Did you miss me? I hope so. Since I've participated in the National Novel Writing Month challenge, I've written exactly one blog. I really did have a good reason for my absence. In fact, I've compiled several good reasons.
1. I got sick
2. My computer crashed
3. I was working a lot
4. I was depressed
5. I had to take care of family stuff
6. I was lazy
7. I missed Italy
8. I couldn't think of anything to write about
9. What I could think of turned out to be pretty lame
10. I was busy
11. I got caught up making a photo album of my vacation
12. Looking at the photos, I got more depressed wishing I was back in Italy
13. I had to put up Christmas decorations
14. I had to buy Christmas presents
15. I had to make Christmas cookies
16. I had to wrap Christmas presents
17. I had to take back Christmas presents
18. I got sick (that one really deserves two excuses - it lasted forever)
19. I had to watch several vile, stomach-churning Bears games
20. I had to change the sheets, put fresh towels in the bathroom, order pizza, etc.
21-1,000,000. Anything I could think of to keep me from writing.
Before I knew it, it was time for Lady Gaga to drop the ball in Times Square. As I reminded myself at 12:01 a.m. (right before I headed to bed), I managed to write 50,000 words in thirty days. If I can do that, I should be able to discipline myself to sit down at the computer a little more often. That's when I decided to add writing this insignificant blog twice a week to my list of 2012 resolutions. Those of you who like my writing and get a laugh or two out of it, can look forward to seeing something every Monday and Friday. Those of you who think my musings stink, (or that didn't even realize I had been depriving you of my insights and/or rantings), feel free to go about your business as usual.
So, Happy New Year! Hope 2012 brings lots of blessings, as well as an end to the Kardashian reign of terror, to all. I'd write more but I have to go clean out my closet, organize my financial files and take down my Christmas decorations.
I should be done by Friday.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
It Wasn't a Fluke
It's great to prove to yourself that you can accomplish a goal. It's even better when you can prove to yourself that you're capable of doing it more than once. That's why I'm sitting here, just a little bit proud of myself. Last year, I managed to write a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. It was something I've always wanted to do and taking up the challenge of the National Novel Writing Month, I surprised myself by actually being able to do it.
This year, I'm happy to say, I did it again. I finished three days early this time and I'm on my way to finishing my second novel in two years. At this rate, I'll catch up to Danielle Steel when I'm 137! I haven't actually managed to edit the first one yet and I'm still stuck trying to find an ending to the one I'm currently working on but none of that matters. My very undisciplined self managed to sit myself in front of a computer for two or three hours every day for the second time. I can no longer say that I can't do it. And since this book was complete fiction (with the exception of the European locales I just can't stop thinking about), I can't say I have no imagination. What I can say is that nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it. Okay, that's not true. I will never be able to be an Olympic figure skater. I will never walk on the moon. I will never be able to fly. But I will be able to be a published author. These last thirty days have finally convinced me.
This year, I'm happy to say, I did it again. I finished three days early this time and I'm on my way to finishing my second novel in two years. At this rate, I'll catch up to Danielle Steel when I'm 137! I haven't actually managed to edit the first one yet and I'm still stuck trying to find an ending to the one I'm currently working on but none of that matters. My very undisciplined self managed to sit myself in front of a computer for two or three hours every day for the second time. I can no longer say that I can't do it. And since this book was complete fiction (with the exception of the European locales I just can't stop thinking about), I can't say I have no imagination. What I can say is that nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it. Okay, that's not true. I will never be able to be an Olympic figure skater. I will never walk on the moon. I will never be able to fly. But I will be able to be a published author. These last thirty days have finally convinced me.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Where I Am
Well, isn't it just like me to pop back in from my long vacation, write one blog and disappear again. No wonder I don't have many followers; they couldn't find me even if they wanted to. Now I am going to hit you with another legitimate excuse for my absence. Remember, this blog is supposed to be about my journey out of full-time motherhood. And this journey seems to be all about the twists and turns my life is taking as I set out to re-invent myself.
As many of you might remember, last year I took on the challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. As crazy as that might seem, I actually did it and am now the proud owner of one proof copy of a novel that has yet to be fully edited (or read) by anyone. What's even crazier than taking on such a challenge, you might ask? How about signing up to do it again?
For the next twenty-four days, (minus work hours and Bears games), I'll be sequestered in my basement, pounding on computer keys hoping to catch lightening in a bottle one more time. At first I thought I should quit while I was ahead. After all, I proved that I could do it. I'm sitting here with the proof, rough and unread though it may be. So why would I want to go through that torture again?
There isn't a simple answer but I think I came up with a few:
1. I need a project to take my mind off the fact that my vacation is over and winter is
about to make its appearance. Both events are making me pretty damn blue.
2. I work better with a deadline. My undisciplined nature would never take the easy
way out and write a novel over a rational time period, like oh, say, the other 335 days of
year.
3. (Most importantly) I want (need) to prove that last year wasn't a fluke. I want to write
a completely fictional, fun novel in a totally different genre. Maybe then I'll truly believe
I can make something out of this "hobby" I've pursued for the better part of my adult
life.
I'll try to check in once in awhile but, like I said last year, I have to write almost 2000 words
a day to meet my goal and, unless my husband is willing to go thru the next month with dirty clothes and an empty stomach, my free time has to be in the pursuit of those relentlessly unforgiving 2000 words. So, please bear with me and wish me luck. I'll come up for air when I can. This business of re-inventing yourself ain't easy.
As many of you might remember, last year I took on the challenge of writing a 50,000 word novel in thirty days. As crazy as that might seem, I actually did it and am now the proud owner of one proof copy of a novel that has yet to be fully edited (or read) by anyone. What's even crazier than taking on such a challenge, you might ask? How about signing up to do it again?
For the next twenty-four days, (minus work hours and Bears games), I'll be sequestered in my basement, pounding on computer keys hoping to catch lightening in a bottle one more time. At first I thought I should quit while I was ahead. After all, I proved that I could do it. I'm sitting here with the proof, rough and unread though it may be. So why would I want to go through that torture again?
There isn't a simple answer but I think I came up with a few:
1. I need a project to take my mind off the fact that my vacation is over and winter is
about to make its appearance. Both events are making me pretty damn blue.
2. I work better with a deadline. My undisciplined nature would never take the easy
way out and write a novel over a rational time period, like oh, say, the other 335 days of
year.
3. (Most importantly) I want (need) to prove that last year wasn't a fluke. I want to write
a completely fictional, fun novel in a totally different genre. Maybe then I'll truly believe
I can make something out of this "hobby" I've pursued for the better part of my adult
life.
I'll try to check in once in awhile but, like I said last year, I have to write almost 2000 words
a day to meet my goal and, unless my husband is willing to go thru the next month with dirty clothes and an empty stomach, my free time has to be in the pursuit of those relentlessly unforgiving 2000 words. So, please bear with me and wish me luck. I'll come up for air when I can. This business of re-inventing yourself ain't easy.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Where I've Been
For those of you who've missed me (you seven or eight loyal readers know who you are), I feel I have to explain my absence. It's kind of hard to write a blog when you're too busy gallivanting all over Europe. Wait, that sounds bad. Let me try not to sound like one of the Kardashians. I haven't been able to write my blog because I was lucky enough to be able to take an amazing three week trip across the pond. Better?
I know, I know. A little thing like being four thousand miles away from my computer should not have stopped me. Not in 2011. And, honestly, I would have loved to file a daily commentary about my exploits stumbling through ancient cultures but I was under strict orders from my better half not to let anyone in on the fact that we were far from home. I'm not sure which of my dozen readers would jump at the chance to break into my vacant homestead but you never can tell.
Truth is, I probably couldn't have communicated very well even if my gag order had been lifted. Internet on a cruise ship is on par with the speed of AOL a decade ago with a cost of several Bahama Mamas per minute so it's all for the best that I remained silent until now. Anyway, our three week trip to Switzerland, Italy, Greece and Turkey went off without a hitch (if you overlook that nasty spill I took in Mykonos where my forehead became intimately acquainted with the cobblestone street. Luckily, it didn't put an end to our adventures, although all remaining pictures feature an improvised hairstyle designed to cover the lovely subsequent black eye.)
There's nothing like leaving the comfort of your surroundings and exploring other cultures to give one a lot to think about. From the start (in first class, mind you, for the first time thanks to hubby's frequent flier miles), I felt blessed beyond belief. I know how many people never get to live out their dreams. Just last weekend I heard about a friend of a friend who keeled over at the age of forty-five so I know how important it is to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. I realize we have to plan for our future but it's amazing to me how many people do it at the expense of their present. The memories we created over these past three weeks might have to sustain me someday when I'm living on food stamps, camped out in my kid's basement. But, so what? In my eyes, that would only be poetic justice.
So, now that I'm back doing laundry, dusting furniture and putting dinner (a little pasta, a little vino - hey, it's tough to let go) on the table, I want to encourage all of you to go for it. Even if it's a stretch financially, even if it's completely irrational, don't put off doing something you really want to do, don't put off going somewhere you're really dying to go. All life's problems will be there waiting for you when you get back. You'll just have a big smile on your face while you're dealing with them.
I know, I know. A little thing like being four thousand miles away from my computer should not have stopped me. Not in 2011. And, honestly, I would have loved to file a daily commentary about my exploits stumbling through ancient cultures but I was under strict orders from my better half not to let anyone in on the fact that we were far from home. I'm not sure which of my dozen readers would jump at the chance to break into my vacant homestead but you never can tell.
Truth is, I probably couldn't have communicated very well even if my gag order had been lifted. Internet on a cruise ship is on par with the speed of AOL a decade ago with a cost of several Bahama Mamas per minute so it's all for the best that I remained silent until now. Anyway, our three week trip to Switzerland, Italy, Greece and Turkey went off without a hitch (if you overlook that nasty spill I took in Mykonos where my forehead became intimately acquainted with the cobblestone street. Luckily, it didn't put an end to our adventures, although all remaining pictures feature an improvised hairstyle designed to cover the lovely subsequent black eye.)
There's nothing like leaving the comfort of your surroundings and exploring other cultures to give one a lot to think about. From the start (in first class, mind you, for the first time thanks to hubby's frequent flier miles), I felt blessed beyond belief. I know how many people never get to live out their dreams. Just last weekend I heard about a friend of a friend who keeled over at the age of forty-five so I know how important it is to seize an opportunity when it presents itself. I realize we have to plan for our future but it's amazing to me how many people do it at the expense of their present. The memories we created over these past three weeks might have to sustain me someday when I'm living on food stamps, camped out in my kid's basement. But, so what? In my eyes, that would only be poetic justice.
So, now that I'm back doing laundry, dusting furniture and putting dinner (a little pasta, a little vino - hey, it's tough to let go) on the table, I want to encourage all of you to go for it. Even if it's a stretch financially, even if it's completely irrational, don't put off doing something you really want to do, don't put off going somewhere you're really dying to go. All life's problems will be there waiting for you when you get back. You'll just have a big smile on your face while you're dealing with them.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
I Still Do
There's nothing like a wedding to get us old married folks to take a look at the state of our own unions. Sitting in the church, watching a young couple take their first steps down that unknown road of marital highs and lows, you can't help wondering if they have any idea what they're getting into. And how could they? No one knows what Paris is really like until they've actually been there no matter how many times they've seen it in the movies.
The priest, a jovial sort doing his best to emphasize the benefits of committing one's life to another human being, encouraged the bride and groom to communicate and compromise. You could see the glowing couple sharing knowing glances and tender touches as the priest continued to dispense his suggestions for the next fifty years of their lives. 'We've got this' their faces said. Maybe. But from the reactions of the longtime marrieds in attendance, who shared their own knowing glances as well as a few tender jabs in the ribcage anytime the priest hit a nerve, it was clear that it wasn't going to be as simple as Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed might think.
I was flying solo at this particular wedding; my better half had a previous commitment. After sitting through dozens of ceremonies during my nearly twenty-eight years of marriage, I've noticed that my reaction to the festivities has varied greatly. During those early years, I eagerly welcomed new members to "the club" with genuine smiles and congratulatory hugs. Later, when things were tough, it was all I could do to refrain from standing up and shouting, "DON'T DO IT. Whatever you think you're feeling, stop while you still can, strap on a pair of sneakers and head for the exit as fast as you possibly can." Then, there were the times when I'd get weepy, bemoaning the fact that I'd never feel that innocent, hopeful love present in couples that haven't yet had to deal with colicky babies, week-long business trips and forgotten anniversaries.
But this time was different. I didn't feel any of those responses. This time, I felt as much joy for myself as I did for the decked out couple walking down that aisle. My husband and I have made it through two kids, overseas moves, job changes, and menopause. We've struggled through financial disagreements, conflicting priorities and the occasional desire to hire a hit man. It hasn't been easy but getting to the place we are now has certainly been worth everything it took to get us here. I'm proud of us. And I wouldn't trade places with the newlyweds, even if I could.
But if they want to hand over those tickets to Cabo, I just might be persuaded to change my mind.
The priest, a jovial sort doing his best to emphasize the benefits of committing one's life to another human being, encouraged the bride and groom to communicate and compromise. You could see the glowing couple sharing knowing glances and tender touches as the priest continued to dispense his suggestions for the next fifty years of their lives. 'We've got this' their faces said. Maybe. But from the reactions of the longtime marrieds in attendance, who shared their own knowing glances as well as a few tender jabs in the ribcage anytime the priest hit a nerve, it was clear that it wasn't going to be as simple as Mr. and Mrs. Newlywed might think.
I was flying solo at this particular wedding; my better half had a previous commitment. After sitting through dozens of ceremonies during my nearly twenty-eight years of marriage, I've noticed that my reaction to the festivities has varied greatly. During those early years, I eagerly welcomed new members to "the club" with genuine smiles and congratulatory hugs. Later, when things were tough, it was all I could do to refrain from standing up and shouting, "DON'T DO IT. Whatever you think you're feeling, stop while you still can, strap on a pair of sneakers and head for the exit as fast as you possibly can." Then, there were the times when I'd get weepy, bemoaning the fact that I'd never feel that innocent, hopeful love present in couples that haven't yet had to deal with colicky babies, week-long business trips and forgotten anniversaries.
But this time was different. I didn't feel any of those responses. This time, I felt as much joy for myself as I did for the decked out couple walking down that aisle. My husband and I have made it through two kids, overseas moves, job changes, and menopause. We've struggled through financial disagreements, conflicting priorities and the occasional desire to hire a hit man. It hasn't been easy but getting to the place we are now has certainly been worth everything it took to get us here. I'm proud of us. And I wouldn't trade places with the newlyweds, even if I could.
But if they want to hand over those tickets to Cabo, I just might be persuaded to change my mind.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Sweet Temptations
Despite Cher's opinions to the contrary, getting older does have its benefits. At least it does for me. A former people pleaser, I no longer obsess about gaining everyone's approval. While I can't escape my natural tendency to worry, a few decades of experience have made it far easier to keep things in perspective. Best of all, I feel like I've learned a thing or two on the way to all these wrinkles. So, okay. Those are the good things. What's not so great is my body's insistence on displaying every calorie I ingest in places that are decidedly further south than they used to be.
Don't hate me but I used to be one of those people who could eat pretty much anything she wanted without the needle of the scale moving much. I should have appreciated that gift more. I should have embraced my good fortune before it ran out.
Most of the day, I'm in control. I'll make myself oatmeal or shredded wheat for breakfast. Then, I'll heat up a bowl of soup or toss a nice salad for lunch. So far, so good. Dinner's not much of a problem either. I've cut back on red meat, ditched the bread and loaded up on veggies. No, meal's are not usually the problem. It's when the sun goes down that my food demons come out to play. Take tonight, for example. All it took was a grocery store flyer with a picture of a chocolate chip cookie for me to pull out my trusty Kitchen Aid and mix up a batch of warm, gooey disks of temptation. Oh, I said they were a belated birthday treat for my husband but he and I both knew better. There was no doubt where those puppies were headed once they cleared that oven door. A cup of tea and one episode of Project Runway later, I had consumed seven of them. Seven.
So, now I'm about to sit on a giant rubber ball, make my way through one hundred crunches and twenty minutes of weight lifting in the hopes of undoing what I just did. There's got to be an easier way. Throwing out my mixer? Cancelling my newspaper subscription? No. I'm just going to have to avoid the combination of television and a comfy couch. Going to bed earlier might just do the trick. I wonder how my hubby will feel about an eight o'clock bedtime. At least, he'll finally be able to get his fair share of the cookies.
Don't hate me but I used to be one of those people who could eat pretty much anything she wanted without the needle of the scale moving much. I should have appreciated that gift more. I should have embraced my good fortune before it ran out.
Most of the day, I'm in control. I'll make myself oatmeal or shredded wheat for breakfast. Then, I'll heat up a bowl of soup or toss a nice salad for lunch. So far, so good. Dinner's not much of a problem either. I've cut back on red meat, ditched the bread and loaded up on veggies. No, meal's are not usually the problem. It's when the sun goes down that my food demons come out to play. Take tonight, for example. All it took was a grocery store flyer with a picture of a chocolate chip cookie for me to pull out my trusty Kitchen Aid and mix up a batch of warm, gooey disks of temptation. Oh, I said they were a belated birthday treat for my husband but he and I both knew better. There was no doubt where those puppies were headed once they cleared that oven door. A cup of tea and one episode of Project Runway later, I had consumed seven of them. Seven.
So, now I'm about to sit on a giant rubber ball, make my way through one hundred crunches and twenty minutes of weight lifting in the hopes of undoing what I just did. There's got to be an easier way. Throwing out my mixer? Cancelling my newspaper subscription? No. I'm just going to have to avoid the combination of television and a comfy couch. Going to bed earlier might just do the trick. I wonder how my hubby will feel about an eight o'clock bedtime. At least, he'll finally be able to get his fair share of the cookies.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Am I the Only One?
I was standing in line at the local grocery store the other day when I noticed a grey-haired woman in a checkout line next to mine. She looked a little like my grandma with a frizzy beauty parlor bouffant and sensible shoes. Everything looked as it should until I glanced at her ankle. Right above her sensible shoes was a sunburst tattoo. And that's when I knew. Everyone in the entire world above the age of sixteen, now has at least one of these hideous monstrosities masquerading as artwork. I now have become something I thought was impossible - a rebel.
When my son did a paper in high school on the history of tattoos, he wrote about their use being previously confined to sailors and hardened criminals. Can someone please hurry up and build that time machine so I can be transported back to a time when that was true? I'm all for personal expression but why do I have to look at ugly green snakes crawling up middle-aged calves, barbed wire encircling the tricep of an otherwise beautiful bride, or unreadable words of sanskrit wisdom trailing down the back of a red carpet celebrity. Tattoos may have once been edgy; they may have once been daring but right now they have become something else. Boring.
So I guess I have one more thing to add to my things I know for sure list. I will never subject myself to another perm, I would rather have a root canal than spend five minutes with Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian, and I will never, I repeat never, join the millions of people who think it's cool to have a tattoo. If you ask me, it's a whole lot cooler not to.
When my son did a paper in high school on the history of tattoos, he wrote about their use being previously confined to sailors and hardened criminals. Can someone please hurry up and build that time machine so I can be transported back to a time when that was true? I'm all for personal expression but why do I have to look at ugly green snakes crawling up middle-aged calves, barbed wire encircling the tricep of an otherwise beautiful bride, or unreadable words of sanskrit wisdom trailing down the back of a red carpet celebrity. Tattoos may have once been edgy; they may have once been daring but right now they have become something else. Boring.
So I guess I have one more thing to add to my things I know for sure list. I will never subject myself to another perm, I would rather have a root canal than spend five minutes with Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian, and I will never, I repeat never, join the millions of people who think it's cool to have a tattoo. If you ask me, it's a whole lot cooler not to.
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