Writerly Dispatches from the Month of June

I don't have as much writing time this morning, but I did want to capture some moments from my writerly life in the month of June:

--Yesterday, I sent my full-length manuscript to Black Lawrence Press.  Today is the last day of their open reading period, which happens in June and November; go here for more details.  For $12, you get a book and consideration of your manuscript--I like those kind of reasonable deals.

--Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I figured out an essential part of a short story I'm trying to write--and better, I figured out how to start it.  I will use the water main break incident of a few weeks ago.  Friday evening, I got home from work, and my spouse said, "Well, the tree guys broke the main water line.  I had them turn the water back on so that we'd have water this week-end."  I had this vision of a geyser of water spewing all through the week-end--happily, it was a tiny puncture with only a drip of water every minute or so.

--Yesterday, I spent time reading this wonderful compendium of voices that look back as we approach the 25th anniversary of Tony Kushner's Angels in America.  I already knew many parts of the story about how the play came into existence, but it was inspiring to read it again--a wonderful reminder of the importance of art.

--I still own copies of both plays that make up Angels in America.  Maybe I'll reread them this week-end.  Or maybe I'll check out the DVD from the library.  Last week-end we watched The Normal Heart, which was a very powerful film about the early days of the AIDS crisis.  The week-end before that, we watched How to Survive a Plague, about the early days of ACT-UP. 

--Why am I drawn to this material?  Weeks ago, this line came to me:   I was not the typical person that you would see at an ACT UP rally--I'm still trying to find my way into this story.  It's a different story than the one that will use the broken water main.

--I am working on stories that I hope will be part of a larger collection, the one that came to me as I drove across the U.S. South for Thanksgiving.  I described it in this blog post, but it's changing.  Instead of having the activists all have been part of the same group in college, I'm using the looser idea of activists at 50 as the thing that links the stories.  I'm still trying to decide if I want a stronger link.

I'm taking tomorrow off--I am really looking forward to having a 4 day week-end:  time to write, time to catch up on chores, and hopefully, time to relax.

Stresses and the Relief

It's certainly been a stressful few weeks, full of lay-offs at work, and home repairs, and difficult news from across the world--and yesterday I found out that my biopsy reveals another skin cancer, this time on my nose.

How do I know I am stressed?  Let me count the ways:

--For the past two nights, I haven't been able to sleep past 2:30 a.m.  But the plus side:  I've watched the moon rise in the east, as I've been at my writing desk.  It's a half moon, so not as dramatic as a full moon, but beautiful nonetheless.

The birds erupt in riotous song periodically throughout the wee hours of the morning--another plus of being awake.

--I have been eating lots of calories this week:  pasta and pizza and wine.  But is it stress eating or just the chance to go out with friends?  Monday's small pizza was a way to limit calories at the Italian restaurant for a dinner with friends before a movie.  Yesterday it was comfort eating:  a baked pasta dish with lots of cheese.  Tonight will be pizza again--but tomorrow I'll step up the exercise.

--I have begun to feel anxious about all the adjuncts I've just hired.  Although they're all professionals, I worry that I need to do more to make sure they're ready for the start of class. 

--I've also begun to feel fretful as I wonder if there's some task I've overlooked.  I do have some tasks, like an annual review or two, but as with many things, I can't move ahead until I get information from others.

Luckily, a long week-end approaches--I will take Friday off to have a 4 day week-end.  How will I get ready for the weeks to come?

--I will take care of basic chores like cleaning.

--I will trim the shrubbery.

--I will do some cooking, to have some lunches tucked away in the freezer.

--I will do some writing, along with other paperwork.

--I will take naps.

--I will cut up melons--and eat them!

--I will read.

This list never changes does it?  But there are days when I think that doing the basic chores of home care leads me to a sense of self-care.  Having food that's portable and ready--that's self-care too--self-care which will keep me from too many calories in the coming weeks.

Music with Strangers, Music with Friends

Last night, we went to see The Music of Strangers, a movie about Yo Yo Ma's Silk Road project.  I expected it to be a sort of travelogue:  on the road with Yo Yo Ma.  Or perhaps it would be an introduction to new instruments, which it was.  But it was so much more.

The movie focuses on a few of the musicians, and we get enough of their stories to understand their journeys.  On the way home, I commented about how many of them have been impacted by revolutions in their countries.  My spouse pointed out that this experience of disruption, dislocation, and the resulting losses is probably more common than not. 

I was also struck by one comment in the film, "Yo Yo Ma is always working for change, and over half the time, he just happens to have a cello in his hand."  Throughout the film, we see these musicians working to make connections--not just with each other, but with various populations.  Along the way, they take their music to the dispossessed, giving lessons, giving instruments, and trying to bring peace through music.

It was a powerful reminder that we can work for social justice through a variety of venues, across a range of mediums, by doing what we love to do and sharing it with others.

It was the kind of movie that both made me want to go home and practice on an instrument, and at the same time, to abandon all thoughts of playing.  Those musicians were so magnificent.  But again, I remember the words of a yoga teacher who gave me great advice long ago, to stop comparing myself to others because it won't help me perfect a pose or hold my balance.  That advice seems applicable here too.

Throughout the movie, I thought of our fledgling ukulele group at church.  Could we become an agent of transformational change?

I also loved this movie for its depiction of artists practicing their craft.  I like that the movie reminds us that each artist works alone, but the group comes together in certain places to become something greater than the sum of its parts.  The movie focuses mostly on musicians, but there's a fascinating segment on a Chinese group that also makes puppets--they look like delicate paper creations which are operated behind a screen and the shadow is magnified on the screen. 

But it's not all hopeful--the Chinese puppet maker said that no one wants to know how create that art form any more:  it's too intricate, and there's no money in it, especially not for the amount of time that it takes.

The film addresses an important point from many angles:  why create art in the first place?  Do we create art to change the world?  to make money?  to preserve our culture?  to make new culture?

The film did not address the spiritual aspect of making art, at least not overtly.  But spiritual aspects undergirded the whole film.

We went to see the film with friends from church, and I feel lucky to have friends who say, "There's this movie we should see.  Can you come on Monday?"  When I told them how lucky I felt, one of them said, "There aren't many friends who would be interested in this kind of movie."  I'm glad to have some friends who are interested in this kind of documentary, friends who would meet us on a Monday night to have some time together.

Week-End Self Care--with Ukuleles

When I locked my office door on Friday, I said to my dean, "What a week--I'm glad it's over."  I don't often feel that way about any given week--happily most weeks are not like last week.

I knew I needed some self-care over the week-end, so I did what has worked well in the past:  writing, especially some journaling, baking, getting some vigorous exercise, and some extra sleep.  And I did what I don't always do:  ukulele lessons followed by singing.

Now, I was going to do the ukulele lessons before I knew I would need self-care.  We've had increasing numbers of our church members interested in the ukulele, and rather than give individual lessons to everyone who wondered if this instrument might be for them, my church came up with this fellowship opportunity:  For five weeks, we will meet at 6:00 at the parsonage.  We will have 45 minutes of ukulele lessons, followed by a food break, followed by a jam session that include any instruments that people want to bring along.

The first week, June 19, we worked to learn 2 chords, C and F--and then we could strum and sing "This Little Light of Mine."

Last night, we added some additional chords, D7 and G7--suddenly a whole world of songs opens up. 

Most of the songs had 4 verses, and we sang them all.  On the first verse, I could hardly follow along at all.  But by verse 4, I had almost gotten all the chord changes, and I wished we could keep going so I could do the chord changes more smoothly.

It sounded much better in the last half of the evening, when we had the jam session.  One woman played her upright bass, my spouse played his violin, and one member played his guitar--we had a better sense of the melody and how the ukulele chords worked with it.

When we got home, I marveled at the fact that we sang old hymns, which wouldn't be my favorite if they showed up in a worship service.  But as part of a jam session, those songs made me so happy.

Let me remember this happiness as I move through the week, reassembling the wreckage of last week.  Let me hum the old gospel hymns as I do what must be done.

Ambiguous Grief, Nonlinear Grieving

I have been listening to a wonderful episode of On Being:  Pauline Boss talking about ambiguous grieving.  She talks about how humans like to solve puzzles, and we often approach grieving this way, as a problem to be solved, a linear process that has a clear end.

Many of us know that grieving is not that way.

She talks about Elizabeth Kübler-Ross's 5 stages of grief--but they're not necessarily applicable to all grieving and loss:  "Elizabeth Kübler-Ross found those five stages to be relevant to people who are dying, who are fading into death."  Now most therapists have moved away from that linear way of thinking, but not everyone else has.

She also talks about responding to those who are grieving:  "And so, in fact, that is the first question I ask. “What does this mean to you?” Because until I know what this means to them, I have no idea about how to intervene. If I say, “What does this mean to you,” they may say, “It's a punishment from God,” or, “It's a punishment from my loved one. He's always been after me,” or something like that. Then I know what their viewpoint is and can proceed that way. Or they may say, “I always fail at everything. That's what this means.” Then you know you proceed that way. Or a person might say, “This is another challenge, and I think I can manage it.” This is another meaning."

Yesterday I was thinking about all the losses of the past week, and how my losses are just a pale shadow of what's yet to come.  After all, I have both of my parents and my sister and my spouse, most of my friends are still alive, I'm in good health, I have a full-time job with benefits . . . I could go on and on.  I saw a Facebook post of a friend who lost both of her parents before she was out of her 20's, and she wrote that she would give anything to have one parent back. 

I feel this odd sense of guilt, a survivor's guilt of sorts, at grieving my losses, which are in a way tangential losses:  my friend's loss of a full-time job, for example, affects me, but she's got much more to grieve than I do.  But a yoga teacher gave me great advice long ago, to stop comparing myself to others because it won't help me perfect a pose or hold my balance.  That advice seems applicable here too.

Yesterday I did what I often do in the face of loss:  I baked.  As I look back over my history of weight gain and loss, I see that I have the easiest time losing weight and keeping it off when I have happy circumstances, like in 1995 when my spouse went back to grad school, which gave me hope for the future, or in 2011, when I had a chapbook coming out.

So, yesterday I baked, but not just because I felt stress.  When I did the 10 day shred, which meant I didn't drink as much dairy, I now have all this souring milk to use up.  In case you would like a simple cake, here's the recipe (and if you don't have sour milk, you can add a tsp. of vinegar to the milk, and I suspect it would be fine with regular milk too).

Chocolate Sour Milk Cake

2 c. sugar
1/2 c. shortening
2 eggs
3 c. flour
1/2 c. cocoa
2 tsp. baking soda
2 c. sour milk
Vanilla

Beat together sugar and shortening. Sift together flour, cocoa and baking soda. Add liquid and dry ingredients alternately to first mixture (I just mixed it all together, and it was fine). Grease pan (9x13) generously; dust with flour. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Do not open oven before 30 minutes.

 

I made a light icing out of powdered sugar, milk, and cocoa--coffee as the moistener would be great too.

Reassembling the Wreckage

Yesterday began with news of the Brexit vote.  I thought the day and week couldn't get more tumultuous--but then came news of the move to "de-recognize" ACICS, an accrediting agency which accredits 245 colleges, according to this story.  It's not a done deal, but it's a mostly done deal.

Of course, ACICS can appeal--and if that doesn't work, then the schools that are accredited by ACICS have 18 months to find new accreditation.

Why do I care?  ACICS accredits my school.  We have fairly rigorous policies and procedures, so I have no doubt that we could secure accreditation with SACS, the regional accrediting body.  But the thought of that process makes me weary.

Maybe it shouldn't.  We've just come through an ACICS visit, so we have various narratives and supporting documents and such ready to go.

These past years have been a harsh schooling in the importance of living in the present moment and waiting to deal with other issues that are further off in the future.  And so, I went about the work of the day, finding adjuncts to teach classes that are suddenly without a teacher, reassembling the wreckage of the week.

As I contacted possible adjuncts who have stayed in touch with me, in the off chance that an adjunct position opened, I thought about how someone's wreckage so often transforms into someone else's blessing.  The adjuncts that I spoke to this week have been happy to have this chance.  I am relieved that they are still interested, while also wishing that I could offer something better (full-time positions, benefits, that kind of thing) to us all.

In the evening, I wanted the comfort of the PBS News Hour--as the opening music played, I thought about how often I've tuned in.  I first started watching this program regularly during the first Iraq conflict, back in 1991; then, as now, I appreciated the calm analysis that is so absent in other shows.

As I watched, I thought of my dad, who also watches regularly.  That reminded me that my mom is in the hospital, after having had a pacemaker installed on Thursday afternoon.  I called her cell phone, and much to my surprise, she picked up the phone.  And then she passed the phone around, and I talked to my dad and sister too.

Last night, as twilight deepened into night, I floated in the pool and thought about all the changes of this humdinger of a week.  I thought of our backyard cottage neighbor--last night was her last night in the cottage.  Today she will get on a plane and head out to her new future.

I thought of all the times that I've moved, which involved lots of boxes, a truck, and often lots of miles.  What would it be like to set off with a suitcase?

In the aftermath of a week like this one, setting off with a suitcase towards a different horizon sounds especially appealing.  But like monks of all sorts, I am vowed to place, a vow taken because my beloved spouse loves South Florida so deeply. 

And so I will sift through the scraps left behind.  I will make careful stitches as I try to create some sort of quilt that won't be the one that we had before, but nonetheless will be functional and beautiful in its own right.

Friday Fragments: Brexit and Involuntary Severances

What a tumultuous week!  Let me capture some fragments from a week:

--The Brexit vote shocks me a bit.  The poet part of my brain that is prone to making connections and seeing symbols everywhere says, "Yes--how appropriate in a week of lay-offs and involuntary severance that we end the week with the news that Britain chooses to become a stand-alone island again." 

--Yesterday afternoon, I accompanied my friend and colleague to her exit interview where she got the information about her severance package.  She has decided to stay on as an adjunct.  I am selfishly glad, while also hoping that she eventually finds a great job and leaves the department stranded with those classes.

--My other colleague in my department who was RIFed came to my office and said, "Don't be sad."  What a great way to start an exit discussion.  She gave me a hug and said, "This is great news."  She will not be returning.  I am sad for me and the students, but happy for her.

--I have been helping friends who have had rock delivered--it gets dumped on the driveway, and they have to move it to the yard where they want it.  It's amazingly soothing to shovel the rocks into the wagon after a day of bad news.

--We worked well together--at one point, when complimented on how quickly we were reducing the rock pile, I said, "We've got a real chain gang rhythm going."

--My friends and I go to the gym regularly.  I said, "Those weight machines are the theory, and here we see the practice."

--I have sent out a few poetry packets into the world--another way of resisting the darkness nipping at my heels this week.

--This week-end will need to be a working week-end:  I have a course shell that I need to get ready for my online class which starts next week.