Hot peace

Sunday, November 29th, 2009

In approximately five days, my husband and I will be on our way to Israel for Baha’i pilgrimage. Though the word “pilgrimage” sometimes brings to my mind vague rituals involving shaved heads and traveling miles on foot, a pilgrimage is basically a trip that a devotee (the dictionary’s word) takes to a shrine or holy place. Although I could argue that the whole earth is a holy place, being the home of some of God’s greatest work, the middle east is a hotspot of holiness, and Israel specifically is widely acknowledged as a significant place for many religious people – Jews, Christians, Muslims, Baha’is. We all want to be there to experience some of the spirituality that has inspired so many.

I find myself wondering what I will find over there. Of course there is a certain amount of oft-controlled dissension, a sort of cold war that may be better described as a hot peace. But beneath the nervous tension and anger at the “other” invading one group’s special place is a belief in something wonderful that needs to be respected, protected, and loved. I want to be in that hotbed for awhile and feel human interactions influenced by sacred writings in tension with their shadows of jealousy, revenge, and distrust. I like to observe messes like that, try to figure out what’s going on, and then leave and go back to my life. Maybe that’s why I watch reality TV shows, such as Dr. Drew’s Sex Rehab and Real Housewives of Orange County.

Is that why I’m travelling to Israel, despite going into debt to do so, despite my nerves twinging with guilt and worry at the thought of leaving my daughters for two weeks? Is Israel just a reality TV show to me, that I can sit in front of for a temporary escape from actual reality?

I have trouble getting to the heart of what I’m feeling about this trip. I want it to heal me, I think, pull me out of my struggles, cure me of seasonal affective disorder, reorient me to a spiritual life based in outward reality, show me what my purpose is here on earth, find me a job and get me out of debt. I want the magic of that part of the world, like the geothermal hot spots beneath Yellowstone National Park, to warm up the clay of my being, bubble me up into mud and reform me into something spectacular, something inspirational, something worth driving miles to visit. I want to come back tranformed and focussed on what I need to accomplish, and how I need to do it.

Is that too much to ask?

Rejected!

Wednesday, November 11th, 2009

I have been officially rejected by an agent! It actually feels good, because it only took one day to receive, enabling me to quickly query (I love alliteration) a different agent. This one says on her web site that she will respond within two weeks. That’s pretty good. The first two agents I queried said “If I don’t respond in 8 weeks, that means no.” I am not a big fan of the 8-weeks-of-limbo “no”. So bring on the 1-day to 2-week rejection! I’m on a roll!

Bellydance Performance

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

I bellydanced in a Greek restaurant last night. It was student night at Dino’s, and I was one of three invited by Layla to perform. I wore the blue $300 costume that my mother-in-law bought for me, and I used the veil that I had cut out and beaded the edges of myself. I wasn’t sure I would make it through two songs, as I’m still recovering from a week’s worth of recovering (ie. lying around in pain, sleeping, and watching TV). But adrenalin is the best performance-enhancing drug ever. I was planning on using my second song as my departure music, but I ended up dancing to almost the whole thing: Dick Dale’s 2-minute Miserlou, aka the opening song from Pulp Fiction (minus the F-word dialog at the beginning).

I forgot to take off my glasses before I danced. I guess it’s against my nature to go around blind when I have the option of seeing where I’m going and who I’m looking at. Despite the spectacles, I was still described as “hot” by one of my fellow dancers. And really, in that costume, I could have just walked around gracefully without any pretense of bellydancing (well, maybe just the pretense of it), and people would have been impressed. It’s pretty and sparkly. And I don’t even need to fill it out in the chest, since the beading makes for a stiff and solid (though modest) cup form that holds its own shape. Works for me!

This morning my shoulders/back/neck are stiff, and the left side of my mouth is throbbing. But it’s good to have been a part of something group-oriented and public. And to be able to come home and be private again.

Body balance: a potential metaphor

Monday, October 19th, 2009

It’s a little embarrassing to admit that my tongue is currently inhabited by critters, but it’s true. I have thrush. It’s a self-diagnosis, but one I’m pretty sure about, though not comfortable with. According to the wholistic home remedy books I own, thrush happens when a body is out of balance and/or the immune system is compromised. What threw me out of balance was the ripping out of three of my wisdom teeth (only the one with the unreachable cavity remains in my mouth) and the ensuing consumption of pain meds and milk shakes. It took about 5 days before I could eat anything more solid than applesauce. And now I have a yellowish white yeast carpet on the back of my tongue. I want it removed, but the heal-thyself books, which I do appreciate, focus on the get-back-in-balance method, rather than the get-this-goldarn-living-throwrug-out-of-my-mouth approach. So unless my oral surgeon returns my call and prescribes an anti-yeast mouth rinse or pill or something, I guess I’m stuck with having to make healthful (and soft) food choices and hope that with time it adds up to a healthier body.

I know there’s a metaphor in there somewhere. But I’m too tired to think about it right now.

Where am I?

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

Where have I been? I’d like to know, too. I know where I’ve been physically, geographically, emotionally, but career-wise? Not so much. I have taken on my Mom-wife-housekeeper role with a little more vigor, now that I don’t “work” anymore. Plus, I have attended one writer’s retreat and one conference for children’s book writers and illustrators. I’ve ridden the self-confidence roller coaster concerning my young adult novel (”It’s good!” up up up “It’s crap!” down down down, repeat….). But I need more. What? Community? A consistent routine? A critique group? A writing practice group? A good massage? Hmmm.

Changes

Sunday, April 19th, 2009

Wow, it’s been awhile since I’ve blogged. I’m in the middle of some change right now; specifically, I have given notice at my job. I only work 2 days a week, so when I gave 2 weeks notice, it meant I only had to work 4 more days. And just in time. The job was hard enough, affording me little break time (if I want to get my job done, that is), but it’s become even more difficult since the executive decision to go from “line cooking” to “short order” cooking. Last Tuesday, I was not able to sit down and rest my feet until 7 hours into the job. And even then, my boss, the consultant managing the transition, had expected me to do more. He’s not evil, though. When I sat down in his office and told him I hadn’t gotten a break yet, he told me to go take one. I would have done it without his permission at that point. My feet were throbbing, my back was hurting, my attitude was stinking… I even told one of my co-workers that I felt like crying. He laughed. “I’m serious,” I said. And I was. Thanks to sleep deprivation, constant standing, and PMS, I was in bad shape. But I was sustained by the thought, “Only two more days after this…”

So I will soon be a free woman. A “kept woman”. Hah. What a terrible phrase, making woman think that just because they don’t earn money they belong more in the category of “pet” than “fellow human”. I’m struggling with the idea of not having a “job”. Even though there are many things that I want to do at home, the fact that they won’t be bringing in money seems to make them less important somehow. And I hate that. I have lists and charts of all the things I want to do with my “extra” time, and despite that, I find myself scanning the classifieds for jobs in the area, “just in case” this whole stay-at-home Mom thing doesn’t work out.

But I hope it does work out.

Full time, Big time, Where’s the time?

Thursday, April 2nd, 2009

This month’s Writer’s Digest magazine has an article entitled “Is full time the key to the big time?” The concept itself doesn’t exactly apply to me since if I quit my part time paying job, writing wouldn’t be exactly “full-time”, since I will still have other jobs, such as raising children, caring for my mother-in-law, Baha’i work, etc. If I quit the 16 hours a week as a cook, I could apply some of those hours to writing, but some would definitely go toward other things, like sleeping and more family-related stuff.

I’m having trouble focussing while writing this with hyperactive video game music plinky playing in the background and kids talking chatting cheering. This is one of my jobs – facilitating kid interaction, even if only through video games. But what about writing? I feel like a whiny little kid with all my “Why do I have to have a job?” stuff. I’m not trying to avoid responsibility – I’m trying to face what my real responsibilities are. Writing? Cooking at a retirement home? Complaining on the internet? I need to figure this out, and soon.

Job thoughts

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

I’m ready to quit my job. Sort of.

I only work two days a week, but those two days seem to dicombobulate my schedule and sap me of energy and rob me of time to the point where I have to ask myself if I or my family need my earned money more than my time. I realize that I’m recovering from a sinus infection, and it’s been a busy week, and I’m in a “bad mood”, so I didn’t take myself too seriously when I came home from work Monday afternoon and told Doug that I wanted to quit my job. But he turned away from his Mom’s computer, where he works from home a few days a week, and he listened to me complain about how my head hurt and my body ached and how I was tired but wouldn’t be able to take a nap, etc., and he said, “Okay.” He said he’s been seeing how work has negatively affected me for four years now (even though it’s been good for me in some ways, too), and that maybe we’re in a place where we can afford for me to quit.

That threw me for a loop. I wasn’t prepared to actually look at the idea seriously. During “these difficult economic times”, who in their right mind would abandon an opportunity to earn money? Especially with two children to support, hardly any savings, and a myriad of things to pay for? Including an upcoming trip to Israel?

Then again, Doug and I surmised that if I didn’t work those 16 hours a week, I would have more time to garden, write novels, help with Baha’i projects, and assist Doug’s Mom with some of the things that have become difficult for her to do on her own, things I don’t do now because I don’t seem to have the time. Also, I might have more time and energy to devote to budgeting, using coupons, paying bills on time, recycling and composting more, eating out less, etc. – all things that would save money for the family.

And who knows? Maybe with more time and saved energy, I would be better able to write a novel that actually gets published, so I could earn money for the family that way.

This is something I will have to pray about, think about, and look for answers to. There are so many permutations and aspects of the “no job” option that I haven’t mentioned here. But it’s not easy to think while I have a headache. Plus I need to go do housework, make dinner, and get ready for some of Doug’s family coming over to celebrate my younger daughter’s birthday. There’s always something to take up my time. What will I choose to take up my time in the future?

I’m a mentor!

Saturday, March 21st, 2009

I’m a mentor! Really! It’s my official title! There’s paperwork to prove it! My friend L.B is a high school student whose senior project is to write a novel. Since I had written a novel, she asked me to be her mentor, something every senior-project-doing student needs in her school.

So today was our first official meeting. We went to a Starbucks near her home, and in between sips of a vanilla bean frapaccino, she told me all about her characters, her process, her plot, her challenges and accomplishments, and she even showed me some of her visual research for the characters. I was very impressed, not only with her novel progress, but also with her attitude and maturity. Even though she will likely not finish her novel before the end of the school year, she realizes that it was unrealistic to think that she would in the first place. When I was a high school student (admittedly a pretty neurotic one), that would have felt like failure to me. But she knows that she’s learned a lot about writing a novel just by doing it. The process is probably more important that the final product, though she’ll persevere to get the final product done, eventually, too.

Another thing that impresses me about L.B. is that she knows who she is. She told me about how she has conversations with her characters while she’s walking to school. And she knows this doesn’t make her crazy. It took me decades to figure that out about myself. I was pretty sure, most of the time, that I wasn’t technically crazy, but I didn’t really get that I was creating stories, figuring out the way people interact with each other, actually doing something worthwhile with my imagination. My problem was that I would imagine scenarios mostly about real people – like cute boys who would suddenly realize how desirable I was. I would also replay conversations in my mind over and over to make them go better, making “friends” say something more kind, a teacher say and do something much more instructionally effective, and of course I would make myself more on-the-spot clever.

I used to try to get myself to stop “fantasizing” about people and just deal with reality. But I’m pretty sure that was and always will be one of my main ways of dealing with reality. These days, though, I focus on fictional characters, because those scenarios are MUCH more realistic than ones in which real people are involved. AND I realize that this is a helpful skill for writing, and in fact may have been one of the signs all along that writing was something I needed to do.

Anyway, I was so happy to see L.B. knowing herself so well, learning more about herself, and moving forward in a direction that it took me so long to admit I wanted to take, too. She said she might not be a writer in the future, because she also has her heart set on working with animals. But I told her, “You are a writer. You’ll always be a writer. That won’t go away.”

Go L.B.!

One small step

Friday, March 20th, 2009

It seems like a strange victory to have just barely gotten something done, and to have done it in what I consider possibly the most mediocre way possible. But it was a victory. And mediocre, in my world, sometimes means that instead of sweating and worrying and getting my stomach tied up in knots, I just did something without all that. Anyway, here’s what happened.

A month or so ago I signed up for a writer’s conference that will be held in May, and for an extra $35 I had them throw in the “manuscript critique”. I found out later that it’s actually more of a “first five page of your manuscript” critique, but I figured that was better than no professional feedback at all. And then my negative thoughts kicked in, the first sign of which was procrastination – “The deadline’s a month away – plenty of time!” The second sign was feeling out & out lousy about what I’d written, thinking that I couldn’t possibly send in the first five pages until I had revamped them, preferably through the help of a professional. (Strange logic, I realize now. Must get professional feedback before I get professional feedback – I know, I know.) And then it moved full circle, all the way back to procrastination.

Until today -the date that the manuscript pages had to be received at a particular post office box in Enumclaw. I live about an hour away from Enumclaw, so I originally decided, with the encouragement of my husband (without whom I probably would have abandoned the project altogether) to have a courier take the manuscript down there. That was $40, but Doug said go for it. However, courier companies won’t deliver to Post Offices.

So I became the courier. After my therapy appointment, I drove down, sunshine and rain trading off with each other all the way there. When I got to the post office, with the help of Mapquest, it was sunshine’s turn, and in I went. I asked the nice folks behind the counter if my 9″ x 12″ envelope would definitely get into the P.O. box today, and they said definitely. And even though “the lady” who picks up the mail from that box had already come by, she had said she would come again before the end of the day.

“And don’t worry! You’re not the only one! Another person drove here from Bellevue today to meet the deadline, and we received 9 overnight packages this morning!”

So it’s done. And in May, an actual professional agent or writer will critique my work. Bring it on! I can take it!

I should be napping

Tuesday, March 17th, 2009

Today has been one of those crazy examples of feeling good and bad at the same time. My sinuses are causing my head to hurt, my mouth to feel perpetually dry (since I can’t breathe very well through my nose), and my energy to diminish into an almost-dizzy state of “gotta sit down”. But I was happy, too. My sister, Eva (co-cook at the Kenney), must be given a lot of the credit for that. At one point she made me laugh so hard I almost fell on the floor. When I told my boss I wanted to leave 15 minutes early because I didn’t feel well, I felt weird, because to an outside view, it probably looked like I felt fine.

It reminds me of depression. Sometimes when I’m in mostly-fine physical health, and to outward semblances have nothing to complain about (I’m sheltered, well-fed, loved by millions (an estimate)), I can be in the clunkiest, heaviest of mindsets. My body might be fit and able to dance or pick weeds or whatever I might ask it to do, but something comes in between the asking and the doing.

Today it is my mind, or will, or just plain old soul that is doing well, pushing my headaching body beyond what it might otherwise not be able to handle. But, like a good body owner, I need to take care of myself before whatever is in my sinuses abscesses into my brain. A doctor appointment would be nice, but my doctor’s all booked up this week, so I’ll have to call them tomorrow morning to see if they have any cancelled times I can squeeze into. In the meantime, I better take a nap.

Shnlurrdt

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

I have been a slug all day. Except I don’t think slugs have noses, and they probably don’t get sinus infections, which is what I believe I have. I didn’t change out of my pajamas today, and I occupied the couch for most of the day, sleeping, reading, and blowing my nose when I could. Most of the gunk in there is unmovable, though, a now glacial component of my head. When I did leave the couch today, it was to brew and drink tea, boil water and breathe its steam under a towel, swallow pills, eat, go to the bathroom. Nothing productive. My main accomplishment was to take a nap on the opposite side of the couch from which I usually do, so that the OTHER side of my head was clogged solid, freeing the right side of my nose to allow a tiny passage of air that makes a lovely “shnlurrrdt” sound when I breathe in forcefully.

It’s a sad state to be in where breathing becomes my main focus. Yes, it could be meditation, but in this case it’s just annoying. I think of all the other things I could be doing. And maybe I could even force myself to do them. But I don’t want to. I’m tired of functioning at sub optimum. So I refuse to function at all. Pessimism has invaded my brain along with the sinus gunk. If I let it get out of hand, I even start to think that God doesn’t love me anymore, and that maybe I don’t deserve God’s love. Hopefully all I need to get out of this funk is a few prayers, a day of work (it’s hard for me to call in sick when I only work two days a week), and some antibiotics, which I hope my doctor can prescribe for me tomorrow. Unless I’m miraculously better, free of yellowish head puss and negative attitude, before I can get a doctor’s appointment.

Tough Stuff Unpublished

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

I have just deleted one of my previous entries. It was one of my most truthful and possibly well-written blog entries, but I decided to take it off for the sake of people who would find the publishing of said truth difficult and hurtful. So it’s gone. I don’t like the fact that the absence of that entrance leaves a hole that might leave too much imagination room. But somebody died. It’s a difficult thing to talk about, especially under the circumstances. So I’ll try again later and just stick the original entry in my personal journal. It’s probably better this way.

Blahg

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

Finding the time to blog is proving to be difficult, and involves a question I need to answer; namely, is this a come-as-I-am blog, or am I going to make sure I put on my metaphorical makeup and have better-than-average not-so-metaphorical brain chemistry before putting my thoughts on virtual paper? I’ve definitely been a blah blogger of late. I’ve been thrown by the death of a 12-year-old friend of my daughter, attacked by viruses that ravage my sinus passages and make my head hurt, and I’ve been overwhelmed by simple things that seem difficult or impossible to accomplish, in part because of their extreme numerosity, and in part because of the way I seem to function in late winter/early spring. I am the self-appointed poster child for SAD – see me there with the saggy eyes and the mouth poised to say angry words at my children who are having fun instead of doing their chores?

Is that the way I want to present myself to the world (or to the few people who read one’s blog)? No. But if that’s the way I am and it’s proving difficult to change, should I crawl off silent into a cyber corner so that no one sees me or is subjected to me? I suppose it’s not a bad idea, if that’s what I need to heal. But I think isolation can work against the healing process in some cases. And probably in this one.

So here I am, feeling neither clever nor wise nor worthy of space on a server, but typing in letters and sentences anyway. And I feel a little better. And writing probably shouldn’t be a one-size-only experience. It’s got to be a real experience to be worth doing.

It reminds me of a friend who wanted to lose weight. I suggested that she might want to try bellydancing. And she said, seriously, not even noticing the irony in her words, that she would want to lose weight before joining a bellydancing class. Really! I tried to explain that women of all body types enjoy bellydance, but the conversation faltered – she was embarrassed about her body and didn’t want to take it out in public where people could plainly see it in action – despite the positive changes it may have had on her body (and self-esteem!).

I understood how she felt, though. At times I am embarrassed about my self. This person I’ve come to be and know is a strange mix of smart and stupid, happy and depressed, encouraged and apathetic. I would rather present a more consistent picture of humanity to the world. But since when has humanity been consistent? What I’d like to be and what I am sometimes don’t coincide. I’ll just have to deal with that.

Good morning

Tuesday, March 3rd, 2009

It is approximately 4:15am, and I need to be out the door in 10 or 15 minutes so I can get to work by 5am. Yesterday was the first day of Fast, and even though I allowed myself water, an apple, and a few raw almonds to try to stave off a burgeoning headache, by the time I got off work, I was in terrible pain, not only from a headache, but with aches all over my body. When Doug came home and saw my by-then incapacitated state, he said, “I thought you weren’t going to fast.” But I didn’t fast. I ate, albeit not much. I tell myself that the first day is the worst, as I “detox” from sugar and what might be viewed as an addiction to a constant state of being fed.

Then again, it could be that my body doesn’t really tolerate fasting anymore. It has never been a breeze for me. I thought my difficulty and incapacitation was fairly normal. But Doug’s end of the first day of Fast was very different from mine. He was happy, moreso than usual for the time of day. He even shot some baskets throughout the day and accomplished several big chores, in addition to working from home. After I came home from work, I could barely move.

So another day. I ask God that I can have some part in the blessing of the Fast, even though I may not be able to technically participate.

Tough stuff

Friday, February 27th, 2009

This entry deleted.

Back to writing

Saturday, February 21st, 2009

Today I’ve moved away from obsession with my changing anatomy (though not completely – are they getting smaller now?) and more toward other things.

This morning Doug and the kids and I went to Ballard to experience the neighborhood shops, and specifically the Nordic Heritage Museum. Not only does our family have some Scandinavian heritage to appreciate (mostly Norwegian and some Swedish), but Doug has been inspired by Nordic mythology and rosemaling in his recent works of art.

After the Ballard adventure, we went to the Seattle Baha’i Center, where an arts and crafts bazaar was being held in preparation for Ayyam-i-Ha. While there, Andrea and Johanna got in the act by making some impromptu craft pieces using paper, stickers, brightly-colored foam shapes and puff balls and setting them up on an empty table. Andrea actually made $5 from one of her pieces, but Johanna was not so lucky. It might have had something to do with her pricing, although she did offer a range of prices, so people could choose what to pay. Her most notable piece was a 2″ long, 1″ high triangular piece of paper colored with pink marker and decorated with a few pink puff balls: asking price “10$ – 30$”. When I explained to her that people probably wouldn’t be willing to pay that, she erased the zeros. But still no takers. (The procedes were suppose to go, at least in part, to the Baha’i Fund, but Johanna didn’t realize that.)

When we came home, we ate Scandinavian food (puchased on our trip), and then I went to work on writing – sort of. I actually signed up for a Writer’s Retreat in Federal Way in April and for a Children’s Book Writer’s Conference in Redmond in May. Both of these will provide opportunities for me to meet authors, agents, and editors, plus they will give me something to work towards. When I registered for the May conference, I paid $35 extra for the opportunity to have my manuscript (at least the first 5 pages) analyzed by an expert. Who the expert will be depends on the list I send them (my favorites of experts participating) and a first-come-first-serve basis. Whoever it turns out to be, I’m nervous. But I’m hopeful, too.

Now I’ve got to do a little garden planning before I get ready for bed so I can wake up early for another 9-hour session of Ruhi Book 5 Animator Training.

Busy busy days.

What’s on my chest?

Friday, February 20th, 2009

My breasts are bigger! I first discovered this maybe 5 or 6 days ago. I immediately showed my husband Doug, with a mostly-to-myself-question, “What’s going on?” His response was to say, with a tone of awe, “It’s an answer to prayer!” (He was kidding.)

Just to clarify, by bigger, I do not actually mean “big”. I’ve been a full-on A-cup for years, and a semi-saggy one at that, ever since the post-nursing deflation of temporarily expanded tissues. (I’ll try not to get too graphic here.) But NOW, for some reason, my breasts are a healthy B cup (woo hoo!), and firm and plump and lovely. Not that I’m asking for an audience other than Doug… or myself. Sometimes I find myself holding both my breasts, squeezing them, marveling at their new composition, and jiggling them a little for effect.

Of course, such a situation causes one to ask “Why is this happening?” Three possibilities come to my mind:

1. I’m pregnant. This seems very unlikely, since Doug had a vasectomy 10 years ago, and I am 40, an age when fertility is supposed to be going down. Even if Doug’s little guys somehow managed to escape the decade-old minor surgery designed to contain them, wouldn’t the chances of them actually fertilizing an egg be pretty darn low? But I have to admit that my current enhancement reminds me strongly of pregnancy-bosom. I went to the website “WrongDiagnosis.com” to look up “swollen breasts”, but wasn’t able to find much of value to me except for the humorous question, “Do you have pregnancy?” So how about…

2. Menopause. 40 seems a little early to be going through “the change”, but it is a gradual process, I hear. And menopause, like pregnancy, plays havoc with a woman’s hormones. And those hormones are responsible for certain things, like breasts & stuff. Not to be too scientific or anything. And to be even less scientific…

3. Age. My mother-in-law told me once that when a woman gets older, her breasts get bigger. She didn’t specifically connect it to menopause. And she didn’t attribute it to weight gain (I’m pretty much the same weight I always am). It’s just the way it is. So there. Maybe it’s karma to make up for years of being little.

Of course the option that has the biggest implications and potential worry-factor is #1. And, my increase in cup size occured around the time I would have ovulated. Just an interesting but unrelated coincidence? Yoig. I hope so. But I won’t know for sure about option number one until about a week from now. I’ll keep folks posted.

Journal entry from yesterday

Wednesday, February 18th, 2009

[Upon realizing how long it’s been since I’ve blogged.]

Oh no! Have my blogification goals gone the way of every other new years resolution out there?
My friend (sister from a different mother) began the year adhering to the South Beach Diet. And today I encouraged her to share a leftover piece of delicious red velvet Valentine’s Day cake with me. From vegetables and protein every 2 hours to rich layers of chocolate decadence for breakfast in less than two months. Is that where my blogging is?
“Resolve”, of course, by definition, shouldn’t be something that fades away in a month or two. That would be “temporary resolve” at best.
I am still resolved to keep blogging and to write write write and progress in my writing. But that resolve gets diluted once in awhile. I need to metaphorically boil myself so my resolve becomes more concentrated once again.

[And then I took a nap.]

An open letter to my cold virus

Wednesday, February 4th, 2009

Dear virus that is causing my cold,

I wonder if you know who you are dealing with? I feel you brewing in my sinuses and throat, dripping downward into the back of my mouth, trying to multiply, invade, take over. And I wonder, oh tiny creature, if you think of me as just a group of cells that you can attack, invade, take over one by one. Of course by now you’ve met with the cells of my immune system and have met destruction because of them. But do you know that these cells are part of me as well? Do you know that I have many types of cells ready to combat your kind, and vast networks and systems of cells that work together so well that they coordinate a giant human body?

Maybe you have some inkling of my organismic existence and would find pride in taking me down. But I am an organism complicated beyond your fathoming. Do you think that by killing a few tiny cells or taking over their function that you have any chance of taking down the whole person that I am? You, no-nucleus wonder that you are, have no idea that every cell in my being is connected by code – we, despite all our differences, are all the same. Heart, sinus, ear canal or nerve ending, hair root, toe skin, lung or spleen – all of the cells of these amazingly different organs all have the code of one connecting body. My body is like a religion that accepts and welcomes all races and cultures, knowing that the diversity is what makes this being possible. The religion of the inner code that connects all my cells together – that is what you are fighting. Destroy one part, and all other parts will come to the rescue. They can’t help it. Whether far away or near, whether directly or not, all of my energy goes to making the whole well.

And if you or one of your buddies manage to take me down, pull me back to earth so that my coordinated elements disintegrate and fade – even if this happens, do you think you will have won? You will die when I die. Without me, you have no life.

And even if one of your clones or a mutation thereof manages to live on in another human being, do you think you will ever win? Do you think someday you will manage to kill all of us? Without us, you have no life. And besides that, there are billions of us. Billions like me, with a connected code of human life that makes us a collective organism. When one dies, the rest rush in to find out how to help.

Despite the futility of your endeavor, little virus, I do not begrudge your existence. You are a creature of God, and I suppose you must have a role. You cannot switch sides and become a being that you are not. Your presence makes me stronger in my own immunity mechanisms and makes us humans stronger in compassion. The stronger you get, the stronger I get. Even if I die from your influence and disintegrate back to the earth so that my elements may be redistributed, the “we” that I belong to becomes stronger. What connected me together moves through empathy to connect the “we” together that much more.

You give me a headache, sap my energy, make it unpleasant to breath because of the pain in the back of my nose/throat. But I glory in the way I was built – a whole that is part of a whole that is part of a whole – body to humanity to souls here and beyond. I cannot be stopped, because I am more than myself. And you are not. You need a larger life to suck from in order to be alive. But I am alive whether alive or not. You are less than yourself, and I am more. If I die, I still live on – humanity is my legacy.

But I won’t die. Not from you. In a few days I will recover and be working as well as before you invaded – even better. Because you are small, and I am big.

So do the work you do, the only work you know or could ever know. I’m sorry you will never know me.

Best wishes,

Sydney

Word Fertilizer

The blah de blog of Sydney Hanson Mandt, author, person, etc.

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About the name “Word Fertilizer”

For years now, I have wanted to use the name “Word Fertilizer” for my personal web site and blog. I like it for many reasons.

One is for the repeating “erd” sound. Would that be assonance or consonance, or a combination of the two?

Also, the “erd” sound is spelled two different ways : “ord” and “ert”. This phenomenon reminds me of my Dad, who loved to play around with creative spelling, and often signed letters to me “Robber Tell Hand Sun”, or something similar. (It looks like a Native American name, but it’s just a fun way to write “Robert L. Hanson”. I guess “Dad” just didn’t have enough spelling options for him.)

And then there are the concepts behind the name. Words are wonderful ways to express concepts, and some of my favorite things to play with. And fertilizer, though sometimes stinky, is wonderful stuff to grow other stuff in. And I would love for the words that I string together to help other things grow, like thoughts, stories, interesting characters and the concepts they help demonstrate. Plus, labelling my blog/website with the word “fertilizer” can help keep me humble when I become a best-selling author, reminding me that sometimes the things I write can still be (if you’ll pardon the expression) “full of crap”.

Isn’t “word fertilizer” a lovely phrase? I can’t believe someone didn’t snatch up the URL before I did!

25 random things about me:

Friday, January 30th, 2009

This was suggested as an exercise on an online Baha’i Writer’s Group I am part of (or more accurately, that I lurk on). I decided to give it a go:

25 random things about me:
1. Sometimes as I write, I still edit myself to the point of inhibition or even standstill, but I’m getting better at letting myself write something, anything, and letting the first draft be crappy.
2. I’m 40 years old.
3. I have gray hairs sneaking into my curly locks. I suspect they will be harder to see once summer sunshine bleaches me more blond. But my eventual “going gray” looks to be inevitable.
4. I have a lot of wrinkles in my face.
5. I am not obsessed with my age!
6. I love my children, who are amazingly and wonderfully different from each other, but who get along very well (and love each other, too).
7. I am a writer. I wish I had known that about myself earlier, but better late than never. And who knows – maybe it’s better this way. Either way, it’s what it is.
8. My older daughter is a teenager. I hope she will be a strong and confident one.
9. My younger daughter has a talent for developing stories. I hope I can guide her to use her talents well.
10. I’ve become tired of Seattle weather and long for a warmer, sunnier climate.
11. I’ve never been to Hawai’i.
12. I’ve never been to Disneyland.
13. I would rather go to the slums of Mumbai and have meaningful interactions with the people there than go to either Hawai’i or Disneyland. At least that’s what I tell myself.
14. For awhile in my 20’s, I carried all of my possessions with me in a duffel bag, and I could sleep on a hard, uncarpeted floor in my sleeping bag. Almost two decades later, I require a mattress, a special pillow for my neck, a pillow for under my legs, sometimes a special pillow for my lower back (if I’m not sleeping on my usual memory foam mattress). Also, my skin moisturizers, hair products and vitamins and pills would take up a lot of duffel bag room. I’ve become distressingly high maintenance.
15. I am not obsessed with my age!
16. I am a good sleeper. When I’m tired, I can almost always turn off my mind and get myself to sleep – any time, night or day. Maybe it’s more a sign of relatively easy life circumstances rather than skill. Or maybe I’m perpetually tired.
17. I have the best sister in the world.
18. And I have a Mexican sister, too. Not a biological sister, but in spirit. We cook together at the Kenney Retirement home. She was born in June, like my biological sister, and I was born in January, like her biological sister.
19. I have a little brother, born from different parents than my own, and I think he’s wonderful. I’m so happy that he’s married now.
20. I have a tendency to want all of my single adult friends/acquaintances to be married, but I have no idea how to exert influence in that direction.
21. I have an uncanny ability to make a room messy. Despite all previous intentions toward the opposite.
22. I always thought of myself as blond, until I married into a family where “blond” means “practically white-haired”. Persians and Mexicans still think I’m blond, though.
23. I wonder how much I will accomplish in my life. Now that I’ve achieved some sort of clarity of purpose (write something, dammit!), my body’s energy is slowing down. I worry that I’ve wasted my younger, more energetic years in dispersed focus and low self-esteem. Will I get everything done that I’m supposed to before I die?
24. I am not obsessed with my age!
25. I love being alive. For the most part, it’s pretty great.

Springtime stovetop

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

I’ve been working on a new novel. I’ve had seeds of this novel idea in my brain for probably over a year, but it must have become spring in my brain, because the ideas have been sprouting and growing all over the place for the last couple of days. I’ve been getting to know the characters, I have a solid title in mind, scenes have been unfolding and coming into focus, and conflicts, romances, and other relationships are developing. It’s very exciting! One weird thing is that alcoholism, single motherhood, and divorce are some of the situations these characters go through – all things I’ve had very little experience with, and none of it direct. But I know these people. They are loosely based on people I admire, love, and am just plain curious about, and I look forward to seeing how they deal with their challenges.

I guess I’m finally detaching from my “first novel”, aimed at a young adult audience. I’ll keep looking for an agent for it, and I’ll be meeting soon with a writer to help me edit and improve it, but besides that, it has officially moved to the back burner. Which means this new novel is on the front burner. Which means I’m mixing my metaphors. Is my brain a garden moving out of winter, or a kitchen appliance? Hmmm….

Monday

Monday, January 26th, 2009

The things I want to write about at the moment have nothing to do with Monday, other than that’s what day it is. I am thinking about who I am and who I used to think it would be cool to be. I still think it would be cool to be someone who can put an outfit together and look great. But I am a person who does that only on occasion. Mostly I just wear clothes. I’d also like to be able to “do” my hair and feel confident that it looks nice. But I spritz, spray, curl or straighten, and still – it’s just hair. One thing that HAS changed about me is how I feel about my lack of fashion sense or ability to manipulate my coif. It doesn’t bother me so much. I like me. I can go out having forgotten to put on makeup and not freak out when I remember. I can laugh at myself if I look funny and find adverse reactions to said funny-looking-ness interesting rather than defeating.

So, it’s time for me to drink after-dinner tea with my husband and then go to an art acknowledgement ceremony thingy (Reflections Program) for Andrea. Not much time for neurosis discussion right now.

Hoping you are well, dear reader. (Probably me, my sister and husband, at this point.)

Molar

Wednesday, January 21st, 2009

I like the word “molar”. It makes me think of those tiny blind creatures that live under lawns and pop out little dirt holes once in awhile. I’ve had a molar week. I’ve been underground, hidden – not through depression isolation, but through focus below rather than above, where most people would see me. I’ve been busy with family and Baha’i stuff, and also very home-oriented – the place is unusually clean. I hope I will be better able to move forward with my writing now that I don’t have to wonder where important things are all the time. There’s a baseline clean that I hope will help me concentrate.

And then there’s the reason I thought of “molar” in the first place – I have an appointment to assess my wisdom teeth, whose days in my mouth are numbered. I’ve had chronic issues with jaw pain, swollen lymph nodes, swollen gums. So not only is the clutter in my house being cleared, but so is the clutter in my mouth. With newfound clarity, I hope great things will emerge, both from my house and my mouth. (Okay, that was a strange attempt at profundity.)

Utterance

Friday, January 16th, 2009

This morning after dropping off Johanna at school, I drove to Eagle Landing Park, one of my favorite places to go when I’m feeling out of sorts. Or when I need exercise. Or when I’m happy. I just like that place. It’s basically a forest with a trail that leads down to the Puget Sound. It’s a great place to be alone yet surrounded by living creatures such as trees, bushes, mystery sneaky animals that make rustling noises in the brush, or birds, practicing their songs for spring.

When I got to the park, I was feeling particularly unfocussed, tired, and sad/guilty about not working on my novel this week, so I sat in the car thinking about that until I remembered that I had a book of Baha’i writings in the glove compartment. I got out the book, Tablets of Baha’u’llah, closed my eyes, breathed deeply, and opened to a random page. There I read the following:

“O My Name! Utterance must needs possess penetrating power. For if bereft of this quality it would fail to exert influence. And this penetrating influence dependeth on the spirit being pure and the heart stainless. Likewise it needeth moderation, without which the hearer would be unable to bear it, rather he would manifest opposition from the very outset. And moderation will be obtained by blending utterance with the tokens of divine wisdom which are recorded in the sacred Books and Tablets. Thus when the essence of one’s utterance is endowed with these two requisites it will prove highly effective and will be the prime factor in transforming the souls of men.”

I took this quote as a timely gift. Perhaps I would have felt that way about any of the words I might have turned to in that book. But this quote felt especially applicable to me. “Utterance” in the form of writing is my goal, the gift I have been given and have been trying to perfect. So here I received an explanation of what I want in my writing, what is needed to get it, and what it accomplishes. In summary:

What utterance (which I apply to writing) must have: penetrating power so that it may exert influence

Prerequisites to utterance having penetrating power: 1. a pure spirit and a stainless heart, 2. moderation (blending utterance with wisdom from the sacred writings)

What utterance will be when endowed with these two requisites: 1. highly effective, 2. the prime factor in transforming the souls of men.

This brought tears to my eyes and a thank you to my lips. That is exactly what I want to accomplish with my writing – the transformation of souls. That has the potential to sound megalomaniacal, but I mean it in the most vague of ways and with the utmost certainty that I am inadequate to the task. And yet, what other reason is there to write? Of course it would be nice to be paid for my efforts. But what’s the point if it doesn’t sing to somebody’s soul of something transformative: love or knowledge or some sort of needed example? I’m not saying that I could ever become (or even want to become) the center point of a revolution. I don’t have that in me. (And from the Baha’i point of view, that’s already underway.) But I want to BE the revolution, to express ME so certainly and strongly, yet gently, lovingly, and with moderation, that people change a little for the better. That’s all I could hope for, really. The best and most lasting change happens a little bit at a time, and that’s what I want to be an agent of: tiny bits of inspiration toward personal choices that change a person for the better.

And that leads to a sentence a few paragraphs down from the one quoted above: “Whoso quickeneth a soul hath verily quickened all mankind.”

I have a lot of work to do. But it’s a little easier to do when I know why I’m doing it.

What to blog?

Sunday, January 11th, 2009

I’m trying to figure out what I will write about in my blog entries. There’s the cliche advice: “Write what you know.” But there’s also a more updated version I read somewhere: “Write what you’d like to know more about.”

Some of the things I am familiar with but would like to know more about are: the Baha’i Faith, writing, Jungian therapy, depression – well, those are the biggies right now.

I just found out recently that I have amazingly low iron levels. So what I thought was the same old seasonal affective disorder making me take extra naps may have been more related to iron levels than to serotonin levels. No wonder I thought I felt pretty happy for being depressed.

I would write more now, but the pull to go lie down on the couch is becoming overwhelming. And if I give in to that urge, then I’m bound to fall asleep. If I fall asleep, I usually stay asleep for about a REM cycle (an hour and a half). And that would greatly interfere with my family duties: grocery shopping, dish-doing, clothes-washing, temperature-taking (Johanna is home sick), picking up Andrea from school and taking her to her play performance. And then there’s this young-adult novel I’ve written and need to get out into the world. It’s the main focus of my therapy right now – getting off my writerly butt so I can do the work to get my book published.

About therapy – I wonder how people will react to the fact that I see a therapist. I’ve had many different reactions, most of them non-verbal or some form of surprised “…oh…” People seem to think therapy is some sort of negative mark on one’s character – or maybe they just think they are supposed to think that. The reactions, verbal or non, usually indicate that being in therapy is a source of shame. But I love therapy! I have an excellent therapist, and I value his insight and enjoy his company. I’m tired of acting like this therapeutic relationship is a secret. Like any relationship, I don’t share all the details of it with others, but I won’t hide the fact that it’s there. It’s a good thing!

I am reminded of a friend of mine who used to go to a massage therapist every Friday. After a long, tense week of desk work and dealing with people, she would start the weekend by working out all that tension and starting fresh. That’s sort of how I look at therapy. I don’t go every week, but when I do go, I enjoy it and feel postitively adjusted afterwords.

Another comparison would be going to a doctor. Most people, at least in our culture, are not ashamed to tell someone they are going to the doctor to get checked out for physical symptoms they are having. Daily life is beset with germs, and folks understand that sometimes it helps to have some intervention to help bring balance back to the body’s system, to heal up from the negative physical influences of stress, etc.. So why is there such a stigma about the mental “germs” that get to us and the need to get cleansed of those?

Well, I better go tackle the day. Have a good one!

My daughter is a teenager! (Almost)

Wednesday, January 7th, 2009

Tomorrow night at 11:57pm marks the anniversary of the birth of my older daughter and her official transition into being what our culture calls a “teenager”. It doesn’t automatically change who she is, of course, but it’s interesting to think of her as slowly moving out of the child zone and into the realm of maturity. It’s definitely a process, and one she’s been going through for awhile, but also one she’s been hesitant to embrace. When I mentioned her upcoming change of “title” a few weeks ago, she said, with a desparate look and actual tears in her eyes, “I don’t want to be a teenager!” I hope I haven’t inadvertantly shown some prejudice against teenagers or something. Because I like teenagers! As a whole, I think they are very interesting people. But I didn’t especially like being one myself, so maybe that’s what she’s picked up on. Darn her exceptional observation skills!

So Doug has been trying to introduce Andrea to some kick-ass, confident, female teenage role models to help guide her. Tonight it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Also, he has printed out a list of facts for Andrea to study every day. Now, on her desk, there is a piece of paper that reads, “3 Facts: 1. I am Good. 2. The World is Good. 3. My Future is Bright.” He got these facts from a book called The Happiness Hypothesis. I love my silly, wonderful husband. And my daughter, too. I hope her teenage years are more happy and fulfilling than mine were.

Animation

Sunday, January 4th, 2009

I’m awake earlier than my body wants me to be. But in half an hour or so I will be on my way to the Seattle Baha’i Center to participate in a “youth animator” training. For those who aren’t familiar with Ruhi Books, it’s a class/workshop that guides children who are in the 11 to 14-year-old range in learning about the Baha’i Faith and participating in thought-provoking, Baha’i-related activities. I’ve participated in Ruhi classes for younger children, but I’m curious as to what exactly this training will entail, since the “pre-youth” age is one in which independent thinking is becoming stronger. We have some kids in this age group (including my almost-13-year-old daughter) who could use some focus for their energy. So bring it on! I’ll sacrifice a little bit of sleep for that!

Blogocracy

Saturday, January 3rd, 2009

My husband and I just watched Idiocracy, a movie with Luke Wilson and Maya Rudolph. Now it’s past midnight, just barely into the third day of the new year (when does it stop being “new”?), and my husband asks me if I’m going to blog. I say no. He says why not and that I need to practice. So not only is it late and I’m tired and slightly technophobic about this whole blogging business, but I’ve just watched a movie about extremely dumb people. And I feel dumb. My sister and I have discussed how we both we absorb movie characters. My first memory of doing this was after watching Pretty Woman at the just-off-campus theater in Bozeman Montana and discovering as my sis and I walked back to our apartment that we both felt like Julia Roberts’ character. It was like experiencing life through a Julia Roberts filter, walking with a little more attitude, laughing with more of a hair toss, thinking about things in a Julia-ish way. Maybe it’s a sign that I would be easy to brainwash. But right now, my “feeling dumb” experience probably stems more from needing sleep.

Question: How did the Idiocracy folks get permission to write in Starbucks as a place to receive male pleasure (with an “extra foamy” option)? (And isn’t there already a TV show called “OW! My balls!”?)

I feel compelled to end this entry with “Love, Sydney.” Which reminds me of a character in Idiocracy – a tall, heavy man, who officially greets every single person entering the gigantic Costco store where he works with the monotone phrase, “Welcome to Costco. I love you.”

Welcome to my blog. I love you. G’night.

Happy New Blog!

Thursday, January 1st, 2009

It’s New Year’s Day, it’s my birthday, and it’s new blog day for me! Thank goodness I have a techno-husband who can teach me how to navigate this website/blog stuff. I’m still on the steep part of the learning curve, so I’ll be moving into this slowly, but I’m here! A baby member of the blog-o-sphere! Woo hoo!