Temperature: a sunny 25/77 degrees with thundershowers on the way.
Eating: sopa de frijoles.
Drinking: iced tea.
Listening: to Harris & Walz gives me hope.
Watching: the Paralympics! We have a retired Paralympian in the family, so this is just as important as the Games we just had.
Reading: What You Are Looking For Is in the Library by Michiko Aoyama.
Writing: to apologize, but I really did not feel like complaining or explaining. (See below.)
Thinking: where have I been these past six months? Attending to troubling things. Attending to tiresome things. And my godfather died. My uncle. My aunt’s first husband (father of my cousins). Soon, her second as well (the sweetest of men). I've been feeling quite depleted of any extra speech.
Feeling: It’s not all bad, though, of course not. Life goes on, and it will burst into pink bloom in December when the boys get to welcome one more cousin into the family. A girl, we hear, and her mom being a girly girl of great feminine flair (and enviable energy), everything is coming up rosy and roses. We’ll see if the newcomer agrees with the palette. Babies, aww, can’t wait! 💗
Dita Parker
Showing posts with label life and other catastrophes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life and other catastrophes. Show all posts
Friday, August 30, 2024
Et la fête continue !
Wednesday, September 15, 2021
No more “I love you’s”
Oh, sweetie darlings, my heart is breaking. Nothing compared to the pain one of my oldest, dearest, nearest, till-death-do-us-part friends is feeling, of course. Like death, divorce might not come as a total shock and surprise, but once the decision is made and final the torment isn’t over no matter how relieved you feel that the push and pull, the fighting, the on-off-and-on-again misery-go-round is over.
Like in the death of someone close, you are required to keep a level head and start taking care of business when what you really need is a cabin in the woods and some privacy to sort out yourself first. But there is no time, and not all divorces are friendly, let’s-do-this-in-an-adult-fashion affairs; many (most?) are the result of a long period of infighting where the road to reconciliation crumbled along the way and neither partner has the will or strength to begin construction anew. Separate ways, then, new roads and vistas.
She has been accused of being strong (accused! sweetie darlings, as if strength were a handicap; is it, in women? is that what those men were saying?) and will now put all that resilience of hers to good use, I’m sure. But strong doesn’t mean impervious, cold-hearted or flippant. She will need her friends and family every soul-searing step of the way. So will he, and my godson, a family blowing apart.
It happens all the time, I know. I’m just so fucking sorry and saddened it had to happen to them.
Monday, September 14, 2020
Onward
How was your weekend, sweetie darlings? I do hope you found some form of R & R. I’m hanging on to every bit of good news I receive, but even those tend to be tainted by the pandemic.
I got word, or rather a picture at first, of a friend who had gotten married. How wonderful is that? Absolutely champagne-popping good news! But my next thought, one I should not have let in but which gatecrashed quite unceremoniously was: we don’t get to celebrate this. She said we absolutely would Once This Is Over, and I wish that were true, but I just don’t know.
We're all amassing celebrations that didn’t get the party that was planned or the occasion called for. Some keep postponing festivities. Some are making due, observing as best as they can under present circumstances. It’s been disappointing at best and utterly depressing at worst, and that’s just the way it is. What we’re used to doesn’t apply. But it ain’t fair doesn’t fly. I know some perfectly stable adults who’ve thrown temper tantrums a two-year-old would gawk at in reverent approval. I’m sure my nostrils have flared, like really flapped as I fumed, trying to breathe in calm and breathe out some oh-hell-naw. You do what you gotta do to remain sane.
But let’s not postpone life. Let’s keep celebrating the big things and the small. Let’s keep living in the here and now. Let’s not yield a single moment of our time, because we won't get those moments back, ever. We don’t get to live them Once This Is Over; that’s another world we'll live in when we get there.
It’s September 14, 2020, a perfectly mundane Monday or the most important day of your life, and somewhere a clock is ticking.
Friday, April 24, 2020
Prison break
“Breathe.”
“What?”
“You’re holding your breath. Breathe.”
What? Was I? I was. Lying in bed, trying to sleep, feeling angry and anxious and helpless. Loss, fear, sorrow, rolling in waves. I’m hopeless at helpless, anxious and frightened. They don’t lead anywhere, so I try to channel them into action. But it was time to rest, sleep and recover, not act; so, where do you go, what do you do with those feelings? Apparently, you hold your breath and try not to think or feel a thing until you pass out and wake up and get cracking.
I was trying to get away from the scattered thoughts in my head; bad news I’d gotten from friends; sad news from extended family; will that project ever take flight; so when do they decide on the entrance exam; at least I don’t have to worry about their health, they can’t get sick and die, they’re gone; sour cream! I forgot the sour cream; this is bullshit, the Class of 2020 deserves a party, he has worked so hard, it’s not fair; remember to contact M; should I start with the windows; double-check you did in fact cancel it; it’s embarrassing, we should all be embarrassed we’re living in such idiotic times…and so on and so forth, sweetie darlings. Was my heart racing? No, but my mind was. At the speed of light. I get eerily calm under fire and that allows me to act, but like I said, I was trying to catch some sleep. Did I? Eventually, after some box breathing. Didn’t feel particularly rested in the morning, but I did feel better, on top of things, not like everything was collapsing on me at once.
I’m sure half the planet, maybe more, just feel like escaping; escaping captivity and the feelings it rouses and just feelings in general, and all the negativity and uncertainty and loss and sadness, and the knowledge it’s not your fault but everyone’s responsibility, but you have so much going on already or everything you’ve worked for is gone, and you didn’t do anything wrong at home or school or at work so how is this fair, how is any of this fair, who do we blame and who will fix this, will someone just please fix this…and so on and so forth, dearest denizens. Doesn’t lead anywhere, that train of thought, does it? But here we are, riding it, whether we want to or not.
What do you do to escape those thoughts and feelings, your imprisonment? Do you consume or do you create? (I hope you’re doing a bit of both!) Read or re-read the classics? Poetry or essays? Do you listen to music or podcasts? Garden, exercise, bake, work on home improvement, work on personal improvement, dance, sing, paint, sketch, write? Take virtual museum tours, VR city tours, watch movies, series? Some feel bad not being more proactive and productive. Don’t! There is nothing escapist in escaping into beautiful landscapes (virtual or real life), memories and photos, good music, comfort food, favorite movies and stories. After all, corona is not all there is; doing something soothing, thoughts, hopes and dreams of something else put things into perspective; this too shall pass; I won’t feel like this forever. And if and when you go all-in escape mode…that’s what you need in that moment. We all escape from time to time. No one can bear the weight of the world all day every day; you’d crumble, lose your mind and ability to function.
I hear the young ones planning all the things they’ll do when they’re free to. I think about all the people locked up in their homes, feeling stressed out and uncertain, maybe even afraid. I hope everyone finds a means to escape when they need it. And remember:
The knob is on this side
The knob is on this side
The knob is still on this side of the door.
“What?”
“You’re holding your breath. Breathe.”
What? Was I? I was. Lying in bed, trying to sleep, feeling angry and anxious and helpless. Loss, fear, sorrow, rolling in waves. I’m hopeless at helpless, anxious and frightened. They don’t lead anywhere, so I try to channel them into action. But it was time to rest, sleep and recover, not act; so, where do you go, what do you do with those feelings? Apparently, you hold your breath and try not to think or feel a thing until you pass out and wake up and get cracking.
I was trying to get away from the scattered thoughts in my head; bad news I’d gotten from friends; sad news from extended family; will that project ever take flight; so when do they decide on the entrance exam; at least I don’t have to worry about their health, they can’t get sick and die, they’re gone; sour cream! I forgot the sour cream; this is bullshit, the Class of 2020 deserves a party, he has worked so hard, it’s not fair; remember to contact M; should I start with the windows; double-check you did in fact cancel it; it’s embarrassing, we should all be embarrassed we’re living in such idiotic times…and so on and so forth, sweetie darlings. Was my heart racing? No, but my mind was. At the speed of light. I get eerily calm under fire and that allows me to act, but like I said, I was trying to catch some sleep. Did I? Eventually, after some box breathing. Didn’t feel particularly rested in the morning, but I did feel better, on top of things, not like everything was collapsing on me at once.
I’m sure half the planet, maybe more, just feel like escaping; escaping captivity and the feelings it rouses and just feelings in general, and all the negativity and uncertainty and loss and sadness, and the knowledge it’s not your fault but everyone’s responsibility, but you have so much going on already or everything you’ve worked for is gone, and you didn’t do anything wrong at home or school or at work so how is this fair, how is any of this fair, who do we blame and who will fix this, will someone just please fix this…and so on and so forth, dearest denizens. Doesn’t lead anywhere, that train of thought, does it? But here we are, riding it, whether we want to or not.
What do you do to escape those thoughts and feelings, your imprisonment? Do you consume or do you create? (I hope you’re doing a bit of both!) Read or re-read the classics? Poetry or essays? Do you listen to music or podcasts? Garden, exercise, bake, work on home improvement, work on personal improvement, dance, sing, paint, sketch, write? Take virtual museum tours, VR city tours, watch movies, series? Some feel bad not being more proactive and productive. Don’t! There is nothing escapist in escaping into beautiful landscapes (virtual or real life), memories and photos, good music, comfort food, favorite movies and stories. After all, corona is not all there is; doing something soothing, thoughts, hopes and dreams of something else put things into perspective; this too shall pass; I won’t feel like this forever. And if and when you go all-in escape mode…that’s what you need in that moment. We all escape from time to time. No one can bear the weight of the world all day every day; you’d crumble, lose your mind and ability to function.
I hear the young ones planning all the things they’ll do when they’re free to. I think about all the people locked up in their homes, feeling stressed out and uncertain, maybe even afraid. I hope everyone finds a means to escape when they need it. And remember:
The knob is on this side
The knob is on this side
The knob is still on this side of the door.
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Monday, April 6, 2020
Let's be careful out there
Temperature: a sunny 13/56 degrees. About to step out to enjoy it because Easter looks brrrhh. I’ll keep to the garden, promise.
Eating: whatever the youngest is cooking for home economics.
Drinking: not the example I want to set right now, but of course a drink is the only sensible course of action every now and then. I’ll let the kids figure that out for themselves, though.
Watching: spring evolve.
Listening: The “prepper nation of the Nordics” proudly presents The Lahti Symphony Orchestra proudly presenting Finlandia, Op. 26, by Jean Sibelius.
Reading: an email telling me my next project has been postponed.
Thinking: we are all being stress-tested. Our governments, our national institutions, our international organizations, our workplaces, our relationships; our will, spirit and resilience.
Feeling: How do we get through this? One day and hurdle at a time. Be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
Eating: whatever the youngest is cooking for home economics.
Drinking: not the example I want to set right now, but of course a drink is the only sensible course of action every now and then. I’ll let the kids figure that out for themselves, though.
Watching: spring evolve.
Listening: The “prepper nation of the Nordics” proudly presents The Lahti Symphony Orchestra proudly presenting Finlandia, Op. 26, by Jean Sibelius.
Reading: an email telling me my next project has been postponed.
Thinking: we are all being stress-tested. Our governments, our national institutions, our international organizations, our workplaces, our relationships; our will, spirit and resilience.
Feeling: How do we get through this? One day and hurdle at a time. Be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball...
I know many of us are feeling like that poor bastard must be feeling: WTF is happening? So maybe don't scroll the news first/last thing every day all through the day until you feel like screaming, crying, cowering in a corner, or all of the above. Take a moment to feel afraid and uncertain and stressed out of your mind. But only a moment. Is Itsy Bitsy Spider your handwashing song? [Sooo important, handwashing. We got lucky in one respect: unlike some viruses, this one is coated in fat. And what dissolves grease? A good, thorough lather. Sorry. I ❤️ science. Back to the songs.] Choose another and lose yourself in the horror of it all. Once a day, wallow away. And for the rest of the day, do something else. Unless you're on the front line fighting this virus, you really can't do much but look after yourself, your family, friends, community. So focus on that and keep going. Life may seem unrecognizable, but it goes on.
I'm not making light of anyone's plight, so please take this the right way: Countless lives have been turned upside down in the blink of an eye; life has turned out to be unpredictable, uncontrollable and unfair; loved ones and livelihoods lost; plans, hopes and dreams crushed, just like that. But fragile and arbitrary is how life has always been, sweetie darlings, this microscopic little thing only made that...visible. And frighteningly tangible.
Don't let a perfectly horrible crisis go to waste. Keep going. Turn a different corner. Or walk the same street but look at it with fresh eyes. Where do we go from here? I don't know. You tell me. I hope it's someplace good, loving and kind. I hope to see you there.
Friday, March 20, 2020
Weathering with you
Anybody else feel like the past week has lasted a month, maybe two? Sweet baby Jesus, the pace things are moving at. And it’s not as if the world has stopped moving. The war in Syria has entered its tenth year (10th!), the climate crisis is still on, and Trump has a chance of getting re-elected. It’s just a lot to process, everything that is going on, and people have to actively turn to brighter and lighter things on occasion to remain sane and function. A goldfinch found our bird feeder. Sakura season! The canals of Venice look like...what they ought to look like!! Spring equinox!!! Oh, and did you see those penguins? Adorable.
I work from home, so self-isolation is my default setting; but suddenly my workplace is teeming with people and activities I’m not used to, so resuming semi-normal workaday functions will take some time. Homeschooling, homework, news upon news after news, keeping in touch with family, friends and colleagues… It’s hard to concentrate. I asked my unflappable little brother (father of three) how he’s faring working from home with the kids. “I had to go sit in the car.” Whatever works, right?
For the young ones, this feels like a punishment. I want my friends and I want my hobbies and I want my freedom of movement and every other thing I’m used to. Well, you can’t have them right now, and that’s just the way it is. If my boys start grumbling, I’ll start telling them about their great-grandfather in WWII while their great-grandmother worked 36 hours a day back home and what the last trimester of pregnancy feels like to say nothing of giving birth. Stuff and stories like that. I know something closer to home and frame of reference might work better. But they’re neither little nor stupid, so I choose the big guns. Make ‘em count their blessings. Give them pause, perspective, you know. Works like a charm.
Some are upset their spring break got cancelled, their summer holiday plans are ruined, their online shopping is stuck somewhere and this doesn’t really concern them since they’re young and in good health and clubbing is a human right. How easy it is to start thinking that you’re entitled to things you’re simply accustomed to. Some are about to lose their jobs. Some could lose their homes. Some will lose their lives. Let’s see how humans and humanity rate on less easily quantifiable things such as cooperation and resilience now that we are all in this together. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. Some have withdrawn to an all-inclusive resort. Some are battling the elements beyond the gates. So many freelancers, single parents, the anxiety-ridden, homeless men/women/teens/families, struggling-to-begin-with artists/performing artists/artists period, small business owners, large families living in a shoebox of an apartment, refugees, people whose proverbial bootstraps are about to snap…destitute fellow humans for whom this is a disaster in every meaning of the word. If you have the means, seek ways to help, personally as a patron or through an organization. Support your local at every turn so that they’ll still be there when the smoke clears. If they’ve been forced to close shop for now, throw disposable income at them as soon as possible. This affects everyone directly and immediately or indirectly and over time. We are the market. We are the economy.
And who said there is no such thing as society? [Thatcher.] We are it. Nothing without each other. We are all part and parcel of this network we keep going and which keeps us busy and flowing. I know society seems like an amorphous beast because each individual is different, but when push comes to shove, we have one mission and only one mission: to protect one another. In that sense, we are in this together. You and I, and your lovely neighbors, and that cagey guy from work, and the cashier at the grocer’s, you know, that sweet old lady who’s worked there since the beginning of time, and your old teacher, the one with cancer, and everyone we cross paths with daily and will never cross paths with.
One microscopic little thing. That was all it took. How fragile, how vulnerable humans and our endeavors are. How I wish that something good comes out of this. Everyone keeps saying how this will change things for good, as in irrevocably. I hope good is the operative word. Because we will have to make a choice. Where do we go from here? How do we get there? What do we do about seemingly endless conflicts? What do we do about slowly but surely evolving crises? What do we do about threats to democracy and equality? How do we protect humanity from future pandemics? Every step we take will pave a path. Better watch where we’re going, dearest denizens.
Traveler, there is no road; the road is made as you go.
~Antonio Machado
I work from home, so self-isolation is my default setting; but suddenly my workplace is teeming with people and activities I’m not used to, so resuming semi-normal workaday functions will take some time. Homeschooling, homework, news upon news after news, keeping in touch with family, friends and colleagues… It’s hard to concentrate. I asked my unflappable little brother (father of three) how he’s faring working from home with the kids. “I had to go sit in the car.” Whatever works, right?
For the young ones, this feels like a punishment. I want my friends and I want my hobbies and I want my freedom of movement and every other thing I’m used to. Well, you can’t have them right now, and that’s just the way it is. If my boys start grumbling, I’ll start telling them about their great-grandfather in WWII while their great-grandmother worked 36 hours a day back home and what the last trimester of pregnancy feels like to say nothing of giving birth. Stuff and stories like that. I know something closer to home and frame of reference might work better. But they’re neither little nor stupid, so I choose the big guns. Make ‘em count their blessings. Give them pause, perspective, you know. Works like a charm.
Some are upset their spring break got cancelled, their summer holiday plans are ruined, their online shopping is stuck somewhere and this doesn’t really concern them since they’re young and in good health and clubbing is a human right. How easy it is to start thinking that you’re entitled to things you’re simply accustomed to. Some are about to lose their jobs. Some could lose their homes. Some will lose their lives. Let’s see how humans and humanity rate on less easily quantifiable things such as cooperation and resilience now that we are all in this together. Kinda. Sorta. Not really. Some have withdrawn to an all-inclusive resort. Some are battling the elements beyond the gates. So many freelancers, single parents, the anxiety-ridden, homeless men/women/teens/families, struggling-to-begin-with artists/performing artists/artists period, small business owners, large families living in a shoebox of an apartment, refugees, people whose proverbial bootstraps are about to snap…destitute fellow humans for whom this is a disaster in every meaning of the word. If you have the means, seek ways to help, personally as a patron or through an organization. Support your local at every turn so that they’ll still be there when the smoke clears. If they’ve been forced to close shop for now, throw disposable income at them as soon as possible. This affects everyone directly and immediately or indirectly and over time. We are the market. We are the economy.
And who said there is no such thing as society? [Thatcher.] We are it. Nothing without each other. We are all part and parcel of this network we keep going and which keeps us busy and flowing. I know society seems like an amorphous beast because each individual is different, but when push comes to shove, we have one mission and only one mission: to protect one another. In that sense, we are in this together. You and I, and your lovely neighbors, and that cagey guy from work, and the cashier at the grocer’s, you know, that sweet old lady who’s worked there since the beginning of time, and your old teacher, the one with cancer, and everyone we cross paths with daily and will never cross paths with.
One microscopic little thing. That was all it took. How fragile, how vulnerable humans and our endeavors are. How I wish that something good comes out of this. Everyone keeps saying how this will change things for good, as in irrevocably. I hope good is the operative word. Because we will have to make a choice. Where do we go from here? How do we get there? What do we do about seemingly endless conflicts? What do we do about slowly but surely evolving crises? What do we do about threats to democracy and equality? How do we protect humanity from future pandemics? Every step we take will pave a path. Better watch where we’re going, dearest denizens.
Traveler, there is no road; the road is made as you go.
~Antonio Machado
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Love in the time of corona
Temperature: It’s 6/43 degrees on the 133rd of November. Winter never came, spring hasn’t quite arrived, so it feels like November; a rainy, dreary, endless November.
Eating: nuts and raisins
Drinking: Saving all my thirst for St. Patrick’s.
Watching: my husband grow a beard, which he has never sported in all our years together. Gotta say, and I’m not the only one saying it, he looks mighty handsome. He has those classic good looks where you could dress him up in clothes from any era and he wouldn’t look out of place.
Listening: to my firstborn wry-wit-wrangling the classics: “This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a coughing fit.”
Reading: My Cat Yugoslavia by Pajtim Statovci
Thinking: about my sister-in-law and her husband, and his poor mother who found out that her mother has tested positive for Covid-19 but was sent home because the hospital is about to burst. Neither elderly mother nor distraught daughter or grandson are allowed to travel. I hope she pulls through, but she is in her nineties. So many old, frail and ailing among us. Watch over them, dearest denizens, whichever way you can. And be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
Eating: nuts and raisins
Drinking: Saving all my thirst for St. Patrick’s.
Watching: my husband grow a beard, which he has never sported in all our years together. Gotta say, and I’m not the only one saying it, he looks mighty handsome. He has those classic good looks where you could dress him up in clothes from any era and he wouldn’t look out of place.
Listening: to my firstborn wry-wit-wrangling the classics: “This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a coughing fit.”
Reading: My Cat Yugoslavia by Pajtim Statovci
Thinking: about my sister-in-law and her husband, and his poor mother who found out that her mother has tested positive for Covid-19 but was sent home because the hospital is about to burst. Neither elderly mother nor distraught daughter or grandson are allowed to travel. I hope she pulls through, but she is in her nineties. So many old, frail and ailing among us. Watch over them, dearest denizens, whichever way you can. And be well, sweetie darlings, wherever you are.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Dita and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
You know the kind. The one involving an altercation. And for a person who'd rather handle matters in a civilized manner, an altercation is an abomination. [Such an expressive language, English. With a word for everything. Except schadenfreude. With a million-ish words to choose from, can't we come up with something? Any suggestions? Misfortune-merry? Affliction-merry? Accident-glad? Accident-pleased? Woe-is-you-woo-hoo? Hmm. Woe-is-you-woo-hoo. Woe-is-you-woo-hooism. I like the sound of and sounds in that. Start using it. Start spreading it. You heard it here first! You attended the birth!!]
But some adults act like children and get angry when faced with facts they disagree with or simply don't want to hear. Listen carefully then respond. Calmly. Don't shut down the other person then storm off all na-na na-na boo-boo I win. Doesn't change the facts, only how I see you.
I need a hug. Anybody need a hug? Hugs all around, sweetie darlings.
But some adults act like children and get angry when faced with facts they disagree with or simply don't want to hear. Listen carefully then respond. Calmly. Don't shut down the other person then storm off all na-na na-na boo-boo I win. Doesn't change the facts, only how I see you.
I need a hug. Anybody need a hug? Hugs all around, sweetie darlings.
Friday, October 25, 2019
Somebody that I used to know
I recently found out that someone I’ve known for 20+ years had been close by for a considerable amount of time without making contact. We’ve been separated by geography for years now, and have seen each other a mere handful of times over the past ten years. But modern tech provides all the tools we need to keep in touch, and I have tried to keep the lines open, but the lines have grown quieter and quieter over the years. There’s work and family and probably a host of things I don’t know about. And that’s okay.
Friendships shouldn’t be forced, ever. What brings and glues people together sometimes stops applying. Timetables conflict. Lifestyles conflict. Foundations crumble or were never that solid to begin with. And we are two very private, self-sufficient girls in an awfully public, self-aggrandizing world, not prone to splashing our daily life out in the open for the other to track. That’s a conscious, personal choice that comes with a price: make the effort one-on-one or risk losing touch. But…not a single call or email, no attempt to touch base. Nothing. She obviously didn’t feel the need to. And I guess it’s none of my business why. Having said that, is it petty of me to feel dismayed? Friendships are rewarding and enriching. They are also time-consuming and sometimes one-sided. I didn’t feel ours was either.
Maybe we just lacked that zing, that magic ingredient that allows you to pick up where you left off eons ago? We didn’t have that, did we? Time and space managed to do damage. We weren’t invested enough to take care of repairs. I still hope you’re happy, whatever makes you happy these days. I hope your children thrive; they always seemed as delightful and insightful as their mom. I hope you stay safe and curious. And I hope freedom doesn’t become too lonely a road. No man is an island. Many women are.
Friendships shouldn’t be forced, ever. What brings and glues people together sometimes stops applying. Timetables conflict. Lifestyles conflict. Foundations crumble or were never that solid to begin with. And we are two very private, self-sufficient girls in an awfully public, self-aggrandizing world, not prone to splashing our daily life out in the open for the other to track. That’s a conscious, personal choice that comes with a price: make the effort one-on-one or risk losing touch. But…not a single call or email, no attempt to touch base. Nothing. She obviously didn’t feel the need to. And I guess it’s none of my business why. Having said that, is it petty of me to feel dismayed? Friendships are rewarding and enriching. They are also time-consuming and sometimes one-sided. I didn’t feel ours was either.
Maybe we just lacked that zing, that magic ingredient that allows you to pick up where you left off eons ago? We didn’t have that, did we? Time and space managed to do damage. We weren’t invested enough to take care of repairs. I still hope you’re happy, whatever makes you happy these days. I hope your children thrive; they always seemed as delightful and insightful as their mom. I hope you stay safe and curious. And I hope freedom doesn’t become too lonely a road. No man is an island. Many women are.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Live to tell
Yesterday, the 12th of August, was International Youth Day. Yesterday, Robin Williams' suicide was all over the news. And the Academy was chastised for its "Genie, you're free" tweet, for implying, even inadvertently, that suicide is always an option, a way out, which I'm not sure was the message they were going for, but if the discussion that ensued comes back to message the UN was trying to convey about youth and mental health, so be it.
So can I just say something on the subject, not from a professional but a deeply personal perspective and experience? Well, I'm going to anyway, so if you don't wanna hear it, it's time to click on.
The summer before the last year of junior high, O spent a fun evening with his buddies, went home, tied a noose around his neck, cuffed his hands behind his back and hung himself. That's where his parents found him two days later, Sunday night. My sister lost a friend in college, a smart, witty and bubbly girl that one night stepped in front of a train. My husband's cousin shot himself in the army after a squabble that, by all accounts, could have been resolved with a sit-down.
Nothing connects these people apart from the fact that they were young, they are gone and no one had a clue that's where they were headed. Nothing in their demeanor, speach or actions hinted at thoughts they could have been thinking for a while. A spur of the moment thing then? We'll never know, we can only guess, and wish they had talked to us, someone, anyone, about the knots in their mind and the pain in their chest, whatever made the heart so heavy.
Isn't there always a clue, we're just too clueless, blind, insensitive to see? Here's the thing, and feel free to object, but we live not double but triple lives. There's the public level and persona we take to work and school, a personal one we share with family and friends (which may extend to people at work, school, etc.), and a private life we may share with both of the above, or not. Never fully, that's for sure, and it's always a personal individual choice how much and with whom you share that inner life.
Some have no problem talking about anything and everything with anyone who'll listen. Some have problems talking to others, period. It's not necessarily a matter of chemistry, temperament, trust, how long or well you know someone, some external condition, but an internal struggle or shadow, and I guess that's what baffles us not privy to that information, that personal inner lever. How could someone so full of life harbor thoughts of death?
It's easy to lose connection with colleagues, with friends, even family. It's just as easy to lose connection with yourself. That rich inner life can turn on you, overwhelm you, and some are better equipped than others to fight and find their way back, to sort it all out. But what becomes of those too tired to seek help themselves? Those who don't have anyone to help them seek help? Those who're told to stop crying wolf, to snap out of it? Those who do seek help but never get it, for whatever reason?
My oldest is now a preteen. Well in advance, and many times since, I told him something I was told in my youth, something that helped me, something I hope will help my kids through the turbulent years ahead. "I have bad news and I have good news. The bad news: For the next few years, life will suck. When you don't know what and how to feel you will feel ten ways at once. You'll love everything and everyone one day and hate the same with a vengeance the next. The good news: It will pass."
I've only had one thing to add to that: Don't be afraid of your thoughts, your impulses or your emotions. A full life, a rich inner life, is not a life without strife but a true to life honest life without the rose-tinted glasses, a life where you face and embrace the whole spectrum, not just the rainbow. If your thoughts, your impulses or your emotions do start frightening you or overwhelming you, you must bring it up. Talk to a friend, a family member, doctor, teacher, priest...whomever you feel most comfortable talking to. If they can't help you, they will help you find someone who can. If you feel death would be preferable to feeling what you're feeling, you owe it to yourself (because that's who you're stuck with, that's who you need to get along with, get to know, first and foremost) to get to the bottom of it. Why not see this thing, your life, to the end, whenever that end comes, because rest assured life inevitably and eventually grants a death wish even if we never lift a finger to further it. So why hurry.
I once walked alongside someone with a diagnosed, debilitating depression. One of the longest and most frightening and frustrating and humbling walks of my life. Long because it took two and a half years. Frightening because I feared she'd lose the will to live. Frustrating because there was nothing I could say or do to help her or heal her, my love couldn't save her, all I could do was walk with her while she did all the work, the hardest part, sorted out all the unfinished business that burdened her soul. Humbling because she let me be there all the same, in all my utter uselessness and helplessness, and because she talked to me, showed me that inner life of hers, trusted me with it.
This much I can tell you about our walkabout: There will be days, weeks, months when you will be certain you will never pull through. Amid those thoughts, somewhere in the back of your mind, another thought flashes, dim and distant, occasional but definitely there: It doesn't have to be this way. Seize that thought. Reconnect with yourself. If you never felt that connection in the first place, search for it. Build it. Build on it. Take all the time you need, however long that is, and it may be a very long time, but there's no hurry. You may have to shut out the world and focus on yourself and yourself only while at it. Some people will understand and they will be patient. Some won't and they will be cruel. Seek professional help if that's what it takes, take the label, the diagnose, the meds if need be, just don't give up on yourself. Every day decide to hold on for one more day. Repeat. Every day. There will be setbacks. That's OK. Don't rush it. Don't expect a road to Damascus moment. You don't have to find Jesus, the meaning of life or anything of the sort, just your way back to yourself. One breath, one moment, one day at a time.
Take this with a grain of salt or throw the container at me but give things another think before you act on any impulse or emotion, as strong as they are, as all-important or permanent as they may feel. And don't always think too long before you speak, as scary as it may feel, as crazy as it may seem. It's your life so stake your claim. Own it. Own it.
So can I just say something on the subject, not from a professional but a deeply personal perspective and experience? Well, I'm going to anyway, so if you don't wanna hear it, it's time to click on.
The summer before the last year of junior high, O spent a fun evening with his buddies, went home, tied a noose around his neck, cuffed his hands behind his back and hung himself. That's where his parents found him two days later, Sunday night. My sister lost a friend in college, a smart, witty and bubbly girl that one night stepped in front of a train. My husband's cousin shot himself in the army after a squabble that, by all accounts, could have been resolved with a sit-down.
Nothing connects these people apart from the fact that they were young, they are gone and no one had a clue that's where they were headed. Nothing in their demeanor, speach or actions hinted at thoughts they could have been thinking for a while. A spur of the moment thing then? We'll never know, we can only guess, and wish they had talked to us, someone, anyone, about the knots in their mind and the pain in their chest, whatever made the heart so heavy.
Isn't there always a clue, we're just too clueless, blind, insensitive to see? Here's the thing, and feel free to object, but we live not double but triple lives. There's the public level and persona we take to work and school, a personal one we share with family and friends (which may extend to people at work, school, etc.), and a private life we may share with both of the above, or not. Never fully, that's for sure, and it's always a personal individual choice how much and with whom you share that inner life.
Some have no problem talking about anything and everything with anyone who'll listen. Some have problems talking to others, period. It's not necessarily a matter of chemistry, temperament, trust, how long or well you know someone, some external condition, but an internal struggle or shadow, and I guess that's what baffles us not privy to that information, that personal inner lever. How could someone so full of life harbor thoughts of death?
It's easy to lose connection with colleagues, with friends, even family. It's just as easy to lose connection with yourself. That rich inner life can turn on you, overwhelm you, and some are better equipped than others to fight and find their way back, to sort it all out. But what becomes of those too tired to seek help themselves? Those who don't have anyone to help them seek help? Those who're told to stop crying wolf, to snap out of it? Those who do seek help but never get it, for whatever reason?
My oldest is now a preteen. Well in advance, and many times since, I told him something I was told in my youth, something that helped me, something I hope will help my kids through the turbulent years ahead. "I have bad news and I have good news. The bad news: For the next few years, life will suck. When you don't know what and how to feel you will feel ten ways at once. You'll love everything and everyone one day and hate the same with a vengeance the next. The good news: It will pass."
I've only had one thing to add to that: Don't be afraid of your thoughts, your impulses or your emotions. A full life, a rich inner life, is not a life without strife but a true to life honest life without the rose-tinted glasses, a life where you face and embrace the whole spectrum, not just the rainbow. If your thoughts, your impulses or your emotions do start frightening you or overwhelming you, you must bring it up. Talk to a friend, a family member, doctor, teacher, priest...whomever you feel most comfortable talking to. If they can't help you, they will help you find someone who can. If you feel death would be preferable to feeling what you're feeling, you owe it to yourself (because that's who you're stuck with, that's who you need to get along with, get to know, first and foremost) to get to the bottom of it. Why not see this thing, your life, to the end, whenever that end comes, because rest assured life inevitably and eventually grants a death wish even if we never lift a finger to further it. So why hurry.
I once walked alongside someone with a diagnosed, debilitating depression. One of the longest and most frightening and frustrating and humbling walks of my life. Long because it took two and a half years. Frightening because I feared she'd lose the will to live. Frustrating because there was nothing I could say or do to help her or heal her, my love couldn't save her, all I could do was walk with her while she did all the work, the hardest part, sorted out all the unfinished business that burdened her soul. Humbling because she let me be there all the same, in all my utter uselessness and helplessness, and because she talked to me, showed me that inner life of hers, trusted me with it.
This much I can tell you about our walkabout: There will be days, weeks, months when you will be certain you will never pull through. Amid those thoughts, somewhere in the back of your mind, another thought flashes, dim and distant, occasional but definitely there: It doesn't have to be this way. Seize that thought. Reconnect with yourself. If you never felt that connection in the first place, search for it. Build it. Build on it. Take all the time you need, however long that is, and it may be a very long time, but there's no hurry. You may have to shut out the world and focus on yourself and yourself only while at it. Some people will understand and they will be patient. Some won't and they will be cruel. Seek professional help if that's what it takes, take the label, the diagnose, the meds if need be, just don't give up on yourself. Every day decide to hold on for one more day. Repeat. Every day. There will be setbacks. That's OK. Don't rush it. Don't expect a road to Damascus moment. You don't have to find Jesus, the meaning of life or anything of the sort, just your way back to yourself. One breath, one moment, one day at a time.
Take this with a grain of salt or throw the container at me but give things another think before you act on any impulse or emotion, as strong as they are, as all-important or permanent as they may feel. And don't always think too long before you speak, as scary as it may feel, as crazy as it may seem. It's your life so stake your claim. Own it. Own it.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Coming around again
How are you, dearest dearest denizens? Doing well, I trust, being as Tardis as they come, right? We came back late Friday night and on Saturday I celebrated my birthday in glamorous fashion by doing loads of laundry with some bubbly close at hand, estupidamente gelado i.e. insanely cold as Brazilians drink their beer. Vacation time is over but summer certainly isn't, the sun finally found it's way to Scandinavia and it's a hot one.
The last leg of our trip was a scorcher of a week in Denmark where we met a lot of very nice (and very tattooed!, what's up with that?) people, at least half of whom had probably done bit parts in Vikings (the TV series) at some point, judging by those tattoos I mean, which read like episode guides. If Finland is a forest spotted by towns and fields, Denmark is a (level) field of connected islands spotted by towns and forests. Using Swedish was just as useless as I thought it would be, apart for reading signs and such. They might understand what you were asking but trying to decipher the answer... Holie!
The World Cup now feels like a hundred years ago. I felt sorry for Brazil for a minute or two. So did they. And then life and the party went on. Germany displayed amazing restraint on the pitch, playing against a team playing in total shock, and admirable sportsmanship and support later on, on Twitter for example, and I second Mesut Özil: "you have a beautiful country, wonderful people and amazing footballers-this match may not destroy your pride! #Brasil".
Life resumed normal programing but they'll never ever forget. They're still talking about the loss against Uruguay in 1950. 1950! Brazilians still love football but many hated the Cup (read: FIFA) and are actually relieved Brazil didn't win because then all the insane amounts of money spent would have been forgiven and the protests forgotten. They didn't deserve to win and that's that, not with how they played, and maybe the pressure was too much, the expectations too great and the signals the team got, well, like I said they were mixed. What do I know. What I do know is football has always been fun and free and inclusive, an outlet as much as a doorway to a better future, everything the multibillion business the Cup is wasn't.
Next in line: the Olympics in 2016. We'll see how that goes. Don't know if we're going. Time to get back to work and down to business or we're definitely not going. Looking forward to it, actually, going back to work. No, really! Sure it was fun spending time with family, mine and Hubby's. On the rare occasion all siblings on both sides get together, I've counted 4 nationalities of 3 denominations with an atheist and agnostic thrown in who speak 5 mother tongues and all work in different fields. A family of many cultures and colors and creeds, some deeply rooted, some expats on the move, and it may look and sound like Babel but it's our life. It's life.
Such is my family, sweetie darlings, and such is the world and such a shame not everyone sees the beauty or respects the diversity of it all and I guess I can't make them, but we're all cousins on this planet, some more distant than others but cousins all the same. So when that's the world you know, your truth and your experience, how depressing was getting up to speed with the news after doing the Dark Side of the Moon Tour i.e. trying to unplug and avoid news outlets of all sorts. Pretty damn depressing. South Sudan and Syria, Gaza and Ukraine, Libya and Egypt, ISIS and Boko Haram, Ebola and terror, extremism and nationalism of the worst kind. Never again but always one more time.
What a family of feuding, belligerent clans we are. One thing I've noticed, no, four: In the middle of all the barbarity, it's easy to lose sight of all that's good and right and getting better. In the middle of all the savagery, it's easy to lose hope and trust and faith things will keep getting better. In some, any sign of vulnerability or helplessness, of distress or fear, rouses the need to protect. Some it just puts in a sadistic rage, and when that rage takes over you get a baby torn out of a belly sliced open with a machete. A five-year-old shot in the head. A woman raped to an inch of her life then buried alive. A man gutted like a fish. Not on the dark side of the moon. Not in some alternate sick twisted world. Ours.
I know you can't dwell on it all day long or you'll go mad. You cannot not think about it because it's like toothpaste oozing out of the tube. Good luck trying to push it back in. It's out, it's a mess, so what are you gonna do about it? What does this have to do with anything? Nothing, I guess. Everything, I suspect, because last night I dreamed I was back with my grandparents where I spent many happy summer weeks in my childhood.
I wasn't a kid in the dream, I was an adult and so were they. Not old like in the end, just adults. Funny that's where my mind went for solace. Logical, really. They gave the best years of their youth to a war that claimed her brother early on and a piece of his mind forever after. The very same years I spent at university having fun and getting a degree, he spent dodging and firing bullets while she worked her fingers to the bone in backbreaking labor so he'd have a home to come back to.
He rarely talked about it, any of it. She often told stories about life in the home front and what her brother was like, and one of my most treasured pictures is my great-uncle in his uniform, 19 years old, so very handsome and about to die. I could only imagine her pain. She missed him all her life. I could only imagine her fear. Would she lose her husband next?
He came back after years of fighting and close calls with barely a scratch on him. How is that possible? How do you go on in the middle of all that, after all that, with all you've witnessed and suffered and sacrificed? Play some football, meet up with family and friends, go out and see the world, not with a rifle on your shoulder but a backpack? You just do because you have to and because there is no option and it's not always your choice or voice that matters, it's not about you but the people around you.
So much randomness, a location lottery, a game of chance, an inch, a second that changes the course of one's life or spells death. So much love and selflessness, so much beauty and wonder, a word, an act that changes the course of one's life for the better. What a world we live in, sweetie darlings. What a family we are.
The last leg of our trip was a scorcher of a week in Denmark where we met a lot of very nice (and very tattooed!, what's up with that?) people, at least half of whom had probably done bit parts in Vikings (the TV series) at some point, judging by those tattoos I mean, which read like episode guides. If Finland is a forest spotted by towns and fields, Denmark is a (level) field of connected islands spotted by towns and forests. Using Swedish was just as useless as I thought it would be, apart for reading signs and such. They might understand what you were asking but trying to decipher the answer... Holie!
The World Cup now feels like a hundred years ago. I felt sorry for Brazil for a minute or two. So did they. And then life and the party went on. Germany displayed amazing restraint on the pitch, playing against a team playing in total shock, and admirable sportsmanship and support later on, on Twitter for example, and I second Mesut Özil: "you have a beautiful country, wonderful people and amazing footballers-this match may not destroy your pride! #Brasil".
Life resumed normal programing but they'll never ever forget. They're still talking about the loss against Uruguay in 1950. 1950! Brazilians still love football but many hated the Cup (read: FIFA) and are actually relieved Brazil didn't win because then all the insane amounts of money spent would have been forgiven and the protests forgotten. They didn't deserve to win and that's that, not with how they played, and maybe the pressure was too much, the expectations too great and the signals the team got, well, like I said they were mixed. What do I know. What I do know is football has always been fun and free and inclusive, an outlet as much as a doorway to a better future, everything the multibillion business the Cup is wasn't.
Next in line: the Olympics in 2016. We'll see how that goes. Don't know if we're going. Time to get back to work and down to business or we're definitely not going. Looking forward to it, actually, going back to work. No, really! Sure it was fun spending time with family, mine and Hubby's. On the rare occasion all siblings on both sides get together, I've counted 4 nationalities of 3 denominations with an atheist and agnostic thrown in who speak 5 mother tongues and all work in different fields. A family of many cultures and colors and creeds, some deeply rooted, some expats on the move, and it may look and sound like Babel but it's our life. It's life.
Such is my family, sweetie darlings, and such is the world and such a shame not everyone sees the beauty or respects the diversity of it all and I guess I can't make them, but we're all cousins on this planet, some more distant than others but cousins all the same. So when that's the world you know, your truth and your experience, how depressing was getting up to speed with the news after doing the Dark Side of the Moon Tour i.e. trying to unplug and avoid news outlets of all sorts. Pretty damn depressing. South Sudan and Syria, Gaza and Ukraine, Libya and Egypt, ISIS and Boko Haram, Ebola and terror, extremism and nationalism of the worst kind. Never again but always one more time.
What a family of feuding, belligerent clans we are. One thing I've noticed, no, four: In the middle of all the barbarity, it's easy to lose sight of all that's good and right and getting better. In the middle of all the savagery, it's easy to lose hope and trust and faith things will keep getting better. In some, any sign of vulnerability or helplessness, of distress or fear, rouses the need to protect. Some it just puts in a sadistic rage, and when that rage takes over you get a baby torn out of a belly sliced open with a machete. A five-year-old shot in the head. A woman raped to an inch of her life then buried alive. A man gutted like a fish. Not on the dark side of the moon. Not in some alternate sick twisted world. Ours.
I know you can't dwell on it all day long or you'll go mad. You cannot not think about it because it's like toothpaste oozing out of the tube. Good luck trying to push it back in. It's out, it's a mess, so what are you gonna do about it? What does this have to do with anything? Nothing, I guess. Everything, I suspect, because last night I dreamed I was back with my grandparents where I spent many happy summer weeks in my childhood.
I wasn't a kid in the dream, I was an adult and so were they. Not old like in the end, just adults. Funny that's where my mind went for solace. Logical, really. They gave the best years of their youth to a war that claimed her brother early on and a piece of his mind forever after. The very same years I spent at university having fun and getting a degree, he spent dodging and firing bullets while she worked her fingers to the bone in backbreaking labor so he'd have a home to come back to.
He rarely talked about it, any of it. She often told stories about life in the home front and what her brother was like, and one of my most treasured pictures is my great-uncle in his uniform, 19 years old, so very handsome and about to die. I could only imagine her pain. She missed him all her life. I could only imagine her fear. Would she lose her husband next?
He came back after years of fighting and close calls with barely a scratch on him. How is that possible? How do you go on in the middle of all that, after all that, with all you've witnessed and suffered and sacrificed? Play some football, meet up with family and friends, go out and see the world, not with a rifle on your shoulder but a backpack? You just do because you have to and because there is no option and it's not always your choice or voice that matters, it's not about you but the people around you.
So much randomness, a location lottery, a game of chance, an inch, a second that changes the course of one's life or spells death. So much love and selflessness, so much beauty and wonder, a word, an act that changes the course of one's life for the better. What a world we live in, sweetie darlings. What a family we are.
Friday, November 9, 2012
What's going on
I love our modern times, I really do. But I sometimes feel as if something got severed on the way from the Enlightenment to today, some important connection between body and mind. For all the talk on holistic approaches to health, the body is still the seat of all that is base. Something to be feared, something to be mastered. Controlled. Think of the double standards applied to gender and sexuality. Or think of popular culture. Genres that evoke a physical response instead of an intellectual one (horror, comedy, romance...) have never been valued, awarded or applauded, not like their cerebral sisters and brothers.
And food and eating, OMG, sweetie darlings. It's not a pleasure, is it, it's a project to be tackled calculator in hand and monitor on wrist. Where's the joy? The enjoyment? I know people, most of them are women, sorry but yeah, who look at every bite as if it was trying to kill them. They look at every bite others have as bombs about to be digested, voluntarily, and they look at the individual about to die of living with pity.
I look at those people, want to shake them, scream, "Snap out of it!" I think of those who have no food. Those so sick they can't eat even if they wanted to. How does all that guilt, all the shame and shaming associated with eating put food on their table or tummies? But it's not about them, is it? It's about you, the one thing, possibly the only thing, you can control in these uncertain times of ours. Which is just another illusion, isn't it?
I take care of my body to ensure, as far as you can anyway, it takes care of me, keeps me going. I know it pretty well, how it functions, its demands. We've been getting close and better acquainted through sickness and health, through sports and pregnancies, and sensual pleasures such as eating and sex. Right now, I know something is wrong. I just don't know what it is yet. Hence the radio silence. (Yeah, I'm usually a motormouth, aren't I, hard to get a word in. Tsk.)
I will blog as scheduled on 69 Shades plus the guest appearances I've already booked, and leave a note here when I feel the force is with me. I'm not going to talk about it on Facebook, I'm not going to Tweet my medical record. (And I'm not judging. If it's something you do and find helpful, to you and perhaps others, write away!) I'll be out and about if and when I can, but what I really need to do right now is take care of myself while trying not to scare the wee ones. They're already a bit freaked out seeing Mom unwell and she can't explain why.
Here's hoping the something turns out to be nothing. In the meantime, go hang out with your favorite artists and authors, your family and friends. And be good to yourself! Listen to some music. Dance. Watch something that evokes every emotion ever felt. Laugh, cry, cringe. Feel it. Really feel it, without shame. Cook something from scratch. Eat without guilt. Take a long walk in a new direction. Enjoy the sensual world. I know life sometimes feels so senseless, and maybe it has no meaning, no one thing true and applicable to all, but you can always try to make yours a meaningful one. Do you understand what I'm getting on about, what I'm trying to say? It's all right, dearest denizens. I still love you. See you around,
Smooches, D.
And food and eating, OMG, sweetie darlings. It's not a pleasure, is it, it's a project to be tackled calculator in hand and monitor on wrist. Where's the joy? The enjoyment? I know people, most of them are women, sorry but yeah, who look at every bite as if it was trying to kill them. They look at every bite others have as bombs about to be digested, voluntarily, and they look at the individual about to die of living with pity.
I look at those people, want to shake them, scream, "Snap out of it!" I think of those who have no food. Those so sick they can't eat even if they wanted to. How does all that guilt, all the shame and shaming associated with eating put food on their table or tummies? But it's not about them, is it? It's about you, the one thing, possibly the only thing, you can control in these uncertain times of ours. Which is just another illusion, isn't it?
I take care of my body to ensure, as far as you can anyway, it takes care of me, keeps me going. I know it pretty well, how it functions, its demands. We've been getting close and better acquainted through sickness and health, through sports and pregnancies, and sensual pleasures such as eating and sex. Right now, I know something is wrong. I just don't know what it is yet. Hence the radio silence. (Yeah, I'm usually a motormouth, aren't I, hard to get a word in. Tsk.)
I will blog as scheduled on 69 Shades plus the guest appearances I've already booked, and leave a note here when I feel the force is with me. I'm not going to talk about it on Facebook, I'm not going to Tweet my medical record. (And I'm not judging. If it's something you do and find helpful, to you and perhaps others, write away!) I'll be out and about if and when I can, but what I really need to do right now is take care of myself while trying not to scare the wee ones. They're already a bit freaked out seeing Mom unwell and she can't explain why.
Here's hoping the something turns out to be nothing. In the meantime, go hang out with your favorite artists and authors, your family and friends. And be good to yourself! Listen to some music. Dance. Watch something that evokes every emotion ever felt. Laugh, cry, cringe. Feel it. Really feel it, without shame. Cook something from scratch. Eat without guilt. Take a long walk in a new direction. Enjoy the sensual world. I know life sometimes feels so senseless, and maybe it has no meaning, no one thing true and applicable to all, but you can always try to make yours a meaningful one. Do you understand what I'm getting on about, what I'm trying to say? It's all right, dearest denizens. I still love you. See you around,
Smooches, D.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Tuesday 17th
Ran into some bad luck on a Friday 13th? Try surviving a Tuesday 17th! The range hood broke down, my birthday bash plans went south and since it won't stop raining, the roof is leaking!
Life felt like a bad blues song today. Edits going nicely though so there's that. Gaah, I hate self-pity with a fire. Better shut up before the blues turns into an opera in five acts.
Drinks with Lucie from Perpetual Pleasure on the 23rd? I sure could use one or three. Stop it. Thanks for listening. I'll just show myself out now. Night, all.
Life felt like a bad blues song today. Edits going nicely though so there's that. Gaah, I hate self-pity with a fire. Better shut up before the blues turns into an opera in five acts.
Drinks with Lucie from Perpetual Pleasure on the 23rd? I sure could use one or three. Stop it. Thanks for listening. I'll just show myself out now. Night, all.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
I'll remember you
When I take to the skies
When I start my car
When your sister calls
When I dance
When I draw
Even if I try to forget
When Sarah sings
When I'm oh so scared
When that hymn plays
When the sea rages
When the anger swells
Even when it hurts
When I smell a forest
When I touch a tree
When I'm cutting wood
When I start a fire
When I stare into one
How could I ever forget
When I pick up a book
When I'm touched by one
When I try to write
When I can't find the words
When I press on
Because everything I do reminds me of you
When I start my car
When your sister calls
When I dance
When I draw
Even if I try to forget
When Sarah sings
When I'm oh so scared
When that hymn plays
When the sea rages
When the anger swells
Even when it hurts
When I smell a forest
When I touch a tree
When I'm cutting wood
When I start a fire
When I stare into one
How could I ever forget
When I pick up a book
When I'm touched by one
When I try to write
When I can't find the words
When I press on
Because everything I do reminds me of you
Thursday, March 1, 2012
March on
March! Welcome!! Don't just stand there, come in, settle in, please!!! What's your poison? As lovely as a real winter, a white one, has been (minus the snow removal, the toil of Sisyphus, Sisyphus!, oh March, deliver me) my mind has been reaching for spring for a while now. My feet and hips, too. They've come to the consensus it's time. It's all carnival's fault, listening to the rhythms, looking at pictures my baby sis posts, doing the samba no pé amid daily chores. There's a drastic discrepancy between inner and outer scenery.
Incidentally, or not, I've been writing very disparate things, fluctuating between genres and languages and moods, and it hasn't even been that hard a task. Actually, it's been exhilarating; as it usually is when you find balance and things come together as you wish they would. Or maybe I just had some pent-up writing oomph to release after last week's winter break, the kids at home, lots of wintry outdoorsy activities going on (e.g. aforementioned Sisyphean snow removal) and not enough time to write all I wanted and needed to put down in words.
Well, as the Beatles used to sing, words are now flowing out like endless rain, and as any writer knows and will tell you, that's a happy place to be. I bet I just jinxed it by saying it out loud, but the Universe will have to get really creative to wipe out the wonder that was yesterday, a particularly productive day. Today wasn't half bad, either. I'm sorry to say not all that got written will end up in Dita's books but happy to report a considerable proportion of it will, so I hope D is happy and forgives me for last week's snub. She sure got vocal about it. The drama queen.
Publish or perish, they say in academia. What do they know? What I do know is that I've had a terrific writing week, I felt violently happy while at it, and whether or not those words get published, I'll keep at it. Dita got one thing right. I do need her. The world probably doesn't need another Romantica writer, but the world is welcome to try to stop me from writing erotic romance. It may drive home the message and never let another Parker book see the light of day. Then again, spring light and I may surprise said wicked world. I hope to be happily surprised real soon. I hope to happily surprise you soon after that. And if aforesaid world decides to give me lemons instead, I'll take it as Scandinavians take their tequila, their trials and their tribulations: stomp on the lemon, throw the salt over my shoulder and drink the glass to the bottom and shout, "Thank you, sir, may I have another." Because really, what the hell else can you do?
Incidentally, or not, I've been writing very disparate things, fluctuating between genres and languages and moods, and it hasn't even been that hard a task. Actually, it's been exhilarating; as it usually is when you find balance and things come together as you wish they would. Or maybe I just had some pent-up writing oomph to release after last week's winter break, the kids at home, lots of wintry outdoorsy activities going on (e.g. aforementioned Sisyphean snow removal) and not enough time to write all I wanted and needed to put down in words.
Well, as the Beatles used to sing, words are now flowing out like endless rain, and as any writer knows and will tell you, that's a happy place to be. I bet I just jinxed it by saying it out loud, but the Universe will have to get really creative to wipe out the wonder that was yesterday, a particularly productive day. Today wasn't half bad, either. I'm sorry to say not all that got written will end up in Dita's books but happy to report a considerable proportion of it will, so I hope D is happy and forgives me for last week's snub. She sure got vocal about it. The drama queen.
Publish or perish, they say in academia. What do they know? What I do know is that I've had a terrific writing week, I felt violently happy while at it, and whether or not those words get published, I'll keep at it. Dita got one thing right. I do need her. The world probably doesn't need another Romantica writer, but the world is welcome to try to stop me from writing erotic romance. It may drive home the message and never let another Parker book see the light of day. Then again, spring light and I may surprise said wicked world. I hope to be happily surprised real soon. I hope to happily surprise you soon after that. And if aforesaid world decides to give me lemons instead, I'll take it as Scandinavians take their tequila, their trials and their tribulations: stomp on the lemon, throw the salt over my shoulder and drink the glass to the bottom and shout, "Thank you, sir, may I have another." Because really, what the hell else can you do?
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
A design for life
The poet Juvenal urged his fellow Romans to pray for a sound mind in a healthy body. His first century prompt still stands. Whether you're an author or an athlete, both the mind and the body need to be in shape if you want to go the distance, rep after rep, mile after mile, page after page, reach the finish line. First, last, doesn't matter. You finish, you win.
I read about a guy who ran a marathon without a mile or minute of training, in denim shorts. He didn't do it to prove that it was easy. (In denim shorts, I suspect it was rather uncomfortable). He set out to show there's no secret, no mystery, that it's possible.
Now before you take to the streets in your cut-offs, a) consult a physician, b) learn technique, c) set a realistic goal and commit to it, d) be regular and be relentless, e) accept the fact there will be days when you won't feel like it, at all, and when that happens, f) be honest: do you need a break or just a kick in the butt?
The lessons I've taken away from physical exercise have helped me immensely in writing and life. They've helped me get over rough patches and disappointments, they've given me pause and perspective, a sense of proportion; they've generated a certain kind of confidence and a calm not many things can bring.
So what have I learned? Perseverance, self-motivation and self-discipline for one. Talent, inspiration and a general feeling of that-looks-like-fun-I-could-do-that only takes you so far. The rest involves facing and battling with the usual suspects: fear, doubt, inner demons, things beyond your control, lethargy (real fatigue or sheer laziness), and things that in no way stand in your way but you use as an excuse when you're just not feeling it. It's working diligently without any promise of reward. Most of the time, the work itself, the pleasure of doing, is your only reward. Still up for it? Get cracking.
The ability to concentrate on the here and now and the task at hand while shutting out everything else. And I do mean talk to the hand because the rest of me isn't listening. Come to think of it, the hand is otherwise occupied as well.
There is such a thing as Flow. And it's all it's cranked up to be. A state where you could write, run, insert your favorite pastime, effortlessly, until the end of time. It's a beautiful thing.
There is such a thing as The Wall. It's debilitating, yes, but not paralyzing. There are ways out and around. Always. You just have to find out what works for you.
You learn through repetition but practice does make you if not perfect, better. The boring necessary evil part, I guess. It takes thousands of repetitions to perfect a move, to make a response an automatic one, to get rid of bad habits and/or instill new and better ways of doing things.
Good habits are just as hard to kick as bad ones. So get addicted. Adrenaline, endorphin and the flow thingy are just as much of a high as cake, cigarettes and candy are.
Overtraining happens. You get excited, carried away even, overdo it and before you know it, you stop making progress. Actually, you're taking one step up and two steps back. Then again...
Keep doing what you're doing and you'll keep getting what you're getting. If that's where you were headed all along, congratulations, you've arrived. Or hit a plateau. Time to reassess those goals.
Rest and replenishment. An essential need, not a weakness. Absolutely vital if you want to keep growing. I've taken a break, or I've been forced to take one, only to come back stronger or just as strong as I was before the break.
Confidence, Jedi style. This is hard to teach and even harder to fake. You need to feel it to be able to project it. But when you have it, you walk through a crowd that would have sent you running in the past and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. You don't scowl or growl. You don't do your best Dirty Harry at all. You just... Okay. Hard to teach, fake and explain.
You can't win them all. Not every race, not every competitor. Play the game long enough and you will come across someone faster, stronger. There will be setbacks, moments of frustration, doubt and utter despair when you question the sanity of what it is you're doing. Time to quit or commit anew. And that's just the way it is.
You can't outsource this stuff. There's no pill that has quite the same effect. Above all, it's fun and it's energizing and it's life-affirming. It's such an adventure, finding out what the body can and can't do. What a design. What an instrument. Take care of it and it will take care of you. That's all I'm saying.
Spoken like a true fitness fascist, you say? No. No no no. I'm a hedonist. I love sensual pleasures. I love food and tipple. I love planning a meal. I love cooking and eating. Ooh, and baking. But I really really like my exercise, too. (And I repeat: Not. A. Fascist. It's the health/feel-good thing that drives me, not weight loss. Weight loss is a byproduct, not the goal. But if it's your goal, consider this: when you do exercise, regularly, you don't have to watch every bite, you can go all-out hedonist on occasion and still respect yourself the next day.)
Bottom line: No exercise makes Dita a very cranky, restless girl. I crave a physical outlet just as much as I do an intellectual one. It doesn't have to be choreographed or complicated, it just has to get me moving, and right now, the mind is willing but the body isn't able and doesn't that just suck and blow. The flu has been raging through the family since January first, the holidays being the perfect time to exchange not only gifts but germs as well, so I've been out of sorts all year. I bet I can think of ten more lessons the second I press Publish. Because my mind isn't functioning properly since my body isn't. Oh well. Such is life.
[One more thing. I suspect one of the reasons some aren't moving at all is that getting and keeping fit looks like a choreographed and complicated affair where if you don't have the right gear or don't know the latest fitness fad, if you don't go to a certain gym or if you think the equipment look like something Monsieur Guillotine must have devised, you need not bother at all. Nothing could be further from the truth, sweetie darlings! Nothing!! Don't believe the hype!!! You don't need money to get fit. You don't need product X, brand Y, or gym Z. You can walk yourself fit. Dance in your own living room. You can do loads of things with your own bodyweight and nothing but. Look it up. Carrying your own weight. Literally and figuratively. I guess that's what it's all about.]
I read about a guy who ran a marathon without a mile or minute of training, in denim shorts. He didn't do it to prove that it was easy. (In denim shorts, I suspect it was rather uncomfortable). He set out to show there's no secret, no mystery, that it's possible.
Now before you take to the streets in your cut-offs, a) consult a physician, b) learn technique, c) set a realistic goal and commit to it, d) be regular and be relentless, e) accept the fact there will be days when you won't feel like it, at all, and when that happens, f) be honest: do you need a break or just a kick in the butt?
The lessons I've taken away from physical exercise have helped me immensely in writing and life. They've helped me get over rough patches and disappointments, they've given me pause and perspective, a sense of proportion; they've generated a certain kind of confidence and a calm not many things can bring.
So what have I learned? Perseverance, self-motivation and self-discipline for one. Talent, inspiration and a general feeling of that-looks-like-fun-I-could-do-that only takes you so far. The rest involves facing and battling with the usual suspects: fear, doubt, inner demons, things beyond your control, lethargy (real fatigue or sheer laziness), and things that in no way stand in your way but you use as an excuse when you're just not feeling it. It's working diligently without any promise of reward. Most of the time, the work itself, the pleasure of doing, is your only reward. Still up for it? Get cracking.
The ability to concentrate on the here and now and the task at hand while shutting out everything else. And I do mean talk to the hand because the rest of me isn't listening. Come to think of it, the hand is otherwise occupied as well.
There is such a thing as Flow. And it's all it's cranked up to be. A state where you could write, run, insert your favorite pastime, effortlessly, until the end of time. It's a beautiful thing.
There is such a thing as The Wall. It's debilitating, yes, but not paralyzing. There are ways out and around. Always. You just have to find out what works for you.
You learn through repetition but practice does make you if not perfect, better. The boring necessary evil part, I guess. It takes thousands of repetitions to perfect a move, to make a response an automatic one, to get rid of bad habits and/or instill new and better ways of doing things.
Good habits are just as hard to kick as bad ones. So get addicted. Adrenaline, endorphin and the flow thingy are just as much of a high as cake, cigarettes and candy are.
Overtraining happens. You get excited, carried away even, overdo it and before you know it, you stop making progress. Actually, you're taking one step up and two steps back. Then again...
Keep doing what you're doing and you'll keep getting what you're getting. If that's where you were headed all along, congratulations, you've arrived. Or hit a plateau. Time to reassess those goals.
Rest and replenishment. An essential need, not a weakness. Absolutely vital if you want to keep growing. I've taken a break, or I've been forced to take one, only to come back stronger or just as strong as I was before the break.
Confidence, Jedi style. This is hard to teach and even harder to fake. You need to feel it to be able to project it. But when you have it, you walk through a crowd that would have sent you running in the past and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. You don't scowl or growl. You don't do your best Dirty Harry at all. You just... Okay. Hard to teach, fake and explain.
You can't win them all. Not every race, not every competitor. Play the game long enough and you will come across someone faster, stronger. There will be setbacks, moments of frustration, doubt and utter despair when you question the sanity of what it is you're doing. Time to quit or commit anew. And that's just the way it is.
You can't outsource this stuff. There's no pill that has quite the same effect. Above all, it's fun and it's energizing and it's life-affirming. It's such an adventure, finding out what the body can and can't do. What a design. What an instrument. Take care of it and it will take care of you. That's all I'm saying.
Spoken like a true fitness fascist, you say? No. No no no. I'm a hedonist. I love sensual pleasures. I love food and tipple. I love planning a meal. I love cooking and eating. Ooh, and baking. But I really really like my exercise, too. (And I repeat: Not. A. Fascist. It's the health/feel-good thing that drives me, not weight loss. Weight loss is a byproduct, not the goal. But if it's your goal, consider this: when you do exercise, regularly, you don't have to watch every bite, you can go all-out hedonist on occasion and still respect yourself the next day.)
Bottom line: No exercise makes Dita a very cranky, restless girl. I crave a physical outlet just as much as I do an intellectual one. It doesn't have to be choreographed or complicated, it just has to get me moving, and right now, the mind is willing but the body isn't able and doesn't that just suck and blow. The flu has been raging through the family since January first, the holidays being the perfect time to exchange not only gifts but germs as well, so I've been out of sorts all year. I bet I can think of ten more lessons the second I press Publish. Because my mind isn't functioning properly since my body isn't. Oh well. Such is life.
[One more thing. I suspect one of the reasons some aren't moving at all is that getting and keeping fit looks like a choreographed and complicated affair where if you don't have the right gear or don't know the latest fitness fad, if you don't go to a certain gym or if you think the equipment look like something Monsieur Guillotine must have devised, you need not bother at all. Nothing could be further from the truth, sweetie darlings! Nothing!! Don't believe the hype!!! You don't need money to get fit. You don't need product X, brand Y, or gym Z. You can walk yourself fit. Dance in your own living room. You can do loads of things with your own bodyweight and nothing but. Look it up. Carrying your own weight. Literally and figuratively. I guess that's what it's all about.]
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
For country or for crowd
Temperature: 0/32
Eating: mixed nuts
Drinking: glögg
Watching: The Nightmare Before Christmas later tonight
Listening: to the kids collaborating on a poster for I don't know what yet
Reading: Mankell's latest, Minnet av en smutsig ängel, in Swedish. It's gonna take like three years, but hey, anything for the sake of expanding one's vocabulary. (Forget Nordic Noir, give his other novels a try!)
Writing: trying to plot (plot!) a story I've been dying to dig into for a while
Feeling: Can you serve two masters? If you've succeeded, tell me how.
Eating: mixed nuts
Drinking: glögg
Watching: The Nightmare Before Christmas later tonight
Listening: to the kids collaborating on a poster for I don't know what yet
Reading: Mankell's latest, Minnet av en smutsig ängel, in Swedish. It's gonna take like three years, but hey, anything for the sake of expanding one's vocabulary. (Forget Nordic Noir, give his other novels a try!)
Writing: trying to plot (plot!) a story I've been dying to dig into for a while
Feeling: Can you serve two masters? If you've succeeded, tell me how.
Friday, March 25, 2011
To Edward Murphy, thanks for everything, Dita Parker
Say you're putting your child to bed. Your bed, because he was feeling funny, and you felt sorry for the little guy, because you're his mom, and you love him to pieces, and you only want him to be comfortable and feel better.
Say you're finally ready to go to bed yourself after making sure everything is in order for the next day, and you're feeling a bit funny yourself because it's an important day, one you want to face sharp of dress and mind, you know?
Say you hear something that could be categorized funny if you didn't know what it is you're hearing, a series of serious coughing coming from your bedroom, and you know, you just know, that in five seconds you'll be knee-deep in the chili you cooked for dinner with dessert thrown in (read: up) for good measure.
Say that's what you're dealing with three past midnight and it will be three till one in the morning before the child is washed and clothed and calm enough to try to go back to sleep in his own bed, and your bed, well, you're thinking of burning it because how will you ever get it clean and smelling decent, and it will be two before you've done all you can so the whole house doesn't stink, and two thirty before you've set up camp in the living room and are calm enough to try to catch some sleep yourself, and three thirty before you start believing you'll never sleep again, and four o'clock in the morning when you realize you're totally and irrevocably fucked.
Oh well.
There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for my babies, and today...today's for you, sweetie darlings, so we could be together a little more, so let's hope that not everything that could go wrong necessarily heads in that direction, and wash your hands, and stop picking your noses, and if you don't know what it is, please don't put it in your mouth, okay? Okay. I think I smell coffee. I think I need it. I think it will be all right.
Say you're finally ready to go to bed yourself after making sure everything is in order for the next day, and you're feeling a bit funny yourself because it's an important day, one you want to face sharp of dress and mind, you know?
Say you hear something that could be categorized funny if you didn't know what it is you're hearing, a series of serious coughing coming from your bedroom, and you know, you just know, that in five seconds you'll be knee-deep in the chili you cooked for dinner with dessert thrown in (read: up) for good measure.
Say that's what you're dealing with three past midnight and it will be three till one in the morning before the child is washed and clothed and calm enough to try to go back to sleep in his own bed, and your bed, well, you're thinking of burning it because how will you ever get it clean and smelling decent, and it will be two before you've done all you can so the whole house doesn't stink, and two thirty before you've set up camp in the living room and are calm enough to try to catch some sleep yourself, and three thirty before you start believing you'll never sleep again, and four o'clock in the morning when you realize you're totally and irrevocably fucked.
Oh well.
There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for my babies, and today...today's for you, sweetie darlings, so we could be together a little more, so let's hope that not everything that could go wrong necessarily heads in that direction, and wash your hands, and stop picking your noses, and if you don't know what it is, please don't put it in your mouth, okay? Okay. I think I smell coffee. I think I need it. I think it will be all right.
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