Saturday, short-changing along the way

The problem with trying to do too much in a day is that you often have to do too little of the too much...

So we cut out of R's riding lesson early, to make it to a BBQ late. And I left the BBQ early to pick up S from Nutcracker rehearsal. It was a logistical nightmare juggling the two kids and their 3 activities on top of a food delivery (boxes for the week + frozen turkeys for 7 families) and errand-running. But we survived, and now that I'm writing this (at some unspecified date in the future), it all seems like it is in the distant past.

In fact, I can scarcely remember the details of the day. Thus is the importance of recording these things, I suspect.

Friday, from what I remember

So I know I'm not fooling anyone by posting something 6 days after the fact, but since we all have the ability to use our IM-MAG-IN-A-TION, we can imagine that it's Friday night, and I'm looking back on the day.

I worked until 8:30, so an 11.5 hour shift, which didn't feel bad at all, actually.

R. was home sick, which changed my errand-running plans slightly. I did manage to take a couple of naps, and on the whole, was not too wiped out by the working-the-night-shift experience.

Night owl

Working the night shift tonight. Although I feel perfectly capable of sleeping between incoming phone calls (and have permission from my boss to do so, provided I can be wide awake to give a quote, which I can be), I also may well use this time to catch up on some work.

Time alone, with only the white noise of dozens of PCs and server racks for company, is actually beautiful. I'm loving this so far.

Of course, the night is - relatively - young yet.

Not too late

Tonight I spent time working with my friend Molly in what is probably most conveniently described as a grief counseling session. There was a lot more to it than that. Molly is an extraordinary woman - a henna artist who also does personal growth work (including past life work, which is a whole other blog entry...).

But regardless of what anyone else might say about the methodology, I feel like a good deal of healing took place.

Thanksgiving is coming up. I'll be spending the holiday with my birth mom and family, including close relatives I've never met before (!), and I'm very excited about it, but I also know that it'll be a time when I'll be thinking about my mom a lot. It was important to "process" (what a clinical term for what the heart really is doing!) some of my emotions around my mom's death.

Note to self: it's never too late to have a conversation with someone you've lost.

Tuesday 11/14/06

Hooray!

I've found Radio Cymru.

Now I can have streaming audio IN WELSH while I write the novel.

I only understand about one in ten words, but just hearing it makes me so happy. It's my own home immersion program!

Maybe it's time to check in with the WASNC (Welsh American Society of Northern California) again, too. It's been a while.

Monday, November 13th

Great day in terms of writing - both the novel, and the transcription of the 6th grade class' adaptation of The Little Prince, which they will perform next month.

I now know things about my characters that they won't know for years.

Sunday, November 12th

Thank God our kids let us sleep in. I can't get enough sleep lately. I'm foregoing all sorts of things, like (ahem) writing, in order to sleep more than 5 hours a night. I'm sure it's the dark months that do this too me. When the sun sets at something like 4:30 in the afternoon, it seems like bedtime.

At least I still had time to jog a little between making a big Sunday breakfast and going to a birthday party all afternoon, so I didn't feel like I only hibernated all day. Although if I had, I guess it wouldn't have been so bad. I feel like I'm fighting something off, but whether it's a flu or depression/overwhelm or just the dark days, I couldn't say.

Saturday, Nov. 11th

Another packed Saturday with only about an hour of downtime. Not enough!
Although the daylight hours were literally filled with shuttling kids around from activity to activity (and one of the kids was a guest), at night I got together with some other moms from the school and talked about all sorts of Big things (mostly the stuff that happens before and after life, and what that might mean). I'm not so good at small talk or chit-chat. I don't really care where you bought your shoes. I want to know what you dreamt last night.

Friday Nov. 10th

I was feeling that this blog was really nothing but a recording of the symptoms of my neuroses, way too narcissistic and angst-ridden. And while all that is true, it's *relative*, you know what I mean?

I stumbled across this livespace site for poetry today and thought, "Well, hey, it could be worse."

And this just in from the Welsh news:

The research reveals that among older people in Wales
66 per cent were not looking forward to the winter months

That's crack research, man.
Sorry. Sarcasm running high. Should be better tomorrow.

Lantern Walk

The girls' school does a lantern walk for the youngest grades. The children all make their own lanterns, and then families come on the designated night to walk together by these little bobbing lights, carried by 5-8 year olds, singing songs under the stars.

I found this description of the tradition at the Waldorf School of Atlanta site:

Martinmas/Lantern WalkLantern Walk
November 11 marks Martinmas, in honor of a Roman soldier elevated to sainthood for his selfless kindness. Martin is the patron saint of the poor, beggars, outcasts, and the homeless. He is known for his gentleness, his unassuming nature, and his ability to bring warmth and light to those who were previously in darkness. On the evening of Martinmas, Martin’s deeds of goodness and acts of kindness are remembered with singing and a Festival of Lanterns. Children in kindergarten and the younger grades, together with teachers and families, carry handmade lanterns as they walk into the cold, dark evening. A story recognizing “the light” of another gives the children an experience of caring and sharing as we move toward the darkness of winter. The older grades may do outreach projects in celebration of the spirit of St. Martin.

I've never heard anyone at our school mention St. Martin (in the fields or otherwise), but the kids did hear a story told by their teacher (while the parents stood in the hallway and tried to stay quiet) before the walk. It really was lovely, and a beautiful clear night to boot. S. was a little un-calm and un-quiet, and her light even blew out at one point, but someone kindly re-lit it and we survived singing the same 3 songs about a million times (I think R has been traumatized by this part) in good spirits.

Again, I may sound the slightest bit mocking about this, but it's just to acknowledge tcynicismism of others. The fact is, I love traditions, and this one is very sweet and symbolic, and the poet in me just wants to take it all to another level and cry at all these little kids, bravely holding up their flickering lanterns in the cold air so that we can see our way to walk with one another, singing back the dark.

November, and colder

I know that this part of California has no real clue about what cold is. But there's a chill in the air that makes me think this weekend would be a good one for us to start chopping some of the larger chunks of oak firewood we have in the backyard into stove-side morsels.

And yes, I realize that it's really a dirty trick to disguise a honey-do as a blog post. So no, I'm not doing that. That would be counter-productive. (And we don't need counters. We need shoji screen closets. I'm just saying.)

*ahem*

Anyway, added a few hundred more words to the novel. I think Mair is just about to talk Annie into going to visit Hamza as he convalesces at Griff's uncle's farm. And Idris hasn't confessed yet to knowing the thugs who beat up Hamza. But Annie suspects that he has more information than he told her at dinner. The farm is beautiful, even in the rain. I'm looking forward to getting there.

Placeholder post

To say no new words on the novel, but I've started dreaming about the characters.

Although I realize that doesn't count toward words written, I consider it a good sign.


Went from work to picking up the girls at school to the library, then the gym, then picking up dinner, then voting, then out for a night of girls gaming. Home much too late to do anything but crawl into bed for a few Z's...

Election Eve

And I have not even started to look at the mountain of candidate and initiative literature that has come in the mail over the past many weeks.

I am a below-average citizen in this way. I take the duty to vote, and to serve on a jury for that matter, very seriously. But I am always relatively ill-informed (out of sheer laziness or overwhelm, I suppose) until shortly before I cast my ballot. I could use the excuse that more information on a given measure or candidate might emerge and change everything right before the election anyway, but the truth is, I just follow an old pattern of procrastination and cram. I'm one of those voters you see sitting in her car in a parking lot at the voting station, reading through the paperwork, chewing her nails and deciding whether the League of Women voters is right this time. That's the sad, honest truth.


2016 words toward my 50,000 word count for the month. I can't assume it'll happen, I know, but I'm hoping the weekend will bring a little catch-up time. Meanwhile, I'm shooting for the 1600 or so words a day it'll take to hold steady.

On time for once! and through a glass darkly...

That is to say that this is a legitimate, not retro-dated, post.

I slept, oh, about 14 hours last night. I guess (as they say) I needed it.

I think more than the actual sleep, though, I needed to check out. I mean, completely. I seem to have that reaction to certain stresses.

For example, I slept through three months of high school.

Seriously. I had mononucleosis, but that was just a medical excuse. I slept through those three months. I slept through the home-tutor coming with papers on sex ed., and because of my natural prudishness, it took me *years* to even consider thinking about whatever might have been covered in that class. I slept through family fights. I slept through us moving from one house to another in the same neighborhood. I mean, I woke up in a new room and thought, "Oh. I guess that's that, then."

I do remember a little black-and-white TV in my bedroom, and the horror of waking up in a fog, and seeing that The Dukes of Hazard was somehow on yet again, and being too exhausted to get up and change the channel or even call for someone else to do it.

I remember thinking I was better, and going back to school, only to have a relapse. I remember that it wasn't until I finally felt well that I realized how ill I'd been.

That's one of those things that makes me ponder about heaven, or enlightenment. We may think we're fine as we bumble and knock around with one another in the world, trying to do the right thing. But later, at some point later - then we'll be really fine. And realize how handicapped and tunnel-visioned we are now.

Just a thought.

November novel word count: 1134
Slowly regaining lost ground

If I go to bed RIGHT NOW, I'll get 5 hours and 15 minutes of sleep. Which is not bad at all, considering The Dukes of Hazard won't be on when I wake up.

Nutcracker: the saga begins

What a mix of a day. Here's the "had tea with Mrs. Jones" breakdown, then:
Got up, went to gym for a quick workout.
Fed S. breakfast.
Started a food delivery (4th year delivering weekly boxes on a rotational basis to low-income families).
Picked up R. from the retreat.
Returned cleaned dishes to the other moms.
Met D. at the cafe near S's ballet class, where he was waiting after dropping her off.
D. & R. left so he could take her to horseback riding.
I had breakfast and wrote a few words toward the novel.
Picked up S. from class.
Finished food delivery.
Picked up lunch for S. & while she ate, at home, I braided her hair for Nutcracker pictures.
Took the empty food delivery boxes back on the way back to the ballet school, where I was on duty for make-up for the lambs, Gingerbread cookies, Crystal sprites and Chinese Tea who were getting their pictures done. S. was among the batch of Gingies being photographed.
Five hours later, came home with S.
Was stupid enough to lie down at around 5:30.
Did not wake up except to move from bed to couch and sleep through dinner.
Did not move again except to go back to bed.

Additional novel word count: about 20 words.
Falling behind, but doing so shamelessly.

Survived!

I survived Red Tent day, which started at 3:10am with me blearily creating the rest of the letter, printing it on fancy paper, and putting it, and a poem I wrote in 1997, in a special envelope for R. to receive later in the day.

Work was work. Busy, as usual, but easy compared to the rest of the day.

After work I got the car serviced, and while that was happening, I bought supplies for a special gift for R. & then started to create it - sitting at the dealership service dept. trying to fit inspirational stickers on purple paper inside a frame which R. and I will replace with photos of her grandmothers and their mothers - a tribute to the women from whence she came, as it were.

Came home, got S. from school, spent 1.5 hours chopping vegetables for stir-fry for 15 (while D. valiantly helped put together the gift and generally do everything else that needed doing while I sliced and diced).

Raced to the home of another mom, where she and I and a third mom prepared the rest of the meal.

Got to the yurt location, went for a walk with R. (who was as excited as I have ever seen her, and who did NOT stop talking the whole time we power-walked around the block, in the dark).

Gave her the gift, which she liked (thank goodness!). Had dinner with her and the other moms & girls, and then had a time of sharing what the girls had discussed during the day.

Came home around 9:30 with the dishes from the dinner, washed most of them, called it a day.

New words added to the novel: NONE.
2nd day of goose-egg word count in a row.
Am I daunted or shamed?
Neither.

It's not that I have lower expectations of myself these days & don't even try to rise to the occasion.

It's that I love myself enough to let it go if I don't do it all.
Interesting how being pushed hard enough seems to do that to you.

Day of the Dead, Part 2

I was told not to retro-date blog entries with a tell-tale 11:59pm timestamp. But I don't recall actually promising not to do so.

Confession: I did not work on the novel today (apart from coming up with new names for a couple of minor characters).

Instead, I started work on a letter for R. that will be given to her during a retreat she and the other 6th grade girls in her class are having this weekend. The retreat is a Red Tent event (in this case, actually taking place in a yurt), where she and the other girls will be able to spend time with their teacher and each other learning about the changes that are starting to come for them - some already, some in the next year or two (or five). They'll be in a yurt, as I say, that is decorated in red, with sumptuous pillows and scarves and candles, where they can talk about what happens in adolescence, can look at other examples of changes in nature (I'm sure butterflies will come into this somehow), can discuss their feelings about themselves and about becoming young women (which I trust they're all bound to do eventually). They'll probably look at self-image issues and will do an art project. They'll have their meals made for them and served to them. In the evening, the mothers will come and walk with their respective daughters, and present their daughters with these letters and with a gift. The gift can be opened at a later time. It's a symbol (of whatever we choose it to be a symbol of). It's part of this rite-of-passage we're creating for them.

After the walk, we'll have dinner and a time of sharing together, then the mothers will leave and the girls will have a mom of one of the boys in the class come and do henna for them.

You'd have to have an idea of how Waldorf education works to understand why this is not a surprising sort of thing to happen with our little charter school. To some of my "readers," it all may sound as hippy and airy-fairy as it gets. And I know I sound like I'm poking fun at it. But in reality, I think this is great that the girls will have this experience.

I've much more to say about it, but even when I'm manipulating time (as with the datestamp of the post), I seem to run out of it.

Day of the Dead

One of the classes at the girls' schools made alters for Dia de Los Muertos, and at yesterday's Halloween festivities, I saw them all displayed together.

I have mixed feelings about this holiday. It seems to embrace a darkness that I find disturbing, with all the skeleton and skull imagery and the idea that spirits are either not really gone or that they come back to visit. Even the bright colors seem too carnival for my puritan blood.

But on the other hand, this year, I'm thinking of my mom, and I had half a mind (I have half a mind in general, even on good days) to create an alter for her. I was sorry that the day had passed without me doing this, but then I found on an Iowa State web site that the 2nd day of the festivities is for adults, which the first day is for children:

The traditional observance calls for departed children to be remembered during the first day of the festivity (the Day of the Little Angels, "Dia de los Angelitos"), and for adults to be remembered on the second day.

So there's always tomorrow. Which seems to be my just-get-through-today
motto right now. That, and "Why limit yourself to taking on what you can actually accomplish, when being an overwhelmed martyr has such a long and respected tradition?"

Bleh.

So, for those of you (writer's group gals, this means you) who are "supporting" me (if you call threats, dares, and reverse psychology partnered with soul-deep, unflagging encouragement "supporting"), my Nanowrimo word count to date is 441.

And for those of you who are have asked about the costumes, I finished both of them. In time, even. Will post pictures. And have not lost more weight since the initial 5 lb. drop, but have not gained back any either. Still no progress in that cure-for-cancer thing, though.

There's always tomorrow. One hopes, anyway.