As I type this,
Zippy, Wildebeest, and Zebu
are running the Bolder Boulder 10k.
They should be heading into their third mile right now.
The third mile’s the hardest on this course.
Uphill and lots of turns.
Go, men, go!
Lean into the hill and lift those knees!
You’re doing great!
This morning I’m headed to my brother’s house
on a Beautification Mission.
It feels like the perfect project for me right now.
Number one, it’ll make him happy
but it will also help me overcome my feelings of overwhelm and despair
related to the massive oil spill and calls for more war funding.
Digging in the soil as I talk and laugh with my brother
will be the best remedy for what ails me, I think.
I’m taking plants from my garden:
Including several Red Valerian plants:
© 2010 Tracy Abell
And a whole lot of Bearded Iris bulbs that may or may not be this color:
© 2010 Tracy Abell
I hope to create a lovely oasis of calm and beauty for my brother
who next week is flying to Florida to drive back to Colorado with our mother.
It’s my way of thanking him for being a good guy.
Whatever your mission, I wish you a memorable Memorial Day weekend.
AGNES by Tony Cochran
I don’t even want to know what Trout would say about my life.
Because I’m still in limbo waiting for feedback on CLOSE TO HOME,
I’m tackling some long overdue household projects.
Yesterday I stripped the scary green paint from kitchen cabinet doors using
this great non-toxic, soy-based paint remover.
I’m environmentally sensitive, and can’t walk in the detergent
aisle in the grocery store because of all the nasty odors.
The soy-based remover was fine for me with adequate ventilation
(I worked in my garage), and I highly recommend it.
Why use conventional products and expose yourself to a soup of toxic chemicals
that may harm your respiratory system, skin, internal organs, brain and nervous system?
Not to mention the harm to the planet from producing the stuff?
And, because I need to stick with my Write No Matter What attitude,
here is a little home improvement haiku:
So long now, green paint.
Wish you’d come with a warning:
"Best if eyes are closed."
Yesterday I wrote about being grumpy as a result of not writing.
Later, I wrote some fast fiction that excelled in its suckiness.
However, I felt better for doing it,
and this morning, resolved to write something else.
Without censoring myself for additional suckiness.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold the uncensored product of Tracy’s mind:
MARKING TIME
I just saw a flicker poop
on the railing.
After he lured me to the window
with his urgent, chirpy call.
He pooped right in front of me,
then just up and flew away.
Without looking back.
Without acknowledging his audience of one.
And I’m left to wonder
what it is I’m supposed to do
now.
Oh, wait.
I know.
© 2010 Tracy Abell
There are lots of contributing factors to my current State of Grumpy:
It’s incredibly windy right now
which means I can’t work in my garden
which means no exercise
since my hip is still messed up and I can’t do much of anything else
which also means I’m gaining weight.
And did I mention it’s Monday?
A really windy Monday?
But I also just realized I haven’t written much of anything in a week
as I’m still in CLOSE TO HOME limbo as I wait for readers’ responses.
I cannot work on BIRD BRAIN until I can give it my undivided attention
because I’ve started and stopped that project so many times I’m
afraid it’ll dwindle into nothing if I don’t give it the respect it’s due.
So there I was.
Crabby, crabby crabby.
Until I grabbed a book off my shelf, THE ELEVENTH DRAFT: Craft and the Writing Life from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop,
and opened it to Barry Hannah‘s piece, Mr. Brain, He Want a Song.
This is what I read:
". . . this is why I find working writers to be among the happiest folks in the world. Among the unhappiest are those who are not working and have endless questions. You do not want to get within a block of these people. The Great Suck – big bottom lip, the sulk, the neurotic and despondent vortex. But working writers are like unprosecuted felons."
I’m off to my PT appointment but as soon as I’m home,
I’m going to write some flash fiction or a poem.
Something.
I cannot stand wallowing in The Great Suck.
However, I probably won’t go so far as to commit a felony
(unless you count writing really bad poetry as a crime).
Wildebeest didn’t have school yesterday so we spent time together.
1) I drove him to Boulder so he could run two miles on a treadmill to get a qualifying time
for the BolderBoulder on Memorial Day.
2) While in Boulder, we took our recyclables to the recycling center
where Wildebeest impressed me with his knowledge of paper board vs cardboard.
3) As we drove back on Highway 93 (which is a beautiful drive along the foothills), we watched
a courageous (foolhardy?) bird repeatedly harass a much larger hawk.
4) We talked about many things, including the fact that because a person’s sexuality encompasses
much more than a sex life, it’s reasonable to discuss Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan’s sexuality.
5) Last, we went to the DMV so Wildebeest could get his learner’s permit, and watched as a woman
backed a long, white pickup truck into a sign post right before a crying teen girl ran over and got in
the passenger’s seat (after flunking her own driving test?)
The time was filled with lots of driving and waiting, plus a scraped knuckle at the recycling center,
but it was still a very nice afternoon.
Wishing everyone scintillating conversations and teen bonding experiences this weekend!
"Orange is the happiest color."
— Frank Sinatra
It’s a gray and gloomy day here
but just after Zebu left for school, I saw a flash of color in the bushes.
And then to my delight, this Western Tanager landed at the feeder:
© 2010 Tracy Abell
And this is one of the Black-Headed Grosbeaks that has been visiting all week:
© 2010 Tracy Abell
It doesn’t look as if we’ll get any sunshine but all the glorious plumage has already brightened my day.
Maybe I’ll put on some Sinatra . . .
Yesterday I spent time working in my garden,
but rather than calming and rejuvenating my spirit, the work agitated.
Why?
Two words: Euonymus coloratus.
Years ago when I began landscaping the slope in my backyard,
a gardening expert recommended I plant Euonymus (yoo-on–uh-muh
s)
and some evergreen-juniper-creeping stuff to prevent soil erosion.
Good news: the soil didn’t erode.
Bad news: the groundcover ran amok.
Last fall I removed the evergreens and yesterday I cut back tons of
Euonymus that’s choking out other plants.
It made me crabby knowing that all the sweat and effort and money
I’d put into my garden was literally being strangled by those shiny green stems and leaves.
Now I’m faced with several options:
a) cut back the Euonymus each and every year with the knowledge the roots will grow thicker
b) dig out the deeply rooted and pervasive Euonymus with the knowledge I’ll destroy other plants in the process
c) avert my gaze
All this got me thinking about writing, of course.
I just finished a major revision in which I killed off a character,
deleted an entire plot line, heavily revised two-thirds of the book,
and completely rewrote the last third.
I’m not afraid of hard work.
But I’ve realized that while I love gardening, I prefer it on a low maintenance level.
I like to putter around, but even more I enjoy sitting on my patio,
admiring the flowers. Watching the butterflies and listening to birds.
Writing novels.
Moral of this story?
I’m keeping my day job.
Just got back from my PT appointment
at which I received strict instructions to not run for a week.
It’s now official: I will not be running the BolderBoulder on Memorial Day.
© 2010 Zippy
(Lebowski wasn’t planning on running this year so I have no idea why he looks so grumpy).
GET FUZZY by Darby Conley
You’re welcome.
Last night I reached that point of delirium with my revisions.
You’re probably familiar with that point.
When your tweaking is possibly doing more damage than good?
So I said, "¡Bastante!"
and sent the ms off to Claudia (and another reader friend).
Then I cracked open a beer.
But today’s a whole new day, and without those revisions to shape my day I feel, well, shapeless.
What shall I do?!
I know! I’ll dig out the file for BIRD BRAIN and reacquaint myself with that story.
(image from http://www.morguefile.com)
That creaking sound you hear?
Just my brain switching gears.
Earlier I responded to regarding her suggestions for finding my last lines,
by saying I’d try her methods but would probably also end up howling at the moon.
(image from http://www.morguefile.com)
Care to guess how it’s going so far today?
I’m working on my final chapter, and feel good about most all of it
except for the last few lines.
I know I’ll get there but it’s a bit maddening to have come this far
only to be flummoxed.
I’m not quite sure why, but this photo from last summer feels right for this post:
© 2010 Tracy Abell
Maybe because I found out via this link, that younger ants usually take care of the queen and brood,
while the older ants typically have the more dangerous tasks of foraging and defense.
I’m definitely an older ant,
and writing towards The End can sometimes feel a bit dangerous. Scary.
But I have to keep crawling around my final page, foraging for those just-right words to end my story.
(And for a little off-topic Ha-ha, here’s a snippet from the above link: "Ant colonies are grossly divided into queens, males, and workers. The job of the queen is to lay eggs. The males generally do nothing for the colony. They wander around accepting food from the workers until the time comes for mating. They die almost immediately after mating." Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the ultimate fantasy?)
Ever since the summer of 2008 I’ve suffered off-and-on tightness and pain
in my left ITband/hip/buttock.
It came on after training for the Bolder Boulder, and after research,
I decided it was due to training so many miles in the streets
where I’d run facing traffic which meant my left side was always leaning into the gutter.
At Zippy’s suggestion, last week I finally called my running shoe store
to ask for a Physical Therapist recommendation.
Well, I just got home from my appointment with
Stuart Wilson at Chamption Sports Medicine and Physical Therapy,
and guess what I found out?
It’s not an ITband issue.
My pain wasn’t triggered by running in the gutter.
My left leg is longer than my right leg,
and the way my body compensates is for my left foot to pronate 8 mm.
Healthy pronation is 2-3 mm.
Again, mine is 8 mm.
No wonder I was in pain!
He taped my left arch to hold it in place and then had me get back on the treadmill.
But then I felt pain in my knees.
So then he removed the tape and put a lift in my right shoe.
Much better!
My homework is to wear the lift all the time,
walk as much as I’d like,
on Thursday go for 2-3 mile run, and, if it feels okay,
to run 2-3 miles on Sunday.
I go back for my follow-up appointment next Monday.
I’m thrilled.
I already feel different/better, and am hoping, hoping, hoping
this means I’ll be back on the trails again.
I might even try to run the Bolder Boulder which is (eek!) three weeks from today.
Hooray! My left leg is longer than my right!
The following was written in 1870, yet here we are in 2010,
still raising our voices against violence and war.
Here we are in 2010, with a president who publicly jokes about the use of predator drones.
Here we are in 2010, knowing in our hearts there is a better way.
Arise then…women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:
"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,
For caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country,
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor,
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil
At the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace…
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God –
In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality,
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.
I just printed out the latest draft of my final chapter.
It’s not quite where I want it to be, but it’s definitely getting closer.
Wow.
I’m not yet giddy with excitement, but I’m fast approaching goofy.
Or maybe that should be daffy.
Punchy?
Loony? Nutty? Dotty?
Guess the only thing I know for sure is that whatever this is I’m experiencing, it ends with a y.
I’m fighting feelings of overwhelm right now,
mostly political and environmental concerns.
I need to harness good feelings to carry me through.
And there’s nothing like a bird to make me feel better,
so I’m going to share in case anyone else needs a little boost.
Female Downy Woodpecker © 2010 Tracy Abell
Wishing everyone a groovy weekend filled with lovely birds
and whatever else makes your heart go thumpa.
As I get ready to write today,
hoping to choose the perfect words for my final chapter,
I hold Jeannine’s work up as inspiration.
From BORROWED NAMES by Jeannine Atkins:
As if staying in one place
is the sole measure of goodness,
as if ponds are better than running rivers or rain.
Jeannine sets the bar pretty damned high, doesn’t she?
Who says it’s no fun going to the dentist?
I just spent an hour there and had a grand time.
Did I mention I was only in the waiting room?
Zebu had an appointment to get his braces-clad teeth cleaned,
so I hung out in the front office.
Did my figure eights,
inserted my ear plugs,
and drafted another couple pages of my final chapter.
Let’s hear it for the dentist office!
Yesterday while helping at the spaghetti dinner,
I saw a family with young kids and offered them diapers.
I went to the basement and dug through the donated personal hygiene items
(diapers, tampons, napkins, adult underwear, etc.) to find the correct size.
In my search, I happened upon a package that looked like this:
WTF?
My personal motto is also a brand of adult underwear?
My hand-made, special-order, one-of-a-kind bracelet that I haven’t removed
since artist Laura Hamor mailed it to me in September 2009
might conjure images of incontinence?
I stared at the package, stunned, and gave myself a few seconds to mourn.
Then I started thinking about the situation in broader terms.
Lots of those product names would make great mottos for inspirational or philosophical bracelets:
DEPENDS (for those trying to remember to make nuanced decisions).
ALWAYS (for those professing undying love).
WHISPER (for those struggling to find their “inside voice”).
So, I’ve decided I’m going to keep wearing my bracelet
but I’ve also resolved to be more diligent about doing Kegels.
I’m in the home stretch on my revisions.
When I last met with Claudia, we decided my final chapter would be
a kaleidoscope of three small scenes.
So that’s what I’m working on this week.
I want my scenes to convey this kind of intricacy and balance:
(image from http://www.morguefile.com)
But if I don’t immediately get the scenes just right,
I can treat them like a kaleidoscope and make a slight adjustment,
and maybe that new view will be just what I’m looking for.
This is what made Zebu laugh hysterically today.
He kept reading bits aloud from this "news item" out of The Onion: Ad Nauseaum
and since life is scary right now with, well, all that stuff on the news,
I thought I’d share a portion:
The discontinued character.
Developed by Chicago advertising agency DDB Needham, the Hammurderer made his debut two months ago and has since appeared in a series of Saturday-morning television commercials, as well as on Happy Meal bags and activity placemats. All appearances by and references to the violent, ill-tempered prison escapee will be dropped.
"Over the years, McDonald’s has successfully introduced a number of new characters whose defining characteristic is a certain measure of comical, criminal intent," said Andrew Perlich, McDonald’s vice-president of promotions. "Such shady characters as The Hamburglar, The Goblins, and the bloodthirsty pirate Captain Crook have all fit nicely into the McDonald’s advertising universe. We had every reason to believe that the Hammurderer, with his long rap sheet of burger-related crimes and his signature cry of ‘Stabble Stabble Stabble,’ would take his place in this proud lineage of McDonaldland mischief-makers."
The Hammurderer’s Jan. 11 debut ad—in which he seizes and devours the McDonald’s Happy Meal Guys, oblivious to their frantic screams—earned poor marks from parents and child-development experts, who feared the spot might send the message to children that killing is acceptable. Several weeks later, more controversy erupted over the promotional coloring book "Shivved In The McRibs," in which the Hammurderer decapitates Mayor McCheese and eats his head. Responding to widespread public outrage, McDonald’s executives defended the coloring book as "not nearly as violent or socially irresponsible as it has been made out to be, given that the Mayor’s head is, in fact, a giant and conceivably edible cheeseburger."
……………………………..
There, don’t you feel all better now?
Tracy Abell 