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.)