A Time for Silence

I love waking up before the rest of the household, when all the house is silent.

No voices.

No cats running around.

No corgis squeaking squeaky toys.

No background noises from media on computers or cell phones.

But I also love those same sounds once the day is really awake. That same type of silence would be out-of-place, I think.

Years ago when the children were young on an exceptionally weary day, I lay on the couch to nurse the baby to sleep and drifted off myself for a short bit.

The older kids had scattered to friends' house.

I remember waking up to the very quiet house and realizing that would, one day, be my reality. And I wasn't sure I liked it.

In college, several of us owned the same poster. Mine hung on my water closet door. The poster was about how life was full of contrasts, and that what made life meaningful.

For instance, having the flu meant you could stay in bed and lose weight. Having a cold meant you could say in bed and eat.

Or nights of going out and having fun would become dull without nights of staying home with a good book and hot cocoa.

Maybe that's why God created seasons, in nature, in life.

Maybe?

Thoughts?

Three Ways to be Happy for Five Minutes

Lots of people are having a great day today.

And, most likely, lots of people are not.

The reasons can be circumstantial, health issues of any kind, or simply being in a state of unhappiness that defies explanations.

There's a lot of talk these days about about "being mindful" and "being in the moment," but some moments aren't that terrific, honestly.

But if you're not feeling well or if you are feeling stressed or otherwise not on top of the world today, take five minutes and apply a slogan that old people like me were taught in the old days in regards to crossing railway tracks.

Stop.

Look.

Listen.

I'm really not being silly. Just do it.

Now maybe when you stop and look and listen, you don't like what you see and here. Let's say, for instance, you see a messy house and hear the kids bickering. 

But could it also mean noticing you have a home with plenty of possessions that need straightening and cleaning (many people don't any possessions or a home) and a house full of life (even though living on an island "sounds" like a good idea right now).

Every coin has two sides, even if the second side is blank. 

On Sunday morning, after treating myself to sleeping in, I settled at the computer to get some work (on deadline) done, only to find that, for the second day in a row, I've had to restart the computer. 

I had no choice but to stop. So I figured, instead of getting annoyed, I could look and listen.

Well, my desk is FULL of paperwork that needs sorting, a water bottle, reheated coffee from yesterday, and my cell phone.

The paperwork shows I have plenty of stories to write. I have the financial means of buying water bottles as well as a nice working refrigerator/freezer to keep the bottles frosty cold (the way I like them).

Drinking yesterday's coffee means I have people who love me so much that they brought me a nice Americano late yesterday before I could drink it all.

And they bought it from a place that makes coffee so well, the texture and flavor doesn't break down in the microwave (and I have a working microwave that, within seconds, heats coffee to the temperature I prefer).

My phones are handpicked by Timothy because he understands my job duties and selects phones to match. The last phone I bought with my own money was twenty years ago. If my phone malfuctions, Timothy calls the insurance company, Timothy gets the new phone in, Timothy transfers all my data and pictures at a time that is conveniennt to me, too. 

He does all this voluntarily.

If the computer doens't boot up (it eventually did, which is how I'm writing this blog), I have a laptop, my daughter has a laptop, my two sons each have a laptop, and my daughter also has a desktop. So it's not the end of the world (or my job) if the computer I WANT to use in this moment doesn't boot up).

Note: I finally did have to call on Rebekah for help.

The sun is shining through my window, the birds are tweeting up a storm, and a cat is sleeping on my bed. So even as I'm working, I'm surrounding by good weather and life.

I'm really not trying to be all pollyanish here.

Taking five minutes won't change the fact that the house still has to be cleaned, the kids still have to be discplined, and the cat hair will still have to be brushed away. If you have a migraine, that's probably still there, and if you have knee paiin, that probably hasn't gone away.

Stories don't write themselves (I wish!), and if I want to keep myself in water bottles and dark roast coffee, well, I have to write the stories, even in those moments when I'm tired or uninspired or distracted or too busy, or...well, fill in the blanks.

But by taking five minutes to stop and look and listen, you hit "pause" on the stress and mentally refresh yourself to tackle those challenges.

And, for just five minutes, perhaps you can feel a twinge of happiness, however fleeting and transient.

And, perhaps, in those moments, you feel a whisper of hope to help pull you through the rest.

Have a most blessed day.

Just a Brief Message Today

I  have an early morning doctor's appointment today, so I'm a little rushed.

But that doesn't mean I can't stop a moment to offer a few kind words to the people who stop to read this blog.

I hope that today treats you well and that you stay safe during these crazy times.

I hope your day is full of love - full of people for you to love and at least a few who love you back.

May you take time to enjoy something that gives you joy.

And may peace rule in your heart and life at all times.

When a Good Book Comes to You

From time to time, authors who are better at book marketing than I am point out I'm not assertive enough or that my marketing efforts are too soft.

That's probably true and also probably stems from two experiences: I myself tend to back off when I sense someone is trying to "sell" me something, and I really like the thrill of discovering a new book.

The first reason needs no explanation. I'll expound on the second in future posts.

But of the second, I will say that the "thrill" is not the thrill of the hunt but of the rainy afternoon, poking around in a dusty attic type of thrill, of finding a wonderful book that's just sitting off to the side, waiting to be found.

The joy of picking up such a book, of flipping through its pages, of becoming acquainted with the story and style, and then finally losing myself in someone else's words and hard work until I forget I'm reading is a joy that's unmatched.

With that in mind, I'd like to share one such book from my childhood. This post would not have happened with my WriteOn Joliet co-leader Tom Hernandez creating a special monthly blog for 2020: Writers are Readers.

In this blog, Tom Hernandez invites WriteOn Joliet to share a book they've enjoyed but also add how that book influenced their writing, too.

My turn is this month, July, which, ironically, is also the month of my birth. So I'm especially honored to share a book that brought me (and my sister and my children) many hours of re-reading happiness.

And it renews my goal to strive very hard to do the same for anyone who's reading, has read, or will read my words, too.

Here is the link: https://www.writeonjoliet.com/post/writers-are-readers-nanka-of-old-bohemia

Have a wonderful Monday!

Childlike Play

For my birthday, which was back in the summer, Rebekah wanted to sign us up for a local venue's painting event, which featured waterscapes.

But the amount of was out of her budget.

So she went to a craft store and picked up two children's paint kits and brought them home. We did nothing with them because we could not find several hours where both of us were free.

Until this past Sunday.

For most Sunday afternoons over the last two years, I've met with a woman in her mid-90s to listen to her stories and take notes, as I was hired by her family to write her memoir.

But last Sunday, she celebrated Thanksgiving with her friends. Rebekah does not work on Sundays.

So, finally, we painted!

We had no time pressures. No looking at our phones to check the time or messages.

We listened to music (because my art teacher in sixth grade always played classical music during art projects and because my sister and I loved to listen to music while we colored, hours and hours of coloring) and we painted.

We did not talk much, except when asking to borrow a color of the other's paint.

It was several hours of background classical music and brush strokes.

Here's Rebekah's

Here's mine.

Writing: My Quiet Joy

Few experiences in life equal or surpass the silent delight of composing a story, whether it's a features story or fiction.

I don't have to explain to my fellow authors the deep immersing of ourselves during the composition process, the losing awareness of time and our surroundings, and merging with the psyche of our characters even as we create and manipulate them.

But a similar phenomenon happens with features writing, too. At least it happens with me.

At work, as the list of my duties increase (and with it my stress and, it appears lately, my errors), once I begin a piece, the urgency of deadline drifts away, as does the chatter around me (and inside me). Instead, I get caught up in the "feel"of the story and the pleasure of structuring each section and selecting the right quotes to emphasize certain details or emotions.

I can't imagine life without writing, even if, one day, I write only for myself.