I box to punch things, sure.
But it's also a meditation, a figurative beating to soften my attitude toward myself, and a way to cope with stress.
Boxing is painful, for the lungs, the legs, the knuckles. Life's painful too, especially if you stick your neck out to push the envelope and improve upon the status quo.
Lesson 1: Spend a lot of time preparing. Warm-up is a quarter of the boxing lesson. It gets the heart pumping, it loosens the muscles, and focuses the mind on the task at hand.
Lesson 2: Breathe. Sure it will hurt. Breathe through the pain. Deeply. Often.
Lesson 3: Keep your mind in the moment. Pay attention to your moves, or else you'll probably break your wrist.
Lesson 4: Don't look back. You will make mistakes, many of them. Don't let the mistakes mess with your head. Move on from them, quickly. Or else you'll probably break your wrist.
Lesson 5: Don't look too far ahead. Look at the clock and realize there's only 5 minutes left, and I guarantee those 5 minutes will seem like eternity. Plus, why would you think about all the other things you need to get done that day when you need all your concentration not to break your wrist?
Lesson 6: Spend a lot of time recovering. Intense work calls for a couple days of rest.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Change
Every character in every book on my shelf is interesting not because of what they look like or sound like or want, but because of what they do when things change. Frodo gets the ring, Harry has to go to wizard school, Princess Leigh-Cheri suffers a miscarriage, Peekay was sent to boarding school, Rob and Laura break up, Lestat is bitten, Eragon finds the egg.
What ensues is about the hero struggling through to figure a way out of the trouble. Sometimes the trouble cannot be cured, for example, you're a vampire and you'll always be a vampire even if your friend burns you and cuts you up and buries you in a swamp. But in your head you are working through accepting your own self and making sense of your new world. Sometimes the trouble can be solved and even then the heroes go through painful transformations that leave them a little sadder but wiser and maybe seeing some hope at the end.
I'd like to think that as I go through this huge change at work I'm this interesting, deep character who pays attention to the vital questions in life as I weigh the pros and cons of my next action. I'm not. I go pretty blindly, waiting in this denial stage for someone to rescue me, as if I'm Bella. Fact is, I'm not Bella, not even remotely like her but for the one exception that if a vampire was into me I would totally not kick him out of bed. In my head I'm more like Hermione or Buffy (yes, I do have the Philosophy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my bookshelf) and I shape my own future.
But even Hermione went through the fuzzy hair stage and we all know that Buffy doubted herself very frequently in Seasons 1 and 2.
What ensues is about the hero struggling through to figure a way out of the trouble. Sometimes the trouble cannot be cured, for example, you're a vampire and you'll always be a vampire even if your friend burns you and cuts you up and buries you in a swamp. But in your head you are working through accepting your own self and making sense of your new world. Sometimes the trouble can be solved and even then the heroes go through painful transformations that leave them a little sadder but wiser and maybe seeing some hope at the end.
I'd like to think that as I go through this huge change at work I'm this interesting, deep character who pays attention to the vital questions in life as I weigh the pros and cons of my next action. I'm not. I go pretty blindly, waiting in this denial stage for someone to rescue me, as if I'm Bella. Fact is, I'm not Bella, not even remotely like her but for the one exception that if a vampire was into me I would totally not kick him out of bed. In my head I'm more like Hermione or Buffy (yes, I do have the Philosophy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on my bookshelf) and I shape my own future.
But even Hermione went through the fuzzy hair stage and we all know that Buffy doubted herself very frequently in Seasons 1 and 2.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Letter to Papa
Dear Papa,
I just finished reading your story, finally. You’re not getting a handwritten letter because I type much faster, plus now I will have an electronic copy of our correspondence, dude.
As I told you on the phone, I got into your story. I’ve read some of it a while ago (13, 14 years?) and gotten different things out of it now. I have certain books I read over and over again and depending on the stage of life the stories mean different things to me. Women Who Run With the Wolves has stories with hags and wise women and girls getting lost in the forest, and your last story had some of the themes I’m used to. I feel incredibly lucky that you write (and Mom) because it is the chance to know you on a different level.
The words in your stories are beautiful – beautiful phrases and sentences too. Some of my favorites:
“Listening to you talk to a woman is like drinking clabbered milk – it goes down in fits and makes you gag.”
…
“I want a family, Willie, I want kids, I want somebody to hold me.”
…
”Oh my god, she’s coming up. I don’t know if I like her. I don’t know if she’s that good looking. Maybe living by myself isn’t so bad.”
“I’m not interested in talking you into enjoying this. You are a real piece of work.”
.
These mindless robots of proper usage These husbanders of inconsequentia
The hospital scene made me LOL (Laugh Out Loud). “Now do you see why you can never take anything for granted in a hospital?” Hee hee.
…
He worried about the wholeness of the building because it had been built by men and even well-intentioned men sometimes make mistakes. Brian knew just how powerful the world outside the door was. He wrapped himself and went out into the night. While the women and girls, carefree and cozy, slept on, he scraped the snow from their rooflines with a long pole. Khaa! That’s the difference between men and women, children.
Excuse me??!!! Maybe it’s because I’ve spent many night hours awake with my children while my husband slept – carefree and cozy – that I take a major exception to this. Men may worry about the structure and the building and in our case, mowing the lawn, but women’s work is worrying about the emotional and physical health of the entire family, and rack up many, many sleepless nights. I’m convinced women don’t fully sleep for the first 5 years of their children’s lives, because they need to hear the coughs and cries.
But I forgive you, because then you make up for it when Brian tells the story of Claire killing the hag. I’ll let it slide.
…
So. I’ve included two of my short stories. The Toe will be published in The Sandstar Review, an online poetry and prose publication. Carrying On is the prelude to The Toe. Whenever I want to write fiction I use these two characters, Fran and Oliver, and it frees me up to be a little more creative. I’m thinking I should invent another character who is a working mom, but I fear there will be too many clichés coming out of that one.
I’ve also included vital information from the internet, in case you ever have to make the decision whether or not to drink sea water.
I am incredibly grateful to have your stories, and I look forward to reading them again when I’m forty. Sigh. The only good thing about turning forty in six years is that I will cease to be ignorant and I will become wise.
I love you,
Your eldest daughter,
I just finished reading your story, finally. You’re not getting a handwritten letter because I type much faster, plus now I will have an electronic copy of our correspondence, dude.
As I told you on the phone, I got into your story. I’ve read some of it a while ago (13, 14 years?) and gotten different things out of it now. I have certain books I read over and over again and depending on the stage of life the stories mean different things to me. Women Who Run With the Wolves has stories with hags and wise women and girls getting lost in the forest, and your last story had some of the themes I’m used to. I feel incredibly lucky that you write (and Mom) because it is the chance to know you on a different level.
The words in your stories are beautiful – beautiful phrases and sentences too. Some of my favorites:
“Listening to you talk to a woman is like drinking clabbered milk – it goes down in fits and makes you gag.”
…
“I want a family, Willie, I want kids, I want somebody to hold me.”
…
”Oh my god, she’s coming up. I don’t know if I like her. I don’t know if she’s that good looking. Maybe living by myself isn’t so bad.”
“I’m not interested in talking you into enjoying this. You are a real piece of work.”
.
These mindless robots of proper usage These husbanders of inconsequentia
The hospital scene made me LOL (Laugh Out Loud). “Now do you see why you can never take anything for granted in a hospital?” Hee hee.
…
He worried about the wholeness of the building because it had been built by men and even well-intentioned men sometimes make mistakes. Brian knew just how powerful the world outside the door was. He wrapped himself and went out into the night. While the women and girls, carefree and cozy, slept on, he scraped the snow from their rooflines with a long pole. Khaa! That’s the difference between men and women, children.
Excuse me??!!! Maybe it’s because I’ve spent many night hours awake with my children while my husband slept – carefree and cozy – that I take a major exception to this. Men may worry about the structure and the building and in our case, mowing the lawn, but women’s work is worrying about the emotional and physical health of the entire family, and rack up many, many sleepless nights. I’m convinced women don’t fully sleep for the first 5 years of their children’s lives, because they need to hear the coughs and cries.
But I forgive you, because then you make up for it when Brian tells the story of Claire killing the hag. I’ll let it slide.
…
So. I’ve included two of my short stories. The Toe will be published in The Sandstar Review, an online poetry and prose publication. Carrying On is the prelude to The Toe. Whenever I want to write fiction I use these two characters, Fran and Oliver, and it frees me up to be a little more creative. I’m thinking I should invent another character who is a working mom, but I fear there will be too many clichés coming out of that one.
I’ve also included vital information from the internet, in case you ever have to make the decision whether or not to drink sea water.
I am incredibly grateful to have your stories, and I look forward to reading them again when I’m forty. Sigh. The only good thing about turning forty in six years is that I will cease to be ignorant and I will become wise.
I love you,
Your eldest daughter,
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Carrying On
Fran opened the door into her home and heard voices. She walked through the dining room to say hello to Oliver, to ask what he was doing home so early. Then the woman's laugh drifted through the closed kitchen door, and Fran stopped.
Cabinets opened and closed, dishes and silverware were set on the table, the water ran in the sink and was quiet. The smell of cold roast and pickles and the sound of Oliver's low, pleased grumble made it to Fran, all the way to the dining room.
Fran would have rather caught them in bed.
She nudged the door open and walked into the kitchen, pretending to be surprised, as if she were the one who had something to hide. The woman was a young beatnik, dressed impossibly in long blue striped pants and a flowered blue shirt, and bare feet. She was standing behind Oliver as if to be ready in case he needed more food, or salt, or a refill on his coffee. They were not touching.
"I thought you volunteered at the school on Tuesdays," Oliver said to her, an accusation.
"I had a headache," Fran said.
Fran had always imagined hippies smelled bad and didn't comb their hair, but this young woman smelled like lavender and had long, silky brown hair tied neatly with a scarf. Fran could see a soft freckled shoulder and no bra strap. The woman gathered Oliver's empty plate and placed it in the sink, and without a trace of shame, set to doing the dishes. The plate, the fork, the cup and the dish towel found their homes while Oliver and Fran looked on, as if they were watching the theater.
It was Fran, not Oliver, she addressed. "Tears will build up in your ears if you don't cry them out, and then you won't hear anything." She touched Fran's face and left, and they both watched her climb into her little white Ford Falcon parked across the street and drive away, still barefoot.
It was the only day in their entire marriage that Fran did not make dinner. She lay in the lavender-scented bed and listened as the children came home from school, while Oliver boomed that their mother wasn't feeling well and he would take everyone out for hamburgers and shakes.
In the twilight of their lives, in one of her deliriums, Fran would take electric pruning shears to her husband, but they never spoke of it.
To read more about Fran and Oliver, and the electric pruning shears episode, click "Fran and Oliver" on the right, or search for "The Toe," one of my fiction stories.
Cabinets opened and closed, dishes and silverware were set on the table, the water ran in the sink and was quiet. The smell of cold roast and pickles and the sound of Oliver's low, pleased grumble made it to Fran, all the way to the dining room.
Fran would have rather caught them in bed.
She nudged the door open and walked into the kitchen, pretending to be surprised, as if she were the one who had something to hide. The woman was a young beatnik, dressed impossibly in long blue striped pants and a flowered blue shirt, and bare feet. She was standing behind Oliver as if to be ready in case he needed more food, or salt, or a refill on his coffee. They were not touching.
"I thought you volunteered at the school on Tuesdays," Oliver said to her, an accusation.
"I had a headache," Fran said.
Fran had always imagined hippies smelled bad and didn't comb their hair, but this young woman smelled like lavender and had long, silky brown hair tied neatly with a scarf. Fran could see a soft freckled shoulder and no bra strap. The woman gathered Oliver's empty plate and placed it in the sink, and without a trace of shame, set to doing the dishes. The plate, the fork, the cup and the dish towel found their homes while Oliver and Fran looked on, as if they were watching the theater.
It was Fran, not Oliver, she addressed. "Tears will build up in your ears if you don't cry them out, and then you won't hear anything." She touched Fran's face and left, and they both watched her climb into her little white Ford Falcon parked across the street and drive away, still barefoot.
It was the only day in their entire marriage that Fran did not make dinner. She lay in the lavender-scented bed and listened as the children came home from school, while Oliver boomed that their mother wasn't feeling well and he would take everyone out for hamburgers and shakes.
In the twilight of their lives, in one of her deliriums, Fran would take electric pruning shears to her husband, but they never spoke of it.
To read more about Fran and Oliver, and the electric pruning shears episode, click "Fran and Oliver" on the right, or search for "The Toe," one of my fiction stories.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Living Together
LIVING TOGETHER
COHABITATION AGREEMENT
Crazy Coppertop, Cohabitant No. 1, and The Old Man, Cohabitant No. 2, hereinafter jointly referred to as the Cohabitants, who now live together, hereby agree as follows:
1. The Cohabitants wish to establish their respective rights and responsibilities regarding each other’s emotional baggage and property and the emotional baggage and property that may be acquired, either separately or together, during the period of cohabitation.
2. The Cohabitants have made a full and complete disclosure to each other of all of their current emotional and mental liabilities.
3. Except as otherwise provided below, the Cohabitants waive the following rights:
a. To keep a list of “what he does” and “what she does” in order to bring it up at a later date.
b. To expect Holidays, birthdays and all such celebrations to be relaxing, joyous affairs.
c. To complain when Thanksgiving is celebrated at The Golden Corral buffet restaurant.
d. To any expectation of freedom from sarcastic comments when the other party is watching “their show.”
e. To waive subjection to any mental or emotional scars acquired during the course of parenthood, whether currently held or hereafter acquired.
f. To any expectation of private solitude on a regular basis or any expectation of pursuing “hobbies” that satisfy either parties’ interests and mental sanity.
g. To any expectation to “party it up” or dance at any sort of celebration unless they are stinking drunk.
4. RELEVANT EXCEPTIONS TO PARAGRAPH 3 ABOVE:
a. An unspoken running list that is emotionally suppressed may be kept by both parties.
b. Unspoken high expectations may be kept emotionally suppressed.
c. Complaints about the quality of food are acceptable; however, complaints about the physical presence of the family in a buffet restaurant on such a day are not.
d. No exceptions.
e. No exceptions.
f. Hobbies may be pursued covertly and with great shame and guilt.
g. No exceptions.
5. Cohabitant No. 1 is responsible for the following: Laundry, bathroom cleaning (except Cohabitant No. 2’s bathroom,) floor cleaning, washing sheets, pulling weeds, watering the garden, categorization and organization of household goods, remembering family birthdays and then reminding Cohabitant No. 2 that she will not in any circumstance take responsibility for gift-buying for said birthdays, scheduling doctor’s appointments for the children, completing school paperwork, suppressing her high expectations for holiday celebrations, planning meals, grocery shopping, and taking care of the emotional health of the entire family.
Cohabitant No. 2 is responsible for the following: mowing the lawn, killing the bugs that eat the lawn, standing at the window worrying about the bugs that are eating the lawn, making dinner, doing the dishes, performing repairs around the house, grilling, listening intently and quietly as Cohabitant No. 1 vents about her job five or six days a week, planning one vacation per year to ensure that both parties find immense satisfaction from being away from the kids, and understanding exactly why Cohabitant No. 1 “loses it and goes crazy” and reacting correctly. (Note: the definition of “correctly” can only be determined by Cohabitant No. 1 and will forever remain a secret.)
6. The Cohabitants have separate income and assets to independently provide for their own respective financial needs and materials that support any “hobbies” that may be attempted.
9. This agreement constitutes the entire agreement of the parties and may be modified only in a writing executed by both Cohabitants.
10. In the event Cohabitant No. 1 is unable to abide by this agreement and "loses it" she will refer to a "love letter" written by Cohabitant No. 2 addressed to her in October of 2008 in which he states fairly clearly why he loves her. If Cohabitant No. 2 fails to produce another love letter in three to five years Cohabitant No. 1 may request a re-drafting of the above agreement.
I HAVE READ THE ABOVE AGREEMENT, I HAVE TAKEN TIME TO CONSIDER ITS IMPLICATIONS IN LIGHT OF THE FACT THAT FOREVER IS A LONG TIME, I FULLY UNDERSTAND ITS CONTENTS, I AGREE TO ITS TERMS, AND I VOLUNTARILY SUBMIT TO ITS EXECUTION.
____________________________________ ______________________________
Cohabitant No. 1 Cohabitant No. 2
COHABITATION AGREEMENT
Crazy Coppertop, Cohabitant No. 1, and The Old Man, Cohabitant No. 2, hereinafter jointly referred to as the Cohabitants, who now live together, hereby agree as follows:
1. The Cohabitants wish to establish their respective rights and responsibilities regarding each other’s emotional baggage and property and the emotional baggage and property that may be acquired, either separately or together, during the period of cohabitation.
2. The Cohabitants have made a full and complete disclosure to each other of all of their current emotional and mental liabilities.
3. Except as otherwise provided below, the Cohabitants waive the following rights:
a. To keep a list of “what he does” and “what she does” in order to bring it up at a later date.
b. To expect Holidays, birthdays and all such celebrations to be relaxing, joyous affairs.
c. To complain when Thanksgiving is celebrated at The Golden Corral buffet restaurant.
d. To any expectation of freedom from sarcastic comments when the other party is watching “their show.”
e. To waive subjection to any mental or emotional scars acquired during the course of parenthood, whether currently held or hereafter acquired.
f. To any expectation of private solitude on a regular basis or any expectation of pursuing “hobbies” that satisfy either parties’ interests and mental sanity.
g. To any expectation to “party it up” or dance at any sort of celebration unless they are stinking drunk.
4. RELEVANT EXCEPTIONS TO PARAGRAPH 3 ABOVE:
a. An unspoken running list that is emotionally suppressed may be kept by both parties.
b. Unspoken high expectations may be kept emotionally suppressed.
c. Complaints about the quality of food are acceptable; however, complaints about the physical presence of the family in a buffet restaurant on such a day are not.
d. No exceptions.
e. No exceptions.
f. Hobbies may be pursued covertly and with great shame and guilt.
g. No exceptions.
5. Cohabitant No. 1 is responsible for the following: Laundry, bathroom cleaning (except Cohabitant No. 2’s bathroom,) floor cleaning, washing sheets, pulling weeds, watering the garden, categorization and organization of household goods, remembering family birthdays and then reminding Cohabitant No. 2 that she will not in any circumstance take responsibility for gift-buying for said birthdays, scheduling doctor’s appointments for the children, completing school paperwork, suppressing her high expectations for holiday celebrations, planning meals, grocery shopping, and taking care of the emotional health of the entire family.
Cohabitant No. 2 is responsible for the following: mowing the lawn, killing the bugs that eat the lawn, standing at the window worrying about the bugs that are eating the lawn, making dinner, doing the dishes, performing repairs around the house, grilling, listening intently and quietly as Cohabitant No. 1 vents about her job five or six days a week, planning one vacation per year to ensure that both parties find immense satisfaction from being away from the kids, and understanding exactly why Cohabitant No. 1 “loses it and goes crazy” and reacting correctly. (Note: the definition of “correctly” can only be determined by Cohabitant No. 1 and will forever remain a secret.)
6. The Cohabitants have separate income and assets to independently provide for their own respective financial needs and materials that support any “hobbies” that may be attempted.
9. This agreement constitutes the entire agreement of the parties and may be modified only in a writing executed by both Cohabitants.
10. In the event Cohabitant No. 1 is unable to abide by this agreement and "loses it" she will refer to a "love letter" written by Cohabitant No. 2 addressed to her in October of 2008 in which he states fairly clearly why he loves her. If Cohabitant No. 2 fails to produce another love letter in three to five years Cohabitant No. 1 may request a re-drafting of the above agreement.
I HAVE READ THE ABOVE AGREEMENT, I HAVE TAKEN TIME TO CONSIDER ITS IMPLICATIONS IN LIGHT OF THE FACT THAT FOREVER IS A LONG TIME, I FULLY UNDERSTAND ITS CONTENTS, I AGREE TO ITS TERMS, AND I VOLUNTARILY SUBMIT TO ITS EXECUTION.
____________________________________ ______________________________
Cohabitant No. 1 Cohabitant No. 2
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Choices
The gifts of a meaningful challenging job and a beautiful messy delightful family mean I make choices every day - but how lucky I am to have these choices.
What really matters to me? What do I want to be remembered for when I die? Yes, family comes first, but my values align with where I work, so work is a part of it. I help connect people to the natural world and wildlife in a way that is not packaged, canned, processed, frozen, televised, spun, disinfected or dissected; and with that connection I believe humans tap into something greater than themselves, to raw, wild life and death and our duty to immerse ourselves in it and protect it at the same time.
My family. There is the *yawn* view that it is our highest duty to raise another human being. The Old Man and I have never talked about values but I guarantee we agree on fundamental concepts:
* our children will be able to think for themselves, to participate in their education, to discover the world so as not only to become functioning adults but to have their choice in how they make their living.
* money and status aren't everything.
* our children will believe unwaveringly in their own self-worth.
There are so many demands on my energy and focus and time, and some demands are bullshit demands, let's be honest.... that it has helped me to define big picture priorities:
1. A majority of my energy goes to my family life.
2. I engage only in pursuits I find personally satisfying.
3. I nurture my mental, physical and spiritual health on a regular basis.
When I feel like dropping a six pack of High Life on The Old Man's chair as a parting gift and escaping to Mexico, or when my head pounds from stress and clanging noise, or when I can't focus because my mind has checked out, those are clues that I'm not paying attention to my top 3 priorities.
One of those things I find personally satisfying is writing... I haven't posted a lot lately, but I hope to correct that in the future.
Thanks for listening, online world. :)
What really matters to me? What do I want to be remembered for when I die? Yes, family comes first, but my values align with where I work, so work is a part of it. I help connect people to the natural world and wildlife in a way that is not packaged, canned, processed, frozen, televised, spun, disinfected or dissected; and with that connection I believe humans tap into something greater than themselves, to raw, wild life and death and our duty to immerse ourselves in it and protect it at the same time.
My family. There is the *yawn* view that it is our highest duty to raise another human being. The Old Man and I have never talked about values but I guarantee we agree on fundamental concepts:
* our children will be able to think for themselves, to participate in their education, to discover the world so as not only to become functioning adults but to have their choice in how they make their living.
* money and status aren't everything.
* our children will believe unwaveringly in their own self-worth.
There are so many demands on my energy and focus and time, and some demands are bullshit demands, let's be honest.... that it has helped me to define big picture priorities:
1. A majority of my energy goes to my family life.
2. I engage only in pursuits I find personally satisfying.
3. I nurture my mental, physical and spiritual health on a regular basis.
When I feel like dropping a six pack of High Life on The Old Man's chair as a parting gift and escaping to Mexico, or when my head pounds from stress and clanging noise, or when I can't focus because my mind has checked out, those are clues that I'm not paying attention to my top 3 priorities.
One of those things I find personally satisfying is writing... I haven't posted a lot lately, but I hope to correct that in the future.
Thanks for listening, online world. :)
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The Dog is Eating Lucky Charms As I Look the Other Way
frosted whiskers gleam
the baby hits the dog
a cereal fight
the baby wins.
the baby hits the dog
a cereal fight
the baby wins.
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