A Brief Interlude (#21)

Tonight's post is messy. Many apologies. But then my thoughts have been that way of late, and poetry, even the best of it, is a muddled affair for a slow-minded person like myself. And those are the two things I have for you today: my mind and poetry.

Don't worry, I will not have you experience second-hand embarrassment. There will be no sharing of my own poems, all of which were written in a short period of time, in middle school. 

You're not missing anything.

(Here is a small glimpse into that poetry portfolio of mine: one of my poems was a about a lighthouse. I like how the house stands separate from the lighthouse. There is an interesting relationship going on there.)

A Deep Breath (#16)

Me talking to my faithful reader.

It's almost 6 pm on a Sunday as I sit down to write another blog post. The laundry is done, except for some towels. Those are easy to separate and fold, so I am not worried about them. Dinner is finished, though the leftovers have to be put away. But that is why I filled an entire kitchen cabinet with Rubbermaid containers. Finally, no dishes remain, except for a small pot containing rice, and a slow cooker pot filled with shredded chicken. Now, those two are the kind of things that will weigh on my mind. I would get up right now and put these things away. However, that would inspire me to tackle the remaining load of laundry. Which requires a trip up and down two flights of stairs. Plenty of opportunity for something, or someone, to distract me from writing. 

My procrastination would love nothing more than an excuse not to finish this post. 

So, all that will have to wait while I wrap up this post. At this point, I'm unable to see tonight's entry lasting much longer. I have no answer to last week's query. During the past week, plenty of reasons crossed my mind. The browser on my phone has over one hundred open windows begging to be blogged about. Even today, several strong motives appeared before me. Funny how just a few words from out of nowhere can get you thinking about life. Then there are the two existential threats, from AI projects of all things, that have me questioning why I should bother to pursue my drawing and writing goals. Yet, I can't commit to any one of them. Not at this time.    

However, don't worry, I'm not planning on giving up on blogging. Not any time soon.

After all, I sat down and wrote this post.   

Confessions (#20)

My lantern prototype.

I almost did not blog tonight, and I spent the last hour explaining my reasons. After three-hundred-and -seventy words of complaining, it occurred to me that these were just excuses for my debilitating habits. The same habits I have discussed before: poor planning, procrastinating, overreaching. Tonight's content sounded repetitive. Worse, it was all coming from a bad place. This week was busy, with little to show for it; this weekend exhausting, filled with disappointments. The post reeked of these negative feelings. While writing about pain and suffering is necessary and cathartic, these subjects require careful and deliberate execution. That demands time and focus. Otherwise, I am just ranting and raving, spewing vile into the universe. And the universe needs far less negative expression these days. 

Then it came to me. A question. 

Why AM I still blogging?

Before you panic, dear reader, I do not intend to give it up. Nor do I wish to take a sabbatical, even a short one. However, I felt a need to confess this inner thought. This troubling confession may be the culmination of this past week's frustrations. Like the pangs of indigestion rising up after a holiday of binging, provoking the need to reevaluated your diet, lest you want your body to suffer worse consequences in the days and weeks ahead. Or, it may be the inevitable result of all this introspection. Writing week after week about personal details is like peeling away layers of flooring in an old house. Eventually you will reach the original install. Only then will you realize whether it was worth the effort.  

Why AM I still blogging?

Thirty-one months and one-hundred-and-seventy-six posts later, it is an important question to ask. It is also natural, because the original reasons may no longer apply. In the beginning, there were three.  Two are obvious, just read the first few posts. The third, not so much. I have only alluded to it perhaps once, maybe twice. Unfortunately, for you, I do not have the energy to find it (my guess is I labeled it as a "confession"). After all this time writing about whatever came to my mind on a Sunday night, coupled with a list of failed projects from this past week, I am not surprised that this question showed up.

Why AM I still blogging?

Whatever answers come to the surface right now, are not meant to last. Trust me, my initial responses are quite messy and foul. They are like the proto-DNA strands arising from the primordial soup. Yet, while their presence may disappear from future iterations, their initial existence is necessary in order for the process to begin. And sharing this question is but the first step in search of a conclusion.

Why AM I still blogging?

Sorry, good reader, I do not have an answer. I am not sure when it will come to me. But, rest assured, I will be asking it constantly over the next few weeks. After all, it is an important question.

In the meantime, I have a dishwasher to start, and a load of laundry to fold. Among a million other things.

Why AM I still blogging?

 

My Second and Final Attempt.

 

A Deep Breath (#15)

This past week, I was away visiting family for Thanksgiving. Instead of blogging, I was chilling, eating, and reminiscing. During that time, I also avoided looking at Facebook, exercising, and journaling. I regret that last one more than the others. There was no excuse for skipping that habit.

But I am here now, with a new week starting for me in about eight hours. And I brought along a blog post. It's a start. Let's see what tomorrow has in store for me.  

Tomorrow is a new day.

One day at a time.

It is what it is.

(Me showing off tonight's blog post.)

  

My Weekly Checkup (#33)

I love maps. It may have something to do with my fondness for curving lines and where they lead. Perhaps it is the irregularly shaped spaces and what they may contain. Or maybe the sight of various landmarks and how travelers use them as guides intrigues me. There is plenty of beauty in a page covered with symbols, labels, and negative space.  

I love information. An incredible amount of it is stored within the arrangement of patterns and designs sprawled across a map. For me, deciphering that data has always been a pleasure, never a chore. In the classroom, my history texts were filled with them. That is one reason why I was drawn to that subject. And when that was not enough, the local library provided troves of source material. My book piles always contained two or three books about battles. Fantasy novels also captivated me, in no small part, because of the guaranteed map nestled within its pages.

I love stories. Whether listening to a good friend, watching an informative documentary, or reading an exciting book, I lose myself in the narrative being shared. Maps tell a story, too. Of great armies colliding over rolling hills. Trade routes traversing jagged mountains and thirsty deserts. People fleeing old fears, and racing into new ones. And the location of ancient flora and fauna no human has ever witnessed. Maps are another means of transporting me to where I have never been.  

Maps were always a part of my life. There is a strong memory of me tucked away in a third-floor bedroom, horrified by pages of maps pinpointing the concentration camps and massacres of the Holocaust. And there is clear recollection of an exciting moment, as I opened up JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit only to discover a folded map, four times the size of the pages containing it. My love for a computer game, Pirates!, extended to the beautiful poster-size map of the Spanish Main included in the box. My addiction to National Geographic had less to do with the occasional bare breast, and more to do with the wall maps included with some issues. 

I drew them, too. Maps, not breasts. The earliest ones were the simplest and most prolific. Pages of loose leaf, each containing a large island, with long, rounded coastlines. They were colorful, because I drew them as elevation maps, each color indicating a height above sea level. You can blame my love for another computer game, Starflight. Then there were the battle plans. Some were historical, while others drew from my imagination. Finally, Dungeons and Dragons entered my life, and graph paper, at first filled with squares, and then finally hexes, opened up worlds to me.

Then computers arrived, became powerful, and offered an entirely new experience. I do not remember being much interested in dinosaurs as a child. My love for history focused on the human one. However,  something happened to me a decade ago. While researching information about prehistoric times, I came across a wonderful video on the internet. It showed how the continents drifted, formed super continents, and some times all but disappeared beneath rising sea level. Maps. That moved. Across time. I was in love. And that began a deep dive into paleontology, specifically the geological aspect.

This being a Weekly Checkup, there must be a link that inspired this post, right? Well, indeed, there is, and I discovered it this afternoon. Now, none of my readers, save one, will find the article interesting. But I will include it anyway, if only to share with you the kind of things that excite me. The link covers another childhood fascination of mine, one that has not quite died, but that I have not found time to pursue. It has to do with military board games. I collected about half a dozen of them before I reached high school, and have not purchased any since. Nor have ever played them with anyone. Partly because  I had few friends, and none of them would have been interested. But also, for me at least, it was not about the game itself. These board games were historical, and included detailed maps with stylized counters or pieces. Those beautiful, colorful maps, made of sturdy cardboard, tattooed with symbols for terrain, borders, and objectives, captivated me. Opening those boxes, pulling out the boards, and laying them across the table. Poking out little rectangular pieces covered with unit information. Hundreds of them. Then placing them within various hexes that crisscrossed the map. Set up took an hour or more. Occasionally I would play a round or two, rolling dice, moving counters. Eventually, I would stop, clean it all up, and put it away. That was it. Like I said, I never played any of the games with anyone.

And somehow it was pure childhood bliss.       

So, when I saw an article about board game I grew intrigued. When I discovered that it was about two middle-aged men reviewing it, I was amused. And when I read how moved they were by the map itself, I became nostalgic. 

It inspired me to write this long post about maps.

On This Thing Called Writing (#6)

This one is short and focused, because I have two other tasks to complete before I fall asleep. One is an overdue journal entry. The other is an episode or two of a Japanese anime. Yes, right now I consider watching this show essential to my emotional well being. 

So, here you go, a post about writing.

(This is what I want to be doing, but cannot right now. Yes, it would involve a peasant lady. Apparently, Van Gogh produced a series of works based off the work of other artists. In this case, he painted from Jean-Francois Millet's The Four Times of the Day--The Siesta.)

My Weekly Checkup (#32)

It is 5 pm, I am sitting in the back of my minivan, parked at my youngest daughter's dance studio. The sun has disappeared beyond a thick piney wood, leaving behind a faint glow pierced by spiky black shapes. Lampposts have buzzed with life. Sounds of far off rush hour hum constantly, interrupted by the calls of migrating geese, and an occasional door slamming. My windows are halfway down, allowing the cool night air to carry in the scent of wet fall leaves.

I should be walking that near empty parking lot, listening to a podcast, while avoiding piles of goose shit. Or sitting in my car, viewing a YouTube video, allowing its sounds to offset those of the outside world. There would even be a chance that I could be curled up on the backseat, eyes closed, daydreaming.

Instead, I am typing away at my mini laptop, which glows like a bright harvest moon. It is enough to illuminate my keyboard, and my face, providing an eerie sight, I am sure, for the lady strolling back and forth talking to her cellphone.

What you are reading tonight, is what I am currently writing. I made the decision before I left for the studio. The two hours of waiting for my daughter to finish her dance class would be spent knocking out my Weekly Checkup. The majority of it anyway. I do not have internet access on this laptop, so I will have to add the links, and blogger formatting, later. That should not be a problem. We get home around 7:45. Getting my evening chores completed should not take more than thirty minutes. And tonight, I do not have to be anywhere else. A rare thing for me. Therefore, I should have plenty of time to make changes, find an image, and publish this post long before I have to go to bed.

[EDIT: It is now 8:30 pm, and I am all done.]

(An example of Native American ledger art. I remember seeing this art in one of the countless National Geographic magazines I devoured when I was a child. )

A Deep Breath (#14)

So, I am typing this up on a Monday morning rather than a Sunday evening to avoid skipping it altogether. As far back as Saturday morning, I had decided to pass on this week's blogging. I was exhausted from all the preparations--which could fill up a few posts itself--for my daughter's sweet sixteen party. My more astute readers would have noticed that I did not share a Weekly Checkup last Thursday. What none of you would know are all the other things I gave up during the two weeks leading up to the event. No book reading. And forget formal exercise of any kind during that time. I avoided Facebook for the last four days. Maybe five. Then there is the matter of NaNoWriMo. That annual writing adventure started last Tuesday. Finally, there is the all important journaling. No even sure when I stopped it. I am too afraid to look.    

Even this very blog post was not going to happen. And I was okay with it, because, again, my mind body, and spirit, were spent. They needed time to regenerate. Last night I was going to post something on Facebook updating everyone of my decision. A few episodes of Rick and Morty inspired me to blow it off (if you know the series, you would understand). Instead, I would do it first thing Monday morning.

Something happened to change that plan. I woke up about 5 am. Now, I have always been an early riser. As a child, I would wake up around that time to watch Wild America on PBS. Or get ready for school. Even as a teenager. It would be a productive time for me, especially when my children were younger. Alone to finish my goals, and be with my thoughts. But, for the past few years, I struggled. Not with getting up. My body was set in its ways. My mind, however, had given up. So, I would wake up around 5 am, and remain there, daydreaming. The result was an unsatisfying sixty to ninety minute nap that would leave me tired. Then I would spend the rest of the day regretting that decision.

This morning was different. Perhaps daylight savings had tricked my body. Or maybe the guilt of not blogging had inspired my mind. Possibly, a good night's sleep provided the energy for writing. Most likely, I was exhausted from choosing daydreaming over an activity that I both need and enjoy.

So, here I am, forty-one minutes after walking downstairs, using the bathroom, and opening up the laptop. But, it was only to be a short Facebook post explaining why I skipped out on blogging. At the last minute, I swerved away from Facebook, and steered toward Blogger. An old comment from a friend, so many months ago, changed my mind.

"You could have made this Facebook post into a blog post."

Thank you for the advice!

(Not a bad way to start a Monday. Now on to journaling...)

On Dreaming (#17)

In the introduction of my last post on dreaming, I called it a "cheap trick". Too tired to blog anything worthwhile, I resorted to writing about a series of dreams. Those are easy to type up, and I rarely feel shame in sharing them. Though, calling them cheap is inaccurate. Those particular three dreams were interesting and revealing.

After spending all day Friday deep cleaning my house, all day Saturday crafting, and a good part of Sunday volunteering and wrapping up various projects (I did have help in both departments), I am too tired and sore to blog anything complex.

So, I return to sharing a dream. This one occurred early this morning. Indeed, it woke me up and kicked me out of bed. It may sound silly, however, I can assure you, it was dark and disturbing when it played out in my head.

(This is a very small, detailed section of much large piece by Francisco de Goya called The Burial of the Sardine. Consider it a Halloween inspired choice by me. One far less disturbing than what I had planned on including.)

My Weekly Checkup (#31)

I made this
(after I tossed my first attempt).

During my thirteen years of teaching, at some point, I took on administrative tasks. One of my jobs involved receiving packages. The UPS driver who worked our location was a twenty-five-year veteran. On occasion we would exchange words beyond the usual polite conversations. At some point, he discussed how UPS acquired software that mapped out routes which avoided left turns. Apparently, left turns slow down delivery services. From my driving history, I have to agree. But, from his experience traveling the same route for years, he learned that some left turns were necessary, and even more efficient. And so, he would ignore some of the software's suggestions.

Tonight, this memory crossed my mind as I reluctantly took my own "left turn". My gut argued for it, while my mind's software calculated a way around it. In a rare moment, I sided with the former. Tomorrow, as I am rushing around my house, crossing off my to-do list, I will appreciate it most. But, even now, I am grateful.

Before I explain this decision, I need to provide some background. My eldest daughter's sweet sixteen is a week from this Saturday. About five days ago, I settled on a decoration scheme. At the heart of the plan are the centerpieces, comprised of large, glowing lanterns. What can I say, I have a thing for lanterns (and lighthouses which are not appropriate for this party). Besides providing a visual anchor, they will also produce light. Yes, buying them was an option, but I needed at least ten, and wanted twelve (typical of me when planning things). The price started adding up. However, I desired another feature from these props. I want to keep them for other events, like Christmas, and maybe Halloween. Also, I am willing to loan them out to family and friend. Keeping these lanterns means storing them. That brings me to another pet peeve of mine.

All my decorations must store neatly and nicely; large ones must breakdown easily. Therefore, my lanterns, all ten... err... twelve of them have to come apart with little effort, and sit flat in a box.

The only way to achieve this property was to design and construct them myself.

For the past three days, that is what I did. It took an Amazon delivery, a trip to the Five Below store, followed by a stop at Staples, and two prototypes to arrive at the one in the above photo. It is even more impressive in person (the brown parchment paper has a texture that does not show up well in the picture).

Yes, it still needs a knob on the top, and a better design for the "glass" part (tape is holding up the paper--I developed a system to allow those pieces to be replaced with little effort, as the event warrants). Yet, the most important feature works perfectly: the lantern consists of three removable parts, that store away neatly. The tops and bottoms stack; the sides fold out and lay flat; the light is independent of everything else. Okay, when moving the lantern, one must hold it from the bottom (the three parts do not interlock with each other, though they do provide structural support which produces stiffness). But that was not a requirement for me.

Anyway, what does any of this have to do with tonight's "left turn"? You see, as typically happens when I create things that are just a portion of a bigger project, I become elated with my accomplishment. The greater my achievement, the more joy I feel. Unfortunately, between the energy expanded to build it, and the steep fall after my creativity high, I am exhausted. And hangover becomes a drag on the rest of the project. In this case, the other decorations.

(That list does not include making the other eleven lanterns. Remember, the one in the photo is the second prototype.)

So, tonight, while sitting in the parking lot, waiting for my youngest daughter to finish her two hours of dancing, I began to panic. The party is in eight days. I have one lantern, albeit a beautiful, perfect one. Since I had time on my hands, I began to think harder on the other decorations. They needed to be simpler than my expectations. Fortunately, after a bit of research, and daydreaming, I found viable solutions. My body began to relax, especially my gut. But not my mind. No, it started calculating. The party was not my only responsibility. Cleaning the house, getting my car fixed, the yard, the garage, Thanksgiving dinner (my brain likes to stretch beyond the present in order to pile it on). Well, I learned a trick from a book that I read about getting things done (that may be the actual title--I will look it up after I finish typing this post)(UPDATE: It is called Getting Things Done by David Allen).

When you feel overwhelmed by tasks and time, sit down, and write out all the steps required to achieve the goal. In my case, that meant writing out tomorrow's to-do list. With twenty percent left on my phone's battery, I entered the information, adding time frames. Well, my list was doable, but very tight. Looking at it made me slightly sick, but having it spelled out calmed me down. With an hour and fifteen minutes of dance still left, I decided to do something productive. Getting out of the car, I stepped into the cool, calm night air, and began walking around the parking lot. Because my phone was dying, listening to podcasts was not an option. That ended up helping the situation.

With each trip around the parking lot (each circuit measures a fifth of a mile), tomorrow's dense agenda sloshed around in my head. One section dragged down all the rest. A trip to the craft store. a forty-minute round trip to be exact. Not including the twenty minutes or more wandering around and waiting in line (the lines always suck for me at this particular craft retailer).  Ninety minutes of my day doing something I hate. Shopping (especially when there is a long, winding drive involved). Who am I kidding? Add another thirty minutes (fifteen to get ready to leave; fifteen to unpack when I return).

That there was my "left turn". And it kept tumbling around my mind as I meandered about that dimly lit parking lot.

Yet, a strange thought made its way to my frontal lobe. The dance studio is located near a major shopping center. In that center is another craft store. With an hour still left (I had been walking for about fifteen minutes), there was plenty of time to make the run, and be back to pick up my daughter, with plenty to spare. Tomorrow's two-hour errand for craft supplies (because my estimates for completing something always come up short) would be replaced by tonight's one-hour excursion. My gut leapt for joy.

My brain, however, refused to let go. It pointed out that tonight's drive, while shorter, was still painful. The shopping center required driving down a series of hectic, busy roads. And the parking lot! Good, God, a nightmare (poorly designed parking lots are another pet peeve of mine--this place ranks on my top ten list of the worst). Also, this craft store focuses on fabric. It may not have all the items on my list. Why bother making two trips, when you can wait until tomorrow, and do just one? It is dark, you are hungry, and the exercise is good for you. Keep walking. Anyway, "Left Turns" are inefficient.

But my gut, like the UPS man, realized that this "left turn" was necessary. It would pay dividends in the long run. Come tomorrow, I would be a happier person.

As I wrapped up the first mile around that desolate parking lot, beginning a second round of walking, my brain proud that I was exercising, my feet suddenly stopped. My pelvis twisted. The momentum forced the rest of the body to turn, including my head. Then I crossed over to my car (well, my wife's car--mine is in the shop, and has been for some time). Unlocked it and got in. Turned it on. Texted my daughter that I would be back before she was done (she is the kind of child who would get nervous seeing me drive away). Locked my seat belt in place. And drove off.

About halfway to the store, my brain suddenly realized what was going on. Too late. My gut had won.

That was until I arrived at the store, spent about ten minutes looking for the stuff on my list, finding only two out of the five items. My brain laughed. My gut said "fuck off". I continued looking.

And found everything on my list.

I made it back to my daughter's studio with fifteen minutes to spare.

To sooth my brain's ego, I spent that time walking around the parking lot. 

My first attempt and its final resting place.

My Weekly Checkup (#30)

Many apologies for this delayed post. I was out late last night chauffeuring one of my daughters and her friends.  A part of me wanted to skip blogging. The better part convinced me otherwise. I am glad for it. Hopefully you are, too.

Below is a third format for my Weekly Checkups. Uniformity is important to me: creating categories and presenting them in separate structures helps me keep track of my thoughts. It also allows you the reader to track and follow the topics you find interesting. But, I have not made a decision.  However, none of it matters if I do not attempt to write anything down. So let the experiments continue.

A Brief Interlude (#20)

I'm tired, bloated, and sweaty. The final load of wash--bed sheets--strangles itself, unbalancing the machine. I hear it, trek downstairs, and adjust things. Then the remaining dish, hidden from view while its companions were collected and stored away in the dishwasher, reveals itself. I spot it, get up, and return it to the kitchen. Finally, the last log in the fireplace desperately hangs on, its tenacity throwing off waves of heat and crackling moans that distract me from my current task. I hesitate, witness its tenacity, then walk over and stab it twice. The remains of that log, cut from a dying ash tree, seasoned for at least two years, snaps once at me and belches a puff of smoke, before collapsing into a pile of embers.

 

I'm also sitting on my couch in my pajamas. During the past few hours, I decided to accomplish everything prior to drafting tonight's blog post. That included the laundry, the dishes, and the fireplace. Also, preparing myself for bed. Unfortunately, running about and the log's death have made the room stuffy. Sweating in your pjs is not a good thing. No one wants to lay down in a freshly made bed sticky from perspiration. 

So, I sit as still as possible. Only my hands move, typing up these words. But now the thirty-two ounces of water I guzzled an hour ago requires my immediate attention. I don't want to get up. I want to finish my blogging.

Annoyed and uncomfortable, I now review what I have written, editing along the way. It's needs work.

Then I hear the dryer go off, remember I haven't brushed my teeth, and decide my bladder will not wait any longer.

I am calling this session over.

This blog post is complete.

Goodnight!    

My Weekly Checkup (#29)

I cry easily. It happens when I read certain books, watch particular movies, and see others in emotional pain. Cry in front of me, and I will cry, too. Even when I am lost in my thoughts, the sadder, darker ones will cause me to visibly tear up. On occasion, people have caught me red-eyed and sniffling after such solo sessions. And I am not ashamed to admit any of this. 

I did it just now, alone in my car, beneath a solid gray sky, surrounded by wet asphalt. On Thursdays, my youngest daughter's ballet class runs nearly three hours. Having nowhere to go, I try filling it with reading, phone calls, and podcasts. Tonight, I chose the first of this list.

 

I want to blame the weather. Something about dreary fall days invites escapes into other worlds. Snow-filled evenings, too. And, for some reason, sun-drenched, air-conditioned beach houses and hotel rooms. What can I say, I am a complicated person. Yet, tonight's rainy dusk was not enough to inspire my reading marathon. A long list of unwatched YouTube videos called out to me. My Google newsfeed, with its rotating array of new articles, beckoned me. And after a long, physically exhausting week, daydreaming greeted me, like a dear old friend.

 

I passed on all those things, despite how easy it would have been to have embraced any one of them. Instead, as my daughter walked across the parking lot, and disappeared into her dance studio, I made a resolution. It was strong. Quick. And Binding. 

I would read my most recent selection from the library. 

Having just enjoyed John Green's Looking for Alaska, I sought more works of fiction. Earlier this year, I had walked in on my two daughters watching the film adaptation. They were bawling. So, I sat with them, and did not get up until it was over. By the end, my children and I had piles of crumpled up wet tissues gathered about us. A week ago, my eldest mentioned the book, how it inspired her, and how I needed to read it. Using my library app, I put it on hold, and collected it a few days ago. 

Tonight, grabbing the book from the back, I settled into the driver's seat, took one last look at the lightly falling rain, and dove headfirst into  A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness. Two-and-a-half hours later, I finally looked up. Tears rolling down my cheeks, snot dripping from my nose, I grabbed the crumpled up napkin that had been sitting in the car for God knows how long. Don't ask me what it had been used for prior. Don't know. Don't care. It was dry. That is all I remember. But it was not enough. Desperate to clean my face and clear out my nose, I ventured from my car into the studio. It did not matter if anyone saw me. And if someone had asked why I was crying, I would have answered proudly, "a book". In the end, I made it there and back again without running into a single soul.

It all felt so good. The book. The story within. The act of reading. The sobbing. But, above all, the decision itself. 

For me, reading was a habit fostered in childhood, and bolstered freshman year of high school, but put aside too many times throughout college, well into early adulthood. Only in middle age have I returned to it vigorously and deliberately. Habits form under constant practice. They are also strengthened when applied under stress. In other words, choosing a desired habit--like reading fiction--when confronted by easier choices--like wasting time online or daydreaming--reinforces the better habit. 

That desire to read more books, coupled with the right environment (like I said, nothing like a dreary day...), motivated me to drag out A Monster Calls and devour it non stop.

Oh, and my contempt for Colleen Hoover's writing.

That may have played a part. 

But that is a story for another day. 

     

My Weekly Checkup (#28)

I almost skipped today's post. Around noon, I had a difficult decision. In three hours I would find myself driving to my daughter's dance studio. Upon my arrival, I would have to spend the next two-and-a-half hours waiting for her. Blogging was not an option--trust me, it is complicated. My plan was to read for half the time, and then walk around the parking lot listening to podcasts the other half.  

Doing it when I got home had a low probability of success. There would be a sink full of dishes. A meal for me to eat. An evening shower (it aids with sleeping, according to a good friend). And exhaustion. It would take a lot of energy to blog after all those tasks. More importantly, I did not want the procrastination to weigh on my mind. It would distract me from my plans at the dance studio.

So, that left the three hours before my trip. One of those hours would be dedicated to cooking dinner for the family. The other hour to journaling, something I had ignored for nearly a week. Both took priority. 

With the remaining hour, it was a choice between drafting a blog post, or walking in the sun for sixty minutes. While my blog is important to me, my health comes first. There had been so many rainy days, and a few sleepless nights. Without sleep, my productivity slumps. The exercise would definitely help, But there is research that shows sun-induced vitamin D aids with sleep as well. Finally, I would knock out a few podcasts.

Well, my choice paid off. While walking under the early afternoon full sun, not only did I gather tons of vitamin D, and burn some calories, I also discovered tonight's blog post. During that hour, I listened to Jon Stewart interview an Iranian journalist. To say I was moved would be an understatement. Enthralled. Informed. Inspired. All inadequate to describe my response. 

There is a strong desire for me to comment on the content. Questions, thoughts, reactions, they are swirling through my head. However, for now, I am going to resist, and let their exchange speak for itself, lest I undermine your own experience of this interview. Hopefully I will find the time and the ability to explain myself further.

In the meantime, here is the video:

      

A Deep Breath (#13)

My eldest daughter had a long dance practice today. It ended about two hours ago. When I brought her home, I mentioned the need to work on tonight's blog post. When I said it would not be long, my daughter rolled her eyes.

"Dad, that's what you said about your last blog post." Then she shook her head and went back to eating.

My daughter reads my blog!

(I bet the two of them are discussing their favorite book.) 

My Weekly Checkup (#27)

Last Thursday, I had decided to restore an old blog habit. With Sunday's post, I had made a promise to commit myself to this task. So, here I am, attempting to follow through with it.

Unfortunately, last night was rough, as in, I think I managed three full hours of sleep. Today was busy, as in lots of house cleaning and running of errands. This evening was long, as in an hour-and-a-half of driving, and two hours of reading and walking while waiting for my daughter to finish her dance classes.

Yet, somehow I found an hour to draft a long blog post. It began as a Weekly Checkup, but evolved into something more complex. I am keeping it for Sunday. Since I am running out of energy, but I still want to produce something, I came up with the link below.

So, here we go, another Weekly Checkup (future ones will be more extensive, I promise).

(I drew that!)

Revelations (Part 4)

Sigh. My apologies. Ignore the second sentence below. This ended up being a longer post than I intended. About half way through I decided I needed to wrap it up. However, my mind kept going, and my fingers kept typing. 

In the end, I accomplished three things. First, I made up for last Sunday. Second, I reinforced my writing habit. Third, I laid out my future goals for this blog. That last one is a good way to keep me accountable. It is like a public promise.

Let us see if I can keep it.

(This is NOT how I want my blog to develop. At this point, I might be the child crying on the floor. I have used this image before. Damn, I had forgotten I had written those words.  Rather apropos to tonight's post.)

   

My Weekly Checkup (#26)

When I began this series shortly after starting my blog, I was being ambitious. But I was exploring new directions for my writing, too.  My hope was to build my confidence, and eventually express my opinions on controversial topics. I thought I would start small, and list links to stuff I found interesting, intriguing, and inspiring. Eventually I gave up on both. The last time I posted a weekly checkup was just over two years ago. 

Last Sunday, after skipping my blog post, I decided to bring the weekly checkups back.

My writing has stalled. I have not written a page of fiction since last November. The quality of my blogging is inconsistent. Occasionally I skip it. In addition, the content has been provincial. My life is plain and ordinary, and I lack the writing to render it otherwise. Only twice have I shared my thoughts on contemporary events and infamous people. However, I am still not brave enough to provide it regularly. Describing my own failures comes easy for me; explaining my political views is nearly impossible.

By resurrecting my weekly checkups, I hope to improve my writing and build up my courage. They will contain links to articles I have found, books I have read, and topics I have discovered. And I will attach a short synopsis to each. Nothing elaborate or profound, just initial thoughts and emotions. A lot of questions, too. But they will consist of opinions.

Small, doable, but uncomfortable steps.

That is an effective way to improve.  

A Deep Breath (#12)

This year's garden has been a bit disappointing. My cucumber and summer squashes died off under the brutal heat waves. My Brussels sprouts, while tall and leafy, and pole beans, long and winding, will not produce anything before the first frost takes them. Poor planning and care caused these losses.

Yet, the tomatoes have survived, with the cherry ones even thriving. Below is a small sample of what I harvest. They were picked today. I think they might be the third or fourth round. And even more remain unripened on the vines. For now.

It demonstrates how unplanned and half-assed efforts can still bear fruit.

Of course, it is also a reminder that applying time and energy in an organized, deliberate way can produce better results. 

There is always next year. 

     

A Deep Breath (#11)

Yeah, another post about procrastination and writing. Some day I will get off this topic. Just not today. At least there is a post. That counts for something. I guess.

Sigh.

(In early summer, I planted these sunflowers. Right after sprouting, something ate them all. Then more flowers appeared. They, too, were consumed. Now, third time around, this one has not given up. Let's see if it lasts until the first frost. I would use this as an inspiring metaphor, except, my luck, this one ends up being devoured soon after I publish this post.)

A Deep Breath (#10)

Second round of tomatoes. I have been popping the grape ones like popcorn, all week long. With the larger one, I have made a few tomato and cucumber salads. And the ugly ones I sauteed with onions and garlic, a dash salt, some olive oil, then mixed it with toasted Panko crumbs, sprinkled with Parmesan cheese, and stuffed it all into portobello mushrooms. Delicious.

While I am expecting a decent tomato harvest for the next few weeks, I am not hopeful for much else. Mostly because I failed to plant anything else. Except for pole beans and Brussels sprouts. But the former are young, and the later won't be ready until October, if they show up at all. No cucumbers this year. Which means no pickles. Such a shame. However, that's the price of not planning more carefully. 

(It has been several years since I made all those pickles: boy do I miss them!)     

On Dreaming (#16)

Last Sunday was the start of my vacation in Myrtle Beach. After spending the day on the beach, including time in the surf, and the night eating an extensive meal, I decided to skip my blog post. Part of me now regrets the decision. Yes, letting go of my weekly goal made my eight-thirty bedtime possible, something I needed after the twelve-hour drive from the day before. However, some times, doing something important, even when your exhausted, can be rewarding. It can strengthen your connection to that particular goal, and reinforce future commitment. 

And some times failure can be inspiring. It can help you to refocus. Remind you of what you are seeking to accomplish. More importantly, it can give you a writing prompt from which to launch a new post. 

I am not above cheap tricks to move things along.

Such as resorting to a post about dreams in order to get back on track.

Sorry.

On Dreaming (#15)

Three loads of laundry need folding, but I am putting them off in order to blog. The image below is a section of my garden. Those leafy plants are Brussels sprouts. Yes, the space is overcrowded. However, I am experimenting. Just behind them, barely visible, are tendrils from pole bean plants. For two weeks I have been putting off installing a support system--I could not settle on a design. What you see is a dirty compromise. It is ugly, but it will work. The idea came to me Saturday, after a nap. Ran out under the hot afternoon sun, and put them together. This part of my garden is a metaphor for parts of my life. 

Only time will tell if any of these efforts bear fruit.

A Deep Breath (#9)

I spent the last thirty minutes trying to explain this feeling of intellectual inadequacy that has plagued me since college. However, by the fourth paragraph, I realized this particular topic required more time. Once again procrastination undermined my blogging. But I am not allowing this bad habit to prevent me from writing my weekly post. Instead, I will share with you what triggered today's attempt to chronicle my struggles with my ignorance.

(I've shared Gustave Courbets' the Desperate Man before. And, again, it fits my reaction so well.)

A (Proto) Book Review (#0)

The deer may have stripped away my young sunflowers, but, so far, my tomato and Brussels sprout plants are thriving. In addition, at the start of last week, I finished setting up my grow bags. The cucumber seedlings have sprouted, and the summer squashes are working their way to the surface (the green tip of one was pushing up a piece of mulch). Finally, this past Friday, I planted the pole beans.

That just leaves the twelve peppers, which are sitting in converted thirty-two ounce yogurt containers. Since the beginning of June!  They need more space. However. I still have not built the raised beds for them. All this intense heat is making it difficult. There is still time to transplant, though. While their initial growth requires soil warmed by the heat of early summer, the cooler temperatures of September can speed up the ripening process. Yet, there is a point of no return, and it is arriving soon.

I may have to forgo the peppers this year. 

And I am okay with that.

(The Google newsfeed on my phone often sends me down rabbit holes of painful social media discourse; occasionally, the discussions serve up some delightful discoveries. The piece below, titled The Laundress, by Jean-Baptiste Greuze, is one such beautiful example of the latter. The reddit thread, which exposed me to this piece of art, was arguing the significance of her gaze. I have my own opinion about that look... and of her shoe--is it just me, or does it look too small for her foot?)

A Deep Breath (#8)

I began this post around 10 am, with the hopes of finishing it by noon. Something got in the way. The past kind of caught up with me. Better now, though. After some ruminations and conversations, I came back to this post, and wrapped it up. A little halfheartedly. However, I finished it. Now on to laundry and other chores.

(Well, at least the interruption has given me fodder for a future post or two.)

(I decided to grow short sunflower plants in a pot out front. They were doing so well, until a deer decided to feast on them. I had not thought of that eventuality. Perhaps an analogy to current events in my life? The question now is how will I react?)