Lazy Day

Yes, it’s time for me to write some more but I’m feeling a bit lazy.  So instead I offer up another excerpt for your entertainment…

So from “Mr. Porter Builds His Dream Green House”:

The good news is that we do continue to learn (I hope!) and weaning ourselves from shopping as some form of hobby or extracurricular activity has been one of our educational goals.  This may, at first glance, seem terribly un-American and downright anti-capitalist but I like to think that in the end it would be better for all of us to buy less stuff and spend our money—and therefore our time—on things that enhance life like good food, good wine, friends and family.[1]

We’ve been doing such a good job of learning to “reduce” that we have actually been improving the “reuse” part of the environmental cycle.  Of course, some people think we’re taking that whole principal a bit far.  Our local jeweler thinks I’m off my rocker for spending $100 to repair a $65 watch.  Maybe so.  Maybe not.  After all, it is my favorite watch and garners many unsolicited compliments from even total strangers!  It’s actually an investment in my fashion statement!  Even more important it keeps one more thing out of our landfill.  And although one might argue that it’s such a small  thing that it couldn’t make much of a difference one has to remember that I would not have been the only one to throw such an item out that day.  Every day millions of Americans are throwing millions of small things away.  And those small things add up to something huge when there are millions of them.
I also paid $30 to replace the zipper in a favorite, well-worn hooded sweatshirt.  While some might think that’s nuts I defend my sanity by pointing out that I would have paid the same or more to replace the sweatshirt and probably with a sweatshirt that I don’t like nearly as much.  Plus, that’s one less sweatshirt in the landfill which is already filled with everyone’s broken watches!


[1] Though, of course, we now are learning that our eating and drinking habits are also contributing to the planet’s demise.  Sheesh!

Form & Function

At the risk of getting too personal, our bed is a mess!  David made the comment last night that he wasn’t sure where the sheet and blankets started and I noticed in the middle of the night that part of me was covered and the other part was freezing.  And in the middle of the night (and by the way…why do we call it the middle of the night when it is really early morning?  And why does morning start in the middle of the night, when it is clearly still dark outside?  Why doesn’t morning come when it is light and night when it is dark?  And why do the days start getting longer just as winter begins and shorter when summer is just beginning??  Doesn’t that seem wrong?…but I digress…) I came to a very important conclusion: there is a real purpose in making your bed daily other than just for pretty-ness’ sake. 

I used to make our bed diligently every day without fail.  I redistributed sheet and blanket and tucked them in with military corners, rearranged the comforter, tucked the pillows back into their respective shams (did you ever wonder why we call them “shams”?  Is it because they are somehow phony pillows??  Whatever…) and dressing the bed finally with decorative throw pillows. (At the risk of making you crazy, I digress once more because I need to vent a bit about throw pillows.  Apparently my family is under the impression that “throw pillows” are thus called because when they are sitting in a place in which you wish to plant yourself you simply throw them on the floor, or behind the sofa or chair, or wherever!  This is not what the term means at all!  But I am resolved that they will never get that!).  Anyway, this has been my daily activity de rigueur for as long as I can remember with very few exceptions.  Until I had my stroke.  Although, once I was beginning to be more mobile I actually made my own bed in the rehab clinic as well as was possible and I made my bed in my makeshift bedroom as well.  But now that I have moved upstairs and am responsible for a larger bed with heavier bedclothes used by one very messy sleeper and myself I find it to be too much of a chore and the bed goes unmade more often than not.

By now you are asking yourself, “and so??”  Well, as I lay in my unkempt bed in the wee hours trying to make heads or tails of the bedclothes tangled around me it struck me that all those years when I made the bed so neatly this generally was not a problem.  Every day we started afresh with things rearranged and tucked neatly so that at least at the beginning of our evening repose things worked.  It turns out that it wasn’t just for looks.  Making the bed serves form and function.  Yes, a freshly made bed is more appealing to the eye (and in some cases might make points in a job interview!) but it is also more functional for the people who sleep there.  And that argument could be made for a great number of activities that I find important that others (such as my family members) might scoff at as simply “fluff.”  Form and function do go together. Form is what makes our surroundings more fetching, drawing us in and making us want to take care of them to keep them looking good. 
When a place looks “nice” we feel better about it, we want to take care of it.

This extends to nature as well.  Biophilia, a term coined by Professor Edward O. Wilson, is the affinity (philio) we have for nature (bio).  Humans have this naturally and when it is nurtured so is the function of caring for nature.  We care and so we care for.  Many sociologists fear that younger generations actually suffer from “nature deficit disorder,” the lack of time spent in/with nature, the effect of which is fostering whole generations of people who don’t know nature and therefore don’t care about nature and therefore don’t care for nature.

It might just start with making a bed.  Form and function. Go make your bed!

Happy New Year?

I’m sitting here in the early morning, sipping coffee and watching the pale sunlight reflect across the water, illuminating the island across on the other side with water colors.  How frikkin’ poetic is that??
Anyway, of course my mind starts to wander (can’t stay in the moment can we?) and I begin to reflect on the new year to begin at midnight and the old one that ends.  I jumped the gun a bit and already replaced my kitchen calendar with the new one that I had purchased a few weeks ago and have been anxious to open. (how sad is that?!).  As I took the old one down I found myself saying “goodbye” to 2011 and wondering if we should make some ritual of the transition.  Perhaps we should burn the old one in protest?  But the pictures are so beautiful I’m not sure I can bring myself to do it.  I started to scan through them again, reminiscing (I’m always so proud of myself when I spell that word correctly the first time without seeing the inevitable red squiggly line indicating that I’m a spelling moron!).  January, February, March, April, May.  May.  May 23rd to be exact.  “Victoria Day” in British Columbia.  I wonder how they celebrate it.  I sure went out with a bang!  One day changes the whole gig.
Back to the whole new year thing.  I’ve been thinking off and on lately about what it is about the new year:  why is it that when we have a pretty rotten year we look forward to the new year as if magically, on that first day, we can say goodbye to the rottenness of the previous year and hello to a fresh new start? What makes life any different going from one day to the next?  It is just another day in time.
Time.  The clock is ticking and with each tick about 1/3 of a second passes (it ticks fast!).  Time passes.  Time also marches on.  It sometimes races although it has been known to stand still.  It waits for no man (or woman).  For some people, time is money. (Ben Franklin)  It (unfortunately) brings all things to pass. (AESCHYLUS)
Time is a train
Makes the future the past
Leaves you standing in the station
Your face pressed up against the glass
U2, “Zoo Station” 
Wow!  That’s a crowd pleaser! (BTW: “pleaser” was not in my blogger dictionary. Interesting…)  The reality is that we don’t seem to be able to help ourselves.  Perhaps it is intrinsic in the term “new” that we feel optimism, if only for  a day.  Soon enough it becomes painfully apparent that the “old” year is still trailing us like toilet paper stuck to our shoes.  But for now…happy new year.

The Write Stuff

So…having bought into the fact that I get my best ideas when I’m walking or otherwise occupied in something nowhere near a computer or even a pen and paper I have had to resort to other means of recording ideas and random thoughts.  I cannot rely on my mind to remember.  I know, I know, I said that I am a writer in my mind and therefore you might think that all the ideas floating around in my mind would be well-stored there where I could access them at a moment’s notice.  Unfortunately, this is not the case.  What really transpires is that an idea POPS into my head and if I do not grab it at that moment it just as quickly POPS back out, as if my brain were just a train station in the middle of nowhere in which the passengers (i.e. writing ideas) hop off for a quick trip to the bathroom or to buy something at the vending machine and then hop back on before the train pulls out of the station.

Anyway, back to my dilemma.  No computer, no pen and paper when my best ideas come so what to do?  Technology to the rescue!  I have an iPhone and I will use it!  Let’s see, I have an app called “Evernote” denoted by an elephant icon.  It’s a handy little thing that let me record audio notes wherever I am.  Perfect!  Problem is, I remember to record the ideas but I forget to retrieve them when I am sitting in front of my computer!  Case in point: I have notes in there dating back nearly 3 years already!!!  Gee whiz!  Admittedly part of the problem is my lousy memory (I’d only like to think that it bad due to my stroke this year but to try to sell that notion would be dishonest.).  The other problem is that the notes are spoken recordings which means they have to be transcribed.  I am not good at transcription.  So, the notes stay safely in Evernote, forever!

Might be easier if I just write them down in the first place.  Could use Evernote but don’t need to.  The iphone comes with a handy little yellow “legal” pad, a utilitarian but app with no whistles and bells but an honest, trustworthy method of recording everything from a grocery list to that amazing wine I had in Brooklyn that I want to try to find at home.  Perfect home for “random thoughts.”  Oh, you mean like this one? A quote you found in May 2010, 588 days ago?? (not only does it keep track of your notes but it handily attaches the date and time you wrote them and keeps tabs on how many days have passed since you wrote them!  Not sure how this is helpful except to point out the extent to which you procrastinate!)

“Why don’t you indulge in a more sophisticated software?  Download Dragon Dictation!” (where do they get these app names?  I mean, I guess I sorta get “Evernote” as in forEver Noted but since when do dragons and dictation go together?  Oh, wait, I think I know!  In my younger years I was introduced to the concept of the “dragon lady” in a corporate setting.  “Dragon ladies” are those women who have been with the company forever, watching others come and go as if through a revolving door, not so much because they are just too indispensable for the company to fire them but more because they are too scary to fire!  It’s just best to let them be, as one would when one encounters a sleeping dragon.  In the meantime, they make life miserable for the rest of the support staff!  Anyway, dragon ladies are often found in executive assistant roles in which one might expect that they would at times be called upon to take dictation.  Perhaps this is the genesis of the app name???)

Well, not wanting to appear provincial, I do download Dragon Dictation but I should have known better.   You see, mine is not a voice that marries well with dictation technology.  Let me demonstrate:  a few years ago we were with a health insurance company whose phone system was annoyingly only navigable via voice.  In other words, you didn’t have the option of either “saying or texting” your information.  One day I spent at least 3 frustrating minutes, first speaking politely and rationally, then shouting irrationally the date of my birth into the phone to no avail!  “You said: ‘April 3, 1969.’ Is that correct?” “No!  Marrrrrccccchhhhh thirrrrty-firrrrsssstttt, nineteeeeeeen fiftyyyy eighttttt!”  “You said: ‘May 22, 1955.’ Is that correct?” “Aaaaaaagggggghhhhhh!!!!!”  After at least 3 minutes she offered, “I’m sorry, I still didn’t get that. (“No shit, Sherlock!!!”) Let me transfer you to a human being who is capable of understanding your Mickey Mouse little voice.”  So, when I dictate the dragon a sentence I wrote above, “You see, mine is not a voice that marries well with technology.” the dragon comes back with “you see mine is not a place that Marys well the dictation Knology”  Knology?!  Knology?!  What the hell is “Knology”?!  See what I mean?? I know, I know, in order for the program to work optimally I must speak slowly and loudly and over-enunciate my words.  Whatever!  Did I mention that my brain doesn’t hold onto thoughts long?  By the time I am a third of the way dictating my thoughts at glacial speed through a megaphone the other two-thirds of the thoughts have dissipated and the people around me think that I’m either a crazy person or one of those annoying people who thinks that the listener, for whom English is not the first language, will understand what he/she is saying if he/she only repeats it ever louder and slower!

Well, crap.  I’m back at square one.  Which was…where was I?

Need More Proof?

The evidence that I am only a writer in my mind is strengthened by the dismal truth that I own–and have started–at least 6 journals in my adult years but have only written 1 or 2 pages in each.  Don’t get me wrong; my intention is not to collect journals like some people collect salt & pepper shakers.  My intention has always been to actually write in them, to record my thoughts, reflections, hopes, dreams, etc.  But the road to you-know-where is paved with good you-know-whats!  I would say that the problem is that I have my most prolific litterateur moments when I am no where near a pen and paper or word processing program. Once I do return to that opportune place the extraordinary storm of ideas that I had begins to quickly dissipate like a dream that was once so vivid but in the retelling the details evaporate. Or like cotton candy which appears to have no substance the moment it touches moisture and heat.

If I set aside time to write my mind is frequently devoid of any literary thought.  It is as though the very sight of a computer screen has the effect of wiping clean the creative portion of my brain.  I might as well be embarking on a class in astrophysics…

If only I could get down in writing all the amazing text that is floating around in my mind…

Rainy Days and Mondays…

I’m beginning to think that Monday should be an official part of the weekend.  It turns out to be a pretty non-productive day for me after all and probably could be missed without notice.  Feeling like a slug today.  I’m sure that homo sapiens sapiens used to hibernate during the cold months and I’m not sure why we would have evolved out of that habit–clearly only part way.  Because although in practice we don’t still hibernate, clearly my body is fighting against that idea.  It wants to hibernate in the worst way.  Or at least curl up with a good book–ok, or Nook!–in front of the fire on the sofa with a quilt or afghan (BTW, does anyone know why in God’s name we call it an “afghan”??) for the next 4 months!  I should be writing more but my brain is trying to go into hibernation as well.  So…I offer up an excerpt from one of my ongoing writing projects:

THE SKIPPER CHRONICLES        by Anna Porter
BOOK ONE:  Skipper Finds a Home
Screech!  Honk!!  Rumble!  Cars veered dangerously close to the small tan and white puppy as he tried to run between them to safety.  He was scared, hungry and lonely.  He sniffed at a paper bag blown down the street by a warm breeze, but there was nothing inside it to eat. Maybe he would find some scraps at the little cafetin around the corner.
Manuel greeted the puppy at the back door of the cafetin.  “Buenos diás, pequeño sato!  How about a bone?”  The puppy’s mouth watered.  He hadn’t eaten for two days.  He edged close enough to grab the bone in his teeth, before dashing away to avoid the reach of Manuel’s hand.  He couldn’t take a chance, even though the young cantina worker seemed nice enough.  Plenty of other times he had been struck or kicked by humans so he tried to avoid their reach.  “You must learn to trust,” called Manuel after him, “if you are going to survive.”
The puppy raced away with his prize.  Hungry as he was, he couldn’t stop until he found a safe place away from the crowds and traffic.  He saw a woman approaching some stray dogs on the sidewalk.  It looked like she was offering them some food.  The puppy kept going.  Around the corner was a vacant lot where he found the perfect place to eat and rest among the litter and weeds.  He had just settled down to his feast when out from behind some garbage lurched Brutus.

Encountering Angels

Okay, I don’t really care what–if any–spiritual beliefs you have but all of us have encountered “angels,” sometimes–perhaps most times–without ever knowing it.  I know I have.  I’m not talking about the sappy, cute, winged angels that invade every gift store or stationery store or all those annoying emails that people forward to you that have this lovely, sweet message until you get to the end and then you get threatened with “if you don’t forward this to as many people as you know in the next 5 minutes you’ll have the worst luck you could ever imagine!”  I’m talking about the real thing.  I’m talking about angels who have no idea that they are angels, they just are.

Rachael is an angel. She will deny to your face I’m sure but it is true. Rachael is my son’s darling, diminutive, funny, bright, Jewish girlfriend.  I especially mention the fact that she is Jewish for a reason.  Last weekend when they were here we talked briefly about Christmas and she mentioned that she would love to decorate for Christmas because, frankly, she’s not had a lot of experience at that and even though she was Jewish she loves the whole idea of Christmas and decorations, etc.  What makes her an angel is that she WANTS to help me.  And that is a big deal to me having suffered a stroke 6 months ago.  I was thinking that decorating for Christmas was out of the question (I can’t carry boxes of decorations up and down stairs, etc.) since my family is just REALLY not into that stuff.  But Rachael is.  And she WANTS to help me and because of her I will be able to decorate for Christmas which is something I LOVE to do, in a big way.  And because of that little gesture, Rachael is an angel to me.  That’s all it takes.