One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea, and out come Mrs. Prothero and the firemen.
Dylan Thomas’ 1955 poem of the same name–originally written for radio–was adapted to the screen by director Don McBrearty. Dylan’s captivating and musical prose brings the viewer into the Welsh living room with Denholm Elliott, who is Old Geraint, the grandpa who settles in on a rainy Christmas Eve to share with young grandson Thomas, his memories of Christmas as a child.
This is the most wonderful of all holiday movies.
There have not been many book reviews on this blog lately. Time for a few quick reviews before December. I have decided to use the month of December as my own personal advent calendar. Every year, since my children were babies, we have opened the doors of an advent calendar. This year my girls will have the kind of calendar that they prefer - the kind with a piece of chocolate behind the door. What a great way to start the day!
So before December 1st arrives, I will post these four little reviews.
The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday by Alexander McCall Smith
This book is the fifth in the series about Scottish philosopher and sleuth, Isabel Dalhousie. This would not be my favorite in the series, but if nothing else, I would recommend it to you for the beauty of its protagonist’s determination to treat others without judgment and the little peeks we are allowed into her soul. I certainly recommend the first four in this series. Isable is another strong woman, by the author of The Number One Ladies Detective Agency. That series stars Precious Ramotswe, Botswana’s premier sleuth. If you have not read Smith, you are in for a huge treat with any of his books.
Ritual by Mo Hayder
In 2000, Mo Hayder entered the crime fiction scene, introducing detective Jack Caffery in the compelling and controversial novel, Birdman. Jack returned in 2001 in The Treatment. With a few (shocking) books in between, Jack is back in Ritual.
Hayder is known for exploring the deepest, darkest, recesses of the human mind, and this book definitely does that. It is also a social commentary on its times – everyone in this story has one form of trouble or another – and they are all real concerns. The sad lives of drug addicts, the pressures of the underworld, vendetta killing, lives of displaced Africans living in the UK, and male prostitution. Caffery is a character that is painfully real, and the reader comes to care about his bruised and bleeding psyche. This is a powerful novel that is difficult to put down.
The Calling by Inger Ash Wolfe
This mystery features a very unusual police officer: 61-year-old Detective Inspector Hazel Micallef of Rural Port Dundas, Ontario. A murderer is traveling across the county, apparently making appointments for “mercy” killings. Gradually Micallef sees a pattern emerging. She is small town police officer, however, and has no support from her superiors. On her own, she puts together a team and an investigative network, gathering details about the ‘agent of death’ who, almost magically, evades authorities. Micallef also has to deal with debilitating back pain that may soon require surgery, and for which she medicates herself. To further complicate her life, her eighty-something mother organizes the diet of her daughter with strict, iron control, and Micallef continues to mourn the demise of her forty year marriage.
Micallef is a complicated character; near the end accused of “pride masquerading as justice.” The tension builds, until everything comes together in perfect symmetry in the end. Sense of place is strongly evoked, the diverse cast of characters are interesting, and the murderer is one of the strangest antagonists I have ever come across.
Wolfe is a pseudynom for a “well known North American writer of literary fiction.” I hope this is not the only book she writes about Micallef.
Phantom Prey by John Sandford
This is the 18th book in the series of Minneapolis detective for the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, Lucas Davenport. John Sandford is an incredible writer. He has also written a series about Kidd, who is a pretty good painter, a serious tarot reader, and a genius with computers. There are two books starring Virgil Flowers, who is an agent brought into the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension by Lucas Davenport, and there are five other miscellaneous novels.
I have read them all, and definitely recommend any and all to you, but I am especially fond of the Prey series. Be sure to start at the beginning of the list. You will learn that Davenport is very rich from the computer games he invented and sold, he drives a Porsche to work, and the women he attracts are of a certain, very fine and intelligent, quality. He is also single-minded in his pursuit of justice. It is hard to keep up a series of this length and maintain staying power, along with realistic growth and change of a character. Sandford does this magnificently.
Excellent authors. One brand new, the other three with many good books to offer. Enjoy!
And on Monday, the first day for the advent calendar. Don’t forget to open a door every day.
The month of November is skittering past so quickly I dare not close my eyes.
I remembered to place the turkey in the refrigerator, reclaimed from the depths of the freezer where he has rested for a year. I bought two turkeys last year, planning to have a Thanksgiving feast revisited in February as part of my birthday celebration, but never quite had the energy to follow through. So this November I did not have to lug the 25 pound frozen block of fowl home from the grocery store. The picture created doesn’t sound too appetizing, does it? Sorry. I adore turkey, and although I have given up meat, I most certainly will indulge next Thursday. Everything in moderation.
Speaking of variety at the table, today is a buffet, full of a range of topics. Because I have pared down to writing once a week, it must be so. I first would like to share a photograph from my childhood that was just given to me by my aunt, whom I had not seen in some time. I have to back up and tell a bit of a story. Many years ago, there was a misunderstanding, and a group of siblings grew apart, never to speak again. These siblings had children, and the children grew to be adults. The children were not privy to the finer points of the misunderstanding, and actually didn’t give a rip. One of those children came all the way around the world, back home, for medical treatment. She spent time with me, with the aunt and her children with whom she was staying, and she communicated with my brother and sister. Then she began tracking down all of the other children of our generation. The cousins. There are fourteen of us, plus spouses, children and significant others! We all either had or acquired a Facebook page, and then created a group page: The Clan. We have been talking, posting photos, comparing life experience, for the past couple months.
There have been a few small meetings. We have found ourselves able to sit for hours and hours and hours and talk and not run out of things to talk about, and without the discomfort of being with someone new. In two weeks there will be a grand gathering of nine of us. The rest of the group lives on opposite shores of this wide country.
I am so looking forward to this gathering. We have been madly scribbling back and forth,
“What are you bringing to eat?”
“Do you want me to bring a game?”
“Are you allergic to dogs?”
It turns out that half of the group are sci fi fantasy aficionados, and someone suggested we have a marathon watching of the complete trilogy of Lord of the Rings. Half of us are game players, half are not, most of us love to read, many of us are creative, we all love animals, and we all like to eat!
Back to the photograph. We all have photos of us together in different groupings at various functions, when we were little - before the great divide. My aunt gave me a set of photos of myself. This is my favorite, of which I still have a vague recollection, because I loved that first pair of cowboy boots. I have owned some form of cowboy boots ever since this first pair. For a time, I even had the horse that went with the boots.
So tell me, what are the areas closest to your heart? What aspects of your life in general do you find yourself sharing in writing? Do you enjoy reading/writing personal essays?
Looking back on my blog, I find I have shifted from writing book reviews to including some posts that are more personal. Are they essays? Maybe. In many respects, I am a very private person, so when I write about something in my life, I find myself depicting a thin sliver of my reality.
Becca quoted Julie Cameron in her post on The Essay,
Writing is an act of self-cherishing. We often write most deeply and happily on those areas closest to our heart.
I came to the ability of self-cherishing at a point well into my life. I remember what it was like to not cherish myself, so now I find this ability quite special. I am very much aware of it at all times. I am grateful for this, and while I had a lot of help and support getting here, I give myself a lot of credit. I think a part of what I write in these essays that are all elbows and knees, is about my awareness and celebration of self-cherishment.
Another thought on essay writing was shared on The Task at Hand in her post Speaking My Heart – Writing, Vision and Truth,
To put it simply, writing satisfying essays requires clarity of vision - an ability and willingness to see the world as it is, and not as we wish it to be.
That says it perfectly, I think. I am not always successful, but I do try to practice the clarity of vision when I write about personal things.
Instead of sticking to Nanowrimo the past week, I have managed to distract myself in spare minutes with my usual wanderings around the internet. It is a marvelous wealth of information and entertainment at our fingertips, is it not? I came upon a writer named Patti Digh, and her book, Life is a Verb. She writes about the six practices of intentional living: “Say Yes, Be Generous, Speak Up, Love More, Trust Yourself, and Slow Down.” This could be a perfect, first thing in the morning, mantra, don’t you think?
On a more international note, I do not remember where I came upon this video, but I did follow it to its source, Playing for Change.
and found a wonderful concept and a soon to be released film.
It speaks for itself about the power of music and the oneness of humankind.
And lastly, I promise, on a national note, I think this photograph says a lot about the man and his courage, and how alone you, are in many respects, at the top.
I hope you have a wonderful week with a lovely Thanksgiving, and I hope it snows (when you are not on the road)!
“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is the present. That’s why they call it a gift.”
Thursday morning I had to leave the house early, but didn’t have to be to work for another hour. No problem guessing where I could be found with that little extra bit of free time… Humboldt Cafe, of course. I stop there every morning, anyway, and pick up my XL, three shot capp to go, but that morning I was gifted the treat of being able to stay.
Someone saw me crossing the street from the parking lot. My drink was already started when I walked in the door. A smile was waiting for me when I stepped up to the cash register, a personal greeting. I felt…. nurtured.
I nurture – support, bolster, watch over, make comfortable – all day. At home with my family, at work with my interns. I surely am loved, but I am rarely taken care of. I don’t see my mom very often!
In that instant, when someone was watching out and taking care of me, I felt freed. I decided that it was time to come out of the wee, cozy, place I had been curled up in. I had been biding my time, preparing myself to emerge into the cold, dark, world again. The previous weeks had been filled with biting my nails and watching the election, cleaning up glass in the nooks and crannies of my kitchen, making lists of things lost in the burglary, and trying to place value on items that were not replaceable. My mind had been in a foggy place and focusing on the really good things in life did not seem possible. The simple pleasures were simply not accessible.
And suddenly, in that magical instant, I was ready to come back.
All sorts of kindnesses fell on me that day: I won a rat from Carl and Stainless Steel Droppings. I received absolution for what I considered a mistake, from my supervisor at work. I had a wonderful conversation with a long lost cousin. So Thursday was the turning point.
Do you do writing exercises or warm ups? Do you think they could be valuable?
Becca quoted novelist Bret Anthony Johnson from this month’s Poets and Writers Magazine,
Writing exercises purge my mind of everything but a concentrated attention to language. I’ve forgotten about the leaky faucet or the overdue library book, and most importantly, I’ve released my fear about starting the morning’s writing.
Writing the weekly Write on Wednesday prompt has been a kind of warm up exercise for me. There is a subject already set for me to pontificate on, and it always seems to be something incredibly relevant at that very moment in my life.
Another quote by Johnson, …”I’ve forgotten about the leaky faucet or overdue library book…..” really nails it. I can forget about the mundane, which is partly what I have been immersed in the past couple weeks. I move into a different room in my brain’s labyrinth.
When I take a step away from something, I miss it. When I take two steps away, it’s a fond memory. When I take three steps away, I have a vague recollection, but I don’t remember how wonderful it felt. I have to go back in and do it again, and then that light flickers on once more and I think, “Oh my gosh, how could I have stopped writing? It is so satisfying, and it feels extraordinary!”
So I am back in my little writing cubby. And I can’t imagine how I could have left it for so long. And I am back to my weekly writing exercise. It is a good exercise for me because it is different from my other kind of writing. It is non-fiction, it is about me and mine, and it is from my heart. It is easy to take the leap from this to fiction. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction, right? Mine can be that way, anyway.
Another simple pleasure I let go for a little while? Talking with people I don’t know about important things. I had a conversation that morning with a young woman sitting next to me. She was a writer, trying to decide if she should go on to graduate school next year, or take a year off to write. I voted for the year off. She was young, and there’s nothing like life’s experiences to give you fodder!
Oh my, now I am rambling. So I will drift away from WOW and go to a meme. I have never completed a meme before. Bellezza tagged me, and I decided it was a good place to count my blessings and look at plans for the future.
7 Things I Did Before
1. Hitchhiked across England
2. Owned an Irish pub
3. Made a living (of sorts) selling my art
4. Hunted for fossils
5. Spoke in front of a group of adults even though I was afraid
6. Read everything written by Charles Dickens
7. Catered a wedding
7 Things I Do Now
1. Write often
2. Avoid eating meat
3. Live in the moment
4. Mentor
5. Try to model patience in all situations
6. Send queries to agents
7. Enjoy time alone
7 Things I Want To Do
1. Spend a month in Bali
2. Own land in the middle of a National Forest
3. Get off the grid
4. Be able to run again
5. Quit working (the day job)
6. Stop sleeping
7. Be more graceful
1. I love you
2. Drive safe
3. Call or text me
4. This too shall pass
5. I am proud of you
6. Be careful
7. Live in the moment
7 people to tag
No assignments today. Take the challenge if you like, and please leave a comment if you do, so I can read your “sevens.”
Following the wonderful celebration of Thanksgiving, is my favorite holiday - The Christmas season. I will have more to say about that, closer to December. But I leave you with this photo of Mary, Queen of Grace, reading of course, and awaiting the birth of her child (The Magdelene Reading, by Rogier van der Weyden).
November 1st is here and I have yet to decide what I am going to write…. So I am obviously nowhere near writing that first sentence. It will be typed today, however. I have promised myself.
It has been a busy and interesting week. By Monday night I had a post ready for this week. I didn’t even wait for Wednesday’s prompt on WOW. I don’t remember now, all that I talked about, though politics did enter my conversation in a big way. By Monday night, I had my photos ready for the Spooky photo contest on Stainless Steel Droppings. On Tuesday morning my house was broken into and my computer was stolen. Along with a whole lot of other stuff. Stuff, mind you. No one was hurt. The dog stayed out of their way. The mess has been cleaned up. The window is boarded and a new one ordered.
Life goes on pretty much the same, with just a little feeling of discomfort niggling in one small, dark, corner room of my Escher brain. When I come home I drive around the house to see if any windows are broken. I stick my computer under the bed when I leave home. I call my daughters a hundred times a day.
In the post I had ready on Monday night, I wrote about my concerns for the environment. I didn’t write about, although I have had numerous conversations about it, the economy. If I am feeling a pinch, how are people who are unemployed managing? Well, one way is by selling my daughter’s cameras, my Grandma’s rings, my computer….
There have always been people who take from others, of course. But it is going to get worse if we continue on in this manner of selfishness. I was talking to my son yesterday about what time we would go to vote. He told me he wasn’t going to vote. My jaw dropped.
“What? Not going to vote?”
“Why should I? What are they going to do for me?” s p u t t e r
“Don’t matter who win; they won’t get me a job. They don’t care about me.”
“But that is so selfish. What about the polar bears? What about my great grandchildren and the air we breathe?”
“Why should I care about any of that?”
Why should he? When you have to worry about not having bus fare, or you haven’t eaten all day, and you don’t need to set the alarm because there is nowhere to go, why should you care about polar bears? Since I don’t have to worry about those other things, I can afford to worry about the polar bears, but I can’t forget about the people who see no future for themselves.
So please vote wisely on Tuesday. It won’t solve all of our problems, but it is a start. Vote for jobs, the environment, for education, health care for all, freedom of choice. Please don’t vote for oil and people who don’t worry about all of our children and their futures. Vote so my son has something to set his alarm for.
Do you make time to write everyday? Don’t you think everybody should?
Well…… I do write every day, but I do not Write every day. Big difference, for me, between writing for work and writing for…. fun. Comments, logs, emails – enough said about work writing.
I communicate with friends and family every day in writing: text (yes, my daughters have finally forced me), emails to friends, Facebook notes to cousins on the “Clan” page – that kind of writing.
Since my new position began in late August, I have not had the mental energy to Write every day. But I think it is time to get back to it. I have settled into the routine of work, I know (for the most part) what I am doing, I have had confirmation from my supervisors that all is well. And I have made a couple writing commitments. One is to NaNoWriMo – write a book in thirty days. I am excited about something I have never tried before, and I am storing up energy and ideas. What to write? I haven’t decided yet. It has to be something I know. There won’t be time for any research.
Back to the prompt. Should everybody write every day? I think there is great value in writing daily, but you have to bring something to it, and not everyone might choose to do that, or know how to do that. My hero, Anne Lamott said,
Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do – the actual act of writing – turns out to be the best part. It’s like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward.
That is how I, personally, feel about writing. But certainly there are many other ways to communicate, and I think that is really the base of Becca’s question. “Do you make time to – communicate – every day? Don’t you think everybody should?” Definitely.
Communicate with friends and loved ones, communicate with nature, communicate with yourself…. That is what makes us special and so very different from all the other animals: the quality of our communication. We don’t just tell our neighbors where our territory ends and theirs starts, or where the honey is. We talk about our feelings and our fears and our needs. We have the ability to share the beauty we find in life. I think we have a responsibility to do that, as a way of giving thanks for this gift. We can journal, saving our stories for future generations, or to be introspective and grow, which will serve the people in our lives and ourselves. We can communicate through music, finding peace or release through this medium of communication, and possibly to share with others. Or we can talk, entertaining those around us. There is a multitude of ways to communicate, and I do believe we have a responsibility to do so.
To get back to Lamott’s tea ceremony. I have learned that the ceremony is the beauty of life. I think it is a very rare young person who figures this out, and some people never get it. As I wrote in last week’s post, it is all about the trip, rather than the destination.
So while you are on your trip, please do connect, divulge, inform, correspond, proclaim, publish, perform, report, announce, interact, or use whatever means with which you communicate best.
There are a few more roses in the yard, but if frost comes in the next couple nights, this will be the last rose from the summer. Crossing over time is lovely.
It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are difficult. ~Seneca
Becca posed a wonderful question on Write on Wednesday this week. What could you accomplish, if you only dared? Or if you knew you could not fail?
by Arthur Rackman
That question opens Pandora’s second box; the one that was full of good will, good luck, and good things. I have to go back to a quote I refer to often. My father said to me, when I was very young, “You can do anything you want.” I believed him. If I were another person, I might have said, “yeah right, whatever.” Who knows? The stars were aligned just right while my psyche was forming, and I have pursued life with this as my mantra, knowing that not everyone realizes it is true for him or her, too. Of course, along with being sure you can do anything you want, hard work must accompany the desire. Things don’t just happen by themselves.
One day I decided I wanted to be a published author, to be able to sit all day, no one else’s clock to punch, and write and write and write. Although writing has always been a part of my life, I began writing in a different way. I pursued my writing “career” with a lot of hard work. And I continue to do that – no publication date within view – but I am still working towards that goal.
It is the second question, “Or if you knew you could not fail?” that does not make sense to me. In no way should a goal be defined by success or failure; a goal is about the way there. It is all about the trip, or my second favorite mantra: “live in the moment.” I think about all of the things I have learned since I started on my quest to be “a real writer.” I researched for my first manuscript and learned a myriad of interesting things about Vikings, sagas, ancient manuscripts, and I made a new friend in Iceland. This is just a very tiny example of what I gained from that quest. I am so wealthy from the trip – and in a small corner of my brain the hope of getting this manuscript published still exists. There is always hope!
My greatest aspiration is to give this gift to my students, and especially to my children – to realize that they, too, can do anything they want.
The most wonderful thing I have found on my writing journey is the gift of friendship. I have met so many wonderful people in this particular writing arena; like minded people I would never have met had I not decided to take this trip. This trove was compounded by a tangible gift this week.
As I drove past my house on the way to the garage Wednesday afternoon, I saw a brown box on my front porch. The mail man drops our post and runs because the ferocious beast on the other side of the door scares the bejabbers out of him.
I retrieved the box and and set it on my desk while I decompressed from a day of work. Changed my clothes, drank a glass of ice water, checked the phone messages, pet the dog. Then I opened the box and set the contents on my desk and admired it.
I took the pup for a walk. The sun was out, the leaves were crunchy, Terra was happy, bouncing and trotting through the long grass. Sitting on my desk was a present to open.
When I got home, I unwrapped the gift. The bird on the front was apropos for a couple reasons. It is fall, spooky time, and there is nothing spookier than a raven. Edgar Allen Poe and all that good stuff. It was also appropriate, because of the contents of the package.
My very own copy of Bird by Bird, a gift from Carl. I have been raving about this book for quite a while, bemoaning that I had an overdue copy from the library, but could only read a page at a time, to savor and soak it up. And the package had other goodies in it, too. The ever spooky eyeball bubbles, gravestone erasers, a Halloween bookmark, and a beautiful card by Anne-Julie Aubry. What a treat. I sat down immediately and moved all of my stickies from the library book to my personal book. Then I read two pages. Ahhhhhhhhh. Life is good. Thanks Carl!
I received another gift this past week; a totally different form of a gift. I was assigned a new intern three weeks ago. She was teaching in a very difficult situation, her supervisor said she was failing, her mentor did not have a background in the area she was teaching; they did not find a meeting point. When the supervisor performed her surprise observation this past Thursday, the intern got an A+. I was so pleased for her, and happy for myself. We had connected, she was open to my ideas, she worked hard, and it became a happily ever after!
The best teacher is the one who suggests rather than dogmatizes, and inspires his listener with the wish to teach himself. ~Edward Bulwer-Lytton
I remind myself of this every day, and find that if I follow this advice, the results are never disappointing.
I took Friday afternoon off to help my youngest get ready for Homecoming. What a great week!
It started with Carl’s challenge at Stainless Steel Droppings: create a photo with Colleen Gleason’s latest book, include the book in the photo, and send it in to the contest. In order to create the photo with the book, I had to buy the book. I was happy to support the author with her first week of sales. Of course I love buying books, but I have never read a vampire book, other than Bram Stoker’s Dracula.(Colleen Gleason also has a Wordpress Blogthat is fun.)
Once I had created the photo and sent it to Carl, I had this vampire book on my hands. Now the problem was, this book was the fourth in the series. Obviously you can’t start a series with the last book. Thus I requested one, two, and three from my library. In a few weeks, I had all three books, and they sat, lined up on the table next to my bed. I wasn’t too excited about starting the first chronicle. Romance and vampires….. just not me.
The night came when I had nothing lined up to read. Except for The Rest Falls Away. So I started reading. I stayed up late. I read the next day. And the next. Finished it and started Rises the Night. It was better than the first. And I finished that and went directly to The Bleeding Dusk. Yes. I was addicted. When I finished When Twilight Burns, I was sorely disappointed because there was no where to go from there.
Characters, plot, setting: it all works, and gets increasingly better with each novel. This is the sort of book that really stretches the old “suspend your disbelief” while reading. On the one hand, the Victorian era is described so realistically, I am so grateful I didn’t live then. The dresses with the little roses around the hems, the garters to hold up stockings, the corsets. Yuck! But imagining Victoria Gardella leaping around a formal garden, fighting the undead in all this paraphernalia, was a bit of a stretch. I didn’t mind making the stretch because I was so taken with Victoria, her mission, the historical era, and the array of love interests. Oh yes, the love interests. If her mother only knew! I really didn’t know which one to root for; they were all so delectable in their own, very different, ways.
Book three and four bring up the vis bulla quite a bit. This is a silver cross worn by the Venator (vampire slayer) as a piercing, somewhere on their body, and it gives them extraordinary strength. It occurred to me that a vis bulla I had created for myself fifteen years ago, sat languishing in my jewelry box. Of course I didn’t have vampires in mind at the time, but I think it might work. I may need to have it blessed, however.
From the cover of The Rest Falls Away:
Beneath the glitter of dazzling 19th-century London Society lurks a bloodthirsty evil… .
Vampires have always lived among them, quietly attacking unsuspecting debutantes and dandified lords as well as hackney drivers and Bond Street milliners. If not for the vampire slayers of the Gardella family, these immortal creatures would have long taken over the world.
In every generation, a Gardella is called to accept the family legacy, and this time, Victoria Gardella Grantworth is chosen, on the eve of her debut, to carry the stake.
But as she moves between the crush of ballrooms and dangerous, moonlit streets, Victoria’s heart is torn between London’s most eligible bachelor, the Marquess of Rockley, and her enigmatic ally, Sebastian Vioget.
And when she comes face to face with the most powerful vampire in history, Victoria must ultimately make the choice between duty and love.
I recommend the series to you. If you have second thoughts in the beginning, don’t stop before reading at least half of the first book. I guarantee, you will have changed your mind by this point.
This review is also a part of SSD R.I.P III challenge, so I accomplished two projects in one fell swoop! On another spooky note, I have included some graveyard pictures I took a few years ago. I have an extensive collection of head stone photos - I think they are beautiful. And sometimes, they are entertaining…
Beccaasks: “Do you find yourself moving too fast through life? How does slowing down affect your creativity?“
In my house, Veronica is the chatelaine of time. You can tell by the look in her eye that she is pretty serious about it.
There are clocks all over the house. My father repaired and restored clocks as one of his many hobbies. I moved here three years ago, but I still have clocks in boxes in the basement. My favorites are out, however.
This is the first clock he gave me.
I took the face off of this one because the mechanism is so beautiful.
This is my favorite; my mom gave it to me after my dad died.
If you look closely at these clocks, you will notice something. Each announces a different time, because none of them are running. They sound beautiful when they chime, but I can’t bear the sound of them ticking. Ticking away time, counting the seconds. “Time flies when you’re having fun!” It is so true. Time is definitely relative. I feel as though I was twenty-seven, and then I blinked and found myself here today. I am afraid that the next thirty years will pass and I will feel like Rip Van Winkle, awakened to find myself old, and in another place in time. When my grandma was ninety, she said to me, “I can’t figure it out… I feel like I am seventeen, and I look in the mirror and I am shocked at what I see. The time went so fast.” That frightens me and I have to take a deep breath and focus on the heart palpitations that are spinning me out of control into a panic attack. So there you have it: my phobia is out on the table. I never say, “I wish it was the weekend!” I never wish time away, but prefer to be right here, right now, in this moment, as it slips away into the past.
That brings me directly to Becca’s question. I do find myself moving too fast sometimes, but as soon as I catch it, I tell myself to slow down. I leave early enough for work in the morning so I don’t have to worry about being late. I am not a Type A driver. I cruise along with traffic, and if I have to stop at a light, it gives me a chance to take a sip of coffee, look at the people waiting for a bus at the corner, and make up a story about what the day might hold for them. I do that kind of thing all day long.
Yesterday I read my requisite pages in Bird by Bird, and Anne Lamott talked about her method of taking notes about ideas that strike her throughout the day. She uses notecards, sticking one in her pocket when walking the dog, or having a pack in her bag when heading out for the day. That sounds like something that would work for me. I have notebooks spread out all over my life, scraps of paper litter every surface of the house, my bag is stuffed with receipts that have writing on the back and are ultimately thrown away, unreviewed. Note cards would be so much more organized and accessible, and seemingly just right for me. So now, when I sit in the back of a classroom and a student says something that strikes me as hysterical, or I am at that stoplight and a man pulls out his fabric wallet to retrieve his bus pass and I imagine where he is going, I will have my little pack of notecards to write it down.
Slowing down feeds and nurtures creativity. How can you let that inner voice speak if you are squeezing it’s vocal chords with frenzy? It doesn’t work for me, anyway.
But back to clocks. There is an article in the Telegraph which describes a clock, created by Dr John Taylor. It is incredibly modern, and uses very old technology at the same time. The video is a little fuzzy, but still interesting. And check out that Grasshopper escapement!
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