Temptations and Resolutions...

It's almost the new year, and I'm tempting fate with downtown parking at a new coffee shop. As I listen to the radio today, and see the news, I'd like to say this post is going to be all light and fluffy; I'd like to say I have grand plans for the moment the New Year is rung in; I'd like to say I have a magical kiss waiting for me when the clock strikes midnight, but reality is  sometimes the new year is a reflection of the past. It is the moments that break our hearts the most that teach us the life lessons we need for the coming year. This year has had many ups and I would say one hard down, but all in all 2014 brought many great insights to my life, and I want to remember them.

This New Year will be spent alone. I will count down the seconds to the new year and sip on a neat whiskey when the ball falls. It sounds depressing to some, but 2014 taught me it's time to focus on what I truly need in life. My needs are not extravagant. I do not need millions of dollars, I don't want a wardrobe of slim fitting clothes, I don't need to have a new gym membership or a new car; I don't want a fancy job title. All I need this year is to work on me; work on all the passions I have in my life; work on seeing more of the world and those who are in it.

And so, though I'm tempted to ask for a full time job; tempted to push my life in a new direction; tempted to pick up and move; tempted to take control, instead I will focus on what I already know. I will let my life take shape instead of attempting to mold it into perfection. This year, my resolution is to recognize that at times I may be tired, but I have so many passions and it is always time to be working on them. I will write, I will read, I will teach, I will bake, I will knit, I will be me--and enjoy every moment of it and be thankful for the friends and family I get to share it with.

To everyone....

Happy New Year!

Dear Santa...

You may be frantic right now, as it is your busiest day of the year. Hopefully, you're not where I was two days ago, having a mental break down in the grocery aisle when I realized I couldn't afford the good balsamic vinegar. (Why is it always grocery stores that make me panic?) Truthfully, my spirit for the holiday hasn't been what I hoped for this year.

But may I just tell you, no matter how the present Christmas feels--I will always believe in you!!!


I guess I just wanted to say thanks for the small (yet monumental) gifts you gave me this year:

When I was down and out, driving to work, you miraculously appeared next to my side on a bright yellow tricked-out scooter blaring the music "All I Want for Christmas is You," by Mariah Carey. That made me truly smile for the first time in months, and the ability to wave to you made me truly feel the spirit of the season, if only for a moment. And I guess all we can ask for is moments. Then, at my cookie party, you gave me my wish--I saw snow flurries cascading off the streetlamps surrounding my house at night. The street was quiet and echoed my glee as each flake tickled while melting off my nose. Finally, as I began writing this letter to you, I was able to wait for the best gift of all: My parents.

With the folks, the holiday is complete. This year, I may not have actual presents for them to unwrap, but I know our conversations around the many dinners, coffees, and couches will be the merriest of all.

Thanks Santa for showing me what this time of year is all about--the moments we get to spend together, and the ease which magic can come into your life if you let it. This Christmas, I wish you safe journeys; I wish you cleverness in your ability to sneak past traps children may have placed to catch a glimpse of you (be warned: talking robots with trip-wire string may be placed near fireplaces); I wish you all the joy and cookies you can partake in.

And may I say--I feel lucky in life that you have made your presence know to me not only in my youth, but my adulthood as well. I shall be listening for the bells of your sleigh always. The smile you bring me each and every year is the true gift.

Merry Christmas Santa!!!

D.dot

Setting the table...

It's that time we sit ourselves around a table with friends and family to give thanks. Thanks for all the people and events that take place in our lives. I am thankful for all the people who are, have been (and may no longer be) in my life. I hope each and everyone of you know this, because it should have been told to you directly.

But what about those who have been in my life, yet I've never met?

This post is a thank you to all of them. It's the imagination playing towards a feast at a table of first introductions.

Envision it. A table set for twelve. In my cramped apartment, makeshift tables (of varying heights and shapes) would be placed together accompanied by non-matching chairs with just enough space to squeeze our forms into place. The china would be eclectic plates and silverware all found from the DI achieving miscellaneous patterns, with wine glasses of differing colors set to their side. Two Red Rock Beer growlers would be on the table, cleaned and replenished with ice cold water in the effort to maintain, but not exceed, a nice holiday buzz.

All the typical fixings would be present: Roasted Turkey, Mom's scrumptious mashed potatoes, my famous and fresh cranberry sauce, homemade white rolls perfect to dollop butter on top and eat whole. I'd prepare other dishes as well, on the off chance of dietary needs: Vegetarian lasagna, crispy Brussels sprouts in orange reduction, a fine kale salad, and of course sweet potatoes. And god forbid, lets not forget the dessert: Pumpkin Pie, zabaglione drizzled strawberries, and few pieces of chocolate to compliment the evening coffee.

At the table, conversation would begin awkwardly, but would build to a rousing chatter. Sitting around the table would be J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Amanda Palmer, Jimmy Kimmel, Tina Fey, Jack Zipes, Tim Burton, Francesca Lia Block, Ira Glass, Liz Weir, and Eddie Vedder.

Each would bring a unique perspective to the table, which I feel would compliment and balance one another. As a proper host I would thank them all for the times they have supported me with out knowing, directed and guided me without knowing, made me laugh or cry: Amanda Palmer would get the dinner started by finding the perfect moment to hasten my rambling gratitude by asking for the rolls to be passed. J.K. Rowling would start a deep conversation asking Neil Gaiman about his recent writings on the issues faced by Syrian refugees and would add her insights from when she worked for Amnesty International. Jack Zipes would bring their discussion to folklore and culture, and present a classic tale matching the holiday, while Tim Burton would listen and then twist the tale on its head, and Liz Weir would present a traditional Irish folktale that would take all our breaths away. Jimmy Kimmel would break the deep thoughts by laughing, and Tina Fey would bring a witty and natural insight to his laughter, which would make the whole table break into unstoppable laughter. The food would be appreciated, but the conversation would be the highlight of the evening. Francesca Lia Block would provide a verbal painting on the transition from Grunge to Indie to the full circle of folk music with Eddie Vedder. Amanda Palmer and Eddie Vedder would entertain the group with renditions of songs with the aide of a ukulele, while I cleared the plates and set the table for dessert. All the while Ira Glass would be connecting our stories to those he has met or heard about on his various journeys. And then I would see who wanted to match their Harry Potter trivia to the creator herself (all questions created by self of course).

J.K. Rowling would put me in my place, while I finished the last bite of pumpkin pie on my plate, and I would bow and smile at the same time. As the group would leave my small home, I would thank my newly met friends for a memorable evening. I would hug each and everyone of them for all they provided to me and all that will come. I would say thanks. Thanks to every moment, every wish I have had in my life, thanks for living and learning. I would close the door and know everyday is a new journey with the possibility of setting new stages to life: creating each and everyone of our stories.

It is the story that is important: the reflection, celebration and moments that make us feel alive.

Two Weeks...

The little reminders are stabbing. They take my breath away for a moment, and then the hollowness of the situation takes place in the stomach. But as his coffee cup, still and stationary on the kitchen shelf, says: nothing is ever black and white.

I said my peace and asked for his hand for one last dance. In the morning I turned from his goodbye, not from him. Of course it would be this way. He made his decision, and I made mine. He went for opportunity; I chose conviction. His actions set distance; My words took the affinity to a close. Both free from communication, free from sight, free from ties--not from thought.

If only it could have been black and white.

Pish Posh

Recently I  read an article that scientifically stated that by sitting I am killing myself. Yesterday, listening to NPR, I heard from various researchers on how boredom slowly kills an individual. It seems as though every time I turn around, there is a new report on what I shouldn't be doing. And they come from the most unlikely of places.

The report on sitting was included as a blog article I should read as an instructor looking for work. The NPR report, well that came right at the moment I was heading to the park to visit my friend and her daughter.

Here's my question? What can a living person do to stay alive? FOREVER!

Really people, lets think about this; how many articles have you seen recently of what you shouldn't do? And how many have changed your behavior? Whether it's coffee, alcohol, smoking, red meat, fish, vitamins, or that piece of candy you have stashed away in the back of your freezer for a rainy day... it's not the item that will kill you, but the fact that you're a living entity that has to go through every reaction of being human which includes indulgence, ridiculous decisions, and every now and then a few moments of silence.

If I can't sit, if a mere few minutes of doing nothing is going to take minutes off my life everyday, if staring at a computer for hours on end is going to deplete the number of breaths an individual is granted, then I will say this: there is nothing I can do. Part of my job is sitting for hours on end, staring at a computer, and being bored. It's the moments I take after this that are important, I delight in a well cooked meal, prepared at home; I enjoy the sun on my back while walking and listening to whatever dancing play list I have on my iphone after a day of work; and you know what, a drink with a friend will always bring a smile to my face. And for that matter, sitting; researching my class or the next writing project in my mind, that makes me feel delighted. So if everything is going to kill me, I'm going to do my best to enjoy the life I have.

Pronouns & Articles: Part 2

I won't lie, this is a difficult assignment. To have my students then throw it back in my face, well that was a pleasure. I don't know if I accomplished exactly what they where hoping for, and I do believe a few expletives may have escaped my mouth when the buzzer sounded, letting me know my 15 minutes was up and my pen had to stop creating. But all in all, I'm happy with what was written.

To complete the assignment, it must be shared. Students had first dibs, but mere hours later (before arriving home) I made a point to stop and find Internet to keep with my attempts in writing and sharing.

So here you go. The creation of 15 minutes writing with the limitations of not being able to use pronouns, definitive articles, and writing in present tense. All on the spectacular image of The Scream by Edvard Munch.

Retreat from Worlds End

Another attempt to see what is unseen, Dante's field tickles back. Out of frame, Death sharpens teeth. Door open, decisions must be made.

Widen--Lengthen--time and place, back turned unable to step forward. Eyes round with sight of corpses eroding through winds hand, distanced from life.

Silent voice fills colored land. Nature radiates through gaping sight unable to feel energies pulse: human meaning. Shadow takes over; slip back towards routine.

Scream.

Pronouns and Acticles...

Finding time to write is never an easy task; but taking on the challenge to write in different styles takes great determination. Each quarter I assign various writing exercises, within English Composition. With only eleven weeks, I try to present as many writing methods as possible to motivate students to present well-organized, direct and clear thoughts.

Week five is always a favorite; each class handles it differently.

When I was young, I spent days flipping through the pages of a book filled with Norman Rockwell paintings. Each image told complex stories. So, week five, I ask students to write a three paragraph description of Norman Rockwell’s “Freedom from Want.” So far, the true difficulty assigned is to not get hungry while staring at, and writing on, a delicious golden-brown cooked turkey while sitting through a four hour class. Then I throw in a couple curve balls.

You can’t use pronouns in your writing.

Furthermore, you can’t write with definitive articles.

Usually students—once hearing all restrictions—instantaneously voice the impossibility of the assignment. Making it a necessity to preface (before students unite together to stone me for the soon to be 30 minutes of writing frustration) they first attempt the challenge. Try before saying, “It can’t be done.” (Recognize defiant pronoun use?)

Tonight, class didn’t make a peep of complaint. Instead, each student set to the task.  As an instructor, it was a pleasure to see students hard at work. Lets face it, instructors love baffled stares from students: opened mouthed hoping words might miraculously arrive on the page, all pronouns and articles removed as by magic. But what makes this assignment my favorite is the final instruction.

You have to share your writing.

Each quarter, I’m astonished at the creativity students achieve. I have heard descriptive paragraphs that range from research to the introduction of a horror story (still wondering how horror and Norman Rockwell mix, all I can say is the voice of the student made it work). And this quarter, students have given me homework. In other words, they’re asking for me to prove myself. Someone how, I accepted the task of writing a story from beginning to end: with no pronouns, no definitive articles, first person, and present tense--all within 15 minutes and the inspiration of The Scream by Edvard Munch.

If you noticed all the lined out writing within this short bit of writing, you know this won’t be an easy task (and if you have insights in how one would write in first person without the use of I, my, or mine, I’m all ears). This task will be completed, and if all my students hand in their research papers it will be shared in class and posted tomorrow. Fingers crossed I can accomplish the task as well as they have.

Fifteen Minutes...

With all the talk of needing to find the time to write, I find myself a hypocrite. For the last year, every class that comes my way there is a moment in the quarter when these words are uttered from my mouth:
  
“You just have to do, it. Write. Find the time to write. Even if it’s only fifteen minutes a day.”

And then what do I do. I spend the week, bouncing from one job to the next, free time is spent developing lesson plans, searching for full time work, or cooking a rare dinner in the hopes I have enough calories in my system to not fall over while teaching.

What isn’t found in my routine; what I preach every quarter.

Make the time to write.

I’m tired of it. Being a hypocrite is not what I want to be. I want to be that instructor whose students look to and say, “Well, damn… If she can do it, so can I.”

So I have fifteen minutes to write before the thirty-five minute drive to teach class. And in this rare fifteen minutes, I have found time to write. I have also decided I must write at least fifteen minutes a day. I must find the time as I tell my students they must. And so begins a new journey for this blog, journal, thingumabob, or whatever you want to call the random postings I’ve been placing haphazardly on-line the last few years.

It’s time to write every day, all the time, maybe even for contests. I don’t care if what I write is drivel to most, what I want (what I think all writers want) is that rare moment when a sentence works; a moment when it all comes together, even if it’s just one paragraph out of many. I promise to you I will write, and when I say “to you,” I mean me. Who knows where the words will take us. No matter where, it will sure be better than sitting in an office chair crunching numbers. It will be better than the re-run of Criminal Minds you have seen for the hundredth time (no offense to the T.V. show, as you can see I was willing to watch your show repeatedly). Not anymore though.

In fifteen minutes, I could walk on sandy beaches while having my cat cuddle with me in my chair as I type. In fifteen minutes, I could be inventing a machine that doesn’t exist and flying across galaxies. In fifteen minutes, I might be in a fantasy kingdom with strong and vivacious princesses and cunning masculine knights (did you notice how I threw a bit of romance in there). With fifteen minutes, I could change my life.

I have fifteen minutes, do you want to listen.