Lose Weight and Gain Brain Cells in 30 Days

By ZedZap

Are you nuts? my friend asked.

I’d just told her I signed up for National Write A Novel in a Month (NaNoWriMo).  The entire month of November was to be dedcated to writing a 51,000 word novel.

Well, it did seem kind of crazy since it was Nov 6 on the day I signed up.

It didn’t help that I took off 12 days to fly around the midwest and pester relatives.

When the clock struck midnight on Nov 30, I’d only logged 35,000 words, but I was goofy-glad with some discoveries.

1. The #1 being:  When you have an overwhelming job, just jump in and start.
2. For heaven’s sake, don’t stop and look around. You’ll discover you’re in a big freakin’ pile of work, so just keep going.
3. Decide that there are more important things than projects and enjoy people.

What I ended up with is a raucous, bawdyl romp through the classics that we were forced to read in high school. The Hulk. Dr Phil, and Nancy Drew were happy to join this great adventure, too.

So,  while I didn’t reach 51,000 words in 30 days, I’ll fininsh the last chapter this week.

Too bad I’ll still be nuts.

Bared to the Soul

I visited my mother.

On the first day, my mother didn’t know me when she saw me.

That was okay.  She’s collected a whole lot of birthdays.  She’s had a stroke. I’d prepared myself for such a possibility.

But then, sometime during the second day…she knew me.

I knew the moment it happened.

It wasn’t the “aha” moment I have with friends when I spot them in the grocery store. It was the quiet, solid locking of eyes when two people have shared the same experience. In that deep gaze, images came at me–rapid fire and plush with emotions: teenage arguments; late night talks, sewing lessons; snotty things I’d said…

In no particular order, wordless visions of our lives twined around each other as we stared.

She looked into my eyes and read the depths of my soul, asking me to understand all the words she  wasn’t  able to speak anymore.

“I know you,” was all the vocabulary she was able to say. All my courage and bravado crumbled.

I had prepared for my mother not knowing me.  I was unprepared for the depth at which she knew me.

I’m not for sure who my tears are for….her or me.

Hope is Taking a Second Look

I have this habit of reacting as soon as I hear something.  You know it always merits a second look.

It takes me time to shoulder a new habit, policy, or anything involving change.

I find when I stop and look at something from all angles, I usually come away with a different perspective…especially in dealing with people.

Most people are good when you finally see them.                                            Atticus Finch; To Kill a Mockingbird

God Loves to Paint

by WVS

Nuff said.

Hope is a Long Road

The Long Road by WVS

I was on a walk a couple days ago when I met up with The Scoutmaster. About five years ago, this seasoned outdoors man taught my family how to do a 50-mile hike through the mountains and make it fun.

We’ve been hiking ever since.

He showed us how to pack our backpacks and trained along with us so we could endure.

Even though he tried to prepare us,  one of the things that we had to discover for ourselves was that a hike is as much a  mental task as it is physical.

My pack weighs about 40 pounds. I remember being about halfway up a mountain slope, when I stopped, cursed and yelled, “I quit!”

Of course, I felt pretty stupid when the echo of my voice came back to me because the only way to get off the mountainside was to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Even though I’ve done lots of short and long hikes since then, I’m still amazed at how far a person can  go when they  simply keep walking.  Our progress shouldn’t be surprising because there are so many examples around us. A jagged rock will smooth into a boulder under the constant drip of water.  A solid stone wall will become an arch with the drilling of unending gusts of wind.   To keep moving forward will allow us to finally reach our destination.

It seems that the same truth applies to life. If you keep pounding away at problems, you’ll get past them. Sure there’s blisters, and dry spells, and maybe even some yelling, but the biggest battle is the mental stamina to keep pushing on.

Hope is a long road. It’s not always straight, but thank the Lord, He put folks in our path to help along the way.

Thanks to all of you who’ve helped me along the path. And thank  you wise Scoutmaster for showing that the journey can be fun.

Graduation Gifts that Keep Giving

Photo by CarbonNYC

Caps, gowns, and sitting in bleachers until one special person walks across the stage is a popular activity at this time of year.

I have several graduation announcements all begging for perfect gifts.  But what are they?

• A friend says she gives a small, black velvet bag with golden one-dollar coins inside.
• Another swears by the good ol’ Cross Pen set
• Probably the most logical advice I’ve received was:  “Give ‘em money. Everybody loves money.”

But I would like something more enduring. Something that would inspire hope in a dark period of life, because when you’re first starting out on the adult trail, you can expect that around one of the bends is a shadowy passage.

It made me think about what I received for graduation a million years ago.  I could have really used luggage, but I didn’t get any. I did get pens and money.  And I remember a thin, golden book called Apples of Gold. It was full of quotes and words of wisdom.

I didn’t read it until I was in graduate school. I probably didn’t think I needed it until I hit one of those dark nights of adult life.

Lisa of Tao of Webfoot says she still remembers a version of Rudyard Kipling’s poem, “If,” that had been adapted and given to her.

So maybe when we’re in grade school “Sticks and Stones may break our bones….

But when graduating into life…..

The gift of words have the power to inspire, heal, and give hope for a very long time.

What do you remember about your graduation gifts?

Mr. Spock Didn’t Have These Problems

I enjoyed the new Star Trek movie, nudging Scout and whispering, “It’s him!’ when the Old-Spock appeared on the screen.

The audience clapped when Leonard Nimoy’s voice intoned: “Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of……”   You know the rest.

As we left the dim theater for the bright lights of reality, it stuck me that unlike today’s citizens,  no character  in the Star Trek movies ever looks for a job.  The industrial military complex of the Starship Federation provides millions of positions throughout the universe (with no discrimination toward multiple eyes, borg-parts, or creepy rippled foreheads).

In the future, folks wear attractive uniforms, bosses are almost always fair, and careers  don’t crush your spirit. Perhaps that’s why we enjoy the movies so much. They take us away from the reality of jobs that we don’t enjoy.

The good news is that in today’s market, simply having a job is a blessing.

I interviewed a stone fabricator last week. He was excited because his company had just received an order for a new construction project.  He’s done lots of remodels lately, but this was for a new home.  “Things are starting to tick upward.” He grinned with hope.

So if you’re looking for work, it’s possible that one will open up soon. If you’re in a job that’s a stepping-stone to your dream-position, then you may be able to hop to the next step shortly.

And if you’re a Trekkie…may you find work that allows you “to go where no one has gone before.”

Perhaps, this isn't the manager to work for????

Who Said Life Wasn’t a Musical?

Check out this video and smile.

Occasional Moments of Grace

Once again, it  struck me how such small acts of kindness carve smiles into stiff hearts.

I saw it at the nursing home the other day. A gentleman stopped by to visit a resident and played a tune on the piano for her. Pretty soon the dining room was full of folks who had wheeled their chairs down to listen to the music. The piano player obliged and played old tunes. “I want a Girl just like the Girl that married Dear Old Dad,” or “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”.  Folks may have had a blank stare on their faces, but their lips were moving as unused words came back to them.

In another instance, a friend had left her purse in a shopping cart after buying groceries at a big box store. She realized it when she arrived home and made a frantic call to the service desk. An employee volunteered to immediately go out and look for her purse. He found it.  Still sitting in the shopping cart. No one had touched a thing.

I volunteer at a cooking school for very young mothers who didn’t have the chance to finish highschool. The class is taught by 2 chefs and they show how to make a quick, nutritious, inexpensive meal, then the students take home supplies to make the dinner for their family.  Attendance varies each week because …well because there are all sorts of challenges that come up for these young ladies. The rule is: If you don’t show up, you don’t get food to take home.

But the coordinator of the program manages to scrounge enough supplies to make a small  take-home basket for the missing girls. “You know, the ones who can’t come are the ones who need help the most,” she says quietly. She’ll make sure they have at least one good meal this week.

It reminds me to be kind instead of judgemental.  To pause for a moment and share a word. To believe in people.

Because there’s hope in those  occasional moments of grace, isn’t there?

Tell Your Technicolor story. We’ll listen

Millions of people. Millions of stories

When you think of it, stories were our main entertainment when we were little. I didn’t have the kind of parents who read me bedtime stories. Now that I think about it, I don’t remember ever seeing my mother or father sit down and read a book. I guess if it weren’t for public education, I’d be drawing stick-figures on this blog instead of typing.

But the adults in my life loved stories and spoke them into any pause in a conversation.

We’d go over to someone’s house (folks used to visit face to face a lot more often when I was little). While the kids were supposed to be playing, the adults sat around and told their stories. Stories about the war;  tales about neighbors who made moonshine or stole watermelons; Jokes about stupid horses and even stupider owners.

Kids used to be ignored a lot back then; so we were invisible even when we were in earshot to hear about  Aunt Gertie  goin’ downtown with “some man,” or the red-eyed cobbler  who couldn’t hit a tack straight after a weekend with a bottle.

Of course,  we didn’t understand a lot of the things we overheard, but you don’t survive to be 6 years old without recognizing disapproval when you sense it underlining  the spoken word.  We interpreted this as Aunt Gertie was in for a spanking and we made a mental rule to never go downtown with a man-or have our shoes fixed on Mondays.

I think we still love our stories.

Sometimes they come in different forms. The You-Tube video of Susan Boyle has received over 85 million hits. It is a short (7 minute) story with a heroine who fights seemingly impossible odds and wins.

Blogs are stories. Our weavings, jokes, and tales. With over 113 million blogs (and that doesn’t include the estimated 73 million blogs in China), you may wonder if anyone ever sees your story.

True, your thoughts may ride the internet waves for years, but even if it’s just one person who stumbles upon your words; you’re still telling your story. No longer do you have to have disgraceful aunts and quirky neighbors to spin a good anecdote. The blogs in my sidebar full of stories about knitting, job hunting, writing, and life-examining thoughts.

Some are seeking a way to go on. Some have found it. All of our yarns show our mistakes, successes, and how human we are. We go on-telling stories. And that gives me hope.