I'll Be Damned...

This is a photo journal of an awareness that has hit me over the head and demanded my attention:
I cannot understand why I am so busy, so short of time, so often stressed, so unable to center myself and walk gently through this, my best and only life.
I have felt besieged by responsibilities.
The other night I realized that is not my problem. Not at all.
My problem is not the challenges. My problem is the joys.
I have too many joys.
Too many parts and people I care about.
Too many opportunities and possibilities I welcome and want.
I try to fit everything in, not because I'm forced to, but because I love to.
In no order at all, here's what I cherish; here are the reasons I find myself spinning:

Friends: Different sizes, different backgrounds, no matter: I have wonderful friends who 'fit' with me in wonderful ways and I cherish spending time together with them

there is a part of my soul that lives here and I keep returning....

children in my life...

doing nothing...

travels to parts unknown...

gardening....

chances to learn more and more...

an important and sometimes very hard job....

an incorrigable love of developing all kinds workshops...

Emily Rabbit who insists she should have her own book
(image via a card from a dear friend named lo)

forever efforts to achieve aspiring babe status

precious time with my family

a woman I love for life

my writing life...

my Mom....

and last but not least,

my blog:

the chance to share colors and words

with visitors and acquaintances

many who have become

life long friends

So how could I or anyone balance so many reasons that matter so much?

I don't know. I don't.

But at least now I know why I feel like I juggle.

At least now I understand the problem.

Love kj xo

Tornado Thoughts

Yesterday morning I knew very little about tornadoes. But I spent today in the city of Springfield, the 3rd largest and poorest (as in receivership) city in my state. I couldn't believe the damage that took place in minutes.

I heard so many reports about the scary warning of seeing birds wildly darting in panicked directions, seeing a grey swirling funnel wild in its intensity, heading straight ahead with all its fury.

I drove along Union Street--it is a poor section of tiny single family homes and two or three unit houses, some with front porches--and I saw tree trunks as wide as a railroad car ripped from the ground, toppled onto missing roofs, so many trees and broken limbs on the ground everywhere; crumpled alumininum siding exposing what I think was asbetos shingles. I saw clean up crews and and bewildered residents staring from the sidewalks.

Honestly I hadn't thought that my clients would need to hear from me. I had a few clients scheduled to be seen, but the schools were closed and I figured everyone would know why if I didn't show up. But I got a few calls early on, "Where are you? Are you alright?" I could hear nervousness.

So by tonight I had called everyone. Everyone of every age, from 12 to 50, had been shocked to see a tornado coming, right there in the sky in front of them, to see the sky turn black and then yellow. M and her two children rushed home, out of the car, into their house, ran to the cellar, she who has had panic attacks anyway about imagined catastrophes and not being able to rescue her children. I asked her how she did in the rush of the moment.

"I was really afraid," she said.

"I can imagine," I said, "but how did you do?"

"Pretty good, actually."

"Good going," I said. "You handled it."

She paused a bit. "I did," she said, "Thank you, I did."

I talked to my 15 year old client, L. She was mighty scared.

"I heard it could be the end of the world," she told me.

She meant it.

"No, definitely not," I said. "The last time something like this happened in Springfield was 38 years ago. It's a fluke of nature, L, it may not happen again in your lifetime."

"Are you sure?" she asked me.

"Positive," I said.

I made a note to talk to her about this fear. She is a great kid and I love helping her make sense of the world.

And finally, my hardest and most inconsiderate client. She is 20, flunked out of high school last year, stands me up most of the time and lies about it, is clear that she doesn't and won't trust anyone and don't even try to ask her anything about herself or her life.

I read that her mother was a drug addict, that they were homeless for a long time, that she was taken in at age 12 by a foster mother who made a promise to someone--her grandmother maybe--to take care of her.

I called her on her cellphone, she never answers.

But she did.

"S, are you okay? Did you do okay in the tornado?"

I have never heard her sound like this: "I lost everything. Everything's gone. The house is gone."

She is veryscared. I can hear it. No bravado possible.

I tell her I am sorry. She can hardly hear me because the phone receptions are bad and she does not have electricity to charge her phone. I ask her to call me tomorrow. I want her to know I want her to.

She says she will. I will call her if she doesn't. Maybe this is how trust begins.

I missed all this yesterday, while I was in my own back yard on my day off in the midst of roaring thunder and heavy pelting rain, putting my chairs and birdhouses in the garage.

But I didn't miss it today.

Today I felt like a therapist, like someone who matters when things get too scary or overwhelming.

Today I felt like I'm doing a good job.

(epilogue: sigh of relief)

Love kj

Weather

I'm getting calls. Emails. Facebook concerns.

I'm okay.

A damaging tornado passed through Springfield this late afternoon, the city where I work, barely twenty miles from where I live. I am watching television and shocked at the damage: roofs blown off, trees down, some roads impassable.

I knew it was coming only minutes before the sky turned black and a heavy rain pelted my house and yard. Before that I had a lovely day off today: I visited my Mother, made a zillion calls that are finally out of the way; paid bills; had my weekly workout with a physical trainer (finally, and very good for me); stopped at the weekly farmer's market and bought tomato plants, basil, zinnias, and nasturtiums. I planned to plant those zinnias and tomato plants this afternoon.

I talked to people at the farmer's market and we knew a storm was coming--you could feel and see it--but they weren't concerned and I wasn't either.

As soon as I walked in my house Jess called to insist I bring in everything I could from my yard. She had heard tornado warnings on the Boston news with an emphasis on my town. I was surprised.

I cleared what I could. JB was in New Jersey seeing a client, driving, and that was my biggest worry. Because I didn't know of the damage that was happening 15 miles away from me, I was outside, soaked, thinking how much I love rain.

I honestly did not give thought to a tornado picking me up like a rag doll and I didn't think about taking Stella and heading for the cellar. I would say I was foolish and that would be true.

But I wasn't irresponsible either. I did what I could. I made sure I had flashlights when the lights flickered. I shut down my computer. I kept watch at the windows. I should have worried more but I didn't.

The storm is now passing and all is well here. JB is home. The scenes from the local news are unbelievable. I may not be able to get into the city tomorrow morning to work and if so, that will be okay with me.

I'm okay, I'm fortunate, and I'm thankful.

Love

kj

To Lori....

...On a most special occasion...

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

--Mary Oliver

&

To shop and laugh and talk deep thoughts

To ponder mights and coulds and oughts

To eat and meet and walk and sit

Who couldn't love this lovely fit?

Who wouldn't smile start to end

To have this Very Special Friend?

--ms. kj

♥

Life In the Slow Lane...

I am in another world this weekend. No matter how many times and how many years I've come to this Land's End peninsula called Provincetown, I am gifted a rhythm that will not scurry around, will not overly think. There are some reasons I can recognize: I do not have to wake up at a set time, I do not don my work clothes, I don't bring my bills and insurance papers and my Mother's care plan here. I am like the tides: I just move, I just breathe in, I just breathe out.

Here: JB and I alone and together do what we do and don't do what we don't do. We walk a block and find ourselves at the Bay, sauntering and talking about our dreams as we always have.

We walk along Commercial Street and stick our heads in shops looking sea glass knobs for the weathered white cabinet that was long ago rehabilitated from the bathroom wall. I painted it semi-glossy white last weekend. With two new knobs, it will show some of the sea.

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Here: I write. Alot. I have reviewed and compiled 256 snippets and/or makeshift chapters, numbered each, and now I am seeing how they 'fit' together. In other words, which belong at the beginning, in the middle, at the crumbled end: how shall I reveal my characters, the setting, the insights and the transformative events and lessons? My friend Susan said, "Oh, you mean that book you started two years ago?" She is such a wise guy, and I know she is encouraging me in her own way. It is Susan who looked at some of the artwork in my house and said, "That needs to go! Nobody smiles in those paintings! Put that part away for good." She is right about that too.
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I love writing here. I have a lot of new writing yet to do; not just bridges from one paragraph, one section to the next, but whole new chapters. Moving the numbered pieces from one place to another begins to tell the story, to show me what is missing, what must be further introduced and known. Over and over I am told by wonderful guides that readers don't mind waiting and being surprised, but they don't want to be confused. I get that. It is a challenge I welcome.

for anne....

Change of topic: I haven't said much about my beloved old girl Stella lately. She is so noble and brave. The muscle mass in her right rear leg has atrophied to the point where the leg often cannot hold her and she is prone to falling. This has cramped the length and joy of her walks and sometimes JB and I look at one another wondering if the time will be soon that the joy of her body massages and cookies and now chicken in her meals will be enough. We have this contraption that wraps around the lower part of her body and it has a handle so we can hold and keep her legs up. But we haven't used it yet. It is a clear announcement that she will no longer make do on her own walks, and in her own way, and ours, we're not ready for that yet.

.JB and I fell asleep on the couch last night, dressed and accessorized. Who cares?! I wrote this morning, we met with a realtor to rent out this place for a couple of weeks this summer (a financially responsible thing to do). We walked to the corner for breakfast (marianne and lo, yes, there), I have been blogging and cursing blogger for the comment problems, and tonight we will have pizza and salad here with old friends.

It's a good thing I walked along the beach yesterday and across town the day before because writing is so sedentary!When I'm in the zone, I have to remember to move.

The town is hopping with visitors kicking off the sart of summer. The bay inlet is still pristine, not yet traces of fuel oil from the motor boats just past the jetty. The sky blues and pinks and oranges are spectacular, the ocean glistens with thousands of tiny pearl lights bouncing of it, the art galleries are wondrous and stimulating, the folks here are jovial and easy going.

I have alot of history here, most of it awesome. August of 2008 was my the lowest. I don't talk about it too much anymore, and I can tell my emotions and armor have shifted for the better. But some things I think we're meant to carry. Maybe they build character, expand compassion, soften the unexplainable.

Two days ago, just before dusk, I saw dozens of gulls flying and gliding with the wind. The wind must have been perfect for them because they moved their wings effortlessly, if at all, banded together toward where?--maybe their perfect spot on this thin strip of beach.

But there was one gull who had fallen behind and was struggling mightily to keep his/her wings moving. S/He was obviously hurt and giving everything to keep up with his tribe. I wanted to help that gull. I stood on the sidewalk and I looked up and my mind flashed through the possibilities of how I could rescue that gull. Even though I knew better.

I was witnessing something between a gull and nature and it could not be my business. I was reminded again of what I continually need to know: there are times when caring and trying simply can't and won't make things my way. I don't like that I've been taught this lesson, but it's one I know I need to know.

Oh, and did I mention we're not here alone?
love kj

Letters of the Alphabet on a Busy Quiet Night

It's been a long time since I've done silly something like this on my blog. I hope you might do it too. And wouldn't you know I had to deal with my age first thing. I must be feeling brave tonight :^)
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A is for age: 43 years old. This is not my actual age but it is how old I would be if I didn’t know how old I am. I am actually 63. If this is a shock to any of you, please know it is a shock to me too.
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B is for beer of choice: I don’t drink. I can’t drink. That’s another story. But if I did drink, I wouldn’t drink beer. I was a fine wine and zambuca girl…
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C is for career: I've been a self employed counselor/consultant/trainer until three years ago when I became a psychotherapist, which I also like, and I am also happily (and finally officially) a writer.
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D is for favorite Drink: hands down, my favorite is Italian Roast Coffee. Every morning I squeal with delight while it’s brewing.
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E is for Essential item(s) you use everyday: Ok, no lipstick, no pearl necklace for me. It’s a pen and paper, with my computer and iphone close behind. I’d be lost and longing without them.
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F is for Favorite song at the moment: Eva Cassidy’s Fields of Gold. It makes me cry everytime.
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H is for How About Whatever Favorite I Choose: Okay, I choose my favorite color. It is green, like grass.
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G is for favorite Game: I hate games. I try to avoid board games especially. I will play poker or whist but that’s all. Please don’t ask me to play board games. Please.
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I is for Instruments played: Guitar, piano, tuba, trumpet, violin, drums, and sax. No, none of this is true. I made it up to impress for a fleeting second.
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J is for favorite Juice: Fresh squeezed orange juice.
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K is for Kids: I have one darling daughter of my own, two grandsons ages 4 and 2, and one more grandson, currently and temporarily named 'Sparky, on the way. I love kids of all ages and sizes.
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L is for last kiss: JB tonight. I also kiss my friends and am happy giving little kisses on the cheeks of people I like.
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M is for marriage: Yes. 21 years unofficially. 4 years legally. 25 years in all Happily, with bumps and lumps, but always with love.
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N is for full Name: Can’t do that in Blogland. Hahaha, that's what I thought when I started my blog. It's not hard to know my name, that's for sure. It's not my favorite, but my parents must have liked it.
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O is for Overnight hospital stays: one at age 5 when my tonsils were removed; one at age 30 with the birth of my daughter; one at age 33 for a scary biopsy, and one for back surgery
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P is for phobias: I have my share: the worse are being alone at airports, driving in snow and ice, and public speaking (all of which my work has required).
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Q is for quote: 'Ride the Horse in the Direction She's Going'
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R is for biggest Regret: hmm. I wish I had saved more money faster. But then again, I’m not sure I would change anything either. If I have to sell shoes at Macy’s when I’m 85, I just hope I don’t have to touch strange feet. :^)

S is for sports: I love baseball. It is mystical and magical. I believe I am an expert on the game.
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T is for Time you wake up: varies: usually by 7:00 am, sometimes 8 on weekends, occasionally 5 or 6 am, which is my favorite time of all.
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U is for color underwear: most often black. And they match.
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V is for Vegetable you love: Is an artichoke a vegetable? I love artichokes, especially reaching the heart and dipping it in lemon butter or holidaise sauce.
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W is for Worst Habit: I can perseverate and nag in an attempt to have it my way.
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X is for X-rays you’ve had: Because I think this is a stupid question, I decline to answer it.
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Y is for Yummy food you make: I make a mean garlic and cheese bread, my dad’s spaghetti sauce, and I just mastered turkey gravy—after at least 300 attempts.
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Z is for Zodiac sign: Leo the Lion, but even though I may act regal I have learned humility.
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There have not been many meme's on the the blogs in many months. Memes are not usually my favorites. But I invite you to try your hand at this alphabet challenge. Did you learn anything interesting about me? Because if you did, it stands to reason that it will be good to learn some interesting things about you.
love
kj

Mish Mash Moments

In no order for no reason, here are some scenes and people that make my heart flutter.

I'm headed back to work tomorrow. I've had four days of easy comings and goings, and I am (again) determined to stay calm and centered and aware of all these reasons to be alive in love.

Care to join me?

love

kj

Show Don't Tell

'Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories are for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.' Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried

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If I were in grad school and my professor wrote "Show don't tell" on my dissertation paper, I would scream in frustration. Understanding what this advice/requirement/rule actually means has dodged me for a hundred years.

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But I'm starting to understand. It's a good thing, since a writer who tells and fails to show is going to have boring bored readers.

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I have a feeling that 'show don't tell' is equally necessary to painters, photographers, sculptors, musicians. So with the hope of touching upon something more universal than just important to me, writing a book, here's some clarification of what 'show don't tell' looks like and doesn't look like.

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From Judith Barrington, Writing the Memoir: "Your writing will be far more engaging if you show your readers the particular squint in your father's left eye that appeared as he got angry, or if you show them the thumping of your mother's fist on an oak table before she burst into tears, than if you merely tell them that your father was prone to fits of anger or that your mother often cried out of frustration."

.The key to writing that shows is the senses and that the story is told much like a movie. This means sometime to SEE, or to HEAR or to SMELL or TOUCH or TASTE. Want to know about my character Casey? I could tell you she is both strong and vulnerable, currently depressed and immobilized. Or I could tell you this:

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Casey ran her fingers through her $ 5o haircut. "Mave, do I look okay?
Mave grimaced. "Not really. Not like you usually do."
"I know,"Casey said. "I'm due for another cut, but I can't seem to find will or wind power to pick up the phone and schedule an appointment."

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Here is a favorite example: "It was a hot, sultry afternoon." I am telling you this. If I want to show you, I could say, "The afternoon blazed and sweated."
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This is where I am this afternoon: evaluating and snipping and crafting words that I hope will tell a story that is worth telling. I have to paint portraits in my story. I have to assure that my characters will evoke a range of realistic feelings for the reader: admiration, sympathy, disgust, fear, believability. I have to explain the whys and hows and when and wheres by SHOWING.

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Not so easy.
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"kj was afraid and frustrated she would not be able to capture the personalities of her main characters." -----------"kj cleared her throat. She shook her head from side to side. Her feet twitched on the wood floor and she brought her hand to her heart. Could she write this story? She stood up, opened the window for air, and with uncertain fingers, began typing."

.Love
kj

Days One and Two In Provincetown

I am sitting here on a no longer tomato red couch with summer essentials in front of me: this laptop, my camera, a set of water colors and a set of acrylic tubes, two sizes of blank papers and postcards, my beloved iphone, a copy of The Time Traveler's Wife, a book called Reading Like a Writer: A Guide For People Who Love Books and For Those Who Want To Write Them, four thin classy white candles, a small package of paper clay, and an estimated 100 pages of a manuscript that has to find its focus and purpose.

I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe the weather is a perfect sunny mid sixties and I can't believe I feel so much at home. The creative urge is hopping. It has been six years since JB and I had this little sanctuary of a place to ourselves and there are chores to tackle: repainting the hall and back room, unpacking linens and towels, hanging paintings and pictures, replacing the screen door...s-e-t-t-l-i-n-g--in.

But these are not the same 'chores' I left at home. These are perfect chores.

We won't be here all summer (work!) but at least some of the time I can come and go. I can say I live here part-time if I want to. I can reconnect with friends here AND I can hole myself up to write. I finished The Light Stays On here, on this red couch. I also felt the full impact of a heart smashed in pieces here, and I know that this is a place that heals me. Sometimes I sound so dramatic when I talk about my broken heart or my human struggles, and sometimes I think I should explain that I have a good life, that I believe I am a lucky person, that I am grateful for abundance in love and friendship and material comfort and in certain kinds of wisdom and whimsy.
This is a picture of the bay one block down the street. It will not be unusual for me to walk to it most mornings I am here, whatever the season. When Mr. Ryand and Drew are here, we will take them to the bay at around 7 or 8 am, roll up our pants and take off our shoes and walk into low tide, stepping around the slimy seaweed, looking for baby crabs and finding schools of tiny fish in the salt water ripples.

On this bay, for years, with JB, with my dog Rosie, alone, I have walked and strolled and dipped and paddled and dreamed and imagined and envisioned and most of all let myself fall into the time and rhythm of the tides.

Here I am again. JB and I did little this morning, went to the town wide yard sales this afternoon, to the hardware store, to the kitchen shop. Now we are back for a short while before we walk to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants (Front Street). And tomorrow I will write. I may paint a wall or two too.

It's all fine.

I wish you the same, in whatever way.

Happy weekend,
love kj

THIS...

....is where I'm headed.

Tomorrow morning JB and I will head back to Provincetown and begin to settle in for the summer. I won't be there non stop: we will have to drive three and a half hours each way back and forth to work three days a week for all but two of the summer weeks. And some times our little sanctuary of a place will be rented out for the week.

But for the first time in five years, the place will be ours again. No tenant. I will be able to leave my underwear in the top drawer. :^)

It's a gorgeous place of land and sea. Take a look, starting with my smiling face:

Sending love from the Land's Edge,

kj

p.s. will the book get written? finished?

submitted? accepted?

???

Another 'And Yet'.....

I have been noticing something very definite.

I smile alot at people. I smile in my car when I am at stop signs, and in restaurants and in elevators. I'm beginning to think I do it instinctively.
And here's the notice part: I'd say 95% of the time people smile back at me. Not tight little formal smiles, but real ones.

This gives me great hope.

There is reason in the world to feel heavy, be wary, hold back.

I struggle with that general malaise as well my own ups and downs, one even that still tosses me into sadness from time to time.

I have chores and demands and piles of paper that need something done.

And yet.

This weekend I got up at 5:45 Sunday morning with a little boy who sipped his milk while I sipped my coffee and we huddled together in our chairs and soft fleece blankets and read the story of five little monkeys who sold a clunky car to not very bright clunky alligators.

This weekend I also watched my daughter and my Mother sit beside one another on a twin bed and look at photos of their lives. They both have green eyes and great humor and and I see how they look at one another with such love.

And,

This weekend I took the train to New York City and I met a special friend (sf). We relax and gallivant and laugh and tell and share and find and understand. We are so easy and comfortable together and I always think 'lucky me.'

Photo of the Carrizo Plain before but also with embellishment by
http://loritimesfive.blogspot.com sf Lori Graham

On Thursday JB and I will move back into Provincetown after five years of renting our little place out. We'll be driving back and forth most weeks, after working for several days, no small drive, but much of my summer will include ocean breezes and the salt of the sea. I don't know what to expect except I think it will be wonderful to create and settle into a beachy place again. Every wall is a low gloss white, no space will be cluttered, and I will be one block from the bay and a small beach where I'm prone to dream and ponder and sometimes scheme.

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These are thankful times for me. I'm glad I know. I can't say I don't struggle--sometimes for real reasons and sometimes for none at all, but there are times now when I think I just about have it right.

Love

kj