Category: writings (Page 50 of 66)

marrow

December 3, 2010 / jeanne / 53 Comments

one thanksgiving, my usually mild-mannered, affable aunt rene voiced her grave disappointment when we put the turkey carcass out for the dog. as much as she loved the senator russell sweet potatoes and the dressing, aunt rene’s favorite thanksgiving delicacy was sucking the marrow from the turkey bones. which is, actually, a fine culinary metaphor for how she lived her life.

it’s no secret that last year’s involvement in last year’s reverb event changed my life, so i’ve put together a little smorgasbord of ways you can suck the marrow right out of these reverb10 bones. some are things i learned last year when i was a complete newbie, some are things i’m seeing as i do my fairy godmother dance from blog to blog, some are answers to questions i’ve been asked by reverb10 participants. you don’t have to do everything every day cause we all know you have to put food on the table, but if you’re willing to spend more time online during what is arguably the busiest month of the year, you will reap the benefits. i promise.

GET LEGAL
if you’re not officially signed up, it’s as easy at 1, 2, 3.
1. go here.
2. complete the pledge form.
3. click the “signed, me” button to submit.

FRESHEN UP YOUR NEST
4. grab a badge for your blog.
5. enable comments on your blog. you can always turn them back off in january (if you still want to).
6. make it as easy as possible for people to leave you comments. does the wording indicate where they leave comments? is it an easy process or does your blog platform make things cumbersome and unclear?
7. make sure your twitter name is visible so folks can reach out.
8. (added 12/6) if you want to be found, make it easy for people to find you. if you want conversation, make it easy for people to comment.

WRITING
9. write as succinctly as possible. i know you have a lot to say, but with over 2000 blogs to read, now is just not the time to wax on. next year when you have no idea what to write about, you can pick up a prompt and expand.
10. if at all possible, write every day. you’ll enjoy the satisfaction of tenacious commitment.
11. if you get behind, bundle prompts into one post to catch up. or just forget about it and start where we are when you get back. there are no extra points for perfect attendance.
12. don’t like a prompt? do the little sidestep. skip it. write about something else then creatively tie it to the prompt. or post it and let the readers practice their creativity.
13. (scroll down to the bottom and you’ll see that i addressed today’s prompt.)
14. (added 12/9) make every prompt a party and delight in who (or what) shows up on the page. if you’re delighted, chances are we’ll be delighted, too.

GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE
15. if you haven’t already, join twitter.
16. follow fellow reverbers.
17. when tweeting about reverb10, use the #reverb10 hashtag.
18. when alerting us to a new post you’ve penned, be sure to include the (shortened) url in your tweet.
19. shorten url’s before tweeting via one of the url shortening services.
20. the reverb population is international, so tweet your own posts at various times during the day to allow for different time zones.
21. if you’re on facebook, look me up (i’m InJeanneious/Jeanne Hewell-Chambers, but any links to my profile seem to always go wonky. sorry.)
22. consider using networked blogs to automatically post your blog as your facebook status.
23. it’s busy out there, so don’t hesitate to wave your arms a bit to get our attention about a blog post you’re especially proud of. how? tweet me (@whollyjeanne) or any of the crew members and invite us over.

MAKING NEW FRIENDS
24. read a post you especially like? tweet the shortened url, an adjective or two, and the author’s twitter name.
25. leave comments on blogs.
26. when somebody leaves a comment on your blog, email or tweet a thank you note.
27. don’t be afraid to say nice things publicly.
28. make other people look good: retweet their tweets. promote their posts. tell others about them – and do it right in front of god ‘n everybody. bonus: you can’t make somebody else look and feel good without making yourself look and feel good in the process. you just can’t.
29. take a minute to show your support by following blogs via friend connect and networked blogs.
30. search and follow #reverb10. check in and fill up.
31. (added 12/5) don’t take it personally when you are unfollowed or unfriended. they’re just jealous.
32. (added 12/8) reach out to at least 3 people every day and smack ‘em with a smile, sprinkle a compliment, dabble out a spot of encouragement. twitter brings out the nice in people, and let’s face it: nice breeds nice.

AFTER GLOW
33. troll sidebars to find other things you might be interested in being a part of post-reverb10.
34. set up twitter lists as you go so you’ll remember who you want to stay in touch with.
35. (added 12/4/10) sign up for email updates from those bloggers you really enjoy.
36. (added 12/4/10) google reader is another handy way to keep track of your favorites. (thanks, stephanie!)
37. (added 12/7) pick 10 different peeps daily. say hi & read & comment on their posts. You’ll be AMAZED at the community you create. (thanks, tia!)

SELF CARE
with over 3k people participating, it’s easy to get overwhelmed. it can feel like sipping from a fire hose, but don’t fret. you don’t have to read every single blog every single day. there may be blogs you want to visit every day. other days, trust that you’ll see the tweets and blogs you need to see that particular day. like twitter, reverb10 is a constantly moving stream of information. duck in and out as your schedule permits with no obligation to scroll back and see what you’ve missed. just duck in, swim a while, then get out when you need to, towel off, grab some snacks, tend to what needs tending, then jump back in again when you can. in and out, out and in. that’s how it’s done.

WRAPPING IT UP
it’s not an exhaustive list by any means, but i hope it helps. if you have questions or think of something i forgot, drop a comment cause i’m the fairy godmother, after all. it’s what i do: i flit, i float, i sprinkle my special-brew fairy dust to make sure you leave #reverb10 feeling mighty glad you came.

grief is messy

December 2, 2010 / jeanne / 45 Comments

ten years ago today, my daddy died. if you have a minute, read about it here. it’s a pretty amazing story, if i do say so myself. (hint: scroll down and start at the 10th paragraph. i spent the first 8 paragraphs linking the post to that day’s prompt (a year later, i don’t bother), and the 9th paragraph, well, we’ll call it a segue cause honestly, i have no idea how that made it to print.)

i shed tears as prayers of remembrance and gratitude
i chide myself for wallowing.

i crave darkness
i turn all the lights on.

i spew words and send emails to people who rock as my rocks
i scold myself for letting people see me like this.

i long to crawl back in bed and sleep the day away
i choose to honor daddy and my self by leaning into this tender bruise.

i am tempted to stay in my floppy flannel pajamas all day long
i hear the ole familiar “boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses”
and know that
only pretty girls can get away with such indulgences.

i forego today’s walk
and eat cookies
and do little
besides reading
the occasional blog.

i ask myself:
did i do all that i could do?
was it wrong to give him permission
to go?
should i have knocked on
door after door after door
until some physician eventually healed?

one thing i do not do
is make my daddy more in death
than he was in life.
he was not perfect.
i wouldn’t ache for him so
if he had been.

~~~
This post is (loosely) (or maybe creatively sounds better) written in response to today’s #reverb10 prompt:
Q: What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?
A: Lately everything contributes to my writing. And nothing – nothing at all – was gonna’ come between me and my writing on this day.

brevity: the theme du jour

December 1, 2010 / jeanne / 7 Comments

if my house was on fire and i could only take one word with me for 2010, i’d go with sprout and here’s why.

for 2011, my word is VivaciousBoldness, and what say we just sit back and watch that one play out?

:::

i’m over at happiness inside today, spilling words about what we keep.

:::

the view from here 2 weeks ago:

the view from here this morning:

~~~
Today’s #reverb10 Prompt: One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

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#reverb10

#reverb10: why i’m in

November 30, 2010 / jeanne / 16 Comments

the woman who blogs before you is not the same woman she was on 11/30/2009 . . .

while strolling through the internet late last year, i came upon something called #best09, and when i saw that it was a month of daily writing prompts, i immediately figured out how to sign myself up. i had a blog, but the vacancy sign was on more than it was off, and for the last 31 days of the year, i wouldn’t have to think about what to write about. what’s not to love about that?

my daddy died on 12/2/2000, you see, so like #best09’s creator, gwen bell, this time of the year is tender for me. i flounder. i hear constant whispers telling me that i need to be doing something more, something significant. i grieve and chide myself about not being over it yet.

#best09 would be my sparkly distraction that would get me through the annual grief. it would give me focus. well, i’m here to tell you: it did that . . . and so much more.

participating in last year’s #best09 changed my life.

after spending years preserving other people’s stories, i took time to remember some of my own. after carrying around book ideas for so many years, I am writing them. after despairing that one day soon i’d open my mouth to speak and see dust flying out, i am digging into stimulating research and collaborating with other women on programs that i hope all will find life-affirming, life-altering. after resigning myself to spending the rest of my life on a day-in/day-out humdrum basis, i am making time for doing things besides cleaning up cat vomit.

through my participation in #best09, i discovered writers that continue to up my game. i connected with women who share my interests and enrich my life daily. i am delving into research that keeps my creativity sharp and my brain supple.

i’m now a permanent resident on twitter, where nobody runs the other way when i call spend 5 characters calling them “sugar” (comma makes 6), where i walden with friends every chance i get, where i laugh, cry, and cheer daily without the stigma of neediness or nerdiness.

this year gwen changed the name from #best09 to #reverb10, gave the event its own site, took on some rockin’ helper bees. there are changes, sure, but the essential core of the event remains the same. starting tomorrow, hundreds of us will come together as community, reflecting on what has been and reverberating what will be. we will meet people whose presence in our lives will make us better people. we will discover things about ourselves, and we will write like we’ve never written before.

we will bear witness to each other, and our lives will never be the same because of it.

if you’re looking for something to write about (wink, wink), perhaps you’d like to join us.

(you can thank me later.)

~~~

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#reverb10

currently in progress

November 21, 2010 / jeanne / 24 Comments

i am living the story i want to tell you. yesterday afternoon, my husband got a call from his brother: his oldest daughter – my first niece – walked in from work the night before to find that her partner had shot and killed himself. it’s sunday morning as i write this, the 21st of november 2010, and i’m flying to colorado in just a few hours to see my niece.

sounds so simple when i write it like that.

i married into a small family of doctors and engineers. linear thinkers who are quite sure about the way things are and should be. they have degrees from highly-regarded institutes of higher learning. their practicality, clarity, and confidence intimidates a writer and slow cloth storyteller gal like me. their consistency eludes a constantly changing creative like me who also has a graduate-level degree, but finds it hard to focus on one thing long enough to develop a reputation as anything even approaching an expert.

[i struggle to type the word “creative” in the sentence above. it takes several minutes before i finally mash the “c” key. same goes for the word “expert”, but the hesitation is for different reasons.]

i begin looking for flights right after we hang up. even though we don’t know the funeral arrangements yet. even though there’s nothing, no specific assignment of something we can do. even though, even though, even though.

about an hour later, i call my brother-in-law to check in, to see if he wants me to call their aunt. they are a small family, my in-laws, my family dwarfs them in sheer numbers, which is to say, i’ve buried way more loved ones than they have. i think about things like the distraction of notification, about the salve of collective love.

[i am having trouble writing this. the censors chirp and caution me against being too uppity, getting too big for my britches. they remind me i’m not the only one who is empathetic and caring. they ask if i’m really, seriously trying to say that i’m good at being there in times of death, dying, and grief. they point out that i have no degree, no letters after my name signifying that i’m qualified and competent enough to do this kind of thing.]

“that would be great if you’d call aunt ginny,” he says. “i didn’t even think about that, and i don’t have her number.”

“happy to,” i tell him. “we’re looking at flights now,” then i hurriedly add that my son kipp who also lives in denver, will pick shuttle us to and from the airport, my way of assuring donn that we will be no trouble.

“you don’t need to come,” he says.

“we want to come.”

“but there’s nothing you can do. we’re her nuclear family. we have friends, and she has a lot of friends here.” he rattles off all sorts of reasons to defend his position that we should not come, then he delivers the sucker punch: “you’ll just be in the way.”

you’ll just be in the way.

let me be really, really clear here: there was no malicious intent in those words. he did not stop and think before he said them, they just tumbled out. which, to an armchair jungian psychologist like myself, gives them added impact. without knowing it, donn has just ripped open my tender place and poured a barrel of salt into the ever-gaping wound.

i think of myself as a committee, and now the dissident, snarky committee members go into full volume yell, starting with “i told you so.” his words, their words form a chorus that sets me back and the questioning of self begins:

Q: what will you do out there, anyway?
A: i don’t know.
Q: then he’s right: you’ll just be in the way.
A: maaayyybbbeee.
Q: don’t you have other things to do?
A: yes, but nothing better.
Q: it’s thanksgiving week. have you considered that?
A: yes, but that doesn’t seem the point.
Q: donn says she’s coming home this week and that maybe you can see her then, right? doesn’t that make sense?
A: it makes sense to that particular part of my brain, but my heart . . .
Q: oh, pshaw. why don’t you think about somebody besides yourself for a change?
A: i thought i was. i only wanted to fly to colorado and give betsey a hug.
Q: what will you say when you get there?
A: probably nothing. words haven’t been invented.

so in just a few hours, my daughter and i will climb into that big chair in the sky that will deliver us to denver. we’ll rent a car, meet up with my son, and tonight or maybe tomorrow, i’ll walk into a room and see betsey. i will try not to get in anybody’s way, try not to take up too much space as i make my way to her to deliver the only thing i have to offer: a hug with all the love i have coursing through me, seeping from my arms into her gentle, bruised, grieving spirit.

i’ll let you know how it goes.

~~~

many thanks to karen for putting these support stories. i am honored to be asked to participate and to be the company of such compassionate writer people.

blondell hatches a plan

November 19, 2010 / jeanne / 1 Comment

fruits of today’s labor

November 18, 2010 / jeanne / 0 Comments

good eats

November 17, 2010 / jeanne / 2 Comments

my maternal grandmother, who cooked at least two meals a day and made biscuits from scratch every single day of her adult life, still found time to enter cake contests just for the fun of it. on any given day, she’d find new cake contests, conjure up new recipes, bake test cakes. granddaddy was her taste tester, and perhaps that’s why it still surprises me when i remember how much he loved my pound cake. grandmother would win contests with fancy cakes (her pineapple upside-down cake was a perennial winner), and i’m sure granddaddy was proud of her, but he never quit publicly praising my plain ole, every day ordinary pound cake.

i bake my pound cake only for holidays and special events, and this year i look forward to mixing it up in my new red mixer, a gift from my manchild. since thanksgiving is right around the corner, i thought i’d share my recipe with you:

my secret to the crunchy, crispy crust? when i remove the cake from the oven, i let it cool for 5-10 minutes, then i turn the pan upside down on a cooling rack covered with was paper and remove the cake pan. i immediately put another wax paper-covered cooling rack on the exposed bottom, and flip the cake so that it’s sitting right-side-up to cool.

now lookahere: if you want a devilishly good bedtime snack or breakfast, cut you a slice of leftover pound cake, spread a little butter or margarine on it, and stick it in the oven on broil for a few minutes.

you can thank me later – right now you’ve got a grocery list to make.

i’m all ears

November 16, 2010 / jeanne / 10 Comments

i’m not a mall person. oh, i’ve spent my fair share of time in malls, mind you, but now i just prefer galleries and arts and craft fairs and etsy. there was a time when malls stimulated me, now they just overwhelm me.

but today we were in the car all day, so we check into the hotel, drop our bags, then stretch our legs by walking straight over to the mall to grab a bite of supper.

i’d forgotten how much i enjoy watching people and looking at the store windows. every shopper represents a bundle of stories. every worker bee: stories. every mannequin: stories. stories, stories, stories. everywhere i look: stories . . .

i look at the girl in the carrot-colored high-heeled boots and the teensy, little ole’ bitty tighty-tight-tight shorts and say, “sugar, tell me you didn’t dress yourself. ahem, i mean, tell me about your outfit.”

to the perky young blonde woman sitting at the table next to me i say, “honey bunny, i just love your pocketbook. do you carry it every day or just for special occasions? was it a gift you bought for yourself?” and i close with “where’d you get it and does it come in blue?”

to the young man with the baggy sweatshirt and the crayola hair and matching crocs while restaging the window display, i watch a while then beg him (because i don’t have all night) “what’s the story you’re telling here? what path led you to this as a career?”

to the woman sweeping the floor and wiping down tables, the woman whose face is a story in and of itself, i pat the chair beside me. “come, sit,” i beckon. “tell me your story. tell me three if you can spare them.”

i find a few perfect gifts for special people, and as i pay and chat with the delightful young woman who works there, a man comes in and barely comes to a stop before saying, “excuse me. can you show me where the roof leaked?” to him i said, “well, well, well. i see SOMEbody failed kindergarten. do you see me standing here?” and when he nods yes, i say, “well, in case you didn’t notice, i am a customer. a customer currently in the process of giving this young woman money to pay for my purchases. money that she will later use to pay her rent and from which you will pay the roofer. now you need to learn to wait your turn, but tell me: why are you in such a galdern hurry?”

okay, truthfully: i say these things . . . but only on the inside.

one day, though. one day i’m gonna’ do some mall walking with a side of mall talking. i’m gonna’ invite and encourage people to tell me their stories ’cause i know they’ve got ’em. and i know i want to hear them. i really, really do.

oh, except . . . remember the maintenance man? well, unless he’s learned a thing or four about manners by the next time we run into each other, i can pretty much guarantee you that in his case, i’m gonna’ talk more than i listen. his mother would want me to.

’tis the season

November 15, 2010 / jeanne / 1 Comment

i saunter and skip
through
nature’s crayon box containing at least 64 colors,
occasionally stumbling
into a hole
where the turning
sharpens
my perception,
my empathy,
my compassion.