wading in shallow water

Peace of mind-a start

2006-09-11T06:57:00.000-07:00

I have been rediscovering myself in the past few months. It has turned out to be a very good thing. I quit my full-time management job and went back to part-time. I am re-discovering the vegetarian way of life that I lived for many years as a teen and while raising my own daughters. My husband and I are in a sort of "re-discovering" phase, or maybe a discovering phase, but whatever we might call it--it is a good thing too. I am taking a couple writing classes to get motivated in my writing which has been neglected for a couple years.
A lot of things have been neglected for years now. The reasons for neglect don't matter--they are never good reasons anyway. The fact that the neglect has been discovered and laid out on the kitchen table like the Sunday newspaper is what really matters. Now it can be dealt with. Now there is a place to start.
So I have taken some time to sort life matters into different catagories, decide which are priorities, what I really care about and put others to rest.
All of this sorting has led me to what I truly want for the rest of my life--peace of mind.
In this search that will start with me and end with me, I have decided that I need to be healty enough to venture on my quest and this has led to some changes in my personal lifestyle.
First and foremost is my health.
For health and environmental reasons and animal rights, I am transitioning back to a vegetarian diet. For two months now I have not eaten anything with legs. I have made a conscious effort not to eat eggs and milk--meaning I still eat pasta even though it is made with eggs. I still eat cheese (rennet free) and occasionally seafood and fish. I buy organic as often as I can.
My philosophy on animal rights is this: I don't care if people eat animals. But I do believe that if you are going to own or eat animals, it should be without cruelty. This means that I personally am against factory farming and caged chickens or any industry that brutilizes animals so that people can eat them. Most of these animal industries have a detrimental effect on our environment too. PETA has a list of animal-friendly industries on the web.
I haven't made a lot of other changes health-wise--not exercising more or drinking beer less, but I am feeling really, really good. And I think this first step toward peace of mind has been good for my relationship with my husband.
We have had early breakfast together on Saturday mornings and then headed over to the Kalamazoo Farmer's Market to buy veggies. He is a sport when I try new recipes (and new veggies, although okra isn't a hit with either one of us). He even shucked two bushels of corn while I was at work and then helped me put it up in the freezer. He made a strickly and very tasty veggie dish to take to a potluck at his sisters!
It was his idea to buy a freezer. He is even going to help with the garden next year, but not weeding. I've been warned.
I will continue to document on this blog the changes that I am making toward peace of mind--a peace of mind that comes with being right with myself, my relationships and the world.
I would love to hear from you--but not argue with you. Arguing doesn't promote peace or peace of mind, dialogue does.

Staying connected

2006-04-08T05:10:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling like I'm officially an empty-nester. My youngest, who is still in college, hasn't been home for a couple weeks now. She is finishing up this semester, but she has a fulltime job now. Instead of being a college girl with a job, she is now a working girl with a few classes to finish. The oldest has been living in another state for over a year now. I never imagined myself at this point in my life. I never imagined how it would feel to spend 25 years with two other humans that you adore emensly and would give your life for just to wake up every morning without them. Thats another blog. This one is about how we are trying desperately to stay connected.
I am very close to my daughters and they are very close with each other. As each one of us has chosen where we need to physically be in our lives, the others have gone through an adjustment period. We seemed to have settled in to this arrangement of not seeing each other often, but we haven't given up speaking to each other over the phone. Our voices keep us connected.
On the average, I speak with my daughters once a week and they speak with each other once a week. Usually, it is two times a week even if it only a 5 minute phone call to tell the other that you love her and miss her and hope that life is fine.
Not so the last month.
My oldest and I are planing a wedding over the phone and as the date grows closer, the amount of time we speak on the phone increases.
My youngest daughter is finishing up her last fulltime semester in college and has a twenty page term paper due and needs the assistance of her English teacher mom. We have been doing this over the phone.
I enjoy the extra time on the phone with my daughters even though I am not enjoying the work.
I truly love the sound of my daughters' voices. I can tell them apart even though other people can't. My husband can't tell them apart on the answering machine. I can tell the differences in their voices. But there are other clues on the machine he should look for. The youngest will say in a matter-of-fact voice..."Hey mom. Call me back when you get this. love you." The oldest says in a sing-songy voice..."Hi, its your daughter, call me back. love you."
Even my coworkers can't tell the difference despite my oldest rarely calling me at work. She did yesterday. In fact they both did. My schedule changed so I wasn't home yesterday when they tried to callso they both called work. They found me. We always find each other.
I have talked with my youngest while she was in Germany, the Dominican, and sunbathing in Californa. She has called me from airports, libraries, work, and a lot of times while driving. My oldest has called from the barn after feeding her horses in W. Virginia, from Haiti, Colorado, Texas and now Ohio. She calls from Walmart or the school parking lot before going to class.
I have resigned myself to the fact that my children will always be living a life at a distance from me and each other. They won't ever settle in Michigan. That's the way they were raised--go live your life and see something of the world.
I thank the cell phone gods for free long distance!

where's my blog?

2006-03-31T06:29:00.000-08:00

OK, I want to blog and it will let me create a new post, but I can't view it?! Can anyone else see it?

New blogger

2006-03-01T05:46:00.000-08:00

My sis has decided to blog! You can go to her blog by clicking on the link "ArtistIn Hiding"
Please stop by and say hi and assure her its not that scary in blogland! Love you sis!

2006-02-21T12:26:00.000-08:00

I should be writing. I mean, real writing. I have short stories and poetry unfinished or in need of editing, or waiting to be started.

I can't write. I have other things on my mind. Taxes are due. I have to thaw something for dinner. I have to read a magazine or hang a curtain rod or patch some holes in the wall. There are bills to be paid and dogs that need play. I could finish the laundry, complete numerous projects or just watch the birds at the feeders.

It is one of those days I can't even open my laptop because the screen is too black and I have nothing to say. I could prompt write. I could free write. I could write someting but I'm not even going to try.

What I need is quite. I want the dogs to sleep. I want the world to pretend I don't exist. No phones, no humming of the laptop. It is warm in my house and the sun is shining. My family is healthy and safe. I am ok.

I have always needed quite. It is where I find inspiration; where I converse with my muse. Sometimes wonderful things transpire. Other times, nothing. But because it is part of my creative process, I won't feel guilty about the times nothing happens.

The picture on this page was taken on Monhegan Island, Maine. I had gotten up much earlier than hubby because I was needing quite time, and I knew I could get it at 5:00 in the morning in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as the sun inched its way into the sky. I found my quite. I took my camera and a notebook. I wanted to capture the quite time. Keep it quite.

I still have the pictures and notes and I have begun, after 7 months, to put the experience into perspective and into a story. It isn't a story yet...it is still being born.

I always thought I was a slow writer. I'm not slow, its my process. I am in love with the process of writing, of creating. I can extract a single sentence from a story I have written and take it with me, just the sentence, and sit with it, think about it. How will my reader like it? Will it help them understand? Will it stir emotion? What about this title? Why this ending? Would a different POV better serve the story? If it is a poem, I worry about how it looks on the page.

Once finished, I am unable to let my work go. Despite authors such as Stu Dybek telling me I have work that should be submitted, I can't. Like children, I'm not always sure my work is ready for the world. Or maybe I'm not ready for the world. I sometimes have doubts that I will ever be a successful writer. I worry about whether my writing is good enough for the reader.

Today, above my desk, I posted the words of Lan Samantha Chang. She is a fiction writer and the new director of the U of Iowa's Writers' Workshop.

Here are her words:
"'It's important to be patient and to always keep in mind that good writing is more important than achieving rapid success as a writer. The best writing reveals the texture and the depth of the consciousness that wrote it and that can take a long time.'"

Today, I feel validated. Tomorrow, I'll write. In a few months, maybe I'll submit.

The quietest moment

2006-02-01T13:40:00.000-08:00

My youngest daughter is home for the remainder of the week because she lives in Detroit, and Detroit has closed down for the SuperBowl and tourists.

She came home last night looking young and fresh. Whenever I see her after a period of time, it is always like taking that first breath of spring air. And eventhough both of my daughters have held me in suspended awe from the first day they slipped out of me and into my life, this one is different.

This is my baby girl.

My baby girl is at that time in her life when she is ready to fly as far and as high as life will let her--as a woman. So now I must prepare again for the quietest moment of my life: the moment she leaves.

It is a quiet moment because we will have said everything that needed to be said. It is quiet because we will be holding our breath and holding back our tears. It is the quietest moment because joy and sadness gel us to numb.

We will look at each other and without saying a word, know the truth:
She can't stay with me, and I can't go with her.

It is the quietest moment of separation.

This thing called love...I mean space

2006-01-30T05:18:00.000-08:00

This weekend I had a fight with my husband. Not a new fight. This is a fight we have had maybe four times now and it always begins and ends the same way. It goes something like this:

Husband: "I'm sorry that I'm a jerk. I don't know why I do some of the things I do. If you want me to leave, I will."
Me: "Yes, I want you to leave. I need space."

So he gathers up a few items and moves into his music studio for...a night. It is never any longer than this, just one night. And he never takes anything with him that he can't live without except his toothbrush and clean underware. He does take items that have found their way into the house that really belong in the studio anyway--new CD burner, memorabilia from tours across the country and Europe, microphones (or anything else that was brought home from the last gig.)
We have an attic bedroom that became a music/tv room when we moved in to our house because he has so much stereo equipment that it needed its own space. This room eventually became my husband's space so I guess he thought he could fill it with more stuff.
When he sleeps in his studio, he sleeps on the fold down seat he takes out of his van. I'm sure this doesn't bother him at all considering he has usually spent from 4pm until close at the local pub. It doesn't bother me either because the dogs and I get the bed to ourselves and none of us snore. I can also get a substantial amount of reading or writing done without being bothered.

Back to the fight.

He shows up the next morning at home and we have coffee and make small talk until we say how much we missed each other and then a discussion begins about the actual cause of the fight.
This time we talked all day. We decided to talk while we shopped. Actually, I was going shopping and he is smart enough to know that if he wants permission to move back in, he should probably shop too (read sucking up).
I was looking for a couch and shadow box for our recently created tv/stereo room (aka Elvis' room). I found the shadow box and a set of aqua and gold highball glasses but no couch. I made the purchases while he stood by and said whatever you want dear.
There is a reason we are redoing a room for his stereo equipment and our life size cardboard Elvis. It is so that I can have my own space. The attic bedroom is offically mine now, sort of. It will house two twin beds for company and for a daughter still in college who randomly graces us with her presence when she needs laundry done. But still, it is my space. And I need it. Presently, I can't write unless he is gone because he wants to talk. If he is not talking, he is singing. Or playing his guitar.
My husband and I have decided that despite our love and affection for each other, we have a lot of problems.
We married too old. He was in his early 50's and I was in my late 40's. We have only been married for 18 months.
We were by ourselves for a multitude of years before marrying and not only are we use to having our own space, we need our own space.
We are both creative people. He is a singer/songwriter and I am a fiction writer. Neither one of us understands the other's process. We don't understand each other's motive or drive. What we do understand is that we can use each other for an excuse not to write and then blame each other for not getting anything done.
He left for work this morning saying that he would take the rest of his stuff to the studio tonight and, that I should start thinking about shopping for whatever I need for my space. My space.
My space won't solve all our problems. But I don't think it will create any new ones either. At least when I say I need my space, I can leave. Unless, of course, the house becomes littered with studio stuff again...

2006-01-24T19:26:00.000-08:00

Ok, here I am. I came to this place kicking and screaming, determined that after keeping my writing to myself for 30+ years I would not, under any circumstances, bleed for bloggers. Here I am.
This is my first blog. I'm not sure what prompted me to waste the last 20 minutes setting up a blog, but I did. No, that's a lie. I do know what made me do it. (Don't we always know what makes us do it?)
It was bravery. And with that I will explain the name of my blog.
Wading in shallow water is truly the place where I have spent my entire life, both physically and mentally.
Physically because as a child, my mother would always make us "wade in the shallow water" for fear we would drown when she wasn't looking.
Mentally because I have always played life safe. I have never been brave. This didn't occur to me until last year when I contemplated quitting my job. Let me rephrase that, quitting my career--26 years of nursing. Yes, quit the good pay and job security; quit the weekends, mandatory overtime, stress, danger, staff shortages...you get the picture.
I put it off and put it off until January 4th of this year. I quit. Presently I work on-call 3 days a week, when I want. Believe me, this was a brave move.
The second brave thing I did this year was make a commitment to my writing.
The third brave thing was this--blogging.
I'm still wading in shallow water but someday I'll jump into the deep end and if you hang around long enough, you might get wet.