Friday, November 25, 2011

Blog Giving

I live in a part of the Northeast that is a favorite of many critters including turkeys. Ironically this past week I had several turkey sightings. It was as if they knew Thanksgiving was on the calendar. They are strange birds, a bit arrogant and at the same time oddly clumsy. Tall, giraffe like necks, and bulbous lower bodies, they scurry across roads and congregate on front lawns as if on a mission or on the way to a meeting.

American history recounts our forefathers sitting down with native Indians and sharing a table laden with food. Likely some of these birds relatives were served up along with other tasty morsels. The picture is perfect. How realistic is unclear. Those birds surely gave their captors a hard time-they didn't go peacefully to the table, and the Indians too must have had their suspicions of the white man. Rightly so as it turned out.

One thing I am grateful for, among the many, is that someone of those early settlers or Indians wanted to say thank you. If only for one day, to take the time to give back, to play it forward. My wealth is measured, not by money but by the people I love and who love me back. Thank you.

Blog what you hear, think and see.

Live each day well...or write a book.


Friday, November 18, 2011

Blog Waiting...

Patience is a virtue. I learned that as a child. There is a measure of waiting for everything. As a kid I took to sitting on the narrow stone steps outside my grandparents house to wait. I waited for my father to visit, I waited for my favorite movie star to drive by, and I waited for the millionaire to come and ring the doorbell. Such unrealistic waiting, because one day my father stopped coming and I was seven, Kooky Burns was never going to lend me his comb and the millionaire was a fantasy.

My waiting continued off the step inside my heart as I grew older, waiting for the right moment to get out-of-town, to find my own piece of step. Life took me and tossed me high above that place. My plans never seemed to be among life's plans and the Cinderella story came apart at the seams. I was good at waiting, I'm the best as a matter of fact. Disappointment has often overshadowed the anticipated outcome but that is because I expected too much. Someone later advised me to simply show up-to be present and let the rest happen.

Recently I sent a manuscript to my agent for review. The third of three books I've written over the past twelve years. I've learned so much, and I know that I'm still a student of life. But I believe so passionately in this manuscript, in what it stands for and what it means. I've written into uncharted writing space, into a virtual unexplored subject, 9/11.

There is no stone step outside my house, no place in effect where I can sit and wait. Sitting and waiting is not allowed, I am always on the move, brain and body busy, the target unable to be hit. I pray a lot, I write, I sometimes put my worry people outside of their little box. I pretend I am fine, from the outside I am calm. But inside, I may as well be that little girl again, waiting. Never give up, never give in, this time is the right time.

Blog what you think, see, feel and hear.

Live each day well...or write a book.


Friday, November 11, 2011

Blog the Power

Render me powerless, a Greek tragedy of a woman, who in this twenty first century should be empowered. No man or beast, no romance shattered, no mournful event forever etched in my mind, alas, the villain is corporate, a utility company without remorse or compassion. I am powerless among hundreds of thousands; we are defenseless, unarmed against a CEO and his linesmen. Our Horton-hears-a who of a selectman sends daily messages that go unheard. The corporate communicator is powerless as well. I toss, yet again, a full refrigerator and freezer of newly replenished food, fresh from the Irene debacle. No generous reprieve at the dump, this time the powerless woman must pay to dump her spoiled food, a sin.

Crews converse just across from the transfer station. They wear brightly colored vests and juggle hot coffee and cigarettes. Trucks line the road with names affixed to their sides that I cannot pronounce. I ask the dump attendant if they are on a lunch break, it is 9:30 in the morning. He says, ‘no, they haven’t started yet.’ God help the guy who flunked his anger management course. It is a certainty that someone, with powerless angst, could ruin their day.

I learn to navigate powerless. I go to bed way too early, flash light in hand, the sound of neighboring generators with one note capacities grinding out their melodies in the background. I have hauled several buckets of water to the door inside the garage. A mighty stack of wood sits next to the buckets for the wood stove. Eggs and milk are on the counter where the temperature is close to what the inside of my fridge should be, and I eat cereal for breakfast and dinner and thank the Gods my office has heat and a shower.

The driveway is impassable because of downed trees. I create an unorthodox access to my garage door through the pachysandra and between the wild apples trees. I hoot and holler, yahoo, every time I emerge from the trees, it makes me feel like I’ve discovered America. A week passes, and late Friday afternoon I slide my hood back and pass the stairs to my loft and what to my wondering eyes do I see? Lights, twinkling, brilliant lights. The power is up, is on, is gushing through the lines and sending messages to my furnace, to my toilets and to my appliances. The prince of power has come, kiss him long and hard. I am a woman empowered, warm, clean, and ready. I make a cup of tea and open the fridge where the light inside reflects off the empty shelves.

Blog what you see, hear, think and feel.

Live each day well…or write a book.