Yesterday Zippy and I drove Zebu and Wildebeest up into the mountains to the camp they’ll be at for ten days.
I expected to feel lighter, unburdened. Excited.
And I guess I do. But I’m also a little lonesome and anxious without the constant soundtrack of their laughter and bickering.
Motherhood is full of so many surprises.
Yesterday was Zebu’s 11th birthday.
He spent the day at Water World with his friend and Zippy Ramone.
(The way I saw it, if I could handle 26 hours of labor Zippy could handle six hours of heat, wet shorts, crowds, lines, and sunburn).
Zebu’s friend gave him a birthday gift.
A ticket to join friend and friend’s father here
for a Bob Dylan concert.
I’m the Dylan fanatic in the household
and I didn’t get to see him in concert until I was 15.
Zebu probably couldn’t name three Dylan songs.
But he’s very excited
and I’m happy for him.
A Red Rocks concert is something he’ll never forget.
When the Dylan tickets went on sale, Zippy and I debated buying two.
However, I’m feeling a bit disconnected from old Bob these days
in large part due to this.
We passed.
But we suddenly had a craving to see a show at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.
It’s an incredible setting.
Magical.
We really wanted and needed one concert experience there this season.
We checked the roster
and bought tickets for Michael Franti and Spearhead
(and Mavis Staples!!)
I’m probably done seeing Bob Dylan in concert.
I have a slew of memories from all those concerts.
I’ll never see him at Red Rocks
but that’s okay.
It was time for something/someone new.
Zebu can’t wait for his concert
and neither can I.
is going to give away an autographed copy of
‘s QUAKING to one lucky winner! I really want to win it for myself but am willing to share the details with the rest of you because it seems like the decent thing to do. 🙂
Go here to enter:
http://annemariepace.livejournal.com/102570.html
I told myself I wouldn’t start on the second draft of my middle-grade WIP until I sorted out the plot issues. So that’s what I’ve been doing. Pulling up my list of THINGS I KNOW and adding to it. A little bit here, a little bit there.
Well, I’m sick of it.
I don’t want to sketch out plot issues anymore.
I don’t feel like I’m moving forward on this project.
I just want to write the @$*#-ing book.
Among other THINGS I DO NOT KNOW, I still haven’t figured out the story of one character’s mother. Is she alive? Dead? Missing in action? Wandering the streets suffering amnesia?
Do I have to know this before I start the second draft?
Last night I finished reading TIPS ON HAVING A GAY (EX) BOYFRIEND by
. Throughout the book, I thought of S. who was my best friend and then in seventh grade, briefly my boyfriend. We broke up a few days later when we realized “going together” had flipped some sort of switch so that we no longer talked and had fun. We remained best friends throughout high school.
In the ten years after graduation, S. and I were in and out of touch. He once sent me a letter written on toilet paper, another scrawled on the back of an old history quiz. At one point I tracked him down and we had a marathon phone conversation. He told me he was gay. I said something like “Really?” He said something like “You must’ve known.”
Did I?
Like Carrie’s character, Belle, maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.
All I knew was S. was loyal and funny, charismatic, sarcastic. Smart. He was my friend and that was all that mattered.
Dylan’s sexuality, however, is much more an issue for Belle. She and Dylan are in love, they’re physically intimate, and plan on getting married someday.
As I read Carrie’s book and took the journey with Belle in the week after she learns Dylan’s truth, I suffered alongside her as she faces one new painful reality after another. I wondered how Belle would survive. How Dylan would survive. How anyone survives high school which is an excruciating experience for most everyone, no matter who they are.
We’ve all had Mimis and Eddies in our lives. People driven by fear and ignorance, anger and frustration. Carrie’s words put me back in the high school hallways filled with those whispers and rumors, intimidation, ostracism, and peer pressure. S. and I grew up in a small community, much smaller than Carrie’s Eastbrook, and TIPS ON HAVING A GAY (EX) BOYFRIEND helped me understand even more than I already did how very difficult it was for S. in that setting, and why (maybe) it was too scary for him to tell me then about his sexuality.
Thank you, Carrie Jones, for writing this story. I lost S. fourteen years ago to AIDS just four months after he performed my wedding ceremony, but your words have given me another window into his life via Dylan and Belle’s story.
Dylan is Belle’s friend, always was and always will be. And that’s all that matters.
I’m trying hard to stick to my THINGS I KNOW list as I figure out story/plot issues before starting my second draft.
Yesterday I added a bunch of details to the list, including one that raised the stakes.
Yesterday I felt pretty good about the process.
Today?
Today I’m reading through pages of notes I wrote during the first draft.
I’m back to those feelings of panic and overwhelm.
Which ideas are usable?
What should I ignore?
I read those notes and lose all focus as my brain scampers off on some A.D.D.-inspired field trip. Maybe this should happen. Maybe that. How about such and such?
Someone needs to give my brain a good talking to.
I just watched a great blue heron wading in the run-off pond near my house. That’s what I want to be in my next life. (Um, a heron, not a run-off pond).
The Bolder Boulder photographers just sent the link for me to check out my race day photos. Yikes. The photo of me running in the stadium toward the finish line shows one very tired woman. Zippy had five photos taken of him and I’m in three of them, running behind him like some oxygen-deprived stalker.
The official race results are now available and I discovered my time was nine seconds faster than I thought. Woo Hoo! But even more exciting, out of the 448 44-year-old women in the race, I had the 26th fastest time. (Technically I’m 27th but one of the women is listed as “Steve” which Zippy insists is a mistake. I pointed out there was a female character named Ralph on “Green Acres” but he insists that fact is not germane to the discussion). Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised by my race position and it took the sting out of getting a much slower time than I’d hoped for.
I’m trying to sort out plot issues for my middle-grade WIP but started feeling overwhelmed by all the possibilities. I was writing ideas, many of which were “maybe X does this because such-and-such…”, and I started to feel panicked by not having anything to hold onto. So I started a THINGS I KNOW list. I’m writing one-liners about story details I know for sure, and it’s helping me figure out what else I know. Now I don’t feel like I’m drowning!
Wildebeest had his last day of 7th grade on Wednesday and Zebu finishes 5th grade today. We’re all quite happy putting this school year behind us. We plan to celebrate tonight with some dinner and bowling.
This morning I went to the nearby tech school and bought a bunch of perennials from the student greenhouse which means I need to get outside and figure out where to put them in my various flower beds. I bought two forget-me-not plants because they remind me of Alaska. Now if only I could get a moose to come hang out in my yard………
Wishing you all a wonderful weekend.
Well, I ran the race this morning.
And it was tough.
Good news: I didn’t walk.
Bad news: I wanted to quit in the first mile.
It’s the first time Zippy Ramone and I’ve run together (we usually run in separate waves because it aggravates me no end that he’s faster than me). But today he made a commitment to me and my race, and stuck with me to keep me going. He’s a wonderful man.
I ran the race in 52:21, a mere 2 1/2 minutes off my goal but that’s okay. Because as I mentioned, I REALLY just wanted to sit down and have a good cry but I fought off that urge and kept plugging along.
I need you all to know how much your kind comments and good vibes meant to me. When I was having those internal conversations about the merits of quitting the race, I remembered your support and it helped keep me going. I didn’t want to let you OR me down.
One of the Bolder Boulder perks is a post-race massage given by massage school students. In the past, I’ve received rather perfunctory attention that lasted a fraction of the massages Zippy gets post-race. I always wondered if I smelled even more than the average runner.
Today, that all changed. I got a 20 minute massage from a man named Lowell. He stretched and massaged every one of my tired muscles. I was crying tears of gratitude by the time he finished.
Zippy complained his massage therapist finished working on him plus another runner in the time it took to get mine. HA!
When we drove up our street, I saw a long streamer of toilet paper and wondered why someone chose today to TP our yard. But it was our neighbor who’d strung toilet paper across our driveway. I broke the finish line ribbon with the nose of my Prius!
I’m off for a long soak in a tub of Epsom salts. Thank you again so very much for helping me make it through the race!
Because weekends seem to be quiet on LJ and because this weekend will probably be quieter than most, I’m posting now.
On Memorial Day, Zippy Ramone and I will be running the BolderBoulder 10K. As some of you know, my health crashed in August 2004 just three months after I’d run a very strong BolderBoulder. I haven’t run it since.
It’s been a long road to recovery but I’m going to run the 6.2 miles this Monday.
I’m nervous. Running this race feels like my official announcement to the world that I’m better. Whole. Tracy, again.
I want to do well.
I’m asking for good thoughts sent my way. Our race wave takes off at 7:11 a.m. (Mountain Time) on Monday morning. I hope to finish at about 8:00.
I’d very, very much appreciate your thoughts and support. And if anyone knows any magic voodoo to banish exercise-induced asthma, please send that along, too!
Wishing everyone a wonderful Memorial Day weekend!
I'm so sad right now. I just got off the phone with my representatives,
two Democrats and one Republican.
Might as well be two Republicans and one Democrat.
The Democratic leadership is poised to give Bush $95 billion more war funding.
No timelines for troop withdrawal.
Blank check.
I reminded my "representatives" about the concept of democracy:
the majority of Iraqis want the U.S. out of Iraq.
The majority of people in the U.S. want the U.S. out of Iraq.
Democracy only works if you listen to the people.
They're not listening. They're afraid.
I told my supposedly Democratic senator I'd actively work against
his re-election if he voted to continue the bloodshed.
I wept as I spoke to my Democratic representative's staffer,
thanking the representative for his courageous vote
in favor of the McGovern legislation that would have begun
withdrawal in October 2007, begging him to
vote against continued funding.
I hope everyone makes phone calls today.
Iraq is a humanitarian disaster.
Capitol Switchboard is 1-800-614-2726 or 202-224-3121.
NO BLANK CHECK for an occupation
Further no-strings-attached funding means Iraq becomes the
Democrats’ war.
The only funding necessary is to safely withdraw our troops AND
provide humanitarian/reconstruction aid to the Iraqi people.
Again, the Capitol Switchboard is 1-800-614-2726 or 202-224-3121
Please call today.
I just spent two hours at the Toyota dealership because of a CHECK ENGINE light in my Prius. For those unfamiliar, the Prius is a hybrid, therefore, it has lots of computer stuff and battery stuff (like my mechanical lingo?!) going on. I was told there were fifty possible explanations for that light.
I signed an agreement to pay a minimum of $110 to diagnose (and possibly fix) the problem. I prepared myself for bad news.
Diagnosis: LOOSE GAS CAP
That’s right. No matter what type of car you drive, you must tighten the gas cap or else a vacuum or a leak (or something) develops which will cause that damned light to go on. This problem is NOT specific to hybrids!
Sigh.
Good news: I got lots of revision work done (I took over one of those little rooms where the salespeople put the screws to the poor souls negotiating a price for their new vehicle) so I could read my pages aloud and make necessary changes.
Gooder news: They “only” charged me $55.
Goodest news: There’s cold beer in the fridge.
I got this from
. The following first lines are from books on my nightstand and in the bookcase next to my desk in the office. Here’s hoping you do better guessing the sources than I did with Melodye’s list. (Sigh).
1) In the fall of 1995, after resigning from my last academic post, I decided to indulge myself and fulfill a dream.
2) When I stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.
3) You grow up with a kid but you never really notice him.
4) First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior at Mount Sebastian College in New Jersey.
5) To the red country and part of the gray country of Oklahoma, the last rains came gently, and they did not cut the scarred earth.
6) “I thought you said you read The Book,” said Sam.
7) Mum says, “Don’t come creeping into our room at night.”
8) A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head.
9) All you fish, listen up.
10) Popularity is a drug.
11) Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single file.
12) I told you last night that I might be gone sometime, and you said, Where, and I said, To be with the Good Lord, and you said, Why, and I said, Because I’m old, and you said, I don’t think you’re old.
13) In one of my earliest memories, my mother and I are on the front porch of our rented Carter Avenue house watching two delivery men carry our brand-new television set up the steps.
1) READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN by Azar Nafisi
2) THE OUTSIDERS by S.E. Hinton
3) LOSER by Jerry Spinelli
4) THE THINGS THEY CARRIED by Tim O’Brien
5) THE GRAPES OF WRATH by John Steinbeck
6) THE NOT-SO-JOLLY ROGER by John Scieszka
7) DON’T LET’S GO TO THE DOGS TONIGHT by Alexandra Fuller
8) A CONFEDERACY OF DUNCES by John Kennedy Toole
9) HARRY SUE by Sue Stauffacher
10) SO NOT THE DRAMA by Paula Chase
11) AS I LAY DYING by William Faulkner
12) GILEAD by Marilynne Robinson
13) SHE’S COME UNDONE by Wally Lamb
Readers suspend disbelief and writers suspend disbelief because writing and reading are acts of faith along the path to knowledge, not just one particular knowledge but any knowledge that is part of the essential truths lurking to be shared by the reader and the writer and all those people in that story, that are coming not to just one conclusion but many conclusions, that follow not one path but many paths, because the writing and the story are not just about one thing but many things, and in this essential multifarious way writing is an embrace of all the complexity of not knowing and wanting to know and getting to know and all the contradictions that reside therein, and that has been our task, on these paths, all of us – writer, reader, character – to embrace those contradictions.
I’ve copied this from DailyKos.com in hopes some of you could contribute funds to help save a much-needed women’s shelter. Thank you – Tracy
Yesterday, I posted an article about Amnesty International’s heartbreaking report on violence against Native American and Native Alaskan women. As part of that article, I had a link to the Pretty Bird Woman House, a women’s shelter on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in South Dakota.
The story of how the house was founded was painfully sad and the tragedy was compounded by the news that Pretty Bird Woman House is on the brink of closing for lack of funds. Thankfully, the DailyKos community responded. Kos contributor nbier contacted the shelter and made arrangements to collect funds for them. Even as he was talking to the shelter worker, he learned that she was literally on her last paycheck. It’s that close.
I’d like to ask you to go to the Save Pretty Bird Woman House chip in page and show these folks that someone was touched by their story, and that this community wants to reach out to their community.
I’d like to extend my thanks to nbier for making the effort to contact the shelter and collect the information. Hopefully, we can get them some funds before the lights go off. Then maybe we can convince them that it would be worthwhile to put up a web page to pass along news of the shelter’s progress.
I’m supposed to be doing revisions.
Guess what I’m really doing?
Bidding on ebay!
In one hour and 38 minutes I’ll know whether I’m the proud owner of a vintage dragonfly pendant.
One hour 37 minutes……
These bloomed yesterday and I’m so excited because (1) I’ve never had daffodils before and (2) they’re
the bulbs I got from Laurie Halse Anderson (explanation here) and (3) they make me feel connected to LHA and all
the other writers I communed with that weekend.
It may sound corny but these lovely flowers symbolize the commitment each of us has made to creating real and true stories for young readers. And that makes me feel good.
As per the sound advice offered by my friends, I’m seeking out beauty in the world.
My neighbors’ crabapple tree hangs over my patio so this is the gorgeous pink
canopy above me as I work on my revisions. I only wish this journal provided aroma and sound
capabilities. The air is sweet with blossom perfume and the bees are a-buzzing.
Thank you for the comments and emails regarding the earlier post related to my health
and world view. Your kind words and support mean so much to me.
In August of 2004, my health crashed. Diagnosis was first Lyme disease then chronic fatigue. I went from an incredibly strong person who ran, lifted weights, hiked, swam, etc. to a woman with no energy who spent the day in pajamas, napping three or four times each day. Friends drove my children to and from school. My husband did EVERYTHING around the house. I had difficulty concentrating, could not multi-task, and overall was mentally fatigued.
I eventually regained some strength but experienced a near-constant buzzing/humming sensation throughout my body, and pain in my hands and legs. I still could not think clearly and was easily overwhelmed. I became depressed.
In the summer of 2006, I happened upon an article about post traumatic stress disorder and chronic fatigue. The article mentioned a book called WAKING THE TIGER by Peter Levine. I read the book and realized I was suffering post traumatic stress! But how could that be? I hadn’t been assaulted, hadn’t experienced a natural disaster or lived in a war zone. Well, I learned trauma can accumulate in our systems. The time I’d been rear-ended, the various dental procedures, the C-section, all those experiences left residual energy in my system (I think of it as by-products of the adrenaline my body put out during those fight/flight moments), and my body reached the tipping point. Hence, the buzzing/humming sensation.
In October I began weekly somatic experiencing therapy in which I learned to discharge that unwanted energy from my system. It’s an amazing process and I’m thrilled to say I’ve regained much of my strength and vitality. I’m not 100 percent yet but I’m running again, I can multi-task, and I’m not so easily overwhelmed. Also, the process helped me understand the ways I disassociated in order to survive.
So why am I writing about this now? Yesterday’s news out of Virginia Tech brought back many of those old “symptoms.” My legs buzzed, my hands ached, I couldn’t think clearly, and I cried. And cried.
And then I thought about these two news briefs from yesterday:
BLACKSBURG – A gunman massacred 32 people at Virginia Tech … The bloodbath ended with the gunman committing suicide, bringing the death toll to 33.
BAGHDAD – In the northern city of Mosul, a university dean, a professor, a policeman’s son and 13 soldiers died in attacks … Nationwide, at least 51 people were killed or found dead.
And I cried even more.
Because I realized I’m still living the post traumatic stress profile in regards to Iraq. Even though every morning I maintain this sign, I’ve disassociated from that tragedy. The civilian death toll is so high I can’t even visualize those numbers (I realize the “official” number is much lower than the actual death toll). I can’t imagine what it’s like waking each morning with the knowledge there’s a very high probability someone you know will lose someone they know that day.
The Virginia Tech tragedy plays out each and every day in Iraq. Not the same circumstances but the same cycle of horrific violence and heartbroken families. Yet I don’t cry about Iraq on a daily basis. I won’t allow my mind to dwell on the terrifying reality of night raids, rapes, executions, explosions, starvation, and disease. I’ve forced those thoughts from my mind in order to survive.
And that scares me. Because when we become numb to the lives of other beings (human and otherwise) on this planet, atrocities occur and our collective health is damaged.
I don’t want to “disassociate” the fact that we all love our children. That we all want a safe, happy, and healthy future for those children. And that every parent grieves the same way.
Today I grieve for everyone on the planet.
Sunday is our cleaning day.
Wildebeest and Zebu cleaned their rooms, vacuumed, and “scoured” the downstairs bathroom.
Zippy Ramone vacuumed and cleaned the two upstairs bathrooms.
Guess what I did?
Here’s a close-up in case you need another hint:
I’d forgotten you’re supposed to be able to see the contents of the fruit and veggie bins.
(Visibility! What a concept!)
So long, expired vitamin powder. Farewell, fossilized chile relish. Ta-ta, coagulated strawberry syrup.
Oh my . Get outta here, half-cup of sauerkraut. And take that furry whatever it is with you.
(Confession: I keep opening the fridge to admire my handiwork. That tells you a little something about my worth as a domestic goddess).
“Being a humanist means that you try to behave as decently, as honourably, as you can without any expectation of rewards or punishments in an afterlife. When we had a memorial service for Isaac a few years back, I spoke at it and said at one point, ‘Isaac is up in heaven now’. It was the funniest thing I could think of to say to an audience of humanists. Believe me, it worked – I rolled them in the aisles. If I should ever die, god forbid, I hope people will say, ‘Kurt is up in heaven now’. That’s my favourite joke.”
— Kurt Vonnegut
Thank you, Mr. Vonnegut, for all you gave.
Thanks for your kind words and empathy in reply to my post about losing hours of revision work. I’m happy to say I got that work done (again) yesterday and while it was AWFUL at the start, I pushed on through to the other side. Several friends commented that the revisions would be better this time around, and it’s really true. My brain remembered much of what I’d done PLUS it saw ways to add layers of complexity to the story. Which might explain why these revisions took several hours longer than the original. I got done just in time for dinner last night (compliments of Zippy Ramone).
That’s not to say I wasn’t on the verge of tears several times or that I didn’t contemplate throwing myself on the floor for a full-blown temper tantrum or that I didn’t make sure Zippy understood exactly how difficult it was redoing the work.
Notice I said “Revisions Accomplished” not “Revisions Accomplished Gracefully.”
Now I can move ahead!
First the laugh:
I got tired of referring to my guys as Elder, Younger, Mate, etc. when posting on LJ and so asked them to supply me with identities for my journal. Please allow me to introduce:
Zippy Ramone (formerly known as the Mate)
Wildebeest (formerly known as the Elder son)
Zebu (formerly known as the Younger son)
There, won’t that be so much easier to keep straight?! (I’m a little disappointed Zebu chose that name. Earlier, he’d opted for Phenomenon which has a certain lyricism when combined with Wildebeest – try saying Wildebeest and Phenomenon aloud. See? But then Zippy Ramone, Zebu and I played BOGGLE and Zippy Ramone formed “zebu” and, well, the rest is history).
So what if my LJ will read like some bizarre hybrid of African safari and punk?!
Okay, now for the sob:
I’m computer illiterate. But I’m a functioning illiterate. When I’ve learned how to do something, I follow those directions each and every time. I don’t necessarily understand what I’m doing when I save a file to a certain place but as long as it’s worked before, I keep doing it. Each and every time.
For instance, I save my file throughout the day and then when I’m done working, I “Save As” to another location. For some reason I don’t understand, this drives Zippy Ramone crazy. Last night he wanted to show me a new method for saving my file since we have a new computer, new backup thingies, upgraded Word program, etc. He likes the click and drag approach.
Somehow in the process (in case you haven’t guessed, here comes the climax of the Sob portion of this post), he overwrote the HOURS AND HOURS of revisions from yesterday with the file from the day before yesterday. All my revisions are gone. GONE!
Why couldn’t Zippy Ramone let me Save and Save As? Why, I ask you? Why?
(Okay, I don’t really want to know the why so please don’t try explaining it to me. If I haven’t grasped it yet in all these years, it ain’t gonna sink in now).
SOB.
I’ll stop whining now, seeing as I need to get back to work on my revisions. Thanks for listening.
Just pulled Eudora Welty’s ONE WRITER’S BEGINNINGS from the shelf and opened the book to a page (p. 17) I’d marked when reading it several years ago. This was highlighted:
Last October, Laurie Halse Anderson was the keynote speaker at the Rutger’s One-On-One conference. As you’d guess, she delivered a funny and insightful speech. What you might not guess is that as she talked, she passed around a bag filled with daffodil bulbs, offering one each to whomever wanted to do a little gardening. Apparently she’d over-estimated her enthusiasm for planting bulbs in the rocky woods surrounding her home (ordering way too many bulbs) and so decided to pass on the burden share the wealth with her fellow writers.
Well, I guess not everyone wanted to take a flaking flower bulb back home on the train, plane, or automobile, and there were leftovers. The bag came around again and I got to select another bulb.
For the math-challenged, that means TWO bulb-cousins to Laurie Halse Anderson’s bulbs FOR ME. Practically making us best friends, right?!
And here they are, on the eve of their big debut:
If they’d hurried up and bloomed already, they could’ve debuted alongside TWISTED.
Do any of you out there come home from the salon and put your head under the faucet so you can see what your new haircut will really look like in the hands of a rank amateur? (You know, minus the products you never use, the blow dryer you never apply, etc.)
That’s my usual M.O. but today in honor of spring, my stylist threw me a curve: after cutting my hair, she French braided it.
I don’t have the heart to destroy her lovely work.
Guess I’ll wait until tomorrow to discover the reality of this latest cut.
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Tracy Abell 
