I woke up this morning at 2:30 to a stillness. We sleep with the fan in our room going and most of our windows cracked open for the fresh air. It was warm. Odd. So I got up to use the bathroom and water the cat (he likes to drink from the tub faucet) before coming back to bed. I never look outside or turn a light on in fear that I might just wake up too much. So, I'm lying in bed, trying to get comfortable when all of a sudden, the room cools down, the curtains lift with a breeze. And then I hear it; the tentative little patter of misty raindrops. The proverbial "calm before the storm" had woken me up, and before I could really think on this, the raindrops came, faster and stronger. My first thought was "Oh, this is so nice; I'm glad I am awake to hear it!" My second thought was, "Dang! Why couldn't this be Saturday?" It would be so nice to be able to leisurely lay in bed on a Saturday morning and listen to the rain!
We have had the first rain in a very long time. The temperature is going to be 62* today and I have my mantle decorated for Halloween and my pumpkins bought. You guessed it1 It's finally autumn! My favorite time of the year.
Having been born a California girl one would think that I really don't notice, or am not affected by, the seasons. But when I was in 5th and 6th and 7th grades, we lived just south of Boston, Massachusetts on a Naval Air Station. We had finished a two year stint in Georgia, just northwest of Atlanta, and other than the summers being more humid than Southern California, the weather did not impress me much. The bugs were a different story...but that's for another blog.
We moved to Massachusetts in the summer. Kind of muggy but not anything unusual. Then school started. Then fall came. Our first home in Massachusetts was the middle apartment in a three story building. There was one apartment just like ours on the top floor and one on the bottom floor. It looked like a huge 3 story Victorian house. In the dining room, on the side of the house, and in the living room, on the front of the house, there were floor-to-ceiling bay windows with window seats. Since the dining room was closest to the kitchen, and usually warmer than the rest of the house, I claimed that window seat as my own. There I watched the neighbor's yard and garden shift from summer to fall and later to winter.
But it was the change from summer to fall that caught my attention the most. It seemed as if, overnight, the world had totally changed. The neighbor's rose bushes were pruned down to the bare stems, a bush of Chinese Lanterns turned bright orange, the large tree (I have no idea what type it was) that draped over their side yard and escaped their yard to cover our driveway had mutated from green bunches of nondescript foliage to branches of gold and orange and rusty colored leaves. I'm telling you: it all made an impression.
The show lasted several weeks, changing daily, until it rained shortly before Thanksgiving. Then the leaves were just so many brown spots on the sidewalks and when they dried out, you could see people up and down the street raking them into large piles by the curb to burn, (oh, the days before environmental awareness!) giving off that slightly musty smell that wafted through the neighborhood.
Even though we spent only three years in Massachusetts, those change of seasons have stayed with me. Since we are back in California, and have been here since 1967, (yeah, do the math...I'm that old) I have had to develop a keen sense to determine the change of seasons. Pumpkins everywhere is a sure sign. The temperatures dropping, so I have to dig out my winter coat (let me just say here that my California winter coat is about 1/2 the warmth needed on the East Coast) is another sure sign. Rain plays a big part in making the season what it should be and I have targeted the trees around in the neighborhoods that change colors. They are not as plentiful, but that only makes them shine in our otherwise ordinary landscape. And I am entranced every year anew.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
On Writing...
As I was searching Google for some pictures to use on the front of a journal packet I am creating for my students, I came upon this quote today:
"When I say work I only mean writing. Everything else is just odd jobs.”
—Margaret Laurence
It is a funny thing to think that my life's work has been filled with only odd jobs. For various reasons (O.K. I like to eat and have a car) I have not been able to make writing my sole profession.
And yet, I think I have all the makings of a writer. I dream about writing, not just in a metaphorical way, but actually dream about writing. It wakes me up with story lines and ideas, conversations and colors; the way people look and the spaces they inhabit, bits and pieces of information. And I allow my brain to absorb all of this and save it away, in a safe place, for the next time I can find the time to sit down and put pencil to paper, or in reality, fingers to keyboard. Then I hope I can remember it all; the nuances, the right person saying the right thing, the brilliant idea I had for one pure sentence.
One of my favorite authors is Anne Lamott. In her book Bird by Bird she writes about writing: "You put a piece of paper in the typewriter, or you turn on the computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind -- a scene, a locale, a character, whatever -- and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind.”
I have had those moments but only in college when I had to write essays on topics I didn't particularly want to write about. I wanted to be writing on my thoughts and ideas. I didn't want to waste time on the academic process. But that was where I was at the time. I had to accomplish that in a timely manner, now, and then I would have time to write, really write. I don't have those moments now when I sit down to write. The words and sentences flow on the paper, usually so quickly that I have to really slow down or it would look like a toddler playing on a keyboard.
And I have written over the years, but not as much or as often as I would like. Life gets in my way.
Now, especially since I have started this blog, I am writing on a more regular basis. I want to write. there is an intrinsic need inside of me to write. When I don't blog for awhile I get an anxious feeling inside, kind of like the butterflies people get when they are going into an unknown situation. I think about writing. I try to scrape out time to write. And like an addict, once I write I feel o.k. for a time. But not very long. Sometimes only a day. Many times I want to write again in an hour. But the responsibilities of life won't allow me.
I cave to the responsible me. Sometimes I justify it but many times I think I am a coward. I think that if I was serious about writing, I would scrape out time and make writing a priority. that if I really wanted to be a writer, I would make it happen. I would figure out what is really stopping me and fix it. I would trade in my "odd job" of writing and make it my only work.
"When I say work I only mean writing. Everything else is just odd jobs.”
—Margaret Laurence
It is a funny thing to think that my life's work has been filled with only odd jobs. For various reasons (O.K. I like to eat and have a car) I have not been able to make writing my sole profession.
And yet, I think I have all the makings of a writer. I dream about writing, not just in a metaphorical way, but actually dream about writing. It wakes me up with story lines and ideas, conversations and colors; the way people look and the spaces they inhabit, bits and pieces of information. And I allow my brain to absorb all of this and save it away, in a safe place, for the next time I can find the time to sit down and put pencil to paper, or in reality, fingers to keyboard. Then I hope I can remember it all; the nuances, the right person saying the right thing, the brilliant idea I had for one pure sentence.
One of my favorite authors is Anne Lamott. In her book Bird by Bird she writes about writing: "You put a piece of paper in the typewriter, or you turn on the computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind -- a scene, a locale, a character, whatever -- and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what that landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind.”
I have had those moments but only in college when I had to write essays on topics I didn't particularly want to write about. I wanted to be writing on my thoughts and ideas. I didn't want to waste time on the academic process. But that was where I was at the time. I had to accomplish that in a timely manner, now, and then I would have time to write, really write. I don't have those moments now when I sit down to write. The words and sentences flow on the paper, usually so quickly that I have to really slow down or it would look like a toddler playing on a keyboard.
And I have written over the years, but not as much or as often as I would like. Life gets in my way.
Now, especially since I have started this blog, I am writing on a more regular basis. I want to write. there is an intrinsic need inside of me to write. When I don't blog for awhile I get an anxious feeling inside, kind of like the butterflies people get when they are going into an unknown situation. I think about writing. I try to scrape out time to write. And like an addict, once I write I feel o.k. for a time. But not very long. Sometimes only a day. Many times I want to write again in an hour. But the responsibilities of life won't allow me.
I cave to the responsible me. Sometimes I justify it but many times I think I am a coward. I think that if I was serious about writing, I would scrape out time and make writing a priority. that if I really wanted to be a writer, I would make it happen. I would figure out what is really stopping me and fix it. I would trade in my "odd job" of writing and make it my only work.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Controlled
I have realized, at this point in my life, that I have very little control over my life. No, I am not speaking about the whole question of "fate", although I do believe in fate. I am talking about everyday events that control many of my hours. I wake up to an alarm clock set for 5:30 a.m. And if that is not bad enough, our cat, Jerome, is already in anticipation of the alarm and starts softly meowing in my face before the dreaded buzzer goes off. I think he hears our neighbor, who leaves for work around 5:30, getting out of his house and into his car. Smart cat. Then, Jerome leads the way and sits on the side of the tub as I use the bathroom, waiting for water from the tub faucet, because it's morning-drinking-water-out-of the faucet-time. Then, we parade to the kitchen where he waits on the rug in front of the sink for his daily portion of 1/2 can of wet food. He leave me to my own devices as I make coffee and cook breakfast but reappears as I sit to watch the news and eat my breakfast, waiting for me to finish so he can have, what has come to be known as, "belly time." After he is satisfied with the amount of attention I lavish on him, because you know, a cat laying in your lap on his back with his belly exposed is just too cute to resist, he jumps off and goes to his napping place for the day. This could be on our bed, in the bedroom chair, on a box in my sewing room, on my cutting table, or any other place he deems nap-worthy. Then I am tasked with checking my phone for important, can't put it off, have to answer, email. Then I must check the games. I am playing several games with friends and family members; can't ignore them. This is too much responsibility! My mornings used to be so quiet.
My mornings are controlled by the cat and technology, and less importantly, my need for coffee and food. But food and coffee could be ignored or forgotten or postponed, if entirely necessary; the cat, especially, cannot.
My husband and I were having a discussion a couple of weeks ago; we were talking about which one of us would "go" first. I know that is kind of a morbid thing to discuss, but as one gets older, these things must be talked about. A man on T.V. had stated that he didn't want to die before his wife because he didn't want to live without her. Doug repeated the same sediment to me and I thought, being a mushy moment, that I would say it back to him. How sweet. He looked at me and said, "Really? I think you want to go first so you don't have to figure out all the technology I handle in the house!" I had to laugh. He's not too far off in that assumption.
My day at school is controlled by the bells. Bells ring at the end of the block, at the 7 minute warning for the passing period ending and at the final 3 minute - you-better-hoof-it-to-class-warning. The bells! The bells! Isn't that phrase from some movie? At least our bells are pleasant to hear. We have bells that sound like the call of the congregation to church, symbolic of the school's mascot: Santa Maria Saints. When we adopted these, they tried out several sounds and we decided that these were the best of what was offered.
I get home from school at 3:30 most days. Jerome is waiting in the living room for me. It's "Greenie time!" He seems to be saying, "Where have you been? It's getting late and I haven't had my Greenies! How do you expect me to take a decent afternoon nap on an empty stomach?" This even though I have pointed out to him numerous times, that his food bowl, in the kitchen, is never empty. He doesn't care. Greenie time is Greenie time. Oh, for those of you who are not familiar with Greenies: it is a brand name of a kitty treat. So, we have Greenie time and most days, he promptly falls asleep on my lap. What do I do? I take a nap too. After an hour or so, I decide that as long as I am stranded in my chair I might as well check my email. This act determines how I spend my evening; whether it be on my computer in the bedroom or lazily sharing time with Doug as we watch out favorite T.V. shows.
Not that I am begrudging of technology (well, I am a little, because there is also email and grading and attendance that occupies my time in the classroom) but I have not always lived with technology. When I was the age of the students I teach, fax machines were only being used in big businesses, carbon paper was still a staple and people weren't connected to a smart phone 24/7. If people called you and you weren't available, for whatever reason, they called back.
I am afraid we have come too far into the world of technology to go back now. And I must admit, some of it has made my life more enjoyable (like being able to watch past seasons of Downton Abby on Hulu when I need a fix. Is the next season EVER going to start?) but so much of the time I find it tends to control me and my time. I suppose I could make a rule about email and games on my phone; no playing certain times of the day, but would I be shirking my responsibility to the others I play with? Maybe. But I would like to be less "controlled" and I think that might help. The cat, on the other hand, is a whole different matter...
My mornings are controlled by the cat and technology, and less importantly, my need for coffee and food. But food and coffee could be ignored or forgotten or postponed, if entirely necessary; the cat, especially, cannot.
My husband and I were having a discussion a couple of weeks ago; we were talking about which one of us would "go" first. I know that is kind of a morbid thing to discuss, but as one gets older, these things must be talked about. A man on T.V. had stated that he didn't want to die before his wife because he didn't want to live without her. Doug repeated the same sediment to me and I thought, being a mushy moment, that I would say it back to him. How sweet. He looked at me and said, "Really? I think you want to go first so you don't have to figure out all the technology I handle in the house!" I had to laugh. He's not too far off in that assumption.
My day at school is controlled by the bells. Bells ring at the end of the block, at the 7 minute warning for the passing period ending and at the final 3 minute - you-better-hoof-it-to-class-warning. The bells! The bells! Isn't that phrase from some movie? At least our bells are pleasant to hear. We have bells that sound like the call of the congregation to church, symbolic of the school's mascot: Santa Maria Saints. When we adopted these, they tried out several sounds and we decided that these were the best of what was offered.
I get home from school at 3:30 most days. Jerome is waiting in the living room for me. It's "Greenie time!" He seems to be saying, "Where have you been? It's getting late and I haven't had my Greenies! How do you expect me to take a decent afternoon nap on an empty stomach?" This even though I have pointed out to him numerous times, that his food bowl, in the kitchen, is never empty. He doesn't care. Greenie time is Greenie time. Oh, for those of you who are not familiar with Greenies: it is a brand name of a kitty treat. So, we have Greenie time and most days, he promptly falls asleep on my lap. What do I do? I take a nap too. After an hour or so, I decide that as long as I am stranded in my chair I might as well check my email. This act determines how I spend my evening; whether it be on my computer in the bedroom or lazily sharing time with Doug as we watch out favorite T.V. shows.
Not that I am begrudging of technology (well, I am a little, because there is also email and grading and attendance that occupies my time in the classroom) but I have not always lived with technology. When I was the age of the students I teach, fax machines were only being used in big businesses, carbon paper was still a staple and people weren't connected to a smart phone 24/7. If people called you and you weren't available, for whatever reason, they called back.
I am afraid we have come too far into the world of technology to go back now. And I must admit, some of it has made my life more enjoyable (like being able to watch past seasons of Downton Abby on Hulu when I need a fix. Is the next season EVER going to start?) but so much of the time I find it tends to control me and my time. I suppose I could make a rule about email and games on my phone; no playing certain times of the day, but would I be shirking my responsibility to the others I play with? Maybe. But I would like to be less "controlled" and I think that might help. The cat, on the other hand, is a whole different matter...
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