Good in Bed
Mood:  energetic
Topic: Books
In all my whining about needing a break, I have failed to mention the mini-break I took to read Good in Bed by Jennifer Weiner. I thought I had familiarized myself pretty well with all the books in Sudie's bookcases, but last Wednesday I came across this attention-getting title and had to take it off the shelf. The fact that Sudie kept the book once she was done with it told me she thought it was pretty good, since she gives away books regularly. The quote on the front cover said it was the ultimate "beach book" which would generally cause me to put the book back down, but instead I flipped it over and saw the author's picture--about my age, great smile--and the picture of her dog, Wendell--a rat terrier that looks like Kaija but with hair. Turned out the book was about a Philadelphia journalist who finds out her ex-boyfriend has written a column about her, entitled "Loving a Larger Woman," in a major national women's magazine. And, that the book was Jennifer Weiner's first published novel and that it had been translated into fourteen different languages (now 15) and was an "international bestseller."

I was hooked immediately. The book could be considered Chick Lit, if you buy into that title, and I hadn't really read any chick lit before, unless Pam Houston's Cowboys Are My Weakness counts, and then I would be guilty of reading and rereading and rereading a single piece of chick lit. Plus, I have so little time for reading, that I generally read only books that have come to me with some major recommendation--they were a pulitzer prize winner or nominee, they won a national book award, or Gretchen, my mother-in-law bookseller-of-twenty-years and book-lover-extraordinaire, has sent it to me and said I must read it. I decided I deserved a little emotional and mental escape, however, and borrowed the book and began reading it that very night. (I ended up glued to the couch with the book in my hands until late into the night Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, so for all my whining, I really did get something of a mini-vacation.)

I'm so glad I brought this book home! At the beginning it was like reading an excellent journal or a very well written memoir--the main character, Cannie (Candace) Shapiro, was so well written and so realistic, it was hard to remember that the book was fiction. If I had girlfriends, I would want Cannie to be first among them. She's twenty-eight or -nine in the book, single, overweight, and trying to make her first screenplay sale when she's not writing for the Philadelphia Inquirer and submitting queries and stories to other magazines. There comes a point in the story when you begin to realize that Jennifer is veering away from her own life in creating Cannie's and that we are entering the "what if" portion of the book, but by then, I was so in love with Cannie that I went gladly along with the rest. It's something of a fairytale, if fairytales can include becoming pregnant unexpectedly and deciding to keep the baby even though the father is offering no support of any kind, and has a happy ending that Jennifer says she promised herself because she wasn't sure her own life would have a happy ending.

I'm behind the times in reading the book because Jennifer has since written and published two more and is probably in publication on her fourth. Check out Jennifer's website at www.jenniferweiner.com to learn more about this book, the novels that follow it, and the movies that they have spawned.

As for me, I'm glad I waited until after I read the book to visit her website because extreme jealousy may have kept me from being able to so fully absorb myself in the story. Jennifer is my cohort--born within months of me--and has definitely had the writing life I would have chosen for myself if only I could have CHOSEN rather than letting fear of rejection, fear of success, and fear of letting go of other avenues and ideas of myself keep me completely immobilized for whole decades. She's on a roll, and definitely someone to watch!

Second verse, same as the first
Mood:  rushed
Now Playing: "Vacation" by the Go-Go's
Topic: Daily Eruptions
I need a week--alone--with no cell phone, no computer, no husband, no boss, maybe even no car. Just me and my bike and some great books--maybe even a beach read or two--and a notebook and my journal and my favorite pens (PaperMate Write Bros. Med Pt. Blue for writing, Bic Shimmers--especially pink and purple--for journaling--and the pen that has the light for writing in the dark), my camera, my sketchpad and some pencils, my watercolors, my hot pink beach chair, my swimsuit, and a tent. And probably some bug spray.

a beach would be great, but I'd settle for woods. the sooner the better....

Buyer's Remorse
Mood:  down
Topic: Daily Eruptions
I don't have true "buyer's remorse" in the sense that I regret buying the house--I still love the house (even though it's smaller than I realized). It's just a general bottoming out and depression as a result of all the changes. I think adrenaline carried me for most of June and the week that Hans was gone, but now I'm physically and emotionally exhausted and all I want is to escape. I still have a few things to move from the old house, probably one more car load, and I still have cleaning to do there. Plus, I still have to find places for all the things that we've already moved, and that is not one of my strengths. If I could sleep the whole weekend, I certainly would. I'm supporting Sudie at a show reception tomorrow morning, and I need to get back to running--seven miles tomorrow. I drove loops around the new neighborhood figuring out a 7 mile route, now I just have to dress and drag myself outside to actually run them. I'm still trying to decide if I want to attempt them before the reception, or if I want to save them for late tomorrow night....

I ran errands and brought another full car load of stuff from the old place tonight. That gave me a chance to pop into Candy and Al's to get hugs from "my" kids. They are a wonder! No matter how stressed out I am, one hug from Brendan and I always feel better. The girls were very cute tonight, too, and bent their heads toward me so I could kiss their hair when I asked if I could give them kisses. I think one of the reasons I'm so depressed is because I feel isolated over here and am missing my family. It wasn't that I spent that much time with them, but I saw them every couple days and could get my kid fix on a regular basis. I am going to have to find a way to make friends here and actively work on maintaining them. I don't have co-workers anymore, and Chad thinks it would take some stress off the marriage if I had other people who valued me to spend time with. He's probably right, but it's been a long time since I made new friends outside of work. It will definitely take some effort.

And I'm bummed that it's already the middle of July and I haven't done any fun summer things yet. There is no vacation planned for this summer; Hans's new job doesn't allow him to take any time off until December and the money isn't there for me to go anywhere on my own. It's not even looking like I'll be able to go to Florida with my family in the fall.

I know, I'm whining, but a lot of things are catching up with me today, and I'm wishing I was out from some of these responsibilities for awhile.

More Rejection, Please!
Mood:  d'oh
Topic: Writing
I sent my one and only sestina out into the world to see if McSweeney's might use it, and received a very nice rejection back in my email inbox this morning. Sigh. This is my first attempt at a formal poem since high school, I think, and I haven't workshopped it, so this is my first bit of feedback. (I tried to solicit feedback from Tad soon after I wrote it, but all he sent back in response to my list of questions was more questions, and I hardly think that counts!) It was a fun challenge--a sestina is made up of six stanzas of 6 lines each and concluded with a three line stanza, repeating 6 words in a very precise sequence throughout the entire poem--so maybe I'll try another one sometime, but it would be nice to know if this one had any merit. The form allows you to really explore the relationships between those six repeating words, and it's kind of amazing to see them falling into place and twisting and still doing their job. (Or, in my case, maybe not doing their job.) Daniel, McSweeney's very kind Assistant Web Editor for Sestinas, said he was "tempted" by the poem, so that's something.

Sestinas are the only form of poetry that McSweeney's publishes...because they're quirky and independent enough that they can decide this and get away with it. To read sestinas that are more than tempting, check out http://mcsweeneys.net/links/sestinas.

I've recently created a virtual writing office at Zoetrope's interactive site, so maybe I'll have to workshop it there and see what I hear back. In the meantime, I'm posting it here. Feel free to post your response--I'm tough, I can take it! I'll even kick if off: kudos for taking on challenging subject matter, even if the sentiment is somewhat naive and the handling somewhat clumsy; erratic line length is sign of a novice writer who hasn't mastered control of her vehicle.


HOPE FOR MONSTERS

Monsters are storied to hide under beds in the dark
but she forgoes the formality, dragging her scales from between light
sheets, grateful early morning visibility
is low and the slow transformation to human begins in the safety
of blackness as she preserves undeserved anonymity
under layers of bottled and powdered and color-stay reality.

So practiced is her assumption of this reality
that she unconsciously shrugs off daily the dark
drape of night and its monstrous anonymity
to pursue the comfort she has been taught to believe exists in daylight.
She listens to the voices telling her safety
is better insured with increased visibility.

Wanting-to-hide-yet-needing-to-see: this dual relationship with visibility
is just one aspect of a duplicitous reality
forcing her to deny feelings of safety
altogether, whether she is cocooned in the dark
warmth of her bed or bouncing lightly
down sidewalks in sunshine and well-groomed anonymity.

Some days she is content to believe obscure anonymity
is her true goal; that visibility
and dancing in the limelight
for even the briefest of moments––that believing in the false reality
of her own worth and dark
beauty––will destroy any hope of longlasting safety.

Other days she understands it is not her safety
her hard-won anonymity
is intended to protect, nor is the dark
the only place strong enough to embrace the fullness of herself. Visibility
need not imply immodesty. On those days she can almost believe the only reality
is that she, too, belongs to the light.

"Monster" is a label that gives power to those who bestow it, but, too, highlights
the fear the bestowers feel for their own safety
in the presence of the one defined. She flirts with this reality,
with usurping the word's power by applying it to herself, destroying all anonymity
through self-definition, banishing her life of invisibility
with the creation of a world where women do not hide in the dark

or mask themselves in the light. In the spark of a single neuron, her self-conscious anonymity
could be shed like a too-small skin, as dead and transparent as the safety limited visibility
has brought. In this new reality, she would glow unstoppable, in light and dark.

Breast Cancer Awareness at the TA Travel Center
Mood:  cheeky
Topic: Daily Eruptions
So far, it seems the least expensive gas around the new house in Whitsett (that is also on the 40 minute route I drive 4 days a week) is at the BP station/TA Travel Center just off I-40 at the edge of town. I stopped there for the first time this morning to fill up the tank. I'm running low on laundry because the new washing machine flooded the laundry room and the basket stopped spinning the very first time Hans used it this week, and the service technician isn't coming until tomorrow. So this morning I decided to try on the white breast cancer awareness T-shirt Mom bought me from Target last summer. After losing 26 pounds, I was glad to find that it fit looser and I no longer looked like a sausage link in it. The minute I stepped out of the car at the truck stop, however, I realized that I was very uncomfortable. Not only did the T-shirt scream, "I buy my clothes at Target," but the last thing a woman needs at a truck stop (in Whitsett, North Carolina or anywhere) is a glittery pink bull's-eye floating in the space between her 38-Ds. The manufacturer may as well have put two targets on the shirt--one over each breast. And since I'm pretty sure that powder pink does not translate to "cancer" in most men's minds, they should have printed words above the 2 targets (I know, asking some men to read is asking a lot):

"Imagine losing one of these;"

and on the back (since if they're staring at the front, you know they're going to sneak a peak at the rear):

"1 in 8 women will face that possibility. Stop Breast Cancer Now."

Think Lorelai Gilmore would wear one??

Lesson: Just because an article of clothing was purchased to benefit a good cause and received as a gift does not mean it should be worn out of the house.

My own personal Karate Kid training
Mood:  lazy
Now Playing: "To Be Loved" by Curtis Stigers (yes, off the Dawson's Creek album)
Topic: Daily Eruptions
It has been too long since my last post, but I've been too busy living my life to write about it. Any processing that absolutely needed to be done - and there was plenty of it - all had to be done verbally because I needed instant feedback so I could deal and move on. Many thanks to Chad, Scott, and John who helped me process quickly, and for their patience, understanding, and willingness to drop everything to listen when I needed to talk. Thanks, too, to Mom & Dad and Sudie for their (ongoing) interventions. It was time I woke up to certain realities about my life with Hans and that I got very clear about what I needed and will accept, and they refuse to rest until I see this and acknowledge my own value. Hans and I are still in major transition between the two houses and Hans's new job so we have yet to discuss much of this, but we are being very careful to treat each other well and respect boundaries, and we are living under the same roof again, which does help. I think we both know there is a great deal of work ahead of us in terms of our relationship, and as far as I can tell, Hans is committed to doing the work with me. A good thing....

As far as the house goes, we're 99% moved in (I still have some boxes to move from my old closet directly into my new closet), I've had the old place repainted, now I have to schedule the carpets and clean all the surfaces. I started painting the new place--enough that you can see the effect of having three colors arranged in close proximity (I wasn't sure I liked it at first, but Hans shocked me when he returned from Seattle and immediately said that he did like it)--but the tile job in Hans's shower took more time and effort than I'd planned, it being the first tiling I'd ever attempted. The grout, for example, I did without any parental supervision and it was a HUGE fiasco! I thought I had to get all the grout on the wall before it dried out before I could go back and start wiping off the extra with a sponge and dressing the lines. Very bad mistake! It took me three hours to get the grout up on the wall (there aren't words to explain why) and I was supposed to start removing it with a sponge after only 45 minutes.... Needless to say, it dried out on me and I spent five more hours with my hands raised above my head balancing on the edges of the tub scraping grout off the walls with a putty knife, digging out the top layer of grout in the grout lines, and then using a sponge to try to even and smooth it. It was like spending eight hours clinging to the side of a mountain I couldn't climb or descend, all while trying to keep the grout as damp as possible by alternately pouring water on it with a sponge and trying to scrape off the stuff that was already dried. I told Scott you would have thought I was trying to save a beached whale with the intensity at which I was working, and probably, saving the whale would have been easier. By the end of the day, every vein in my right arm had risen to the surface, causing my skin to appear blue, and I was having heart palpitations. (I LOVE THE TILE, though! Very professional looking, totally finishes the room.) Unfortunately, I'd only scheduled three hours for the grout and had planned to finish painting the living room in the afternoon and work through the night to get the kitchen done before Hans came home the next day. After my eight-hour grout ordeal, however, I was in no shape to pick up a paint roller, so there are still three living room walls and 5 more kitchen walls (the kitchen has seven walls total) that need to be done. I'm hoping to get that finished the first weekend in August, although Hans is still dreaming that we'll be able to afford to pay the guys who painted the old place to come out and finish here.

There are boxes and piles still to be dealt with in every direction, but I can see it all coming together slowly, and it's going to be good. And as hard as the painting and tiling have been, it is such a high to be creating with color and shapes in large, physical space! Watching my tile pattern go up on the wall was like writing the best poem and getting the exact right word in the exact right place every time. And digging the pattern out from under all the grout was like doing a painstaking archaeological dig and uncovering a piece of art, tile by tile, grout line by grout line. And the paint colors may be intense in such close proximity, but they're colors I chose and they express an idea I want to express. They're my experiment, my dialogue with my space and my senses and with any visitors I may have. I have never gotten to create on such a large scale before, never gotten to express myself so boldly and in such a physical, permanent manner. It is absolutely the best drug ever.

I've lost four more pounds over the last two weeks with all the labor of getting the house ready and moving, and I'm calling all of this labor cross-training, because I have had neither time nor energy to run. I felt while Hans was in Seattle like I was in my own personal version of The Karate Kid movie. I kept waiting for Pat Morita to show up and say, "Show me paint the wall. Show me grout on....grout off. Show me pack the box. Show me smile for ungrateful husband." But it was mostly just me talking to myself and Kaija trying to stay out of my way.

See The Girl in the Cafe & ACT NOW!
Topic: Movies
See The Girl in the Cafe which is airing on HBO and also available on HBO On Demand! This HBO Films/BBC co-production is one of the quietest, sweetest, and most compelling movies I have seen. It's about two mismatched people who meet in a crowded cafe and unexpectedly develop a relationship while also dealing with the issues of poverty and humanitarian assistance during the 2005 G8 conference. The movie might be something of a challenge for American audiences because the pacing is slower, the action subtler, and the message more political than we are used to, but it is well worth the investment! I hate saying that the movie is political or even that it has a message because I worry that will turn some people away. All I can say is that Richard Curtis, who also wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill, and Love Actually as well as the screenplay adaptations for the Bridget Jones movies, has written a story that is simultaneously romantic, entertaining, educational, and provocative, all without ever making his audience shuffle their feet and groan because they recognize a lecture or heavy handed argument coming their way. (You can learn more about Richard Curtis at the Internet Movie Database, here.) See a preview and read more about the movie and its cast at http://www.hbo.com/films/girlinthecafe/.

I stumbled on this movie by accident, but I hope others will actively seek it out, and soon. While many people will be watching the Tour de Lance on television in July (myself included), the 2005 G8 conference will be happening in Scotland (July 6-8), and likely receiving much less attention. Viewers of the movie who want to learn more about poverty, AIDS, and the Millennium Development Goals can go to http://www.hbo.com/films/girlinthecafe/actnow or http://www.one.org. These sites also have electronic letters that you can send to the President and other elected officials encouraging support of programs to end poverty and the spread of AIDS, as well as other suggestions for how you can get personally involved in this issue. As a matter of fact, The One Campaign (which derives its name from the fact that many of the world's poorest people survive--or fail to survive--on less than one dollar per day) is selling wristbands. This July, I think it's time I balance out my LiveStrong bracelet with a ONE bracelet.

Enlightenment, Take Two (7:00 p.m.)
Mood:  loud
Topic: Daily Eruptions
I thought more today about the article by Sally Kempton, a.k.a. Durgananda, www.sallykempton.com, in Yoga Journal (www.yogajournal.com). Today was Thursday, which in North Carolina is the equivalent of TGIF everywhere else because everyone in North Carolina--regardless of income level, it seems--has a beach house, a lake house, a country house, or a cabin to which they escape for long weekends in the summer. This means that going out to eat on Thursday night often has a longer wait for a table than going out on a Friday or Saturday because by Friday everyone but you has already left town. On top of the normal Thursday craziness, however, today we had an additional level of urgency because of the holiday weekend. It became VERY clear as I was driving home that I am not enlightened and no matter how much I tried to focus on my breath and remember that we are all one, I was a huge stress ball by the time I pulled into the drive after my seventy-minute commute.

This was magnified, too, by my frustration with my workload and work balance at Sudie's. The business management side is often overshadowed by the personal assistant side, and I am back to the same situation I was in at Earth Share where I am not in control of my own work because Sudie has an agenda laid out for me before I even arrive. The only difference now is that instead of it being urgent that I get this mailing out, now it's urgent that I print out pictures of Dansko sandals and information on a list of fifteen books Sudie may want to order. It all comes down to communication--me communicating to Sudie what my own plans, goals, and commitments are and asking for clearer priority delineations for various tasks from her--and discipline to follow--and urge Sudie to follow--the schedule I created and Sudie approved. So I am back to living in the Urgent/Urgent quadrant all the time, and I can't sustain the stress load there. Just as with Earth Share, there is always that next special project and if we can make it through that, things should let up. Oh, until next week, when the next special project hits the calendar. I am trying to understand what lesson I am meant to learn from finding myself in this same position again and again. I thought that maybe the lesson is that I am meant to work for myself so that I really will be in control of my own schedule. But today I'm thinking that's not really the lesson, because even if I were running my own freelance artist representative business or writing full-time, there would be clients and deadlines and headaches that would be completely out of my control. Jill taught me to surf the wave of changing priorities pretty well and I gave up a good chunk of my need for perfection and control while I was working at ESNC. But I know I am not going to advance Sudie's business or create the position I will be happy filling for several more years unless I am able to create with Sudie the discipline to attend to more than just the next hot task. Since she will be working from the house now, too, while her studio is renovated over the next five months, we have already set aside time to talk about a closed door policy when we are each able to work without interruption. Probably a good time to talk about these other issues, too....

Temporary Independence (10:30 a.m.)
Mood:  crushed out
Now Playing: Forever Young by Alphaville
Topic: Daily Eruptions
I miss Hans. I thought about him throughout the day yesterday, collecting thoughts like always to try to remember to tell him in the evening. Each time, I would have to stop and remember that he was gone, and each time, there was a small note of sadness. I love missing him! It's good. Makes me realize all the small ways that sharing my life with him brings me joy and comfort, even though we drive each other so crazy. When I told him this on the phone last night, he said, "Well I get joy and comfort out of driving you crazy, too, honey."

He's exhausted and yesterday was hit by the full force of what it means that he will be launching and running this call center next week. Sounds like I won't be seeing much of him the rest of the summer, even when we are back to sleeping under the same roof.

On my drive home yesterday, I made the mistake of turning on NPR. As usual, they made me cry, and while I am becoming an expert at driving while crying (the lead foot and road rage even subside for those few minutes), I really wish it happened less often. This time, the story was Melissa Block's final interview of a group of medical students in a gross anatomy class at the University of Maryland. Read more about the series or listen here. I had heard the first installment in the series when it aired in 2004, so I was glad to hear the last. This one dealt with the emotions each student felt in terms of her relationship with her body donor. One woman commented that it was clear that her donor may have been receiving medical care for his illness, but had been lacking in other basic care, evidenced by things such as long toenails that no one had helped him clip. She talked about how that made her feel when she learned her arthritic neighbor was upset because her daughter hadn't been over to visit and help her clip her fingernails.

At this point, I was sobbing audibly--it kills me that Melissa Block doesn't tear up in these interviews--and on any other day, Hans (maybe choked up a little himself) would have reached over and put his hand on my knee. I realized that now that we have the second car and are no longer commuting together, my knee is going to be very lonely and often sad.

notes for future writing (9:00 a.m.)
Mood:  lyrical
Topic: Writing
On my way to work today, I passed a group of men on the side of the road whom I really wish I could have photographed. Their white work truck was pulled onto the shoulder, and six or seven men were sitting or squatting in the grass in a casual circle between the edge of the two-lane highway and one of those white fences that always remind me of Kentucky horse stables. At the speed I was traveling, I couldn't tell if anyone was speaking, but they all had their heads down as though they were some sort of ad hoc prayer circle. They were probably waiting to start a job and were still tired and resting their eyes, but it was a startling image. All I really want to do is write a poem about them, rather than what I really have to do which is continue packing up Sudie's studio for the renovations. (It's really not fair, or good for my allergies, that I have to pack at home and at work!) If I were to write the poem about the men lost in their own thoughts by the side of the road, it would have the words "magnolia," "rambling," and maybe "brambles" in it (though I can't really say why).

Last night while Kaija and I were walking, I started thinking about the nature of love - the evolutionary biology, physiology, and psychology of it - and thought I should write something about that, too, from a human perspective , but using dogs as a model. I don't want to say more about it because it may be a thin idea and I might wear it out before I even sit down to flesh it out.

I like the fact that ideas are creeping up on me so regularly now. The irony, of course, is that ideas most like to attack me when I have the least amount of time to pay them. Maybe I need them more when I am stressed and busy.