Inspiration

I've been on a mission, searching for my personal, fail proof fountain of inspiration. It seems an internal spigot should be included with our genetic operating instructions. Just push the button and wait for the fountain to start spurting. Unfortunately,that's not the way it works. At least not for me.

Fleeting inspiration comes from words--a quote, a few lines of exquisite writing, a horoscope, a fortune cookie---but these are random sparks, not enduring flames. Sometimes a little positive reinforcement provides motivation---a good critique or a small acknowledgment by peers. But that's an external source and you can only stare at a paper-framed certificate for so long. It's nice, even thrilling in the moment, but it doesn't sustain.

Friends with fiery passions and commitment motivate, but also inspire a little envy. Then there are my strong friends who don't have the luxury of procrastinating, and forge ahead despite uncertain futures. They're awe inspiring. Their stories offer perspective and a reality check. But those are their stories. I need to write my own.

I've been playing the "I'm too old" card, but my friends have proven me wrong. There are the "Janes" who both jumped back into medical school, and marathoner Judy. Hardworking, focused women who don't succumb.

It's time to grow up, Margaret. Make a plan and a promise. Dig deep and...

Breakfast and Compromise

My beloved likes to go out to breakfast on Sunday mornings. I do, too. My beloved prefers to go to his favorite restaurant. I do, too. Unfortunately, our favorites are not the same place. Paul loves to go to our local branch of Cajun Kitchen. It's a quick drive and he likes the food. Neither of us ever orders anything remotely "cajun", but he thinks their breakfast basics--eggs, steak, bacon and especially the hash browns--are superior to other local restaurants. Paul likes the booths, the diner-like atmosphere, and the regulars.

We're not regulars. No one calls us by name, but I like to think that we're not totally unfamiliar faces, either. We have our favorite waitress, a lovely Irish woman, whose lilting accent makes ordinary words a delight. This morning her "toast" was the highlight of our meal. We like to observe, from a distance which prohibits us from hearing their voices, the regulars we find intriguing. The middle-aged man who seeks out fellow customers to engage in loud discussions of sports, and the business owners who meet for breakfast on Sundays to hash out problems in the office. Paul and I keep to ourselves for the most part, reading favorite sections of the newspaper and talking quietly. I doubt that the "regulars" notice us at all.

My favorite breakfast spot is D'Angelo Bakery and Bread in downtown Santa Barbara. I like the food better, especially their delicious wheat toast and homemade marmalade, and I like sitting outside in their side patio. D'Angelo's has regulars, too, but none quite as memorable or flamboyant as the ones at Cajun Kitchen. But the real reason I love it is the delicious coffee--rich double lattes served in traditional wide cups and saucers. They are hand-warming, hefty servings of caffeine--the perfect way to start a Sunday morning.

I stopped ordering coffee at Cajun Kitchen years ago. Their coffee is bitter, flavorless and memorable for all the wrong reasons. I resort to Green Tea when I go there, but in my mind a breakfast without good coffee is a flawed experience. Paul bribes me with the promise a post breakfast visit to Starbucks or now, Zizzo's. It's not quite the same as savoring good coffee with a meal, but it's a reasonable compromise. Compromise, like separate checking accounts, is essential in a good marriage. Maybe the true spirit of compromise doesn't entail keeping track of how many times a concession occurs, but rest assured next weekend we won't be heading to Cajun Kitchen.

Graceful in Their Worlds

I carry a small brown, blank-paged book with me at all times. I frequently use it to take notes and to write down clever ideas for brilliant (?) plot lines. It also gets used for more mundane purposes: grocery lists, gift lists and random phone numbers. I need to write things down almost immediately after thinking of them or they escape into the sphere of my unconscious, never to be recalled again.

One odd thing about writing in my notebook is that I’ve discovered I’m hesitant to take notes when I'm sitting next to someone I know. I accept that at this point in life I need to write things down or I simply won’t remember them. I know this. But I also find that I'm slightly uncomfortable about taking notes when a friend is seated next to me. I imagine them evaluating the merit of the information I’m recording, and secretly questioning my ability to discern the essential importance of what we are both hearing. In my more rational moments I recognize that this social paranoia is ridiculous, but at times I still find myself to be a reluctant note-taker.

Last week I went to hear a lecture from Sarah Lawrence-Lightfoot, a Harvard professor of Sociology, and author of The Third Chapter: Passion, Risk and Adventure in the 25 Years After 50. The subject matter intrigued me as I am a few years into the Third Chapter of life and am looking forward to discovering what this new phase has to offer. About a third of the way through her lecture I broke out the brown notebook. I wanted to write down Dr. Lawrence-Lightfoot's definition of the Third Chapter–"a season in search of a purpose,” and then went on to tantalize her audience by describing this phase as both “bodacious” and “exhilarating.” Sounds worth getting older.

The possibility of a life filled with “risk-taking collaboration and adventurous learning” is very appealing. She told the completely third generation audience that we are each both teacher and learner. We need to nuture our curiosity and let go of our fear of the unknown and our fear of failure. That seems like a recipe for success. Wish I had wholeheartedly embraced this approach in my first and second chapters.

I think I neglected to mention another small limitation to my note-taking–horrible, undecipherable handwriting. My scrawled notes, especially those taken in a dark auditorium, frequently require me to de-code them with the aid of a magnifying glass. I can never quite make out every word of what I've written. I know the professor stressed "the need to calibrate a balance in our lives," something that might have been missing in the earlier chapters. I also wrote down the phrase "graceful in their worlds." Dr. Lawrence-Lightfoot was talking about the evolution of the individuals she interviewed for the book. I loved those words. They provide both a powerful aspiration and inspiration. I want to become graceful in my world.

Oprah, Wedding Dresses, and the Crafty Mind

The title of this post seems incongruous at best, but trust me, I can connect the dots. A few weekends ago I read an article in the NY Times about a woman who is living according to all things Oprah for one year. She watches the tv show, reads the magazine and checks out her website for suggestions on how to live the Oprah life. Her blog is Living Oprah. I've visited it several time and I was relieved to note that she doesn't swallow everything Oprah advocates--she seems to maintain a critical eye when appropriate. I started thinking that this could be an interesting idea for a middle grade or ya novel. A 10-year-old trying to live the Oprah life. I think it has possibilities.

Anyway, since I was thinking about Oprah I decided to invite her to join me for lunch. Not the Oprah, of course, but magazine Oprah. I was in Pasadena a week ago and wanted to have something to read while I ate lunch. I knew the thick-spined Oprah magazine would last me through even the most lengthy of meals. This issue had a lot of lists in it, including one about getting organized. Complete organization is a fantasy of mine and I read over the list with great enthusiasm. One item had to do with the dilemma of storing v. recycling wedding dresses. My own wedding dress spent 26 years in a plastic bag in a closet at my mother's house, and since Mom died it has spent the last five years in the same plastic bag in a closet at my house.

I've always held on to the dress because that's what women do--you save it for a daughter or save it to wear again on significant anniversaries. I know that Nora would most likely never wear this dress for any occasion in her future (her distant future) and it seems equally unlikely that I will ever have an opportunity to wear it again. To be honest, I would be hard pressed to fit into the dress. When I pulled it out of the bag, I was startled to see how small the dress actually was. I don't remember being that skinny.

Those considerations are moot at this point because the dress is not actually wearable. It's stained with the remnants of champagne spills down the front. Thirty-one years later those stains have really set. But last week when I was cleaning closets and feeling adventurous I decided to see if the stains could be removed. My wedding dress was a very simple white cotton pique and to my untrained eye it looked washable. The label on the dress said dry clean only, but I knew better. I was sure that a little Shout, a little Tide and the delicate cycle could restore my dress to it's original beauty.

Alas, this was not to be. My dress did survive it's trip to the washing machine but so did the stains. I suppose I could try to bleach them out but I think my 31-year old fabric might disintegrate in the process. So now I have a slightly cleaner wedding dress with slightly lighter stains. But what can be done with it? No one can wear it so donating it is out of the question. This is where the crafty part comes in. Even a disassembled wedding dress has special significance, and the potential for a memorable future as a baby pillow or a ring pillow. If I put my mind to it I'm sure the possibilities are endless. Per Oprah's suggestion it's not going back into a plastic bag in the closet. Do you think she'd mind a box?

Challenges are what make Life interesting...

Lunch in the staff lounge is usually lively and frequently hilarious. Sometimes it's even thought-provoking. Our conversations don't normally fall into the intellectual category, but sometimes a little something sticks in my mind for the rest of the day.

Earlier this week we were talking about running marathons--definitely not something I aspire to--but one of Brandon's young teachers had just run the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon. Other staffers have run marathons too, but this was Robyn's first. Robyn looks like a beauty escaped from a Vermeer portrait, and her classical looks and gentle manner belie her athleticism and commitment. What I find remarkable about Robyn's experience was that she trained and ran the race by herself. No support group for this young woman. She dragged herself out of bed for months ahead of time, put on her running shoes and took off. There were no companionable footsteps echoing hers during her long training runs. No one encouraging her to keep going. Robyn did it on her own.

When Robyn came back to work after the Marathon she was discussing the physical difficulties of the race. She ran for 4 1/2 hours and when she was done she couldn't even bend down to complete her post race stretches. She told about going out to dinner and having to climb an agonizingly long staircase to reach the ladies room. There was definitely a physical toll--even for a 24 year old. So naturally, the question came up...why? Why did she subject herself to this ordeal?

A lot of us at the lunch table couldn't imagine doing it. But Robyn said that running a marathon was something she's always wanted to do...so she did it. I was ready to chalk this attitude off to youthful whimsy, but then my friend Judy chimed in. Judy is a veteran marathoner (I think if you've run more than one you can be called a veteran!) and long-distance walker. Judy said she does it for the challenge. She doesn't think Americans challenge themselves enough. That line was my lunch time "take-away."

I wonder if the achievement of physical challenges requires different personal strengths than challenges that are more mental in nature? Is the commitment the same? When was the last time I challenged myself, and then followed it through to completion? Hmmm. A hard question to answer. Looking back on this blog I realize I have issued myself a few challenges to myself over the past year, but I haven't been very vigilant about the follow-through. Lots of good intentions, but not enough action. The entire quote that inspired the title of this post tells it all: "Challenges are what make life interesting; overcoming them is what makes life meaningful." The search for meaning continues.

Joy for You and Me...

Paul and I saw Young@Heart over the weekend. It's an amazing movie/documentary about a senior citizen singing group from North Hampton, MA. The average age of the performers is 80 years old, but what makes the movie really fun is that they sing rock anthems like "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Stones, as well as songs by Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, and Cold Play. None of the songs they sing are from the choir members' generation, but they do incredible renditions anyway. The movie is poignant, humorous but most of all joyful. The choir members sing and move with vibrant energy and make the audience realize the sheer elation of learning and singing new songs at their rather advanced ages. In fact, it is the age of the singers that adds a whole new dimension to their performance. When they sing "Fix You" after the death of one of the choir members the song achieves a depth of meaning that no rock band of 20 year olds could ever accomplish.

I came away humming the songs from the movie and thinking about how much my mom could have benefited from being in a group like that. Mom had a lovely voice but she only sang in church as a member of the congregation. She was a petite woman, but she loved to belt out hymns and then modestly bask in the appreciative looks of churchgoers in nearby pews. It was her secret pleasure. Mom would have been a great addition to a group like Young@Heart. When she was old enough to qualify for membership she no longer had a reason not to join--no excuses about taking care of her husband and her family that constrained her earlier life choices. Even though she lived clear across the country from the Massachusetts singers I wish she could have experienced the joy of the Young@Heart gang.

I've been thinking about joy a lot lately--specifically, about how to add it to my own life. My friend Patty is my joy mentor. Her blog is aptly titled, Capturing Joy, and that's pretty much her life's mission statement. She's identified what she loves, what gives her joy and focuses her life accordingly. She's a good role model.

Paul and I are already testing out the music=joy equation promoted by the movie. Last night we were driving to dinner and listening to an old Jefferson Starship song, We Built This City. Paul turned the volume up and we both sang along with abandon. Maybe in a few decades that can be our audition song for Young@Heart.

Back in the Saddle

Click on the arrow above and listen to the words of the immortal Gene Autry (or perhaps the words of his slightly less immortal songwriting partner, Ray Whitely). I can relate to this song because "I'm back in the saddle again", too. Or at least I've got one foot in the stirrup. Haven't written a word in more than a month. Not one little word. I've been in a writing funk, a work funk, perhaps a bit of a life funk. But I'm climbing out of the funk, saddling up, and moving on.

The work funk has been resolved with a resignation. I stuck with it for a year but the new job simply wasn't a good fit for me. I will miss being at Brandon, but I recognize that it's time to move on. My first job there was in 2001 as the Library Lady. Two years later I left the library for the computer lab, and after four years in the lab I decided to become the School Office Manager. This was a real job, with real benefits, long days and a whole lot of stress. Within minutes of making my decision to leave I could feel a few of the knots that had been living in my shoulders for the past year start to ease. This was the right choice.

The negative side of leaving is that the people I know best in Santa Barbara are all somehow connected to the school. Lynette, the prinicpal, is certainly the best person I have ever worked for and I feel fortunate to count many of the staff and families at Brandon as friends. I will miss them all very much, but I'm making a vow right now to work hard at keeping in touch. I certainly hope my walking buddies will allow me rejoin our Friday outings once my knee gets back to normal. I promise I'll still wear the regulation Brandon Islander sweatshirt.

The writing funk is another matter. Don't want to resign from writing, but I need to figure out how to make it an easy habit and not view it as an overwhelming challenge. I've committed to a writing conference in July and I'm hoping that the prospect of having to produce material for that will be provide the impetus I need. During my writing "hiatus" I didn't totally avoid the written word. I just focused on reading them as opposed to writing them. In the past five weeks I have done lots and lots of reading. I treated myself to numerous books during my convalescence--once ordering what I call my box-o-books from Amazon. I had to wait for a few of the books to be published so the delivery was delayed and I had plenty of time to build up my anticipation. They were worth the wait. What a delight to know that when I finished one book I only had to walk into another room and select another from the small tower sitting on my desk. Books are definitely an addiction, but certainly not the worse one I could have.

Well, I did it. My first entry in weeks. I guess it's appropriate to conclude with a quote from Mr. Autry, too. It feels good to be "riding the range once more!"

You say meniscus...I say, "Ouch!"

Meniscus /me·nis·cus/ (me-nis´kus) pl. menis´ci [L.] something of crescent shape, as the concave or convex surface of a column of liquid in a pipet or buret, or a crescent-shaped cartilage in the knee joint.

A few weeks ago I didn't know the exact meaning of meniscus. I didn't know you can tear them, and I didn't know there were such things as meniscectomies. Suddenly, I'm becoming all too familiar with everything meniscus.

Another word I'm becoming too familiar with lately is degenerative. Unfortunately, I've reached a stage in life where many aspects of my physical being seem to be degenerating. The medical world tries to reassure women of a certain age that menopause is an exciting new phase of life, but as I stand on the cusp of the new phase, it seems to be pretty much about degeneration. My eyes started to degenerate (the ophthamologist's term, not mine) shortly after my 40th birthday, my memory has been degenerating for years (ask anyone), and now it's my knees.

It turns out that my great Carmel walking weekend came with a price. By the time I got home from that adventure my right knee was stiff, swollen and painful. A few days of living with that forced me to visit my doctor, which in turn led to an MRI , which in turn led to an orthopedist. My conversation with Dr. Hurvitz, complete with a pointer and assorted MRI images of my degenerating knee and torn miniscus, led to the decision to have arthroscopic knee surgery in a few weeks.

I have to admit to feeling anxious about the operation. I've never had surgery before and although I had many childhood fantasies about walking on crutches, the prospect isn't appealing to me anymore. To reassure myself that this was a good plan, I immediately turned to the Internet and launched a new research project: Operation Margaret.

In just a few minutes I discovered that the surgery will involve three little incisions, an arthroscope and teeny, tiny surgical tools. Depending on the type of anesthesia the doctor chooses I may even be able to watch the surgery on the monitor. Although I'm sure it would be fascinating, I don't think I'll choose that option. Watching someone else's operation might be educational, but watching the real-time version of my own surgery might be more than I can handle.

The Internet gave me a good idea about the rehabilitation process (3-4 weeks) and Operation Margaret also unearthed a lot of information about my doctor. It's odd to meet someone for just twenty minutes and then agree to have him or her operate on you. I needed to know more than my own impression that he was a nice guy. I learned that Dr. Hurvitz is a Fellow in the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons and he's also on the collegiate medical teams for both UCSB and Westmont College athletes. His professional accomplishments, both national and local, comforted me, but I still feel like this is going to require a huge leap of faith. Trouble is, I'm not doing much leaping these days.

I just reread this post. I am honestly not as depressed about the inevitable consequences of aging as it might seem, but making the necessary adjustments--both mental and medicinal--is challenging. Paul and I used to keep a small plastic jar of aspirin tucked in the corner of one of the kitchen cabinets. That space has now expanded to half a shelf filled with our combined prescriptions, iron pills, vitamins, calcium, antacids, allergy medications and Motrin. I guess the good news is that I haven't yet reached the stage of the daily pill dispensers. No, the real good news is that the medicines make me feel better and the knee surgery will too. It's just a big pill to swallow.

Back to Basics

Craft: skill in planning, making, or executing . For several years I have been trying to learn the craft of writing. Now, thanks to a casual mention by Robin LaFever at her Architexture workshop, I have a trusty guide...Write Away by Elizabeth George.

George doesn't write for children, but she's an accomplished author who clearly articulates the universals of writing fiction and her own writing process in particular. I get this book. I know I've read and heard much of this information before, but somehow this time I'm understanding it. Maybe I am a slow learner and I just need to read something over and over again before it sinks in, but regardless of the reason, this book works for me.

For example, I have sat in many workshops and heard accomplished writers discuss point of view, but George takes the time to define all the different types and provides examples from published books to illustrate them. Objective narrator, omniscient narrator, shifting first person and narrator as observer. I have heard all these terms, and even thought I had a general sense of what they meant, but I didn't. Now I finally feel like I'm starting to play on a level field with other writers.

Elizabeth George might even have been speaking directly to me when she wrote about first person narration, "Quite a few beginning writers employ this viewpoint because superficially this appears to be the easiest...However, this viewpoint has its disadvantages, the most notable of which is the difficulty that can arise with plotting." Hello! Has she been peering over my shoulder? I know Emelia's story should be told in first person but defining Emelia and her story continues to be a challenge. George is sending me back to the beginning of the process to do more character analysis. She promises the plot will emerge. I'm counting on you Elizabeth!

Just occurred to me that my recent attempts to learn the craft of knitting may be a very tangible metaphor for my writing. I am not a natural knitter. Years ago my sweet mother-in-law, Stella, tried to teach me to knit. After a particularly painful session with the needles, she reached over to me, put her hands on top of mine and said, "Some people just aren't meant to be knitters." Several decades later I am now trying the patience of a new tag team of instructors, Elli and Reanna.

These two teachers are also sweet and patient individuals...so far. I joined their lunch time knitting class for students, and the students are clearly having an easier time of it than I am. First, there was the difficulty with slippery needles so Elli loaned me a bamboo set from her personal collection. Then they suggested that my beautiful yarn had too many strands in it, so they cast on a new row of a different yarn. They have done that several times now. Each time they start me off with 20 stitches, but somehow the number increases and the loops tighten as I go along. My teachers have sympathetically identified all of the beginner problems that are currently plaguing me, but perhaps they are just too nice to identify the real problem...me. I'm a slow learner who lacks nimble fingers and obviously can't count stitches. More unraveling is clearly in my future, but I recognize that this is an essential step in the process. I'm not going to give up.

There's unraveling to be done with my writing, too. Pull apart, evaluate, start over. Repeat. I am slowly learning to hone my craft and knit my story. I'm not going to give up on writing, either.

NIBEM 7: Geel! Hawl! Dog Sledding at the Beach

I met a real life adventurer yesterday. A 21st century mix of Thor Heyerdahl, Sir Edmund Hillary and a smidge of Davey Crockett all combined in a energetic Alaska resident named Lorraine Temple. Lorraine is a woman of many talents–licensed boat captain, dog musher, tour guide–the list goes on and on. While I haven't personally experienced most of her career choices, we do have a few random things in common. She grew up in Northern California near my hometown of Lafayette, and she lived in Goleta for a few years while attending UCSB.

I have had a longtime fascination with Alaska. My favorite geography class in college focused on the 49th state and I also had a quirky great aunt, Helen, who made frequent pilgrimages to Alaska, towing her well-traveled Airstream trailer. I think that's why I was so excited to receive Lorraine's phone call about arranging an assembly at school. She explained her program and shared her Alaska Husky Spirit website. I checked it out and I was hooked. It would be neat for the beach-bound kids of Brandon School to meet real sled dogs, see a real sled and be introduced to a woman with a very unique job and an adventurous spirit.

Lorraine and her co-stars Buckeye and his daughter, Cabo, did not disappoint. Okay, Buckeye's tendency to interrupt Lorraine with random barking was slightly distracting, but the dogs were a handsome pair and very tolerant of the adoring pats of about 250 students. We learned a little bit about life in Alaska, the history and reality of the Iditarod and also about Lorraine's former business–dog sled tours across glaciers.
Patrons were helicoptered in, outfitted with the requisite gear and sent out with a team of dogs to travel to the edge of a glacier. The essentials of dog-sledding fashion were modeled by a gracious volunteer, fifth-grade- teacher Hugh Ranson, and included beaver hat, wolf-fur-trimmed parka and huge, paddle-like mittens equipped with a patch of black nose-wiping fabric on the outside of one of the gloves. Lorraine made it clear that she was not condoning the killing of animals for fashion, animal fur is simply much warmer in the freezing Alaskan temperatures. We even learned that the fur trim around the hood serves to deflect howling winds as well as add warmth.

Later, I got to help harness up the dogs to demonstrate how they pulled the sled. I had to put Buckeye's harness on while keeping him in place by straddling his body with my legs. Don't know how much Buckeye enjoyed the experience. He didn't step into the leg holes very willingly even though he has been harnessed hundreds of times. Maybe he sensed a novice musher. Once harnessed, the dogs tolerated a reenactment of sled travel while I demonstrated my braking techniques. We all learned the three most important rules of dog sledding: 1. Never let go of the sled. 2. Never let go of the sled and 3. Never..., well I think rule #3 is obvious. I didn't let go of the sled, and all ended well on my trip across the stage of the multi-purpose room.

From the first moment I met Lorraine in person and was introduced to the dogs my mind starting focusing on how to share this story in a children's book. I asked her if she had ever contemplated writing a book herself, and she nodded. As with all of us, time demands had prevented her from starting a writing project, but she indicated she was now ready for a creative outlet. A quick thought I had was to title a non-fiction, heavily pictoral book, Traveling Dogs. Lorraine's dogs not only sled, they travel in planes, helicopters (the dogs have to get to the glaciers, too) and also a more conventional big red van. The dogs and Lorraine travel all over the western regions of the lower 48 during the harshest months of the Alaskan winter, visiting schools and sharing their story.

As fascinating as it was to learn about dog sledding, I think an equally important benefit of the assembly was to let children know there is life outside the box. Lorraine is an intriguing role model. She's a risk taker, an adventurer, and her life thus far has been spent following her passions. I don't think she's done yet. She's toying with the idea of trading her sleds in for boats, and returning to life near the ocean. Personally, I'm hoping she'll stay in Alaska a little longer. I think Buckeye and I might have an appointment on a glacier.

Announcing NIBEM!

The ugly black cloud of procrastination is hanging over my head. I'm not doing much writing. I'm not even writing about writing or rather, not writing. Confusing, but true. Maybe it's not a procrastination cloud. Could it be the more ominous cloud of fear? Perhaps, it's a bit of both. My solution? NIBEM.

I just made up NIBEM. It stands for National I'll Blog Everyday Month. Trips off the tongue, doesn't it? I kind of stole the idea from NANOWRIMO–National Novel Writing Month. The idea of NANO is to write a 175 page, 50,000 page novel in one month. This has been going on every November since 1999. 30 days to do a lot of writing,

NIBEM is also a month long, but I have cleverly chosen the shortest month of the year so I will only need to write 28 blog entries. Oops, make that 29. Just realized that 2008 is a leap year. (Didn't know that there are actual Leap Year Rules: 1. Every year divisible by 4 is a leap year. 2. Every year divisible by 100 is NOT a leap year. 3. Unless the year is also divisible by 400, then is it still a leap year. I knew about the divisible by 4 rule, but rules 2 and 3 are new to me.)

Anyway, back to NIBEM. This is the theory. I'll have to write something every day. It will become a habit, maybe even an addiction. I will become infatuated with the process of writing and this will carry over to other projects I want to work on. Sounds logical, but...we'll see.
I'm hoping that this public declaration (public in the eyes of the few readers of "Oh, Margaret!") will prevent me from faltering during the inaugural month of NIBEM.

Just decided I'll try to add a picture per day, too. Might as well work on those photography skills. For the next 29 days I'll carry my little Nikon with me every day and see what grabs my fancy. Not too much to photograph as I write this in my bedroom early in the morning. The shiny gold Buddha with the giant black shadow behind his head, will have to do.

Sun, Surf and Snow!

Paul and I got up early this morning and drove down to Santa Monica to have breakfast with our favorite business traveler. Nora flew down to promote her auction house at Art LA and meet potential clients and vendors. She is strengthening her networking skills, and literally bumped into Steve Martin while looking at a painting. Fun job, Nora!

We have been besieged by torrential rains and cold weather (at least by Santa Barbara standards) and this morning was a sunny break in the gloom. The drive down to Santa Monica was gorgeous–the ocean and palm trees on one side, and snowy mountains on the other. Amazing to see strawberries growing next to the highway against a background of snow. I'm glad we got a chance to enjoy the sun today...heavy rain is supposed to arrive again tonight.

In keeping with my intention to make 2008 the year of positive choices I focused on physical improvements this week. A physical, an eye exam and a mammogram on the schedule for next week. I'd procrastinated about these appointments for a while, so I'm pleased to have them behind me. Unfortunately, I have some icky follow-up tests...

Just finished Elizabeth Gilbert's book, Eat, Pray, Love. Gilbert's spiritual and emotional journey intrigued me, and her statement that "happiness is the consequence of personal effort" struck home. If I were in the market for a mantra, I think that might be a good one. My recent "personal efforts" include continuing this blog and trying to take pictures to illustrate it. Here is my artful attempt to capture the strange beauty of a Santa Monica parking garage. Art LA should be calling any day now.

Hillary!

When I wrote about Renaissance Women last week I had no idea that I'd have a chance to see Hillary Clinton up close and personal this week. Hillary surprised Santa Barbara with a last minute visit to UCSB. I was excited when Paul called to tell me he was meeting with campus officials and Clinton staff to arrange one of Senator Clinton's "town hall" meetings for Thursday night at the Rec Center on campus. I desperately wanted to be included in the small audience. This was a chance to listen to the woman who might be the first female president of the United States. It was also an opportunity for me to finalize my voting decision for the California Primary on February 5th.

Paul called me Thursday at noon to let me know that I was among the chosen. I met him on campus in the early evening and we walked over to the event with a colleague from his office. We were on the VIP list which basically entitled us to a guaranteed seat and a shorter wait in line. It also meant enduring the disorganization of Clinton's enthusiastic and very young staff. At one point we were all asked "step away from the door" and take five steps back. Not exactly the way donors and "dignitaries" are used to being treated.

Hillary was very late. We were seated shortly after 6 p.m. and she didn't arrive until after 8 p.m. We indulged in a lot of people-watching, and listened to loud music that inspired a few random fans to dance in the aisles. Mildly entertaining, and very Santa Barbara. Students were paraded in and seated behind the platform where Clinton would speak, and just before her arrival they were handed signs--"Women for Hillary," "Clinton Country," and even a selection of hand-made ones that were clearly not made by any of the students holding them. I don't consider myself to be naive but the calculated staging of the event seemed excessive. Especially since all of us in the audience were witnessing everything. The signs weren't meant for us, but they were the perfect manufactured background.

Almost disproportionate to the size of the audience was the media coverage. Enthusiastic student reporters holding their official journalist notebooks and interviewing almost anyone wearing a tie, competed with a platform of videographers and photographers that stretched across the entire back of the room. After Hillary finally arrived a contingent of reporters who must have been traveling with her filed in and took their positions along another wall. I looked today in several papers for mention of her UCSB campaign stop but most of the coverage seemed to be local. I have to admit I was kind of thrilled when a friend told me she spotted the back of my head on the KEYT broadcast.

Now, onto the important stuff. Hillary was impressive. Although I'm sure she'd given this speech or a variation of it many times before she seemed natural, intelligent and articulate. It was pleasing to hear a woman's voice narrating the future of our country, and I could easily imagine her as my president. She was genuinely responsive to the questioners (although several of them were most likely planted in the audience), she was humorous, and at times, inspirational. And, even though I know she probably doesn't appreciate being evaluated this way, Senator Clinton was also very attractive and more petite than she appears on T.V.

The event ended with Hillary doing an exit round of handshakes to the members of the front row. She'd already shaken a lot of hands that day at the two other events she'd completed prior to arriving in Santa Barbara. I didn't attempt to ask any questions and didn't push my way forward to shake her hand. My only outward display of enthusiasm was to take 18 pictures. Unfortunately, only two of them didn't come out looking like I was taking them in the middle of an earthquake. Here's hoping Hillary's leadership skills far surpass my inadequate attempts to capture their essence in a photograph.

Renaissance Women...More than Multi-taskers

Although I haven't yet committed to a particular Democratic presidential candidate, I have to admit I was excited when Hillary Clinton won in New Hampshire this week. I was proud to witness the first American woman to win a presidential primary.



It was thrilling to see her at the victor's podium declaring, "In the last week I listened to you, and I found my own voice." I know that Hillary probably didn't write those words. In fact, I'm 99% sure they were the work of a calculating political speech writer. But I still love hearing about a woman finding her "voice," and Hillary's contagious sense of accomplishment radiated from the television on Tuesday night. That part was genuine, I'm sure.

I'm always searching for my "voice." I think I find a little bit more of it in each adventure, each risk, each year. In the past few years, I've literally been searching for my voice, or rather Emelia's, as I tackle the challenge of writing my first novel for middle grade readers. It's been a long process but an enriching one. I've learned a lot about writing, met a lot of wonderful and inspiring people and have managed to write part of a book. That's a genuine accomplishment, too. This year I'm hoping my voice will come in fast-forward mode so I can finish telling the story of Emelia.

I know lots of women who seem to have found their voices already. They are successful in their chosen careers and also thrive as artists, athletes, jewelry-makers, writers, readers, thinkers, cooks, crafters and seamstresses. They are daughters, wives, mothers, aunts and grandmothers. Full lives divided into many different roles.

Women are often described as multi-taskers. According to some studies they are much better at it than men because they have more connections between the two sides of their brains. I don't like the term. It makes me dizzy. I envision countless women spinning through life trying to do everything and not stopping long enough to enjoy the process. I much prefer the term "renaissance women."

The dictionary defines a renaissance man/woman as a person of many parts. I think that describes every woman I know. I like the word renaissance, too. Not for it's 14th century connection, but for it's secondary definition of awakening, invigoration, rejuvenation, and revitalization. We need the renaissance part of our lives to add balance to the rest of it.

Don't know if I completely qualify as a Renaissance Woman, but thank God I know how to become one. Amazon.com has thoughtfully provided the opportunity to all of us. The Instant Renaissance Person Kit. Go ahead. Click on it. Rejuvenation awaits.

Rainy Day in Goleta

I had a personal adventure the other day--went to the movies by myself. Hard to imagine that in all my years of movie going I've never done it solo, but it's true. Nora inspired me to change my ways. She didn't lay down a challenge, just led by example.

Last weekend she went to see Juno and Enchanted by herself. We had hoped to see these movies together over the holidays but due to a combination of circumstances we just never did. Nora gave both films "thumbs-up" reviews and inadvertently tossed down the gauntlet. If my 23-year-old daughter can comfortably go to the movies on her own, what the heck is the matter with her mother?

Friday was the big day. I had been diligently (sort of) writing for most of the week, but I needed a change of scenery. It was pouring rain so I couldn't possibly go for a walk (okay, I could have gone–didn't want to get wet), but I could manage a writing field trip. Justifying this as a writing experience was easy. I vowed to look for good storytelling techniques and watch out for the small "brushstrokes" that bring a movie and a book to life. Good rationale, yes?

Going to my local movie theater in the middle of the afternoon is not an intimidating experience but I was almost giddy with the thrill of a new adventure. Walked in with about ten minutes to spare and found a seat in one of the first few rows. I wasn't quite up to blocking the aisle, doing a total theater surveillance and deciding to sit in the middle of a row where climbing over people was necessary. At least not this time. I sat near a cluster of college girls who I half-suspected might be chronic talkers and text-messengers, but my fears were never realized.

To sum it up, Juno was great, and watching it by myself was great, too. Appealing story, delicious characters and terrific acting. There were a few tearful spots but many more laugh-out-loud moments. I believe I may have been the only one laughing at certain points, but I didn't exercise any self-censorship. After all, it's not my fault that others don't share my particular sense of humor. I enjoyed the movie on my own terms. The only time I regretted not being with someone I know was when I needed a kleenex at the end. The dark search through my purse only yielded a Starbuck's receipt–not very soft...or absorbent.

Driving home it was still pouring rain, but I was happy. Glad to have seen a good film and proud of myself for having a new adventure. I was also amazed that the relatively small amount of rain we were receiving had already caused the long dormant green grass to emerge along the side of the road and in the open fields. It seems like it happened overnight. When I got home I looked hopefully at my backyard. Had the miracle occurred here, too? No such luck. The lawn is still seriously dead. More rain on the way. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Instructions for Life

A friend forwarded an email to me titled Good Karma. Ordinarily I don't open forwarded emails as I subscribe to the theory that true friends don't forward, but in the spirit of the New Year and the fact that I was in the midst of a procrastination episode, I opened it.

Inside I found the following Instructions for Life. According to the email, in order to receive truly good karma, I was supposed to forward the list myself. I recognized that any forwarding on my part would be hypocritical (and certainly have a negative impact on my karma), but in the spirit of family enlightenment I did send the list to Paul and Nora--both of whom said they don't read forwarded emails. Does this trait run in families? Anyway, I am posting the list on my blog because I like the message, and hey, everybody can use a little extra karma.

Instructions for Life

1. Take into account that great love and great achievement involve great risk.

2. When you lose, don't lose the lesson.

3. Follow the three R's: Respect for self, Respect for others and Responsibility for all your actions.

4. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.

5. Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly

6. Don't let a little dispute injure a great relationship.

7. When you realize you've made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.

8. Spend some time alone every day.

9. Open your arms to change, but don't let go of your values.

10. Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.

11. Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you'll be able to enjoy it a second time.

12. A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.

13. In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don't bring up the past.

14. Share your knowledge. It is a way to achieve immortality.

15. Be gentle with the earth.

16. Once a year, go someplace you've never been before.

17. Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.

18. Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.

19. Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon.

Good-bye to 2007. Hello to the Year of Choices

Christmas disassembled. The kitchen island is covered with ornaments and the rug in the living room is hidden beneath plastic storage bins waiting to be repacked with holiday decor. Taking the tree down is certainly less time-consuming than putting it up, but it is not without it's own drama.
One reluctant glass ornament couldn't be untangled from a branch and crashed to the ground leaving my favorite flamingo with a gaping hole in it's tail feathers. Fortunately, I found an online site that sells the one I broke so my flock of flamingo ornaments will be intact for next Christmas.

I wrote in September that the start of school was when I tended to make resolutions. This year I may make an exception. I have a strong desire to start 2008 with a clean slate. First, I want a house that is clean and back in order after the disruption of the holidays. My pottery collection will be unearthed from the cupboard in the laundry room and placed back on the mantel where it resides for 11 months of the year. Mom's old (maybe even antique, by now) linen napkins will be washed, ironed and wrapped in tissue until I need them next year. I've already washed and ironed them two times in the past few weeks, and I have to admit that I find the process very satisfying. Ironing out the wrinkles in the oversized squares, creasing them into rectangles and then smaller squares is an easily accomplished task. That's what I like about it. The edges of napkins match up, the crease is sharp and I can see the results. I find it comforting. Other parts of life are not so clearly defined.

I managed to write my very belated Christmas cards last night. Check that off the list. Actually, the cards were so late that I bought some new cards that send "Happy New Year" greetings. There is a slight possibility that these cards were intended for Chinese New Year, as opposed to the regular old New Year, because colorful paper lanterns are scattered across the front. I'm hoping that the recipients will be so delighted to hear from me that they won't be pondering such inanities. Next year I am only going to buy New Year's cards. That way I'll have several weeks after Christmas to get my act together and I'll avoid feeling guilty.

Now, I'm not exactly making a resolution. It's more like announcing a general theme for 2008...CHOICES. Glass half-full choices. Positive options. My goal is to make determined choices and act on them. Less whining and waffling, more action. We'll see how it goes. Stay tuned.