Autumn Greetings

Because I was born and raised in the deep South, I experienced the change of seasons through images in magazines and on television: No colorful autumns, no snowy winters - just colder and drier weather, followed by spring and summer - and I was okay with that. Living in New England has made me appreciate the seasonal changes, but I'm still no fan of winter, or snow, and although I enjoy the colorful leaves, they always get blown off the trees and end up on the ground to turn brown and disappear before Halloween has arrived. Plentiful rain and sun, followed by chilly weather, can bring about a spectacular fall, and I know the snow and cold allows us to have a beautiful spring and summer, but I just wish it didn't last so long. 

Fallen leaves - 2016 - photo by TJB

But since I can't do anything about that, I hope I get to enjoy a beautiful autumn, a not-too-harsh winter and an early spring. I wish the same to all of you.

New England - 2016 - photo by TJB

Bittersweet - 2012 - photo by TJB

New England - 2015 - photo by TJB

Symbolism: Cobwebs

This morning, I decided to replace the bulb inside my Himalayan salt lamp that sits on the shelf above my computer, Taking down a few things in order to reach it, I realized I needed to take everything down and wipe away the ridiculous accumulation of dust and cobwebs, which also involved wiping off all the little tchotchkes (a Yiddish word for trinkets and collectibles) I had placed there for inspiration, followed by rearranging them all back up on the shelf. 

As I took the time to do this (and replace the bulb), I felt the desire to blog about it, so I looked up the word "cobweb", which means "a spider's web, especially when old and covered with dust." 

That's when I knew I also needed to do this in an effort to clear away the cobwebs in my mind and become a better writer, whether it's blogging or working diligently on my three current writing projects. 

Yes, there are three. I should probably pick just one to focus on, but I have invested my heart and soul into each one, so much so that I feel the need to divide my time between all of them. Is this realistic? I suppose not, but I feel so strongly about each one that I keep trying to justify working on whichever story beckons to me, in addition to working on an array of other creative pursuits. I'm a slave to my emotions.

Lots to do, never enough time...

Will You Still Need Me When I'm 64

Happy Birthday to me... In My Life (The Beatles)

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life, I love you more

Mother May I?

May is my favorite month, and it's usually a busy one... my birthday, new projects, and Mother's Day is coming. 

But this will be my first birthday and first Mother's Day with no mother. No cards or flowers to send, no phone calls, no gifts, nothing but my favorite memories of her. 

Me, Mom and Thisbe

Since she passed away last year, I've somehow made it through the holidays and her birthday (April) and now this. The pain of losing her is still fresh, and I can't stop the tears as I write this.

Mom and I singing our duet - Anchors Aweigh and WAVES of the Navy

She wanted the best for my brother and me, and believed in us even when we must have disappointed her. I guess that's what kids do, and I know it's what mothers do... 

Me, Mom and my little brother Joel

I still love her so much - always and forever - and I still want to make her proud of me. I hope to accomplish that some day.

Thank you, Mom, for being there for me...

Already April

Spring arrived late this year, as usual, and while March usually heralds a change of season, it isn't until April that things really start to happen here in New England. It was exciting to see the beautiful bursts of yellow, pink and white in manicured lawns and along the roadside. It was a signal to open the windows, welcome the rain and plant some pansies.

Happy Earth Day

Forsythia in bloom - photo: tjbg 2017

Easter came and went, with all its promises of things yet to come (and, sadly for me, reminders of people and things that have gone away), and we also marked the passing of what we like to call Earth Day (which, to me, is EVERY day) and are seeing slightly warmer temperatures, even though there is still a chill in the air. Now, well after the forsythia and flowering pear and rhododendron and daffodils have had their say, it is comforting to see that the trees are waking up and are very busy putting out their fresh green leaves at last. 

Nature is my religion. Nature is my muse. Even though my biological mother is no longer here in the physical world, I can still hear her voice in birdsong, in the wind and waves. She sent me a card once, that's how I know it's her. 

Happy Spring, Mom. I love you.

Finally, Spring?

Yesterday was the first day of Spring, according to the calendar, but I always remember Spring arriving on the twenty-first day of March. So I decided to look it up and found this, courtesy of The Farmers' Almanac web site:

Traditionally, we’ve celebrated the beginning of spring on March 21, but astronomers and calendar manufacturers alike now say that the spring season starts one day earlier, March 20, in all time zones in North America.

How could the first day of spring change from year to year?
There are a few reasons why seasonal dates can vary from year to year. The first is that a year is not an even number of days and neither are the seasons.

Another reason is that the earth’s elliptical orbit is changing its orientation (skew), which causes the earth’s axis to constantly point in a different direction, called precession. Since the seasons are defined as beginning at strict 90-degree intervals, these positional changes affect the time the earth reaches each 90-degree location in its orbit around the sun.

At least I found something that validates my memory. So today I celebrate the first day of Spring because I am really ready for a change, even though it's not going to be warm for a while yet; we could still see some snow events between now and Easter (which is rather late this year, April 16) but mostly we will (hopefully) see an abundance of rain. 

My mother would have been 96 in April, and I seem to recall that Easter was her favorite holiday, so I will continue to blossom and grow, and think of her.

Happy Spring!

Writing: A Labor of Love

My mother, Winnie

Having been a journalist at one point in my life, it seems that I am cursed with writing in a journalistic style - short, informative bursts reeking of research and bursting with non-biased data - but what I really want to do is to write from my heart and soul, which I have been able, on occasion, to do, expressing my personal thoughts and feelings to make them more readable.

But now, trying to write my mother's story, I find it almost impossible to tap into my emotions about someone I loved so dearly and capture them in words. I can feel my grief and my anger, but can't quite find the right way to write about them.

My mother, Winnie

Should I be writing a memoir? Or a novel? Or a combination of the two? Writing a memoir requires that I pull from my own life, and there are many memories that include my mother that I could write about. But I also want to tell her story, based upon her own words (journal entries and a few pages of her life story that she had been trying to write) and on my recollections of all the stories about herself that she shared with my brother and me.

My mother, Winnie, with my brother and me

Telling one's own story is risky, tedious, and liberating.
Telling someone else's story is a big responsibility, an honor, and a labor of love. I will keep trying to find my voice and, when that happens, I will try to do Mom's story justice.

It's Writ To Fit

I am, for today, a writer.

Yes, I am working on a couple of writing projects. And yes, I am doing it in tandem with a friend of mine, who is also working on a writing project, but who claims she is not a writer (she not only writes a blog twice a week but has worked with writers in her storied past). But showing up to write doesn't always invite my Muse to tag along, so some days are void of much writing. That's why I decided to sign up for a 21-day "free-writing" course offered by an interesting writer (someone I've blogged about before) named Crescent Dragonwagon. The course includes a daily email with instructions on what to write about in a short time period (five or seven minutes so far). Each exercise ends with the phrase "...you are again, for today, a writer."

Today is Day Four, and in seven minutes I pounded out this snappy little piece based on the prompt phrase "keeping it under your hat."

Monday, Jan 16 2017, 12:19 pm, at home, writing on my PC, Day 4

7-minute directed freewriting exercise - prompt: “keeping it under your hat”

I am a very good secret-keeper. I don’t have that many secrets myself, but if someone else tells me a secret, I keep it locked up and throw away the key. I consider this a valuable trait in any decent friendship, and sometimes I am able to offer sage advice or wisdom, but sometimes - after I’ve had some time to think about it (and I do think about it quite a bit) - I wish I had said other things, much more helpful and way more wise. That being said, secrets can eat us alive, especially the ones that reveal serious mistakes in judgments (although I try not to be judgmental while listening to someone’s secret). It helps to speak about something we’ve done, or something someone said or did to us, and relieves some of the associated guilt and fear. But there has to be some serious trust between the speaker and the listener, and that trust is based on the listener’s ability to keep a secret “under their hat.” I wish I knew the origin of that saying… I’m sure it has something to do with some secret meeting of an ancient king or queen and someone having to smuggle a hidden message or treasure out of the castle under their hat. The same can be said of keeping a secret.

Of course, between finishing that exercise and writing this blog post, I Googled "keep it under your hat" (which has come to mean "keep it secret") and, at first glance, it seemed likely that its origin went back to medieval times and the belief that archers kept their bowstrings underneath their hats to keep them dry, but my source dismissed this theory because the phrase didn't come into common use until the 19th century (the 1800s), so it didn't really make sense to trace it any further back. 

Here's the final conclusion:

The oldest of such that I can find is in the novel The History of Pendennis by William Makepeace Thackeray, 1848:

Thus, oh friendly readers, we see how every man in the world has his own private griefs and business... You and your wife have pressed the same pillow for forty years and fancy yourselves united. Psha, does she cry out when you have the gout, or do you lie awake when she has the toothache? ... Ah, sir - a distinct universe walks about under your hat and under mine.

The extended phrase 'keep it under your hat', which didn't arise until the 20th century, simply meant 'keep it in your head', that is, 'think it, but don't say it'. 

Source: The Phrase Finder ( http://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/under-your-hat.html )

So - I am again, for today, a writer. Because I had to play catch-up (I missed Day Two and Three, so I did those, too, along with Day Four). Because I also wrote this blog post. However, it did occur to me that, with all this writing, I still managed to put off working on either of my projects. 

But please, keep that under your hat.

Winter Gifts: Snow Prints and Free Meals

After a snow storm, I go outside to feed the birds (and other creatures) and I am fascinated by all the many tracks I see in the yard. Of course, there are the birds, and rabbits, and probably raccoons and deer as well, but there are always a few "mystery tracks" that defy identification. While we humans can make a run to the grocery store to stock up on comfort food, our animal friends have no such luxuries.

Even though most mammals are in torpor (slowed down or in hibernation to conserve energy) during the winter, some still need to forage. Their metabolism is able to adjust to the changes in their environment - for example, deer resort to eating more woody things like bark and twigs instead of the plants and grasses easily found during the growing season - but that doesn't mean they have to like it.

My husband does the same thing, but for another species of mammal - the homeless. During the winter months, he volunteers his time to help a group that offers hot meals to those who need it. Giving continues beyond the holidays, like Scrooge finally learned in Dickens' A Christmas Carol:

“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”

Happy wildlife "adventures" to you!

Before Daybreak

Going to sleep early has its consequences... like waking up during the night, looking out the window to see freshly fallen snow, and realizing it's all right to stay awake until it's time to go to work. So convinced am I that I am better off awake than asleep, I'm celebrating with a cup of coffee.

It's only a dusting, but more might come between now and sunrise... Maybe I'll even step outside and take a photograph of nature's magic trick.

A little while ago, as I was deciding not to try to go back to sleep, I saw a pop of light beside me... a small, bright white diamond flashed in the corner of my right eye - no sensation, other than mild surprise - and then it was gone... my own personal snowflake.

Image: petapixel.com

Was it an optical illusion, brought on by lack of sleep? A synapse in my brain sending me an urgent message that I cannot decipher? A sign from my beloved mother, telling me I should take better care of myself? Even now, I can feel the onset of a hot flash - that special gift to middle-aged women - and I have decided I might as well write, rather than worry about these (and other) things.

Why worry? It is a distraction that offers no reward, depletes the soul and starves the spirit. It is one thing to be cautious, but worry just spins us out of control and pushes us toward the sinkhole of despair.

Another winter scene - image: tjbg 2015

I will make more coffee, take a photograph of snow and see what this day may bring.

Where There's A Will, There's A Way

I always seem to run out of time, mostly because I don't know how to manage time. I make plans to do certain things - write, make jewelry, create an original note card or bookmark - but there are so many other things to do, like wash dishes, do laundry, run errands... 

The house is always an untidy mess - stacks of things left undone, clothes to put away, things to organize or get rid of - and I keep thinking I'll get around to taking care of it, but I never do.

I'm intrigued by the Marie Kondo method - organizing by category (clothing, knick-knacks, etc.) instead of room by room, which I find overwhelming - so I think I need to look at that method again.

In fact, I've read a fair number of articles and blogs explaining all the ways I can get things done, helpful tips to instill order in my life, but nothing seems to help. I want shelves! I want totes and bins and baskets! But only by starting at the beginning will I ever be able to make a dent in my lovingly curated mess.

The truth is, I'm just not a very organized person, and I'm okay with that, until it gets out of control. (I also prefer wildflowers and weeds in my yard to rows of vegetables and blooms in a garden.  Go figure.)

Will this year be any different? Maybe, or maybe not... but I really, really hope so. 

No children to leave my treasures to, and no one else would be interested in having any of it. I still have to figure out what to do with my mother's things... All of these things - mine and Mom's - need to be looked at, picked up, decided upon, before they are put out to pasture.

My goal is to make my living space a little nicer, a little sweeter, a little prettier, a little neater. Like this!

 

I know I can do this. I have to. Well, maybe not exactly like this, but just a functional, lovely creative space. Now let's see if I have the courage to say good-bye to some of my old clutter and hello to a brand new way to be ME.

Don't Just Think, Write

I think. A lot. All the time. About everything. And sometimes... nothing at all. 

But quite often, when I sit down to write, I am speechless. Where do the words go?

Conclusion: Thinking is not writing.

There is a quiet disconnect between my thoughts and my attempts to write.

This is frustrating. And challenging. 

I  have put one writing project aside to work on two other ones. I go back and forth, from one to the other, expecting the time spent away from one will fuel my desire to work on the other. So far, this seems to be working. I have to focus on writing - something, anything - like Susan Sontag writes about in her diaries. 

She also says: "I think I am ready to learn how to write. Think with words, not with ideas." 

Get started... Think with words... Learn how to write... Sit down, look down, write it down.

"Show up, show up, show up... and after a while, the muse shows up, too." Isabel Allende

2017: Just Another Trip Around the Sun

THIS YEAR...

I will write more

THIS YEAR...

I will create more

THIS YEAR...

I will honor myself and those whom I love/have loved

THIS YEAR...

I will do what I can to promote peace, love and understanding wherever and whenever I can

I will hold myself accountable to these promises... 

What will you do to make yourself and the world better this year?