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.

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?

Night time Brain Drain

Thanks to the Medem Medical Library

For the last two nights,  I’ve fallen asleep quickly, but then I find I’m working in my sleep. I’m aware of this in my dreams and tell myself to stop.  I’ve  even gotten up, had a bowl of cereal, hoping the intermission will change my thought pathways. But when I went back to bed and fell into a light snooze, I wrote a Powerpoint presentation on the history of Scouting.

Good grief. (It’s not due for another 3 weeks.)  I organized slides and wrote script, and let me tell you, it was BRILLIANT!

Of course, I can’t remember a bit of it in my waking hours. I’m tired, and feeling as though I’ve worked all night.

Brain experts tell us that 2 things are guaranteed to vacuum the brain of creativity and spark:

1. stress. This nasty little noodler of brain cells makes us focus on sidepaths rather than our goals and leaves us without energy to work on what’s truly important. (Okay, I knew that, but it’s not fair that it’s at work in my sleep.) And…
2. A repetitive and routine-driven life sucks the life out of your mental processes.

AAAwk!  Like Pigpen in the “Peanuts” comic strip, chaos fumes around me  in funky clouds. That’s why I strive for routine. I look for “uncrowded”, “unnoticed” paths for every project. Repetitive and routine would be wonderful, if only I could achieve it. CowboyFan says it’s because my definition of “Routine” is not the same as a sane person’s definition.

Well….who can accept the word of a man who thinks black-walnut ice cream is a huge anomaly?

So this week (much to CowboyFan’s horror), I’m adding one new experience to each day.

Why not join me for at least a day?  We’ll see if creating a new snyapse truly does help our sleep.

Do something different. It can be easy: (eat with your left hand; wear your watch on your opposite arm; wear you shirt inside out {which I’ve done by accident, then tried to convince folks that I meant to do it…ego is a sad thing, yes?])

Or Challenge yourself: learn a new skill: sharpen a mower blade; interview for a job; dye your hair pink.

I’ll report on my progress through the week. Let me know what new activity you’re doing for your brain.

Today…I’m going to make soup— blindfolded.

P.S. If I don’t post on the blog tomorrow, it’s because I’m in the hospital.

See…one new experience leads to another.

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.

The Million Dollar Question of Hope

By Ko nstantin Sutyagin

Over the past few weeks, I’ve heard the same question from diffeent people.

They all asked that universal question that we wrestle with at different stages of our lives:

“What is my purpose?”

This past week, I went on a hike. It was a sunny day with a cold wind blowing across the top of the ridgeline. I climbed down off the crest to a thickly timbered alcove behind a cliff wall. It was a pleasant spot for lunch, bathed in sunshine yet protected from the gusts.

As I munched a PBJ, I noticed dead leaves still clinging to some of the branches alongside new buds. God still had some spring cleaning to do behind these rocks. As a matter of fact, this was such a secluded spot, I wondered why He even bothered to decorate these trees with leaves…nobody would see them.

Whoops! There goes my urban thinking. Unlike the “outdoors” that I’ve designed with my fertilized lawn, and groomed flower beds, this spot wasn’t created to be decorative. And while no one but me might see the leaves that grew here, each one had a purpose. Each one contributed molecules of oxygen to the whole of this area, region, state, planet. Each one became part of something else.

I figure that it’s the same for us. Those of us who knit or crochet may never win any prizes at the county fair. Those who write may not have their name on the spine of a book. Those who cook day after day may never compete on Iron Chef.

What we will do is stitch, blend, and support each other with our seemingly small contributions.  Even if it seems like it’s a worthless job, or a silly hobby, or something that no one will ever notice,our works are part of the whole.

My friend, nearing the end of her life, bedridden and trapped within the walls of the rehab center wondered if she still had a purpose. She didn’t realize that sharing her stories, was a form of leaving signposts for the rest of us. Her struggle with death helped the rest of us put on our “big girl pants” and draw up our courage and say “yes” to things we were afraid to do.  She didn’t realize that she was giving us lessons.

Each one of us becomes part of something else.

Words That Keep You From Giving Up

I’ve had a lot of lessons in the past week about giving up. As newspapers and magazines shrink, so has my freelance work.  What does it matter? I ask myself. My words won’t change the world.  I put myself in the same category as my Grandma who liked to crochet covers for toilet-tissue rolls. She spent lots of time and energy on something that no one in our family used.

And then the lessons began….

For our Lenten devotions our church published a compilation of members’ short stories.  A mother told of spending hours and hours on her hands and knees hovering over her Down syndrome child. With a towel tied around his tummy and over her back, she taught him to crawl, using her hands to move his hands and her knees to push his legs forward. Hours and hours.

How her heart must have ached when she watched other children crawl effortlessly. What did she think when other mothers complained that their child was crawling  into everything?  She simply kept working. Hours and hours on the floor, never giving up. Today her child runs.

There is the story of Bill who hurt his ankle 7 years ago, now after 17 surgeries, learning how to clean fixator pins, manipulate electronic leg lengtheners, give intravenous antibiotics, and irrigate wounds, he can finally stand on his own two feet.

I sit and stand many times a day and never give a thought to how fortunate I am to do something Bill has worked on for 7 years.

Then there’s the story of Betty, who 14 months ago, stood up, and her aorta shredded with long tears from the heart to the fork in her legs. They put a pipe around the vessel, induced a coma, and put her in cold storage to heal. While in the coma, she had a stroke.  No one expected her to live. But she did. Her only goal now is to get out of her wheel chair and walk. They’ve told her it’s not possible; her heart can’t take it.  She had to sell her house to pay for medical bills. The convalescent center is her home now.

That’s okay by her because it allows her to spends hours and hours working on getting stronger. Last week, suspended in a harness (so she wouldn’t fall), Betty has worked up to 300 tiny steps on a treadmill. She didn’t give up.

From these stories I’ve learned that sometimes we put a lot of work into things that are only important to us.  No one else really cares. Others may even discourage us.  But these seemingly small goals are part of a bigger plan.

A plan that encourages others. Gives them hope.  Gives them words that keep them from giving up. A plan that encourages us to keep working toward our small goals:  To write, sing, knit, garden, walk, or crawl. To let our lights shine.

Our stories are part of His plan. And that keeps me writing…it might just change the world.

What are the words that keep you from giving up?

Hope: No Experience Necessary

Okay, I said that I’d make February, a month to Step Out of my self and pay attention to others. I had the perfect opportunity, yesterday when I went to visit a friend in Rehab.

By Alex Pears

She had just finished with a medical procedure and was fast asleep. I asked the Care Manger if there was someone there who had a story to tell and would like a visit.

She introduced me to a woman who had so many inspirational stories.  That’s when I realized that everyone has a story, and as we age, we are anxious (usually) to tell them.  Maybe that’s why we have so many writers right now.  If every writer would record just one scene of someone’s story, we would have a rich quilt (afghan for you knitters out there) of lives coming together. Here’s a short one.

The Housekeeper

The Trauma Center is a specialized facility  for any emergency at any time. Usually, the clock of life is ticking down on the patients who are wheeled through their doors. The doctors and staff spend hours at operating tables reattaching things and doing heroics on body parts that have broken.

And then there is the housekeeper. She has no degrees behind her name, but every patient remembers her. As she cleans their room, she sings them a prayer.  The words are impromtu. The melody is made up. Her voice is clear and beautiful as she mops with carols such as: “Lord, take care of Joan. Hold Joan in the palm of your hand. Help her to….”

When the housekeeper knows that someone is being transferred away from the trauma unit, she’ll walk with one hand on the guerney, singing a prayer for the patient all the way to the ambulance.

The doctors don’t mind.  The staff doesn’t mind. The patients?

They feel blessed.

More Ideas When You Can’t Sleep

Okay, we agreed that instead of staring at a dark ceiling or kicking the sheets off the end of the bed when you can’t sleep, we’d get up and do something creative. Something constructive.

Thanks digipicsphotography for your Bright Ideas!

Here’s a great idea. Just reach over and grab your lighted knitting needles.  It makes me think there’s magic in the making of those garments. You textile lovers will have to check out digipicsphotography.

Like you all, this lady loves to knit.

Since I’m yarn challenged, I’ll have to find a lighted pen and write.

What a way to Query

I was telling Lisa that right now queries seemed like little arrows that I was sending out, only to have them return with a bit of pain.

One solution is not to send out anything. Boo Hiss! That’s a sure way to NEVER get published.

If you’re like me, and you’re working on writing queries, I suggest you send off to the Renegade Writers at the following e-mail for a batch of free sample queries to help unstick your brain and come up with some snappy presentations.

<queries@renegadewriter.com>

I’m going to start sending those queries with a hope and a prayer.