which was “cent/scent/sent.”
Stream of Consciousness writing is supposed to be no editing and minimal planning. Trust me — I have not planned this. Life has been too busy.
“I should be able to crank this out,” I said to Mary as I headed in my room to write.
“You can do it,” she said — always my best cheerleader.
“It’ll be crap, but it will be done,” I said.
I forget what she said next.
Stream of Consciousness —- blah — I can’t even remember what was said to me five minutes ago.
Jasmine is a scent that begins with J. Do I like it? Do I not like it? I don’t know. I’m not sure I would recognize jasmine.
I like lavender. Does that count for anything? My friend Leah once sent me a bunch of lavender scented stuff. Here’s the problem, though. Lavender begins with L, not J.
I like my job, and that begins with J. The other day, the cash drawer was off by a cent — a single penny. Problems like that are so easy to solve. We have a little stash of coins to fix those problems.
I like the bigger problems too — figuring out to help members, guests, and even other staff. One of my co-workers is a “not my job” kind of person and I feel like she misses out on so much because of that attitude.
I don’t like junk. I bought a cheap lavender scented candle at TJ Maxx because I like lavender (see above). It was junk. I could hardly smell the scent.
I hate the junk mail that is sent to me.
I have spent waaaay too many cents on junk and thus learned the hard way that it’s better to buy quality.
Sorry for the crap post — but it’s done. And I used ALL the words so I should get lots of bonus point.
How about you? What’s something you like that begins with J? What’s something you don’t like?
Neither Jasmine nor Lavender scented. Hot toddy, I think.
Hot Dogs and Marmalade 