Tag: churnings (Page 8 of 9)

untitled because i have no idea what to call this

January 30, 2010 / jeanne / 38 Comments

i’ve been offline for far too long, tending to things that simply have to be done.
well, guess what: writing has to be done, too.
writing is my life raft,
my ticket to worlds beyond where i shop for groceries,
my train to discoveries and quarries and ores.

i think better when i write.

keep my fingers away from the keyboard for too long, and my thoughts become fuzzy, uncertain, timid.
let my fingers romp regularly, and i’m confident, clear, (more) courageous.
let my fingers languish too long, and i slouch.
let my fingers dance with words daily, and i smile more – inside and out – and stand taller, too.

away = small.
write here = abundance.

away = alone.
write here = connections.

away = shallow panting.
write here = slow, deep breathing.

when i’m away from writing, my to do list that grows more than it wanes.
when i’m write here, i’m actually (and strangely) more productive.

when i don’t write, my brain chases its tail, going faster and faster and faster.
when i take the time to write, my soul has time to exhale and take a look around,
turn over rocks,
and roll down hills without worrying about grass stains.

when i don’t write, 2 + 2 = 4.
when i do write, i am quick to note that i just say 2 + 2 = 4
because that’s what most people are comfortable with,
all the while rubik-cubing ways that 2 + 2 = all sorts of different answers.

when i don’t write, the world is reduced to faded primary colors.
when i do write, there are at least 64,000 different colors – and it’s not the least bit overwhelming.

i don’t write, i get cranky.
i do write, and well, okay: i sometimes still get cranky.

i don’t write, and it becomes harder to write.

i don’t write, and it becomes harder to think of something to write about.

so why don’t i write daily?

the readily available and easy answer is: there’s not enough time.
but we both know that i have the same amount of time that everybody else has,
i just choose to spend it differently.
i mean, if i had diabetes,
i’d make time to check my blood glucose levels and take insulin, right?

perhaps the common answer is fear.
afraid that my writing sucks,
that i’ll be rejected,
that i’ll just have to go eat worms.

but truth be known,
there’s something else:
a little something we like to call guilt.
for more years than i care to think about,
my adorable husband
has trekked off to a job he never wanted
and doesn’t much like.
so why should i get to do something i enjoy?
i mean, really, what makes me so damned special?
if he’s miserable, it seems only fair that i should be miserable, too, right?
isn’t that why we learned equations in high school?

so merrily we roll along.

this time writing hasn’t solved anything, but
i’ve clarified it,
sat it on the table,
and that counts.

snow

January 8, 2010 / jeanne / 58 Comments

it snowed here last night.

just a dusting, really.

not enough for even one bowl of snow ice cream

but enough to cause the roads to be icy

and treacherous.

we spent most of the morning

with our noses to the window

taking in the beauty of the freshly-articulated trees

wondering if we can make it up and down the hills

on our daily walk.

i love the quiet stillness

the snow brings

and the blue air.

there are those who will explain

the hue and stillness

with great authority

using numbers and

formulas

and studies.

but they’re only theories, really.

educated guesses, really, that make some feel better about the world and themselves

but

sometimes we don’t need to know why

we just need to enjoy and revel in

what is

while it is.

burn

January 3, 2010 / jeanne / 38 Comments

i hate sunday nights. i love sunday nights.

sunday nights are a transition time for me. the end of the pause. the threshold of beginning.

i am ready for my husband to go back to work. i want him to call in sick tomorrow.

i want to watch another movie. i am ready to get up and move.

i do not want go to back to a life of to do lists. i long for the structure of plans and productivity.

i am a different person. i am the same person trying to be different.

i want to spill things onto the page. i don’t have a damn thing to say.

i love the way i’m beginning to drop down into some philosophical, reflective writing (except for yesterday – that piece was pretty blah). i am tired of being serious, longing to cut loose and romp.

i want to change my update on facebook. i want to drop facebook altogether.

i want to finish my collage. i want to rip up the ripped out bits and flush them.

i want to sing and dance. i want to go to bed and sleep in the fetal position.

i want to twitter. i want to tuck in.

i want to get something done tonight so i’ll be ahead of the game tomorrow. i don’t even want to think about doing anything tonight.

i want to find a book on the writing of lost. if i never see another book, it’ll be too soon.

etc.

~~~

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best gift of 2009: a new way of being

December 26, 2009 / jeanne / 29 Comments

i release my grip; i tighten my grip. like the beating of a heart: systolic, diastolic. both are necessary. both are sometimes erratic and irregular . . .

for proof that i’m releasing my grip, you’d have to look back no further than yesterday. some 12 hours after ravaging our way through enticingly-shaped packages and stories of selection criteria, the floor was still covered with spent wrapping paper and ribbons. gifts were still strewn about the house, in nomads in search of a home. back in the day, we would’ve opened packages and after a short exhale, i would’ve scooped up the paper and mainstreamed the gifts, leaving only the tree (with only a scant 12-15 hours remaining) and tablecloth as evidence that christmas was different from any other day.

in november i spent 4 days with the in-laws and prepared no script. in august we went to visit my son in colorado, and the only items on the itinerary were flight times and rental car confirmation number.

we moved into a new house, and while many of the big projects have been ticked off the list, there are switches without plate covers and marble floors in need of polishing and entire rooms that still look like attics.

i am more willing to accept without comment that some members of my family are just not likely to follow through with their commitments. that some projects may never be resoundingly finished. that some people are just more comfortable seeing the negative side.

and in the releasing, there is a tightening . . .

i tighten my grip around my writing self, living into my promise to regularly carve out time for stringing words together. i am not yet satisfied with what i am writing, finding myself still reluctant to peel back the top and release the contents of what’s in the can, but step one: thanks to gwen bell, there is a writing rhythm in the making.

i trust myself more, increasingly confident that i can and will handle whatever appears. i become more comfortable asking for help when needed without feeling faulty or indentured. i accept tears as highlighting pens instead of signs of weakness.

though i am not yet fully brave, i do speak my truth more, knowing full-well that my truth may not be your truth, but recognizing that my truth has value, too. and as i grow stronger, i learn to speak without the watering down and protective padding of tacked-on qualifiers. and even when the conversations get rough and bumpy, i stay. i stay.

i tighten my hold on patience – around these things and more – because i am not done here. these are not gifts that have been unwrapped and fully assimilated into daily life. this tightening and releasing – this shedding of layers and forming of balance – this is a gift that is still giving and still in the making.

best09
~~~
the stories are mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge. today’s prompt: the best gift of 2009.
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

throw away the red pen, i get it now

December 24, 2009 / jeanne / 6 Comments

it’s said that we teach to learn, and that’s true. it’s said that when the student is ready, the teacher appears, yeah, maybe so. it’s said that children are angels that teach us a lot . . . and, well, okay. i can only agree to the angel bit only on a case-by-case basis, but i can tell you that the best lesson i (re)learned in 2009 came from my son: when he says go see a movie, i go. (yes, kipp, i promise.) (really.)

he lived as an actor in los angeles and went to many a screening on account of being on some committee having to do with oscar selection, and it looks like that would have given him enough credibility for me to take his word for it. i mean, i meant to go see movies he told me to see, it’s just that, well, things kinda’ get in the way sometimes. sure, we went to see the movies he was in, but those he recommended, not so much.

a few of the movies he called about on his way out of the theater include cars, finding nemo, the up side of anger, the incredible hulk, ratatouille, juno, and whale rider. one christmas he made us go see the family stone, and today he dragged us to see avatar. so i think we can agree that he has good taste in must-see movies, that he knows what he’s talking about.

he tells me to read a book, i drop everything and go find it. he tells me to see a movie, i decide to wait till it comes out on dvd so i don’t have to deal with the kid talking and the cell phones ringing and the sticky floors and seats. “but some movies you just have to see on the big screen,” he says repeatedly. and now, today, after seeing avatar, i get it. we can go enjoy one of our post-viewing deconstructionist talks after any show, kipp and i, (and oh how i do love those and look forward to more discussion about avatar because there’s just too much for one sitting) but some movies are just too big to be seen on anything smaller than a movie screen.

why didn’t you just say so, kipp?

best09
~~~
the stories are mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge. today’s prompt: the best lesson learned in 2009.
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

2009, the year of grappling

December 22, 2009 / jeanne / 8 Comments

it’s been a year of grappling. yes, yes it has. there’s been grappling with things that could be decided with wishbones or the magic 8 ball or using my roll-on deodorant as a crystal ball – things like eat-in-or-out and do-i-or-don’t-i sign up for that bootcamp. then there was more advanced grappling that required more advanced divination techniques walking or writing or stitching.

the year began with grappling about whether to buy the house or not, whether to move or stay put. then once we decided to buy the new house, i grappled a lot with things like where to place furniture, what to leave and what to take, wall colors, floor coverings, and best use of space. as the grappling wanes and we get settled, i begin to see that anything’s possible in a house that loves you.

on and off throughout the year, i grapple with difficult people – one in particular. do i go eyeball-to-eyeball or do as i’ve been taught and take the so-called high road (the road i was taught to ALWAYS take, the road that feels so much like cowardice)? i write to distill, write for clarity of purpose, and set up a meeting. when we part hours later, there is no grappling at all as i silently thank her for giving me the opportunity to finally stand up to a bully. thank her for this feeling of powerful satisfaction and self-confidence i have seldom known.

when the calendar reaches the one-and-a-half year anniversary of the day my best friend from graduate school broke up with me, i grapple with whether it is time to write that letter or wait a while longer. i write the letter, and feel quietly satisfied, knowing whatever her reception, i’ve done the right thing.

when my cousin’s son “went off the deep end”, i grapple with whether to speak flat-out or take the usual vague, watered-down approach. flat-out won, and i have to tell you: it feels really good to speak unencumbered with syrupy words and hollow platitudes. i traveled light, and i like it. i like it a lot.

yes, i grapple . . . and whenever i think myself out of something – when i let my head overrule and overrun my heart – i look back and wonder what would have happened if. but, oh, oh, oh. every time i listen to my self, trust my self, heed my self . . . i stand a little taller, feel a bit surer, and say thank you. a lot.

best09
~~~
the stories are mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge. today’s prompt: what one word best describes your 2009?
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

singing my heroes and sheroes

December 21, 2009 / jeanne / 13 Comments

i tell them i love them, but do i tell them why?

i tell them i’m proud of them, but do i elaborate?

sometimes i do, but not nearly enough.

today, i tell them that they are my unsung heroes and shero, and yes, i tell them at least some of the reasons why (to list all the reasons would get us into bandwidth issues) . . .

my husband, andy has been my hero for 36.5 years now, and here’s why:

he makes me laugh. sometimes he cracks himself up more than he cracks me up, but he still makes me laugh.

he listens when i talk (well, not like i’m some e.f. hutton. i mean, sometimes his eyes glaze over, but we’re working on that).

he will go to the grocery store with me just because. once, in the days before cell phones, he figured out where i was and just showed up in the spices aisle to help me get groceries then we went home and put them up together.

to this day, we hold hands wherever we are.

he shares the scepter (read: remote control) to the television. he may leave the room when i’m in control, but he shares.

willingly and without complaint, he helps members of my family.

he is wicked smart, talented, creative, and funny.

he gives me cards. now, honestly, it used to make me mad that he gave me store-bought greeting cards. but then i had this small-huge shift in thinking and realized that he spends a lot of time sifting through racks of cards in search of one that says what his engineer-trained brain can’t quite articulate. or maybe it says what he doesn’t even know he wants to say until he finds the card.

my son, kipp. my hero because . . .

he knows that you can learn more about humans and their relationships from poetry, music, and literature than from any psychology class or textbook.

he edited my thesis, and when it was done, he asked if he could share it with some of his friends (who then became my friends from ensuing conversations.)

once, on a trip to hawaii, he surprised me with a handblown stylus and inkwell set because he knew – he just knew – how much i would enjoy the scratching of nib to paper and how much i needed to allow my brain to exhale and make room for all the important things that get buried and shoved aside under burgeoning to do lists and overcrowded calendars.

when he landed in l.a., he took a job delivering food to learn his way around.

he is an adventurous eater, something he learned all on his own.

he writes poetry, songs, and essays; does open mic events; is an actor and skydiver – all this and balances his checkbook.

we go to movies and shows, and afterwards to dinner or for drinks and discuss what we just saw from as analytical deconstructive creativists.

he is willing to say “i don’t know” right out loud.

he is wicked smart, talented, creative, and funny.

my shero is my daughter, alison. want to know why?

she ran for local city council then the state legislature before she was 25 years old. (and in the state legislature race, he was in a run-off with the older male career politician. lost the runoff only by a slim, slim margin, too.)

she started a local theatre company in 2005, and it’s still going and growing.

she supervises my hair stylist and goes clothes shopping with me.

in 2006 she hit a rough spot with depression, and i just kept putting one foot in front of the other, doing what needed to be done. a year later, she directed steel magnolias, casting me as m’lynn to her shelby. coincidence? i think not.

as a beautiful, articulate, talented public figure in a small town, she receives more than anybody’s fair share of other people’s insecurities and bad behavior. yet through it all, she remains the bamboo – bending but refusing to break. she is tenaciously nonconformist.

she is wicked smart, talented, creative, and funny.

she can do genealogical research and retain what she uncovered.

if you need to know what to give a person, call her. she knows people better than they know themselves.

she speaks her truth. others may not understand or agree, but she speaks it anyway.

yes, i am one lucky woman. luckier than i deserve.

best09
~~~
the stories are mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge. today’s prompt: who is your unsung hero?
~~~

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catching up (again)

December 17, 2009 / jeanne / 24 Comments

they say that catching-up is hard to do . . . no, that’s breaking up that’s hard to do. whatever.

best rush of 09 was brought on by . . . well, honestly, i don’t have rushes any more. not since that one unfortunate night in undergraduate school when i was drunk on life – the closest to feeling joy i can remember. for the record: there were no drugs and no alcohol involved – just a day of good things. like being asked out by an upperclassman who was easy on the eyes. getting an A on my paper. finding $20 in my wallet when i was hoping to find enough change to make $1. it was just me and happiness to the 7th degree.

maybe to the 9th.

so there i was, humming to myself in the room when my roommate got back with her little entourage of ~~toadies~~ pledglings. humming, laughing, saying whatever funny stuff popped into my head (and it was all pretty damn funny, if i do say so myself). “what’s wrong with her?” sniffed the ~~condescending bitch~~ girl from across the hall who’d just pledged a sorority. “oh i don’t know,” sniffed back my ~~condescending bitch in the making~~ sorority wannabe roomie. “just ignore her.”

they ignored me all right, talking about me as though being drunk on life automatically rendered me stone deaf. it took weeks for them to change the subject, and life was so miserable, i vowed to never disturb the flatlines again. it’s just too dangerous. even now, there are far too many people around here who prefer homogenization. to get a rush and show it is to risk being labeled, and the labels used around here have some more kind of everlasting glue on the back, let me tell you.

i don’t know why this college memory bubbled up. maybe it’s time to:
a) find these gals on facebook, ask them to be my fb friends, then drop them like hot potatoes (that’ll really sting ’em.).
b) learn how to have a rush and keep it to my own self. (i guess that’s possible?)
c) don my big girl panties and get over it.

~~~

best packaging has to be anything apple sells. space for only the necessary. the essentials held firmly in place to prevent jarring and breakage . . .

wish they’d create packaging for my life.

~~~

best tea of the year . . . well, since no tea has crossed these lips in the past 16 years, i’m just gonna trek down memory lane and tell you that the best tea i ever had was aunt rene’s sweet tea.

down here, when we go to a restaurant and the waiter asks what we want, we say “sweet tea” to which, more often than not, we get a “huh?” eventually followed by “we only have unsweetened tea.” let’s be real clear about this: the term “sweet tea” is NOT retarded. it is a type of tea. a particularly pleasing, desirable kind of tea. sure it’s been a while, but i can tell you this with absolute certainty: you cannot thump all the crystals to the bottom of some colorful little packet, dump it in a glass of tea, whirl it around a few times, and expect to get anything near the quality of aunt rene’s sweet tea. it’s just not gonna’ happen.

aunt rene’s tea was so good, i once gave her a big ass set of drinking glasses when it wasn’t even a holiday. (something that’s unheard of in my ~~cheap~~ economically-correct family.) you could get about 3/4 of a gallon in those glasses, and we’d down at least 2 refills with every meal. the woman had to make her tea in a stockpot, i tell you, it was that good. before i swore off tea, i was known to make a meal off aunt rene’s sweet tea, though i have to admit that like my children, i preferred to have aunt rene’s sweet tea with a side of her blackeyed peas and some of her crisply fried bacon for dessert.

the secret to aunt rene’s sweet tea? sugar. lots and lots and lots of sugar. added while the tea was still hot so it would dissolve. she’d stir that disappearing sugar, and once she couldn’t see it anymore, she’d up and add some more, reckoning that if you can’t see it you can’t taste it.

i guess now folks would call that wrong or unhealthy or something. i mean, we all know that sugar is on the bad-for-you list.

sure. whatever.

i just quit drinking tea cause it was staining my teeth, and i read somewhere that discolored teeth add about a decade to your real age.

yeah, i’m kidding. there’s no way i can talk about age in the same hemisphere as aunt rene cause the best thing that special woman (she was my great aunt) (and i mean that in more ways than one) ever taught me is to not ever tell ’em your age. “it’s none of their business,” she’d declare, the “damn” implied. “besides, just ’cause you can count it doesn’t mean it counts.” (she lived to be 97.5 years young.) (but who’s counting her years or the number of glasses of sweet tea she imbibed?)

best09
~~~
the stories are mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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#best09, #bestof2009

favorite album: lessons from a bird brain

December 10, 2009 / jeanne / 12 Comments

today’s challenge is to write about our favorite album, and since gwen didn’t specifically mention music, i’m going with something we’ll call a video album. though you can’t really hum along and it’s hard to dance to, it is an album that rocked my world. (okay, maybe that’s a little too over the top, but i did learn how to take videos with my new camera and though i did already know how to use idvd, i learned how to use quick time pro, and last but not least, i learned how to upload and share via flickr.)

every morning like clockwork, ms. redbird shows up to defend her space. she’s a tenacious thing, continuing her task despite the would-be distractions of a nosey cat and a growling dog. outsiders are not the issue, you see. ms. redbird tenaciously defends her space from her own reflection, from her own self. when it comes to protecting her personal territory, she is her own worst enemy.

#best09
~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

Technorati Tags:
#best09, #bestof2009

compassion: the new black

October 4, 2009 / jeanne / 16 Comments

communing with nature has countless powerful benefits – more self-control, increased working memory, lower levels of stress, better moods, decreased blood pressure to name a few – but a new study conducted by psychologists at the university of rochester shows that being exposed to animals just might actually make us more compassionate.

to test prosocial behaviors such as compassion and generosity, 370 different subjects were exposed to either natural settings (calm lakes, wooded forests, vast deserts) or man-made environments (cityscapes, skyscrapers, highways). in two of the experiments, a person was given a $5 prize and told they could share it with a stranger who would then be given an additional $5, though there was no guarantee that the second person would return any of the winnings. researchers found that subjects exposed to nature were significantly more likely to open their wallets and that increased exposure to nature led to an increased willingness to share with strangers.

results of the study led to a cornucopia of hypotheses, of course, but perhaps the “why” is not important. perhaps there are many “why’s” with no single correct answer. perhaps the evident correlation is enough to start thoughtful, meaningful conversations with ourselves and others. perhaps the results touch us in some inexplicable way that leads to a change in our behavior that ultimately makes us better people – and perhaps that is enough in and of itself.

to the ancient greek philosophers, that was the goal of life: to be the very best person you could be. it’s a quest that continues to this very day. we spend money on self-help books, workshops, seminars, schools, often overlooking the vast lessons all around us . . .

Watch CBS News Videos Online

~~~
information on the study from The Frontal Cortex by josh lehrer. video from cbs.