Writing exercise 2
I remember standing in a forest for the first time in my life. We are on a family camping trip off the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. We drive several miles to an overlook that gives a view only of mountains and sky. The world is a bigger place than I have ever known. And it is more beautiful than I have ever seen.
A trail runs from the overlook to a waterfall a mile or so away. We enter the path through balsam giants and I am in a place unlike any I have ever seen. I smell and taste the sharpness in the air, my palette rich with pine and wood and earth and clean. The reverence of the silence is overwhelming. A carpet of generations of fallen balsam needles mixed with the sweet decay of fallen twigs and branches softens every step I take. Trees are around me and above me and I am wrapped in peacefulness and the protection of greens and browns and blues.
My father continues down the path, but no waterfall can lure from this place. I want to be alone for as long as I can; I am entirely alone no matter who is with me. All needs are met here and suddenly I understand the meaning of sanctuary. Leave me here – let me worship in this moment for the rest of my life.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Exercises
I'm starting a series of new writing exercises from Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir by Natalie Goldberg. The first topic is "I am watching..."
I am watching the night closing in, at darkness spreading from the ground up. The tops of the trees are outlined against a deepening gray sky. This is my favorite time to be out alone.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark and, even as a child, would be out alone as late as my parents would allow me. Once my children came along, I loved to get the kids to bed and take the dog for a walk in the neighborhood. One night a car with New York tags pulled up beside me; the man driving the car leaned back out of the way so his wife could stare at me from the passenger side. “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked. I laughed and said no, that I walked every night at this time. It was obvious that they were looking for a house in the area and their NY tags said all I needed to know. I wouldn’t walk alone in the dark there, either.
Now, I limit my excursions in the dark to tracking down a sleepy dog at bedtime. Bess loves the night as I do and, on her last trip outside, frequently falls asleep at the front of the yard. I pick my way through the shrubs and trees, gently shake her awake, and follow her back to the house.
Perhaps I should put her in the car just as the sun sinks out of sight and take her to a flat place for a walk that would fill both of our needs for some nightly solitude. I am willing to make a concession to my failing knees; streetlights and a level sidewalk would be welcome. I won’t even talk to her as I normally do when we walk together. We’ll just pretend the leash between us doesn’t really exist and imagine ourselves as two completely independent wanderers in the night. I wonder if either of us would be afraid, away from our own turf and our familiar sounds. Would we still be comfortable without the companionship of my husband and Bess’ bigger brother?
Maybe I’ll settle for sitting on the benches in the yard in the dark while she sleeps nearby. Maybe she’ll even join me and we can welcome the peace of the night together.
I am watching the night closing in, at darkness spreading from the ground up. The tops of the trees are outlined against a deepening gray sky. This is my favorite time to be out alone.
I’ve never been afraid of the dark and, even as a child, would be out alone as late as my parents would allow me. Once my children came along, I loved to get the kids to bed and take the dog for a walk in the neighborhood. One night a car with New York tags pulled up beside me; the man driving the car leaned back out of the way so his wife could stare at me from the passenger side. “Aren’t you afraid?” she asked. I laughed and said no, that I walked every night at this time. It was obvious that they were looking for a house in the area and their NY tags said all I needed to know. I wouldn’t walk alone in the dark there, either.
Now, I limit my excursions in the dark to tracking down a sleepy dog at bedtime. Bess loves the night as I do and, on her last trip outside, frequently falls asleep at the front of the yard. I pick my way through the shrubs and trees, gently shake her awake, and follow her back to the house.
Perhaps I should put her in the car just as the sun sinks out of sight and take her to a flat place for a walk that would fill both of our needs for some nightly solitude. I am willing to make a concession to my failing knees; streetlights and a level sidewalk would be welcome. I won’t even talk to her as I normally do when we walk together. We’ll just pretend the leash between us doesn’t really exist and imagine ourselves as two completely independent wanderers in the night. I wonder if either of us would be afraid, away from our own turf and our familiar sounds. Would we still be comfortable without the companionship of my husband and Bess’ bigger brother?
Maybe I’ll settle for sitting on the benches in the yard in the dark while she sleeps nearby. Maybe she’ll even join me and we can welcome the peace of the night together.
Lunch List
For several years, I've kept a list of people I would truly like to sit down and talk to over lunch. I think this stems from wanting to get a personal sense of them, not so much because they are celebrities or politicians. I've chosen not to explain who they are, even if they are known only regionally or locally. You might enjoy discovering them on your own.
You may also find some of these hard to accept. Please add your own comments. I would also like to know who you would secretly love to have lunch with if you could.
I will also add to this list, from time to time.
You may also find some of these hard to accept. Please add your own comments. I would also like to know who you would secretly love to have lunch with if you could.
I will also add to this list, from time to time.
Men who served with my father in WWII
Jimmy Carter
Tiger Woods
Queen Latifah
Gail King
Hillary Clinton
George and Laura Bush
Barack Obama
Whoopee Goldberg
Angela Lansbury
Rick Warren
Billy Graham
Mohammed Ali
Colin Powell
Natalie Goldberg
Clark Howard
Jeff Lindsey
Pat Conroy
Caroline Kennedy
Richard Riley
Bill and Melinda Gates
Amy Roloff
Bruce Springsteen
Monday, September 29, 2008
Lawn Games
Lawn Games
It’s about 8:45 am on an early September morning and the dogs and I are outside, waiting for George to return from his daily walk. Harry and Bess are having their morning rumpus on the front lawn. Bess antagonizes Harry with a stick. She wheels and whirls around in front of him, stops suddenly and plants her rear end in the air, her front legs and head down low, her face pulled back in the snarl that signals she’s playing. Harry chases her, but comes back to me throughout the game, never forgetting his role as protector. Harry tires first, so he simply takes the stick and chews it in into small pieces so that a new trophy will be required before they can continue. He hasn’t realized that Bess keeps our lawn littered with sticks so that she can provoke a game any time she can coax him outside.
Behind me, a pair of bumblebees plays their own game in the begonias. They are too busy to be threatened by me and I am busy enough not be threatened by them. The begonias need to be cut back to a neater size, but I will leave them for the last few weeks before fall takes them completely. The bees have only a little while more to enjoy them.
Harry comes back to check on me and I see the purple stains along his left side that marked yesterday morning’s game of chase. Bess is smaller and not as fast as Harry, but more agile. She evens the odds of staying ahead by leading Harry in and through every obstacle in our yard. Yesterday, that included regular sprints through our beautyberries, which are in full berry now. Bess jumped over the shrubs while Harry, in hot pursuit, barreled right through, dyeing his yellow shoulder and flank neon purple in the process.
And, suddenly, they are off again, chasing back through the woods at the back of our property. The dogs are so engaged that they don’t even hear George call to them as he arrives home. Maybe they are too busy listening to bird songs, insects, lawn mowers and weed eaters in distant yards, and the sound of neighbors leaving for work.
I’ve heard that something should HAPPEN when you write a story so maybe this really isn’t one. But, for me, connection is happening and, as it does, I discover what I need and want to do in the coming hours and days. Not in as dramatic or as comic a way as the political conventions we’ve watched for the last two weeks, but far more productively, I believe. I know what I can do and have priorities for what is truly most important.
The dogs are tired now, lying at my feet, on the concrete floor of the pergola. Harry barely twitches when he sees a hummingbird feeding on the other side of the walk. Bess is already dozing, her side rising and falling slowly with each breath. I see grass cuttings on the sidewalk, left from mowing the grass yesterday, but I don’t want to disturb the dogs by sweeping any more than I want to disturb the bees. They have priorities, too, and somehow, we have to respect each others’.
It’s about 8:45 am on an early September morning and the dogs and I are outside, waiting for George to return from his daily walk. Harry and Bess are having their morning rumpus on the front lawn. Bess antagonizes Harry with a stick. She wheels and whirls around in front of him, stops suddenly and plants her rear end in the air, her front legs and head down low, her face pulled back in the snarl that signals she’s playing. Harry chases her, but comes back to me throughout the game, never forgetting his role as protector. Harry tires first, so he simply takes the stick and chews it in into small pieces so that a new trophy will be required before they can continue. He hasn’t realized that Bess keeps our lawn littered with sticks so that she can provoke a game any time she can coax him outside.
Behind me, a pair of bumblebees plays their own game in the begonias. They are too busy to be threatened by me and I am busy enough not be threatened by them. The begonias need to be cut back to a neater size, but I will leave them for the last few weeks before fall takes them completely. The bees have only a little while more to enjoy them.
Harry comes back to check on me and I see the purple stains along his left side that marked yesterday morning’s game of chase. Bess is smaller and not as fast as Harry, but more agile. She evens the odds of staying ahead by leading Harry in and through every obstacle in our yard. Yesterday, that included regular sprints through our beautyberries, which are in full berry now. Bess jumped over the shrubs while Harry, in hot pursuit, barreled right through, dyeing his yellow shoulder and flank neon purple in the process.
And, suddenly, they are off again, chasing back through the woods at the back of our property. The dogs are so engaged that they don’t even hear George call to them as he arrives home. Maybe they are too busy listening to bird songs, insects, lawn mowers and weed eaters in distant yards, and the sound of neighbors leaving for work.
I’ve heard that something should HAPPEN when you write a story so maybe this really isn’t one. But, for me, connection is happening and, as it does, I discover what I need and want to do in the coming hours and days. Not in as dramatic or as comic a way as the political conventions we’ve watched for the last two weeks, but far more productively, I believe. I know what I can do and have priorities for what is truly most important.
The dogs are tired now, lying at my feet, on the concrete floor of the pergola. Harry barely twitches when he sees a hummingbird feeding on the other side of the walk. Bess is already dozing, her side rising and falling slowly with each breath. I see grass cuttings on the sidewalk, left from mowing the grass yesterday, but I don’t want to disturb the dogs by sweeping any more than I want to disturb the bees. They have priorities, too, and somehow, we have to respect each others’.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Walking on Broken Glass
I used to think that Annie Lennox was singing about a love gone bad whenever I heard “Walking on Broken Glass.” Now, I’m pretty sure she’s singing about having bad knees.
While I was still working, I would find myself beside the car in the parking lot, not knowing if I could make it in to my office. This daily experience convinced me that it was time to actually retire, not simply change jobs from a kindergarten classroom to a college classroom.
If you can, imagine walking on your hands down the paved street. Only, not on your hands – think of walking on the middle joint of your fingers on the pavement. That’s the way my knees feel when I try to walk for exercise if the interventions my doctors provide aren’t up to date.
And, when I’m on any decline – no matter how slight - the pain increases tremendously even on my best days.
I’ve known that both need to be replaced for several years now, but I am determined to leave this earth with the same knees that came with me, if at all possible. I have a wonderful rheumatologist who recommended SynVisc injections before moving toward surgery. SynVisc provides an artificial cushion in the knees, giving up to six months relief from pain. My orthopedic surgeon urges me not to replace my knees as long as the SynVisc continues to work. I am fortunate that it seems to be more effective with each set of injections. Many people find the injections less effective over time.
I’m also lucky that a daily dose of Cymbalta manages much of my pain. Without it, I couldn’t walk across the room on any day without the use of my cane. There would be no way that I could manage a set of stairs or walking through a grocery store.
I am able to exercise daily, up to 45 minutes a day on the stationary bicycle and an additional 30 a day of resistance exercises. Whenever my knees are sore, I find that the exercise bike really eases the pain. I back off and just ride at a very leisurely pace under 10 mph. When things are good, I ride more quickly. I started this about 6 weeks ago and find that I have much greater mobility and comfort when I maintain my exercise.
And, of course, weight affects the way I feel tremendously. I’ve lost just short of 50 pounds, which means that my knees are relieved of about 200 pounds of pressure. I would love to lose another 60 pounds to provide the best insurance that my natural knees and I remain partners.
I am glad the option of knee replacement is available and, if I decide I need it, I will use it. Meanwhile, I can manage without too many problems. I won’t take a walk with you on rolling terrain and my taekwondo days are over. But, another 40 pounds off, and I’m going to see if I can manage riding lessons. I can always use the steps to get up to the saddle.
While I was still working, I would find myself beside the car in the parking lot, not knowing if I could make it in to my office. This daily experience convinced me that it was time to actually retire, not simply change jobs from a kindergarten classroom to a college classroom.
If you can, imagine walking on your hands down the paved street. Only, not on your hands – think of walking on the middle joint of your fingers on the pavement. That’s the way my knees feel when I try to walk for exercise if the interventions my doctors provide aren’t up to date.
And, when I’m on any decline – no matter how slight - the pain increases tremendously even on my best days.
I’ve known that both need to be replaced for several years now, but I am determined to leave this earth with the same knees that came with me, if at all possible. I have a wonderful rheumatologist who recommended SynVisc injections before moving toward surgery. SynVisc provides an artificial cushion in the knees, giving up to six months relief from pain. My orthopedic surgeon urges me not to replace my knees as long as the SynVisc continues to work. I am fortunate that it seems to be more effective with each set of injections. Many people find the injections less effective over time.
I’m also lucky that a daily dose of Cymbalta manages much of my pain. Without it, I couldn’t walk across the room on any day without the use of my cane. There would be no way that I could manage a set of stairs or walking through a grocery store.
I am able to exercise daily, up to 45 minutes a day on the stationary bicycle and an additional 30 a day of resistance exercises. Whenever my knees are sore, I find that the exercise bike really eases the pain. I back off and just ride at a very leisurely pace under 10 mph. When things are good, I ride more quickly. I started this about 6 weeks ago and find that I have much greater mobility and comfort when I maintain my exercise.
And, of course, weight affects the way I feel tremendously. I’ve lost just short of 50 pounds, which means that my knees are relieved of about 200 pounds of pressure. I would love to lose another 60 pounds to provide the best insurance that my natural knees and I remain partners.
I am glad the option of knee replacement is available and, if I decide I need it, I will use it. Meanwhile, I can manage without too many problems. I won’t take a walk with you on rolling terrain and my taekwondo days are over. But, another 40 pounds off, and I’m going to see if I can manage riding lessons. I can always use the steps to get up to the saddle.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Where Are They Now?
When George W. Bush was elected to the Presidency, it took us months to remember his wife’s name. “You know, Mrs. Bush… What IS her first name?”
Keep in mind that my husband’s name is George and my name is Laura. We are politically very liberal, so I guess we subconsciously blocked Laura Bush’s name from our memories to avoid the association. Fortunately, our friends never made the connection unless we pointed it out to them.
Two years ago, we added a male and a female Labradoodle puppy to our family to share our new home. George suggested several names, but my mind was already made up. Not only did I want presidential names to go with ours, I wanted the names of good Democrats so I could attempt to even the score. I decided upon Harry and Bess. (Franklin and Eleanor would be much more suited to donkeys or mules.)
Whenever we walk the dogs, someone inevitably stops us to ask about their breed. It never fails that, when they hear the dogs’ names, someone will sigh and say, “Harry, where are you now that we need you?”
Bess is cuddly and playful and totally wrapped up in herself. We adore her.
Harry, though, is the best dog we’ve ever had. Our youngest son describes him as “noble” and it certainly fits. Harry is loving and protective of the people in his life without being aggressive toward people or other dogs. He’s definitely the alpha leader without being a bully. He’s confident, smart and studies situations before he reacts. Harry pays subtle attention to what we expect; he can hold a hammer when asked to or carry in the mail. He finds box turtles and brings them to us unharmed because he knows we are delighted by his gifts. Each morning when George walks, a vigilant Harry waits at the end of the driveway until he returns and each night Harry stays up with me, the last one to go to bed.
Presidents themselves should be noble. They should serve their people first and be aware of and responsive to their needs in times of crisis. They should be vigilant, but they should also study situations before they react and should understand the difference between protection and aggression. They should appreciate and share our interest and delight in the gifts of our diversity, our public lands, and resources. They should pay attention so they are prepared for the biggest or smallest of jobs. And they should know the difference between arrogance and confidence.
Oh, integrity, intelligence, strength, vigilance, service, nobility, where are you now that we need you? Some of us are giving up hope that this nation can once again become the symbol of peace and freedom and truth for the world, a place where people believe their dreams can become reality. While the American people realize that the differences that divide us are much fewer and smaller than the things we have in common, we must also face a new reality that those minute differences may make us the next target of suspicion by the same leaders sworn to protect our standard of diverse opinions, backgrounds, and perspectives. While we as individuals find ourselves more deeply connected throughout the world through trade and digital communications, we find ourselves increasingly isolated as American citizens.
Our leaders now make decisions on what they suspect and what they choose to believe rather than what they know. They use lies to justify fear and fear to justify actions that we would never support if presented truthfully. They have called upon America’s sons and daughters to sacrifice their families, their jobs, their homes, and their very lives while the economic and social gaps between those in power and everyday Americans grows wider and wider.
How sad to think that it’s come to this. And, how sad to think that we let it happen.
"The President is merely the most important among a large number of public servants. He should be supported or opposed exactly to the degree which is warranted by his good conduct or bad conduct, his efficiency or inefficiency in rendering loyal, able, and disinterested service to the nation as a whole. Therefore it is absolutely necessary that there should be full liberty to tell the truth about his acts, and this means that it is exactly as necessary to blame him when he does wrong as to praise him when he does right. Any other attitude in an American citizen is both base and servile. To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public. Nothing but the truth should be spoken about him or anyone else. But it is even more important to tell the truth, pleasant or unpleasant, about him than about anyone else."
Theodore Roosevelt
Keep in mind that my husband’s name is George and my name is Laura. We are politically very liberal, so I guess we subconsciously blocked Laura Bush’s name from our memories to avoid the association. Fortunately, our friends never made the connection unless we pointed it out to them.
Two years ago, we added a male and a female Labradoodle puppy to our family to share our new home. George suggested several names, but my mind was already made up. Not only did I want presidential names to go with ours, I wanted the names of good Democrats so I could attempt to even the score. I decided upon Harry and Bess. (Franklin and Eleanor would be much more suited to donkeys or mules.)
Whenever we walk the dogs, someone inevitably stops us to ask about their breed. It never fails that, when they hear the dogs’ names, someone will sigh and say, “Harry, where are you now that we need you?”
Bess is cuddly and playful and totally wrapped up in herself. We adore her.
Harry, though, is the best dog we’ve ever had. Our youngest son describes him as “noble” and it certainly fits. Harry is loving and protective of the people in his life without being aggressive toward people or other dogs. He’s definitely the alpha leader without being a bully. He’s confident, smart and studies situations before he reacts. Harry pays subtle attention to what we expect; he can hold a hammer when asked to or carry in the mail. He finds box turtles and brings them to us unharmed because he knows we are delighted by his gifts. Each morning when George walks, a vigilant Harry waits at the end of the driveway until he returns and each night Harry stays up with me, the last one to go to bed.
Presidents themselves should be noble. They should serve their people first and be aware of and responsive to their needs in times of crisis. They should be vigilant, but they should also study situations before they react and should understand the difference between protection and aggression. They should appreciate and share our interest and delight in the gifts of our diversity, our public lands, and resources. They should pay attention so they are prepared for the biggest or smallest of jobs. And they should know the difference between arrogance and confidence.
Oh, integrity, intelligence, strength, vigilance, service, nobility, where are you now that we need you? Some of us are giving up hope that this nation can once again become the symbol of peace and freedom and truth for the world, a place where people believe their dreams can become reality. While the American people realize that the differences that divide us are much fewer and smaller than the things we have in common, we must also face a new reality that those minute differences may make us the next target of suspicion by the same leaders sworn to protect our standard of diverse opinions, backgrounds, and perspectives. While we as individuals find ourselves more deeply connected throughout the world through trade and digital communications, we find ourselves increasingly isolated as American citizens.
Our leaders now make decisions on what they suspect and what they choose to believe rather than what they know. They use lies to justify fear and fear to justify actions that we would never support if presented truthfully. They have called upon America’s sons and daughters to sacrifice their families, their jobs, their homes, and their very lives while the economic and social gaps between those in power and everyday Americans grows wider and wider.
How sad to think that it’s come to this. And, how sad to think that we let it happen.
"The President is merely the most important among a large number of public servants. He should be supported or opposed exactly to the degree which is warranted by his good conduct or bad conduct, his efficiency or inefficiency in rendering loyal, able, and disinterested service to the nation as a whole. Therefore it is absolutely necessary that there should be full liberty to tell the truth about his acts, and this means that it is exactly as necessary to blame him when he does wrong as to praise him when he does right. Any other attitude in an American citizen is both base and servile. To announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public. Nothing but the truth should be spoken about him or anyone else. But it is even more important to tell the truth, pleasant or unpleasant, about him than about anyone else."
Theodore Roosevelt
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Even Lance Started on a Tricycle
As part of building a healthier lifestyle, I’V started riding our stationary bike. It’s far easier on my knees than walking each day and, for some strange reason, I love to watch the number of calories and carbs I’m burning go up while I monitor my pace, miles per hour, and the total number of minutes I ride.
I’ve had to ride on resistance level 1. To tell the truth, I don’t even know how many levels of resistance there are on the bike – I don’t expect to see too many of them. I just pedal away at 10 to 11 mph on level 1, going nowhere and getting ahead at the same time.
Yesterday was a breakthrough, though. I decided to try the second level of resistance in three separate one minute intervals, five minutes apart. I watched every second of every one of those minutes and was so glad to see them finally end. But, I managed to do it. The third interval might as well have been a mountain stage in the Tour de France. I huffed and puffed, sweat pouring off me, and just sat on the bike resting for a full two minutes when my total time was up.
Last night I started planning on how and when I might actually tackle level 2 for TWO full minutes at a time – maybe next week. I’m getting ready to go out to the porch for my ride right now and am curious to see how those three intervals will feel today. It’s 10:00 AM and already 88 degrees with 45% humidity – more like the Tour de Death Valley. No matter, every rotation of the pedals brings me closer to that elusive thing called health.
One thing for sure, if I ever reach five minutes on resistance level 3, I’m buying myself a yellow jersey.
I’ve had to ride on resistance level 1. To tell the truth, I don’t even know how many levels of resistance there are on the bike – I don’t expect to see too many of them. I just pedal away at 10 to 11 mph on level 1, going nowhere and getting ahead at the same time.
Yesterday was a breakthrough, though. I decided to try the second level of resistance in three separate one minute intervals, five minutes apart. I watched every second of every one of those minutes and was so glad to see them finally end. But, I managed to do it. The third interval might as well have been a mountain stage in the Tour de France. I huffed and puffed, sweat pouring off me, and just sat on the bike resting for a full two minutes when my total time was up.
Last night I started planning on how and when I might actually tackle level 2 for TWO full minutes at a time – maybe next week. I’m getting ready to go out to the porch for my ride right now and am curious to see how those three intervals will feel today. It’s 10:00 AM and already 88 degrees with 45% humidity – more like the Tour de Death Valley. No matter, every rotation of the pedals brings me closer to that elusive thing called health.
One thing for sure, if I ever reach five minutes on resistance level 3, I’m buying myself a yellow jersey.
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