Have you ever noticed that most of your life you find yourself waiting? Waiting to be picked up and fed and changed, waiting for Santa or your Birthday or for school to be out? They say anticipation is greater than realization and now that I am older, and I can look back and at many, many realizations such as marriage, births of children, new beginnings of businesses, moving into a new home, trips to Europe with my daughter, seeing my grand children and I have to say, I've never been disappointed- the REALIZATIONS have it!
But now, I have someone I know, someone in our family who is very ill and has been fighting a horrible monster inside of him for 15 years. The time has come and he has had to lay down his sword and shield and bow in submission to a tireless foe living in his brain. He has an impressive entourage of wonderful friends and family championing him on, a loving wife who has never missed a step beside him to surgeries, to radiation, to countless rounds of chemo and MRI's, blood tests and transfusions and always there has been a feeling of solidarity, of oneness among those that would pick up a sword along side him, if only they could.
News came a couple of months ago that the foe had changed his skin, that he had become resilient and morphed into something that so far, no one had found a way to defeat and that is when the waiting began. This waiting is not in excited anticipation, this is a waiting of watching and wondering. My husband, his brother, and all of his family and friends were stricken with the reality of fate and fatigue and finality that they saw for him in the days and weeks ahead. Tears were shed in frustration and disbelief and yet, there was a celebration that brewed just beneath the surface of solemnity. I watched as this sorrow transformed as well, silently morphing into a celebration of effort and desire to make each day and each hour left of his life something remarkable with as much love and dignity, support and reassurance that any of these fellow champions could give to him. This eagerness was welcomed but soon brought into line by a protective wife and knowing caregivers who turned well intended visits, of often 5 and 6 friends at a time into an order of rest and sleep and 15 minutes visits of one or two and the moments of wakefulness and lost abilities to speak, stand, even sit up were all compensated for with even more love, more caring and more support.
I watched from my remote branch as the scurry of family and best friends surrounded him. A concert, they had all planned months earlier to see James Taylor was transformed into tickets being given to other cancer victims and his friends, after patiently rescheduling three different weekends, finally getting the opportunity to visit and watch en group old James on video, drink beer and present my brother-in-law with a signed picture of James- wishing him good luck. A much anticipated event, executed beautifully in an entirely unexpected manner- that in many ways far surpassed any of their original anticipations.
We are back to waiting again, getting reports of good days and bad, days of anxiety and no appetite right next to days of smiles and nods, strawberries and cream, toe-tapping to his favorite tunes and entire afternoons of quiet slumber. The warrior is still fighting, we are all still praying and learning to appreciate each of our own days a little more as we enjoy our family, hug our kids and cut into to a thick steak right off the grill. We make our plans with perhaps more gratefulness now, carrying into the rest of our days the knowledge of how precious life is, how important each day is with all of its surprises, joys, disappointments and challenges... all bound tightly together as we live in quiet anticipation of all our tomorrows however many there may be.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Almost Crazy...
Have you ever wondered if you were crazy? Experienced anxiety?
Not just a few twinges about getting into the dentist's chair, but a complete, heart pounding, gut wrenching, sweating shut down over something that any other person would probably not even notice?
Have you ever cried, for no reason...no discernible, obvious reason? You just feel helpless, or hopeless or powerless to deal with whatever the day is bringing to you? Or, you sleep.... you sleep all the time. You are heavy-lidded at 10 a.m., focusing on getting the dishes done is overwhelming and trying to order a birthday cake for your daughter requires deciding what flavor, what icing, what to write on it... its all just too much? And if you are not sleeping, you are crying.
What's wrong with you?
You've planned trips to Africa for your boss, and moved 5 times and each time everything was in boxes labeled room by room for the movers and you had the whole house set up within days after moving- pictures hung, wallpaper stripped and walls painted and now you can't even open a phone book and find a rental truck?
Are you crazy?
Have you completely lost it and are ready for the rubber room? Do you picture rows of pharmacy bottles, all with your name on them, lined up in the bathroom- take a little yellow pill, a little blue pill and you will feel better....maybe?
The diagnosis is probably stress-related depression and you're in for a bumpy ride. But, hey, look on the bright side- may you can use it, I mean maybe it might work for you as a new character. Someone with vulnerabilities. Someone that creates simpatico?
Putting real-life experiences into character's lives make them more believable. We are with them as they work through their fears, their insecurities, their dark moments that might secretly rule their lives. It can be liberating for the writer and the reader as well because everyone has a weakness, a vulnerability or fear that might cripple them in certain situations and perhaps finding a fellow character with the same symptoms can be liberating!
You meet characters in strange places sometimes. just yesterday, for example, I met a new character at a stop light. He was standing on the corner, a barely 5 foot tall, very round little man with a balding head. His slacks were so wide at the top and his legs so short that the pant legs actually ballooned up from his knees to his waist and that made me think of Tweedle Dum.
He was muttering something to himself and kept putting up the newspaper to read and then putting it back to his side. Was he crazy? He looked a little strange, but crazy? I looked at him more discerningly, he definitely was not a street person, his shoes were shined and his hair nicely cut, and yet.... there was something not quite right. He caught me looking at him, I felt awkward and looked away...making eye contact with crazy people is never a good thing.... but I couldn't help it, he sort of fascinated me. I looked back at him and he stared for a second and then smiled at me! A careful, cautious ...crazy smile? I smiled back as goose-bumps rippled down my spine. "Thank God, I'm in my car with the doors locked," I thought. But I knew, right then and there, I had just met Colonel Heinze von Dumschneider of the Great German General staff! Chapter 6 had found its leading man!
Here's looking at you!
Linda
Not just a few twinges about getting into the dentist's chair, but a complete, heart pounding, gut wrenching, sweating shut down over something that any other person would probably not even notice?
Have you ever cried, for no reason...no discernible, obvious reason? You just feel helpless, or hopeless or powerless to deal with whatever the day is bringing to you? Or, you sleep.... you sleep all the time. You are heavy-lidded at 10 a.m., focusing on getting the dishes done is overwhelming and trying to order a birthday cake for your daughter requires deciding what flavor, what icing, what to write on it... its all just too much? And if you are not sleeping, you are crying.
What's wrong with you?
You've planned trips to Africa for your boss, and moved 5 times and each time everything was in boxes labeled room by room for the movers and you had the whole house set up within days after moving- pictures hung, wallpaper stripped and walls painted and now you can't even open a phone book and find a rental truck?
Are you crazy?
Have you completely lost it and are ready for the rubber room? Do you picture rows of pharmacy bottles, all with your name on them, lined up in the bathroom- take a little yellow pill, a little blue pill and you will feel better....maybe?
The diagnosis is probably stress-related depression and you're in for a bumpy ride. But, hey, look on the bright side- may you can use it, I mean maybe it might work for you as a new character. Someone with vulnerabilities. Someone that creates simpatico?
Putting real-life experiences into character's lives make them more believable. We are with them as they work through their fears, their insecurities, their dark moments that might secretly rule their lives. It can be liberating for the writer and the reader as well because everyone has a weakness, a vulnerability or fear that might cripple them in certain situations and perhaps finding a fellow character with the same symptoms can be liberating!
You meet characters in strange places sometimes. just yesterday, for example, I met a new character at a stop light. He was standing on the corner, a barely 5 foot tall, very round little man with a balding head. His slacks were so wide at the top and his legs so short that the pant legs actually ballooned up from his knees to his waist and that made me think of Tweedle Dum.
He was muttering something to himself and kept putting up the newspaper to read and then putting it back to his side. Was he crazy? He looked a little strange, but crazy? I looked at him more discerningly, he definitely was not a street person, his shoes were shined and his hair nicely cut, and yet.... there was something not quite right. He caught me looking at him, I felt awkward and looked away...making eye contact with crazy people is never a good thing.... but I couldn't help it, he sort of fascinated me. I looked back at him and he stared for a second and then smiled at me! A careful, cautious ...crazy smile? I smiled back as goose-bumps rippled down my spine. "Thank God, I'm in my car with the doors locked," I thought. But I knew, right then and there, I had just met Colonel Heinze von Dumschneider of the Great German General staff! Chapter 6 had found its leading man!
Here's looking at you!
Linda
Monday, September 28, 2009
Making a life...not a living
I had the pleasure of reading a quote from Maya Angelo today, she said she has learned that "Making a Life is more important than making a living."
I immediately thought, "Well, that is very nice, but... I have tons of things to get done ALL the time, I don't have time to lolly around doing what I want to do." The concept almost sounded ludicrous!
But is it? After all, we do have 24 hours in every day- just like it has always been. The same 24 hours that symphonies were written in, paintings were painted in, gardens were planned and planted in, discoveries have been made in, plans have been cast, rockets have been launched.... all in the same 24 hours.How does one make a life for one's self rather than just a living?
As I write this, I am allowing myself time to write- my first love, and I'm taking this time away from my regular day and the responsibilities of my other job. Much of my "other work" is rewarding too, yet it is demanding and built almost completely around being in front of a computer. Which might explain the extra pounds that end to creep on- like bums on a freight train.... stealthily, quietly...no one notices...except me.... and this is disconcerting, too, just one more thing to think about, worry about; another problem to try and solve. It all seems to be a vicious circle.
Years ago, there was a commercial on television about a baker who every morning got up and with a dead-pan, emotionless expression said, "It's time to make the donuts." He was like a zombie, getting up and doing the same thing every single day. Are we like zombies, getting up everyday driving our cars, walking to subways, catching planes and hopping on buses to get somewhere we have to be? The whole procedure is almost set in stone and we must conform or we run the risk of losing our jobs and our livelihoods. We are seemingly exchanging the gift of 24 precious hours essentially for a paycheck and this means we are usually AWAY from the very things and people we actually ENJOY.
I am not advocating slothful behavior here and shirking our responsibilities, but beyond the reward of taking responsibility and caring for those we love, I think we must also remember that we need to love ourselves as well. And that, of course, is the million dollar question isn't it? How can we make a living and a life and enjoy it? Is it a mind-set, a mystical perspective that must be achieved so that even though we might not have the time to take an actual walk in the park....we somehow feel relaxed and invigorated anyway?
A good friend and I had a discussion about this subject the other day. "Why," he asked, "did my grandmother have time to write her correspondence every morning by hand, sending a thank you note for a dinner party (remember those?) or a birthday present, a casual note to a friend in Cincinnati to say hello... it was all very gracious then, but it was the 40's and 50's then, and times are different now, I guess."
"But," I pointed out, "they had the same 24 hours we do and somehow the world kept turning and things kept getting done."
The trick here, of course, is the fact that she did not work outside the home and that she had help with the housework that she did have. Many families of middle American incomes at the time, had maids in their homes. Just go through almost any neighborhood home built in the mid-twenties to early forties and you will find a maid's room and bath. These people were not rich and yet, they had help with cooking, cleaning, running errands. Our government ended this mutually rewarding symbiotic relationship when they insisted that the homeowner/employer provide health insurance, social security benefits, withhold taxes... it all became too complicated and the maids and houseboys and gardeners all disappeared almost over night...many to jobs that were not nearly as pleasant or secure as the ones they enjoyed in our homes and neighborhoods.
Households were different then, there was usually just one car and Moms, for the most part, simply did not work outside the home- they were home managing their children's lives, homework, dance classes, piano lessons and little league games and they had dinner on the table at 6 o'clock. Now, however, moms are not home to do all the things they used to- and the same 24 hours to get things done seems to dwindle dramatically. Where does the time to "make a life" come from if we are so busy just trying to survive?
Is it reality or is it our perspective that is skewed? For example, the big house we work constantly to pay for...uses more electricity, needs more furniture, requires more gas to heat, demands more taxes to be paid, obligates a larger mortgage to carry. And, I haven't even mentioned the triple garage yet and what is in it. We are working ALL the time just trying to pay for all this stuff.....believing that this is the good life. Well, is it?
If you think about it, we can have almost anything in this country we want, but we cannot have everything. We can buy almost anything if we are willing to pay for it ...somehow, but, and this is important.... we cannot buy one minute of time! Not one single minute- not even Ophra or Donald or Warren Buffet can buy one minute of time.
So, what are we exchanging our 24 hours of time for in the end? Just stuff? Every man must, of course, work for a living, unless they were dropped into a trust fund gene-pool, and if we want ends to meet, put our children into good schools and colleges, most of the time, women must work, too. But the questions begs to be asked, are we exchanging our precious 24 hours for just materialistic stuff.... rather than irreplaceable memories, moments of introspection on top of a mountain somewhere..or the peacefulness we might find running along a path in a city park, or the warmth we feel from the smile of an old man as we hand him a meal in the soup kitchen? I should point out here that I like cool stuff as well as the next person, but are we selling our lives short just to have so much of it?
Making a Life is a beautiful, decidedly thought-provoking idea. but, I have learned there is a price for everything...... what price are we willing to pay for "Making a Life" for ourselves and our families and just exactly how do we define that? For myself, I have decided that Making a Life is giving back somehow, sharing myself and my experiences with my children and grand children, but also making sure that I share monetarily from any success I may achieve with others who might be having a more difficult and tougher time. How we make a life for ourselves can be defined then as, "how we can help not only ourselves, but the reward we feel in sharing with others to make a better life as well".
Making a life, as it turns out, appears to be a mutually satisfying, symbiotic relationship with ourselves.
I immediately thought, "Well, that is very nice, but... I have tons of things to get done ALL the time, I don't have time to lolly around doing what I want to do." The concept almost sounded ludicrous!
But is it? After all, we do have 24 hours in every day- just like it has always been. The same 24 hours that symphonies were written in, paintings were painted in, gardens were planned and planted in, discoveries have been made in, plans have been cast, rockets have been launched.... all in the same 24 hours.How does one make a life for one's self rather than just a living?
As I write this, I am allowing myself time to write- my first love, and I'm taking this time away from my regular day and the responsibilities of my other job. Much of my "other work" is rewarding too, yet it is demanding and built almost completely around being in front of a computer. Which might explain the extra pounds that end to creep on- like bums on a freight train.... stealthily, quietly...no one notices...except me.... and this is disconcerting, too, just one more thing to think about, worry about; another problem to try and solve. It all seems to be a vicious circle.
Years ago, there was a commercial on television about a baker who every morning got up and with a dead-pan, emotionless expression said, "It's time to make the donuts." He was like a zombie, getting up and doing the same thing every single day. Are we like zombies, getting up everyday driving our cars, walking to subways, catching planes and hopping on buses to get somewhere we have to be? The whole procedure is almost set in stone and we must conform or we run the risk of losing our jobs and our livelihoods. We are seemingly exchanging the gift of 24 precious hours essentially for a paycheck and this means we are usually AWAY from the very things and people we actually ENJOY.
I am not advocating slothful behavior here and shirking our responsibilities, but beyond the reward of taking responsibility and caring for those we love, I think we must also remember that we need to love ourselves as well. And that, of course, is the million dollar question isn't it? How can we make a living and a life and enjoy it? Is it a mind-set, a mystical perspective that must be achieved so that even though we might not have the time to take an actual walk in the park....we somehow feel relaxed and invigorated anyway?
A good friend and I had a discussion about this subject the other day. "Why," he asked, "did my grandmother have time to write her correspondence every morning by hand, sending a thank you note for a dinner party (remember those?) or a birthday present, a casual note to a friend in Cincinnati to say hello... it was all very gracious then, but it was the 40's and 50's then, and times are different now, I guess."
"But," I pointed out, "they had the same 24 hours we do and somehow the world kept turning and things kept getting done."
The trick here, of course, is the fact that she did not work outside the home and that she had help with the housework that she did have. Many families of middle American incomes at the time, had maids in their homes. Just go through almost any neighborhood home built in the mid-twenties to early forties and you will find a maid's room and bath. These people were not rich and yet, they had help with cooking, cleaning, running errands. Our government ended this mutually rewarding symbiotic relationship when they insisted that the homeowner/employer provide health insurance, social security benefits, withhold taxes... it all became too complicated and the maids and houseboys and gardeners all disappeared almost over night...many to jobs that were not nearly as pleasant or secure as the ones they enjoyed in our homes and neighborhoods.
Households were different then, there was usually just one car and Moms, for the most part, simply did not work outside the home- they were home managing their children's lives, homework, dance classes, piano lessons and little league games and they had dinner on the table at 6 o'clock. Now, however, moms are not home to do all the things they used to- and the same 24 hours to get things done seems to dwindle dramatically. Where does the time to "make a life" come from if we are so busy just trying to survive?
Is it reality or is it our perspective that is skewed? For example, the big house we work constantly to pay for...uses more electricity, needs more furniture, requires more gas to heat, demands more taxes to be paid, obligates a larger mortgage to carry. And, I haven't even mentioned the triple garage yet and what is in it. We are working ALL the time just trying to pay for all this stuff.....believing that this is the good life. Well, is it?
If you think about it, we can have almost anything in this country we want, but we cannot have everything. We can buy almost anything if we are willing to pay for it ...somehow, but, and this is important.... we cannot buy one minute of time! Not one single minute- not even Ophra or Donald or Warren Buffet can buy one minute of time.
So, what are we exchanging our 24 hours of time for in the end? Just stuff? Every man must, of course, work for a living, unless they were dropped into a trust fund gene-pool, and if we want ends to meet, put our children into good schools and colleges, most of the time, women must work, too. But the questions begs to be asked, are we exchanging our precious 24 hours for just materialistic stuff.... rather than irreplaceable memories, moments of introspection on top of a mountain somewhere..or the peacefulness we might find running along a path in a city park, or the warmth we feel from the smile of an old man as we hand him a meal in the soup kitchen? I should point out here that I like cool stuff as well as the next person, but are we selling our lives short just to have so much of it?
Making a Life is a beautiful, decidedly thought-provoking idea. but, I have learned there is a price for everything...... what price are we willing to pay for "Making a Life" for ourselves and our families and just exactly how do we define that? For myself, I have decided that Making a Life is giving back somehow, sharing myself and my experiences with my children and grand children, but also making sure that I share monetarily from any success I may achieve with others who might be having a more difficult and tougher time. How we make a life for ourselves can be defined then as, "how we can help not only ourselves, but the reward we feel in sharing with others to make a better life as well".
Making a life, as it turns out, appears to be a mutually satisfying, symbiotic relationship with ourselves.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
As An Observer of Life
This blog is about a writer's life. A writer who is also a Mom, a cook, a friend, a lover, a wife, the president of a new gourmet sea salt company, a gardener, a Grandmother, a 23 year survivor of my own interior design business (a blog unto itself) and an all-round observer of life.
I discovered my love of writing in the third grade. I wrote a story about a submarine that could talk. Did I mention I also had a vivid imagination? My teacher loved it and had me read the story over the PA system to the entire school! In that one event, I experienced the exhilaration of acclaim by one's peers and I was hooked! Writing was fun!
Growing up, I remember watching and observing everyone around me. It seemed a very natural way to begin building my own perceptions of life and even though I did not realize it at the time, I was putting together an entire portfolio of events, problems and ironies, quirks and introspects, dark struggles and vivid humor, human foibles and strengths to weave into the characters I would create one day.
I watched everyone around me, not in a creepy voyeuristic way, but rather a sort of mental note-taking way. I found everyone and everything fascinating- especially observing the people I admired. One such person was Nell. She was elegant and beautiful with long black hair and large gray-blue eyes. She was equally sweet, intelligent, spoke fluent French, studied in Paris, was graceful and had a great sense of humor. The first time I met her, I hated her.
We were visiting at my Aunt's home in Indiana. I was 6 years old and Nell was dating my cousin Bill who resembled, and I'm not kidding, Rock Hudson with dimples! I was secretly madly in love with him. But at six, I felt completely inadequate to do anything about it. One evening during our visit, he stopped in for a few minutes to say hello. He was with a beautiful girl, and when he introduced Nell as his girlfriend, I suddenly felt horrible, as though the universe had collapsed around me and that suddenly I had turned into a garden gnome...or worse! I inched slowly out of the room and within seconds, found myself hiding behind my Aunt's chair in the living room, crying my "feeling horrible about being six" eyes out.
I am happy to report, however, that several months later, when Nell called my mother and asked if I would be her flower girl in their wedding, I was immediately swept up into a glorious world of white satin and lace, my first full-length dress and a starring role that I embraced with every ounce of my Cinderella being. In that exact moment, Nell went from evil adversary to fairy princess and my own personal idle.
Who we meet and who we are when we meet them is often a life-altering moment. You never know when you shake hands, if someone is going to move your world in ways you never dreamed possible, making each encounter an adventure and an opportunity to add an intriguing new character in your book!
I discovered my love of writing in the third grade. I wrote a story about a submarine that could talk. Did I mention I also had a vivid imagination? My teacher loved it and had me read the story over the PA system to the entire school! In that one event, I experienced the exhilaration of acclaim by one's peers and I was hooked! Writing was fun!
Growing up, I remember watching and observing everyone around me. It seemed a very natural way to begin building my own perceptions of life and even though I did not realize it at the time, I was putting together an entire portfolio of events, problems and ironies, quirks and introspects, dark struggles and vivid humor, human foibles and strengths to weave into the characters I would create one day.
I watched everyone around me, not in a creepy voyeuristic way, but rather a sort of mental note-taking way. I found everyone and everything fascinating- especially observing the people I admired. One such person was Nell. She was elegant and beautiful with long black hair and large gray-blue eyes. She was equally sweet, intelligent, spoke fluent French, studied in Paris, was graceful and had a great sense of humor. The first time I met her, I hated her.
We were visiting at my Aunt's home in Indiana. I was 6 years old and Nell was dating my cousin Bill who resembled, and I'm not kidding, Rock Hudson with dimples! I was secretly madly in love with him. But at six, I felt completely inadequate to do anything about it. One evening during our visit, he stopped in for a few minutes to say hello. He was with a beautiful girl, and when he introduced Nell as his girlfriend, I suddenly felt horrible, as though the universe had collapsed around me and that suddenly I had turned into a garden gnome...or worse! I inched slowly out of the room and within seconds, found myself hiding behind my Aunt's chair in the living room, crying my "feeling horrible about being six" eyes out.
I am happy to report, however, that several months later, when Nell called my mother and asked if I would be her flower girl in their wedding, I was immediately swept up into a glorious world of white satin and lace, my first full-length dress and a starring role that I embraced with every ounce of my Cinderella being. In that exact moment, Nell went from evil adversary to fairy princess and my own personal idle.
Who we meet and who we are when we meet them is often a life-altering moment. You never know when you shake hands, if someone is going to move your world in ways you never dreamed possible, making each encounter an adventure and an opportunity to add an intriguing new character in your book!
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