Thursday, Apr 5, 2012 | Book Review, Reading, Spirit, The Juliet Stories, Word of the Year, Work, Writing |
balancing
Today, I am experimenting. Can I compartmentalize and work on two projects at the same time? I am going to attempt to develop my new character (ie. creative, not-yet-for-profit work), even while keeping several irons in the fire for a freelance piece I’m writing (ie. less creative work-for-pay). The new book, of course, has no due date, no deadline. The freelance piece does. I am obsessive about meeting deadlines (not necessarily a bad thing); except I’m so obsessive that I frequently meet deadlines well ahead of schedule. And honestly, I’m not concerned about meeting this one. I know I can do it. Things are moving along nicely. I know this. Still, my instinct is to worry it until it’s done. Thing is, I can’t finish this morning. There are interviews yet to do and other people’s schedules to take into account. More to the point, I don’t need to finish this morning. The deadline isn’t until next week.
So. Can I step back, set it aside, not worry about it, and work productively on something completely different?
As I say, it’s an experiment. It had better work, because, frankly, this could be my life for a long long time. It already is my life, you say? What with the children, and the cooking, and the triathlon training, and the book-writing? It’s funny, but those things all fit together in a long-term way that doesn’t trouble me. They’re all part of a steady routine, an ebb and flow that isn’t exactly predictable, and yet seems symbiotic somehow. More of this, less of that; more of that, less of this.
If I don’t write a blog post today, I’ll write one tomorrow. If supper is on the table late, well, eat some crackers and cheese, kids. If I have to drop a writing day to take a kid to the doctor, my book doesn’t know it. In all of these circumstances, I’m flexible. But give me a deadline and I focus to the point of compulsion. Hm. Maybe this goes back to childhood: feeling a sense of responsibility as the eldest of five, wanting to please, anxious over any perceived failure, stomach in knots if we were late for school. I was “high-strung.” Maybe, maybe, in some circumstances I still am.
My goal for today: Trust myself. I will get the job done. All in good time. And meantime, there is other work to be done, and it’s just as valuable, even if invisible.
:::
Yesterday, a client of Kevin’s brought him a ripped-out page from the latest issue of Elle Canada. “Tracking the best in movies, books, music and art,” says the page. “This month, we’re inspired by free spirits.” And there is The Juliet Stories! I love that Juliet is being identified as a free spirit. (Wasn’t “spirit” my word of the year when I was writing Juliet?) There’s a dark side to being a free spirit, of course, and I suppose that’s partly what the book is about; but sometimes I wish I were more free of spirit — colourful, creative, adventurous, alive. Writing is my window into all those things I couldn’t actually be.
:::
Finally, two exciting reading discoveries.
1. CJ is “reading” to us. I’m pretty sure he’s essentially repeating memorized text, but he links the words on the page with the words he’s saying. Out and about, he notices and reads signs (STOP is a good one), and he notices words and points out letters and letter sounds that he knows. Exciting!
2. Fooey read bedtime stories to CJ last night. For the record, I still love reading bedtime stories to the kids, but I’m not always available — last night I was walking Albus home from piano lessons. I got home in time to hear the tail-end of the last story, and give goodnight kisses. Sweet.
Tuesday, Apr 3, 2012 | Book Review, The Juliet Stories |
good morning
Found …
I LOVED this quick-paced conversation between two young women discussing The Juliet Stories. Their goal is to record themselves discussing a book in 140 seconds. That’s fast! My favourite part is right at the end and it had me laughing out loud: “Read her blog!” “Yes!” “I might stalk her on the internet … because she makes every day better.” “I stalk her on the internet too, but I think she knows that.” “She knows now!” Oh, and they loved the book. Yay!
Also, here’s a link to an interview I did with Open Book: Toronto. It’s got some nice stuff in it, somewhat off the beaten path.
And my dad tells me there’s a blurb on The Juliet Stories in this month’s Readers Digest (Canadian version only). But I haven’t checked that out yet.
:::
Meanwhile, I’m drinking that cup of coffee (or one that looks exactly like it, and then I’m going to the library to do research this morning. Wish me luck. I’m thinking about how to write a character who is both troubled and strong. You know she’s struggling, but you’re rooting for her.
:::
Speaking of stalking on the internet (in a good way, I mean), friends have mentioned that they have difficulty posting comments here on the blog, so I’m going to try removing one of the levels of anti-spam features, which may (or may not) make commenting easier. Please let me know if it helps. (Other tips, anyone?) If this proves to invite too much spam, I’ll have to revert back again. But I love hearing your comments, and widening the conversation, so it seems worth a try.
Monday, Apr 2, 2012 | Uncategorized |
sweet potato soup
**Monday’s menu** Split-pea soup (crockpot). Baked squash. Homemade garlic bread.
**Cold cellar** Monday saw me heading to the cold cellar on a mission: use up what’s left, and quickly. The warm snap was not good for the rotting veg factor, therefore, roasted squash. I also delivered several pounds of garlic to friends this week; it had become suddenly rather redolent — not spoiled, mind you, just hinting toward The End. I’d stored too much for our family to use before time ran out. Must make note and remember this for next season’s garlic order …
**Tuesday’s menu** Sweet potato soup (crockpot). Steamed broccoli. Baguette and cheese.
**Cold cellar** Used leftover roasted squash in soup, combined with sweet potatoes. And made such an enormous batch that I froze the leftovers for another supper.
**Wednesday’s menu** CJ’s birthday party supper, one day early: Black beans, rice, fried hamburger, tamales, tortillas, tortilla chips, avocado salad, spinach salad, peppers, cilantro, green onions, various cheeses and salsas and toppings. Birthday cake/cupcakes and ice cream for dessert (of course).
**Party fare** I love serving this meal to a crowd. It can be served buffet-style, and happily feeds a variety of tastes and dietary needs — vegan, dairy-free, gluten-free, etc., etc. The other advantage to this meal is the ease with which much of it can be prepared in advance. Sure, it took the better part of my afternoon to chop, mix up dressings (with loads of garlic), etc., but I was able to serve this meal to 18 people within half an hour of getting home from the girls’ piano lessons.
**Cheating** The cake/cupcakes were out of a box. The little kids and I baked them the night before. I would not object to making party cake from scratch, but have yet to discover a simple and successful cake recipe that compares to a boxed mix. Maybe you have one?
**Thursday’s menu** Gallo pinto (beans fried with rice). Leftover fixings.
**Because** Nothing’s easier. Always insanely and unexpectedly good.
**Friday’s menu** Church supper.
**Because** Thank you, God, we made it to Friday night.
:::
**Weekend kitchen accomplishments** Four loaves of bread.
**Cooking with kids** AppleApple’s menu. Greek theme. See chalkboard, above.
“I think they like olives and lemons in Greece.”
Sunday, Apr 1, 2012 | Big Thoughts, Play, Word of the Year, Work |
Before her recital yesterday, she displayed all of the emotions so familiar to anyone who has ever been asked to get up and perform. Why had she signed up? Why had I made her sign up? (I hadn’t.) She wasn’t going to do it. No one could make her.
I quickly deduced that the growls and howls were nerve-induced, and did my best not to be too peeved (even while dressing her, which she insisted I do, and which set my teeth on edge having just read a piece in the newspaper about my generation’s ridiculous parenting methods that cater to our children’s every need). Anxiety does unpleasant things to most of us, and when it’s a new feeling, of course we don’t know how to cope.
So my goal was to keep her going, get her there, reassure her (even while wondering, gee, has she actually practiced enough??).
And then she played with complete confidence. She smiled, she introduced herself, her fingers met the keys firmly, and she bowed afterward grinning from ear to ear. Had I been another parent watching, I might have envied having such an apparently confident and well-prepared child. I would have been wrong, of course; she was as roiling with nerves as any of the others, and she rose to the occasion, playing better than I’d ever heard her play at home. Mysterious things, performances. It’s fascinating to see what gets drawn out of us when we’re called on. My heart was pounding with pride.
She was not amused by our April Fool’s joke this morning, however. I told her that she’d been asked to come back and play again today. Only the best performers had been asked, Kevin added. What? No way, nuh uh! Not going! She missed the compliment altogether.
:::
An odd thing happened on Friday afternoon, after I’d posted about feeling aimless and wanting to bring good into the world. I went out for lunch with a friend, then stopped in to say hello to Kevin at his office, then stepped outside again and saw, directly in front of me, not three feet away, an elderly woman struggling with a walker. It took me half a second to reach her, and help her sit and rest. She’d had a fall and was rattled, confused. She’d walked a long way. She could not remember the name of her destination, but could describe it and knew what she was going there to do. Together, after some rest, we set out to find it together, and we did. It cost some time, and little else. She thanked me, but it was I who wanted to thank her. It was a pleasure to be able to help.
Later, reflecting on it at home, I thought about how grateful I was that I’d had the time to stop and help. When I’m rushed (which is often), it is harder to see, to stop, to take time. I also thought about how much I love helping; and I thought, this is what I would like to do with my life. But of course, how often do such situations present themselves, such simple one-to-one equations of need to ability to help? When I think about helping in more formal/institutional settings, it feels more complicated. I question my motives; I question my helpfulness. For example, when I helped this woman find where she was going, that was all I did. I did not delve deeper. I did not get to the root causes or make an attempt to prevent the situation from occurring again. I asked whether she’d been hurt in her fall, and she told me that she was fine, and I accepted that. She said she had family in town (I asked), and I accepted that they would be looking out for her in the future. I sensed that she valued her dignity. At what point does help become meddling? These are boundary questions. I tend to err on the side of caution. Because I don’t know the answers. Not all of them. Not even most of them. All I know is be kind.
There is much need in the world. Patterns recur. Pain fragments. Hurt multiplies. Some problems go deep, deep, deep.
How easy it is to take soup to a sick friend. How easy it is to quietly hug one of my children when he or she is sad. How easy it is to help a lost stranger find her destination. Is helping as simple as that? Or does it — should it — go deeper?
Friday, Mar 30, 2012 | Big Thoughts, Books, Writing |
Drifted off to sleep last night meditating on my new character, thinking about what I would write today. Yesterday was a tough day. My baby turned four. I had a sense of aimlessness all day, despite discovering this terrific review from Halifax’s The Coast, and, later in the day, . Nice, right? But the aimless feeling prevailed.
Finally, I left my office and walked uptown to buy my four-year-old a gift. A book, of course! Everywhere I looked it seemed women were out walking their babies. But not me. Just a short while ago, being out and about mid-day unemcumbered by small children would have seemed incredibly novel, and thrilling. Suddenly, it’s every day.
My book is gone too, off to see the world. I was having a now-what feeling?
Somehow, I’ve gotten into the habit of thinking that change is propelled by unhappiness. Certainly, unhappiness can be a powerful motivator to kick us out of negative habits. But it occurred to me this morning that of course there are many other triggers for change. And the instinct to make wholesale changes in a moment of doubt isn’t necessarily positive. If I were even five years younger, I would probably be seriously considering adding another child to the family. That is the kind of change that I could so easily understand and embrace. But I know that’s not the right change anymore. I know in my heart that it’s not even change I really want.
Guess I don’t know what changes are calling me. I just know that seeing my babies grow up, buying more time for myself during the day … well, it’s not as straightforward as I thought it would be. It doesn’t equal direction or ease. The big questions remain. Am I spending my time wisely? Am I doing what I love? Also, a question that never lets me go: am I adding something good into the world, by my actions, by my choices, with my life?
