My mind reflects back to when I signed up for the Post a Day 2011 Challenge. This meant that I would literally have to hit that “Publish” button on new material every day. I publicly professed my commitment to blog daily for the personal reasons of inspiring others, honing my craft, and establishing some consistency. Now, however, I must secretly confess that while I still believe in the merits of writing on a daily basis, I am not convinced that I need to blog everything that I write. Whoever said “my life is an open book” lied! You won’t find all my business here. No siree, Bob! According to hubby dearest, not all things are “bloggable”, and he’s absolutely right. Moreover, the intention when writing can vary from day to day, and certainly from one written piece to another. Some of my non-blog writing is hugely personal, and simply necessary for my soul. As such, those writings are cathartic and provide me with the private healing space that I need versus the public domain. Hence, my need to write more relevant and meaningful material has become more salient than my need to compose a blog post on a daily basis.
I’m also learning that perhaps I am more of a “contemplative writer”, as Sue Monk Kidd refers to it in “Traveling With Pomegranates: A Mother-Daughter Story” (Kidd & Taylor-Kidd, 2009, p. 91), the joint memoir penned with her daughter, Ann Kidd Taylor. Perhaps it is through this kind of writing that I will best reconcile these “urge(s) to create” and “to be” (ie., writing, versus being in the moment), and not lose sleep over my inability to “create” as regularly or as often as I’d like. I want to continue to ask the important questions, and share the beauty, wisdom, wit, insight, and significance that unfold with each epiphany and in the most simple of acts, and everyday moments. I’m learning that they are loaded with opportunities for reflection, introspection, and growth, and as such, they are worth sharing. So, I’m cool with the notion of being a contemplative writer, even if only for some of the time. But because I’m so invested in the vitality and authenticity of the relationships that nurture me, as well as those that require my nurturing, I’m also required to prioritize, even if it means not publishing a post on a daily basis. So steal the time, I must…no matter how infrequently… I must write…that is, if I say that I’m a writer.
In response to a previously written post, titled “Stuck on Stupid”, one subscriber commented that the lack of empathy could be to blame for what, until now, I’ve perceived as open displays of stupidity. To quote, she said: “Funny business aside, I think there is also a severe lack of empathy going around. Some people aren’t that stupid, they just don’t care! It is just your problem after all. Why should they care?”While I maintain their separation, I agree that the increasing lack of empathy in our society is even more troubling than sub par intelligence. The responses following the unprecedented earthquake and tsunami in Japan present a remarkable opportunity for making this case.
Despite increased globalization, we remain worlds away in terms of our connectedness to people around the world. Events that occur in places as far away as Japan and Libya are told as effortlessly and casually as if they were happening right down the street. Before too long, we are bombarded with live, exclusive, and “raw” footage. Moreover, the delivery turns into a rapid-fire succession of image after image. It’s no wonder some folks are tuning out, and becoming desensitized in the process. Furthermore, reporters relate the news with such detachment, and seem to lack the emotional intelligence required to connect with the people most affected by the events in any meaningful way. You wonder if they are on autopilot as they segue into the next “breaking news” event, which may not even be news at all – could be a viewer-submitted video of a grandmother spraying a would-be robber in the eyes with her bottle of Charlie! 😮 It makes no difference, because it is all communicated with the same indifference, stoicism, and urgency.
I’ve got to believe that the viewer becomes overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude and scope of the events themselves, and the visual display that accompanies such devastation. Despite our desire to do something, at some level, even the most empathetic among us feel that these problems are too big for our individual input to be impactful. History has informed us that there is power in numbers, so instead of going it alone, some of us align ourselves with any of several social, action-based, volunteer-driven organizations to make a greater impact. Some of us will act individually; we may write a check, give of our own resources, organize fundraisers, or partner informally with like-minded friends or family to raise awareness and do our small part.
Then there are those that will do absolutely nothing…no matter what…period. Let’s not be too quick to write them off as ne’er do wells , or as folk who weren’t raised as loving, compassionate children. Still, I don’t believe that these are necessarily bad people. I’m sure that their apathy isn’t as calculated as it seems. I think that their response or lack thereof, is complicated. They reserve the right to be as uninformed and disconnected as they want to be, and I don’t expect them to budge for anything. Their supremacist beliefs and ethnocentric POV is a current that is almost impossible to stem. Since I’m a believer that there’s more good in this Earth than there isn’t, I won’t occupy too much of my precious intellect on them. Certainly, there may be an economic component. Asking someone who is financially strapped, or can’t see their way to Monday, to give money may be asking a bit much. But what about those who have resources, yet remain apathetic? Could it be that they’ve become so as a result of repeated news cycles? Perhaps they’ve tuned out like the reporter? Or sadder yet, perhaps they don’t think it’s their problem. Could folks be that disconnected? Is it an issue of judgment, even? Does it have anything to do with what they feel is a “natural” order of things? By that, I mean do they believe that if this is God’s will, then they shouldn’t run interference? Undoubtedly, these catastrophic events are of “biblical proportions”, but there’s nothing “natural” about them. We don’t naturally conjure these occurrences. They are outside the realm of most of our thinking…I hope. Not even Stephen King could have whipped up this monster! Okay, the jury is still out on that one. 😮 But let’s say, for argument’s sake, that the manifestation of these events is the fulfillment of prophecy. Is it okay to then sit back and watch your fellow-man pick up the pieces from the devastation, for which he isn’t directly responsible?
Sadly enough, I have heard several “faithful” people link world events to God’s displeasure about the practice of chosen faiths other than Christianity. At the end of the day, aren’t we all God’s children, belonging to one race, and when affected by disaster, don’t we have the same basic needs and wants for our families – food, clothing, shelter, safety, love, and compassion? These are clearly commonalities that define us all. So while I agree that the magnitude of events is startling, I also believe that we have the power to act in transformative ways that can ultimately bring relief to those that need it most. Whether it’s the neighbor facing foreclosure, a crisis called Katrina, harrowing hurricanes in Haiti, or a tumultuous tsunami in Japan, we have the ability to show empathy in ways great and small. The choice is ours.
We cannot respond to everything; however, we cannot become so disheartened that we become paralyzed or powerless, and do nothing. Purposeful or not, these events will challenge us on many levels, and bring our human limitations in fuller view, but we are more than our limitations, and as such, we cannot afford to take a backseat. Should disaster strike even closer to home, we may very well find ourselves wanting and waiting, hoping and praying, and certainly yearning for the empathy of our own neighbors…from a distance, far or near.
It's not what you think! Chocolate Fountain in Brussels
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I have a confession to make: I’ve been eating way too much chocolate. Sometimes a fun-size or bite-size chocolate will do, but this indulgence is on a whole different level, Lord. The sad truth is that there is nothing fun about having cheap chocolate! These “over-the-counter” versions only lure me in, tease me, and leave me still wanting more…of the really good stuff. Hershey, Whitman’s chocolate and Russell Stover seem so anticlimactic when what I really crave is Fannie May or Godiva. And for some reason, the only words I can discern when these cravings hit are “Go get Go Diva girl!”:-
Just when I thought I kicked the chocolate crave, and reined in my willpower to stay the course, my husband walks in with these bite-sized pretzel pieces. Well, I’ll be damned!! He bought bread! Pardon me, but bread is the last thing I need, especially not the white-flour Auntie Anne’s variety. Perfectly salted and buttered, these little dough balls look like fried dumplings and seem to call out to me in first soprano: “Eat me! Eat me!” Daggone it! I start feeling guilty because I really don’t see how I’m going to resist this one. Not this time. My hormones are all over the place, and I really don’t see me going to bed without partaking, even if only just one. Forgive me! These are bite-sized pretzels, right? Bread is my kryptonite. It undoes me as it makes its quick and direct descent to my hips! And this is all before my son’s birthday party, where I’m presented with my next deadliest form of Bread…Birthday cake! What is a girl to do, Lord?
To make matters worse, and for reasons that I won’t explain here I need forgiveness as I’ve taken a brief imposed hiatus from exercise. This is problematic, as exercise fuels me like nothing else. It is an integral part of my daily living and provides me with the ultimate endorphin release like no synthetic drug can. As I achieve fitness gains, I get stronger both mentally and physically. Even on my worst day, I’m ready to kick anyone’s badonkadonk after a good workout, so if someone is going to bring the funk, it better be their “A” game, baby! Another great benefit of exercise is that it keeps my metabolism in check, making indulgences for chocolate and bread fewer and farther between. So imagine what I feel like when I’m forced to sit on the sidelines eating Kit Kat, Twix and Wetzels Wonderful Hot Soft Pretzels dipped in hot melted butter! Things can get a bit off-kilter, to say the least.
The bread, chocolate, and cake are meant to comfort me, as well as balance what I think are erratic serotonin levels, but too much of the sweet sensations leave me in a quandary about whether I needed them in the first place. Maybe I didn’t need any of these things; not the bread, chocolate or birthday cake. Perhaps what I needed to do was dance to some Rihanna, read a few pages of Toni, or pick up the phone and comfort a friend for a few minutes. Or I could just simply…write.
Forget about it, I think what I’ll have is a good glass of wine. Scratch that! I’m going to have a glass of Six Grapes Port, the really good stuff. And darn that, I’ll have it with piece of cake…make that chocolate cake. Hallelujah, and thank you Jesus! That’sCommunion.
We’re through with the most fretful part of this snowstorm, I hope. The refrain was unanimous – this is The Storm, one that could break an over 40-year record in 1967, when over two feet of snow fell for miles and miles. This storm has blanketed a great stretch of the country, from Texas to Maine. We certainly got more than our fair share here in the Midwest. The temperatures are also bitterly cold, and will make for a less than eventful clean-up and lots of ice afterward.
It’s Day Two of being housebound with the children and I’ve stocked up on the essentials, as well as a few goodies – buttermilk for baking a cake, snacks, juiceboxes, water, some canned items, fruit, veggies, water, and everything else we may need including batteries, flashlights, candles, and Duraflame logs. Admittedly, this was all a bit frightening at first. My youngest daughter thought it would be great to make snow angels, but she’s so tiny that she’d fall right through. Some areas around my home exceed 22 inches, and there are drifts that are taller than my friend and neighbor, who has got to be at least six feet. That’s even more troubling for us vertically-challenged folk!
I am going bananas inside! I haven’t been able to go anywhere, and now I have a wicked case of cabin fever. I love my little darlings and being with them, but what’s love got to do with it? I want out! Snow is anything but picturesque when it’s parked on your front lawn, driveway, backyard, and in front of your door.
I usually spend little to no time talking about anything that’s less than joyful, but I just wanted to paint a picture and give you a backdrop for this morning’s post. I get really bad cabin fever when I am indoors for too long. I become irritable, get the blues, and freak out as if the walls are closing in on me. This seems to be more pronounced during adverse weather events. I noticed this shortly after giving birth to my first child, who will soon be eleven years old.
While in the hospital, and severely medicated (death to Percocet and Darvocet!), I would look out the window, and all I could see was snow, ice, and slow, crawling traffic. The cars looked like little Matchboxes and the overhanging branches looked like they could snap under the weight of the ice. Here I was, in this white box of a hospital room, with nurses coming by every few hours to ensure that I took my meds and had a bowel movement. Come on, already! After 22 hours of labor and an emergency C-Section, I was becoming doubtful about this whole “Joy of Giving Birth” thing. Though I was excited about the event of being a first-time mother to this most-gorgeous, round-face, bright-eyed little boy, I was anxious about taking him home in this dreadful weather. Sadly so, I was also feeling a bit of paranoia take over me. To this day, I swear it had to do with being couped up inside a room for so long. Those five days felt like forever. I just wanted to go home! Could I be experiencing post-partum?
Five days later, I was feeling a bit of the same even though I was home. Having a C-Section limits your movement and activity, to say the least, so again, I was inside. No white walls or box this time, but inside nonetheless. My husband (bless his heart), started to notice what was happening , and insisted that I go outside regularly, even if I only stuck my head out the window for a few minutes! A little fresh air would make all the difference, he maintained. But now, as in February 3, 2011, where the heck am I supposed to step outside for some fresh air? The fresh air is as freaking cold as a naked witch’s tit in February! What’s so fresh about that? I.WANT.SPRING! Day O! Okay, okay, now that I’ve bitched about how terribly cold it is, and how dreadful this snow storm is, and about my cabin fever, I feel better.
But now, let me also share with you some of the blessings, the small beauties, of being housebound with my three children during this time. We’re all healthy. We have our medicines on hand should anyone go into an asthma attack. We have warm shelter. Though we can all tell that it is certainly colder outside when we’re not wearing socks, the furnace is working. We have food, flashlights (and batteries), as well as a generator should the power go out. (Oh Lawd, heaven help us all if I can’t figure out how to use it! ) We have a connection to the outside world – what do you think I’m doing here, talking to you? – internet, phone, television. We have running water, clean clothes, and enough to do to keep us sane. The children have been reading, playing video games, watching TV, eating me out of house and home, playing tag, playing with toys, writing, and painting. Let me clarify that only the girls, ages 5 and 2, were painting and writing. The 2 year old is very confident about her scribbling as she is about her finger painting. As for the 5 year old, she can paint and write all day, if you let her. My oldest child, a boy, isn’t a fan of creative arts, per se. He is my big-picture child. Don’t ever bore him with backdrop. “Put it back, and drop it…please Mom.” 😮 (I’d like to have an applause audio right here, instead of that ordinary smiley face.)
I have received more hugs, more closeness, and more love than I can stand. I have been introduced to a 1,000 year old snake, the star of a story written and illustrated by my 5-yr old, and bore witness to the nuptials of him and his “beautiful snake girl”. I’ve received a love letter from her as well, bearing that she’ll love me “no matter what”. It closes with “you are the most loving mother in the world.” Aww…was I complaining about cabin fever? Over the course of the last two days, my 2-yr old has told me that I’m the “best mommy ever”, in the “whole wide world” at that, and my 10 yr old son has taken to reading my nookcolor, and even convinced me to download a book for him – something about Percy Jackson – which he has been reading, in earnest. Hey, life ain’t half-bad. Small beauties.
So I’m going to kick cabin fever as I would kick rocks, because there just ain’t no joy in staying at that layover for too long. Instead, I’ll treasure these moments, these small beauties, for when my children are good and grown, I’m certain that I’ll miss “snow days”. I will crave their closeness as they grow and go their own ways, and will long for their love letters which make me feel so good inside, even when I don’t always get it right. I am sure that that day will come, so in the meantime, I will let them love me, as only young children can – with randomness, compassion, forgiveness, and innocence, all at once – even when I am stuck inside, surrounded by less-than-picturesque mountains of snow.
Apparently, it seems that one of my children have made off with one of my writing notebooks in which I took notes for this morning’s writing. Now I have to rely on my memory sans the notes. Look, this has been brewing in me since Sunday morning! (Oh, that was only yesterday!) 😮 At the risk of forgetting any more than I’ve forgotten already, I better quickly get in the flow.
I watched Every Day, an independent film starring Liev Schreiber and Helen Hunt, on Saturday, with hubby dearest, and it raised some good discussion. This film was beautifully done as it took the viewer into the personal aspects of this family’s life. Liev plays Ned, a husband of nineteen years, a father, worker, son-in-law, while Helen plays Jeanne, his wife, a daughter, mother, and worker. Ned is going through a mid-life crisis of sorts: he seems less than satisfied with his gig; he’s still making sense of how to best protect his fifteen year old son, who opened up to the family as a young gay man six months prior; his marriage already appears strained; and to top it all off, his bitter father-in-law (played by Brian Dennehy), who is ill has just moved in to live with them. Oh happy day! Amidst all the hoopla, Ned has an affair with a co-worker during a “creative” session for his job, in which they are under the directive to concoct material that’s sensational enough (ie., vulgar, raunchy, over-the-top bizarre, sex-laden, out-there) enough for film. Juicy? Well… not really.
This film’s approach at showcasing a family’s every day struggle to just keep it together, as they confront real issues that are a far cry from trivial or mundane, was rather tempered. None of the subplots took precedence over the other, nor were they themselves sensationalized. At the end of the day, this family loved each other. It wasn’t implied. They were actively engaged in loving their children. Despite the hardship of this particular stage of their lives – caring for aging family members, a teenager coming of self, parents feeling less than satisfied with their careers and sense of living out purpose – they’ve managed to raise two compassionate sons whom they love dearly. In an instance when Jeannie’s dad (I didn’t get his screen name) launches fierce criticism at her youngest son for not playing the violin quite right, Jeannie interjects like a Mama lion to emphasize that he’s only playing for enjoyment. Clearly hurt, the boy walks away with a look of puzzlement and irritation which probably only I interpreted as “you know what, you’re a blankety-hole, but I’m going to let you slide because your blank is sick”; nonetheless, he demonstrates compassion toward his old grandfather, who insists on not dying alone. Ultimately, the grandfather does die, shortly after this same grandson comes in to hold his hand while he takes his last breath.
Ned and Jeannie truly need each other like they’ve never before, but Jeannie, admittedly, isn’t quite available. The responsibility of getting her father the care that he needs, including staying on top of the seventeen prescriptions that he’s required to take, rests squarely on her shoulders, and it is has clearly taken a toll on her life, let alone her sex life. I don’t believe that Ned went looking for an affair, but it sure didn’t take much cajoling! After all, he was love-starved, and definitely unattended in the intimate department, given his wife’s recent role as caretaker of critical, bitter dad. I feel for the two of them. Clearly, they need reassurance from each other. It’s obvious that they love and need each other…however, the subplots of their life have taken center stage.
My husband and I asked the question of whether Ned should let Jeannie in on his little affair, and believe it or not, our answers surprised even us! Perhaps, this was Richard Levine’s goal in writing this film, which is based largely on his own life. Every Day forced us to be nonjudgmental in areas where we thought we had answers. We believe in truth and honesty, but agree that there is no right time to unveil this particular truth, given the new circumstance of the father-in-law’s death. I can take that, but I do believe that they should not waste too much time to address the elephant in the room – that is, non-intimacy – before it takes them down this road again. After all, we know nothing about what similar fate might befall Ned, should he have to care for his own father. You know what they say about women as we come of age. Ha!!
My mind reflects back to when I signed up for the Post a Day 2011 Challenge. This meant that I would literally have to hit that “Publish” button on new material every day. I publicly professed my commitment to blog daily for the personal reasons of inspiring others, honing my craft, and establishing some consistency. Now, however, I must secretly confess that while I still believe in the merits of writing on a daily basis, I am not convinced that I need to blog everything that I write. Whoever said “my life is an open book” lied! You won’t find all my business here. No siree, Bob! According to hubby dearest, not all things are “bloggable”, and he’s absolutely right. Moreover, the intention when writing can vary from day to day, and certainly from one written piece to another. Some of my non-blog writing is hugely personal, and simply necessary for my soul. As such, those writings are cathartic and provide me with the private healing space that I need versus the public domain. Hence, my need to write more relevant and meaningful material has become more salient than my need to compose a blog post on a daily basis.
Life As An Art Form 
