The Olive Branch

I gave my current rough-draft to my brother to read.

I was very reluctant to let it leave town (i.e. have it available to others to see) but I didn’t think of it before today and he leaves first thing in the morning.

He’s been telling me to write a book (I don’t think he cares what kind, he just feels I’m capable, so he keeps trying to push me toward that), so I wanted him to read what I have so far. He’s not a big reader, so handing him 10 double-sided pages was somewhat intimidating, but I think he sees it as the effort for peace I mean it to be. Something special between him and me.

Only my husband has read it so far.

Benj made some joke during good byes that I’d better keep plugging at it (the book) and charged Jay with encouraging/pushing me back-to/forward in this project. Jay’s smiling affirmation that he intends to was more encouraging than I could say.

Just this morning (while I was spell-checking the document– the only editing I allowed myself to do today), I bemoaned the fact that I haven’t done anything new in weeks, and hadn’t read any of the highly anticipated/recommended books I ordered right before all my work halted. Jay said he expected I’d get back to it once things settled down, and pointed out there’s no real way I could have been working on things, even if my mind was there…

I really needed to hear that from him.

Poems and Grandma

She died yesterday.

It is interesting to me that I found her poem right before my brother called to say the end was really near, and he was coming to bring me back to the hospital (playing musical cars has been one of the challenges of this time).

Here’s what we’re printing in the program, as a description of her. You must read by the punctuation, not the line breaks, to sound the best.

One Year to Live
Mary Davis Reed

If I had but one year to live;
One year to help; one year to give;
One year to love; one year to bless;
One year of better things to stress;
One year to sing; one year to smile;
To brighten earth a little while;
I think that I would live each day
In just the very self-same way
That I do now. For from afar
The call may come to cross the bar
At any time, and I must be
Prepared to meet eternity.
So if I have a year to live,
Or just one day in which to give
A pleasant smile, a helping hand,
A mind that tries to understand
A fellow-creature when in need,
‘Tis one with me, –I take no heed;
But try to live each day He sends
To serve my gracious Master’s ends. Continue reading »

Other People’s Words

I subscribe (is that the right word?) to the theory that we never totally forget anything; that we only require the appropriate “trigger” to bring it back.

This is how I explain my tendency to speak in other people’s words.

What I’m thinking will frequently be encapsulated in a line from some show/movie/book, and I find myself thankful for a simple, apt way to convey what I’m feeling.

I suppose it’s only natural to find more pithy expression in lines that were (one may assume) designed to be effective.
Today’s examples:

“Good feeling’s gone.” Marlin (Nemo’s dad in Finding Nemo when he comes face to face with an angler fish)

An exchange on House M.D.:

“Think about him, he’s the one dying.”

“It’s easier to die than to watch someone die.”

We don’t know that Grandma is dying particularly faster than the rest of us, but it is becoming more obvious she’s not getting better like she should. And that is very had to watch. That “good feeling,” the sense of security I had about the operation, that’s been used up.

Telling details have always intrigued me in writing/reading, and now I have small painful examples in my own world.

  • Inability to make understand and decisions (“I don’t know,” is the most frequent thing she says).
  • numbers and colors being confused (she couldn’t line up the tiles in Rummikub tonight).
  • The bread at the hospital is always bad.
  • She cares enough not to eat it, but not enough to ask for something better.

We’re praying. Many people are.

~~~

The question that comes back to me–it first entered my “trembling mind” the day of her operation– is, “How do you prepare to lose someone?”

The phrase “practice dying” is in my head from somewhere. And the two are tied together in my mind. Here are two things you can’t possibly “practice.”

There is the exception of Mary/Martha/Lazarus, I suppose… I really wonder if they handled it better the second time around…

I am Such a *Writer*

(Also posted at Family News)

Do you ever find (if you’re not a swear-er, especially) that certain words escape as if you were swearing?

My 87-year-old grandmother (I guess you could say we’re close) has been in the hospital via the emergency room since late Friday night. I spent most of Saturday at her bedside, keeping her company while folks tried to figure out how to “fix” her (she’d been ailing since Sunday, and it finally came to a head).

The whole time I was juggling my Mama (10-week-old Elisha was with me) and Granddaughter hats, my mind, against all my attempts to ration my frazzled resources, continued to frame how best to put the experience into words.

Made me positively angry.

Self-defeating

Not feeling like myself (probably from lack of sleep– the odds are pretty good) or not having/taking time to do my things (writing, reading, music); I can’t decide which is worse.

Intellectually I know that more sleep would be a good thing. But to get more sleep I have to do less of other things. Since children are “instant priority” the cut has to come from my own activities away from them. And I don’t want to give any of those up. I once heard someone say that in order for someone to do something uncomfortable (I think the example was coming to Jesus– both during his time on earth and today), “The desperation factor has to outweigh the embarrassment factor.”

This is a similar situation, I suppose. Before I can change my behavior, I will have to want sleep more than I want to do any of the other things I could be doing once the children are asleep.

I guess I just hope nothing huge and negative precipitates that shift in wanting…

Why Story-singer?

I came up with this name sort-of on the fly, when I was throwing my xanga account together. Then, when I came over here I wondered why I kept it. Well, mainly because it’s what I was already working under, but then I thought about other words for story-singer, and came up with things like “minstrel,” and “troubadour.”And I liked that idea. I don’t actually sing my stories, of course, and I don’t compose any kind of music, but I strongly identify with the idea of making words your work.So now it’s my title, even when I could change it.

Added 8/06:
I changed my name and tagline, to match the domain name and content. It was surprisingly confusing to have two names like that. And I haven’t been as focussed on writing as I’d expected.

List-making

(Originally at Family News)

I don’t know what’s up with me and lists. You’d think these sorts of things would discourage me…be depressing. Everything I can’t/don’t do… (I do all types of these).

But in a weird way they’re encouraging too. Putting them down helps me see what really real (I had to dig for the last two [list on the original post]– and really they aren’t as critical, I just thought the list needed padding) so I actually only have 3 things to figure out, whereas, when I started the list, I felt buried under a mountain of unknowns.

And then, especially with day-to-day not-dones, I look at the list and see how well we all can survive with so much left undone. It also gives me a tangible list to prioritize and work from.

For example, the dried noodles under Melody’s chair can be really annoying (and even painful) when I’m trying to do something in that area, but cleaning some dishes to cook dinner in is more important than vacuuming or picking up that area. And so is sitting to cuddle Melody while she watches “Wooma Weed!” She has a high cuddle need, but isn’t really good at asking for it before she melts down. Movies sometimes help fill that gap. So do certain books.

Food, clothes, and cuddling (not necessarily in that order) are, I’ve decided, the priorities in this house.

That, and I get nap-times to myself. In case you’re wondering, that’s when I write (or after bed-time, like now).

Redirection

At this point I’m not planning to restart the storytelling group in the fall. We easily agreed to put it on-hold for the summer (there are very few members involved enough to “vote” anymore), and I expected we’d start again once school began, but now I think my focus has shifted.

I may have mentioned before (who remembers this?) that Jay wanted me to keep my GKP (Gordian Knot Productions) work limited to two things.

He said this earlier in the year (or late last year?) when I began expressing interest in pursuing some freelance writing projects. I didn’t feel ready to drop teaching or storytelling, so I chose not to pick up the new ball.

But now things are shifting again. I’ve been pulled back more and more to writing. It’s an aspect of my personality I’ve been aware of for a long time: the more time I spend on something, the more I love it/want to do it. (This does not, unfortunately, apply so much to the have-to-dos like housework.) Continue reading »

My new Guitar

I haven’t mentioned it here yet, but we bought a new guitar before Elisha was a week old. Jay had been doing this research, before E was born, on a brand called Rainsong, and was totally sold, since the material is supposed to be basically impervious to environmental changes (dryness, cold, etc). The guitar store within walking distance had the exact guitar we wanted (I don’t manage/fit full-bodied guitars well). So we tried it out and less than a week later we were bringing it home.

I’ve been using that new guitar almost daily now (yay for me),
getting attached to the sound and used to the feel, but I don’t think I’ll ever like the smell .

One of the first things I fell-in-love with my first (the classical) guitar was the smell. It is a cedar/rosewood instrument, and every time I open the case the smell is so pleasant.

The graphite guitar smells almost petroleum but fortunately that’s just the case– the guitar doesn’t reek just sitting in the open air.

(And *whew* I remembered to check the sponges on the old two today– they were *d*r*y* Guitars still fine though).

I need to actually try to sell them. But I guess I have been justifiably busy…

Jay’s back at work. Real life resumes.

Everybody’s sleeping at the same time, for the second day in a row.

I still haven’t noticed any particular pattern, other than just now, this everybody being asleep at once. I could get used to this. I like having an hour or two to myself to write and think out of my fingers.

I need to get back to my novel (and music practicing) too. I’m at about 7500 words –13 pages– and still feel the whole process is unreal. I wonder a lot if this subject can make it to 50,000 words, but since it’s mostly for recreation, I suppose I can just write until I’m out of story and then see where I am….