My youngest, Raji, superimposed over a stony path. The only time he is outdoors is in his dreams.
Happy New Year, everyone, and here we all are once again. You might notice that I’ve made some changes to this blog. I’m not yet done. Perhaps I’ll never be done, but I needed a change, and I needed it before the new year started.
As many of you already know, the last six months of 2022 were rather hellish for me and my family. Both of my sisters died unexpectedly as well as two of my cousins. The last (so far) was my oldest sister who died the evening after Thanksgiving, leading me to take the rest of the year off, so to speak. I can’t say I’m “better” since just thinking about my sisters will bring tears to my eyes. But I might be adjusting. Maybe.
I know death is inevitable. I get that. I just thought that everyone had more time. My mother, after all, is 99 and still squeezing some quality out of her life. I am, however, in a perpetual state of alertness now: always anticipating that phone call; always hoping, when I call her and her phone rings and rings and rings, that she’s just in the bathroom.
Well, there was that time recently when her phone rang and rang and rang because she had mistaken her TV remote for her phone. That gave us a good laugh.
When I ask her how she feels and she responds, “With my hands,” I can’t help but feel she’s got a lot more time ahead of her.
Meanwhile.
I have no resolutions for this year. I don’t believe in resolutions anymore. Too much pressure especially since I usually don’t do what I’ll say I’ll do and I often do what I say I won’t do.
I guess you could say I’ve resolved to have no resolutions, but I am lining up a few things to bring myself back to writing and to the social world I’ve been neglecting.
First, I’m cleaning up my blog, much like cleaning my house when I’m expecting guests.
Second, I’ve resubscribed to SmokeLong Fitness to get myself back into the writing groove. Yes, I still have my novel to work on, but it seems like a kind of punishment to focus only on that … at least right now.
Third, I’ve signed up for a Yoga Fundamentals Workshop at my local yoga studio. Four Saturdays where we will do a deep dive into the basics of yoga. I’ve been practicing yoga for over ten years but never really thought much about the science behind the poses. Plus, the instructor is an awesome woman who brings joy and humor to my practice. One can never laugh too much.
Last but never least, I’m also knitting. Knitting grounds me more than anything else I do.
We have a lot going on around our house … literally. Just recently we had a hardscaper install a patio and walkway on the west side of our house. The crew started work before Christmas and finished on December 30. Next, we’ll have a fence put up, making our patio private and our next-door neighbors happy. (Apparently, they don’t like seeing into our yard any more than we like seeing into theirs.) Roughly about the same time, we’ll have work done inside our house: replacement of hallway floorboards damaged by water from a leaky valve, and new tiles in our foyer. After that, we’ll take a breather and give our checkbook a rest.
So good things are still happening. I just have to make them happen. Hence, this post.
Happy New Year!
So tell me, dear Readers, what are your resolutions, if any, for this new year? And what, of all the things you do, grounds you the most? Please share in the comments, and thank you for reading!
I thought Wednesday was Saturday but I knew Thursday was Thursday and, so far, I’m confident that today is Friday (and my calendar says so too). Tomorrow should be Saturday and I just hope I don’t think it’s Wednesday because I have a couple of appointments and getting my days wrong would really screw things up.
I’m still backsliding on blogging and keeping up with blogs (as in, I’m not keeping up with blogs), but I have been writing a bit. Most of my writing has been on Medium mainly because I submit to publications there. I don’t crow about these publications because, although some of them do offer some good reading, I frankly don’t equate getting published in a Medium publication with getting published in a mainstream literary journal. The truth is, I’m always suspicious when my writing is accepted generally as-is, with perhaps only minor reformatting or editing. But maybe my writing is that good. What do I know?
In any case, here are a few of my most recent essays and stories. The following are “friend” links meaning you do not have to be a paid subscriber to Medium to read them, although you will probably have to open a Medium account if you don’t already have one:
I also started my own publication on Medium but it’s only for my writing. It’s called “One Sister’s Journey Through Grief,” and I’ll be using it to share my journey of learning to live with my grief over losing my sister. So far, I’ve published two essays there:
I’ve been toying with the thought of also using Substack for my writing. I follow a few writers on Substack, and I’ve only seen one writer (so far) who has the same readers on both Substack and Medium … but she writes about Medium so that’s probably why. Anyway, the idea is to expand my “audience” so to speak. And, while I’m used to WordPress and have had this blog here for a gazillion years, the platform can be clunky and temperamental. Life is getting shorter. I like going with the flow but feel I have less time for the ebb.
Meanwhile …
I’ve joined the SmokeLong Fitness Community Workshop which started on September 1 (that was Thursday). You can read about it in detail here: SmokeLong Fitness Community Workshop. Basically, I pay a monthly fee to be part of a small group online workshop. Every week we’ll be given a writing prompt, and we’re expected to provide feedback on each other’s writing. SmokeLong Fitness also includes monthly webinars, discounts on intensive workshops, and “surprises.” It’s only been a couple of days but I’m feeling psyched (and anxious) about writing and reading in a small group. I still have my novel to work on, but I’m hoping that being prompted to write flash [fill in the blank] will oil my writing gears and get me back on track.
Meanwhile …
I’m knitting.
The beginning of a cardigan!
We decided to get out of town for a couple of days and at the last minute, I grabbed a kit for a knitted cardigan to take with me. That was Tuesday, August 23. Today is Friday, September 2, and I’ve completed the back, left and right front panels, and one sleeve. Woo-hoo! At least I’m on a roll with my knitting. This might be the fastest I’ve ever knitted a cardigan. The key thing for me is to keep momentum and not stall when all the pieces have been knitted and it’s time to stitch them together. Finishing a project (much like editing a novel) is my least favorite part of the process.
Did I mention that I now take two Excedrin first thing in the morning, followed by a caffeinated drink? Caffeine is this writer’s little helper.
I close this post with one of my favorite photos of my sister Shirley (courtesy of my niece-in-law).
In a New Yorker article (September 13, 2021), author Amia Srinivasan made this observation: “[…] the Internet, […] has simultaneously given us too much to read and corroded our capacity to read it.” The context was feminism and what we think we know about it, but her description of how the Internet has impacted reading applies far beyond her subject.
It’s something I struggle with every day. So much to read, especially online, but also on my Kindle and my bookshelves, the dining room table and the living room desk where magazines pile high. And yet I’m supposed to be writing.
I know I’ve been going through a stressful time. Which requires a couple of updates:
My sister’s cast was removed last week and she was fitted with a walking boot. She’s still at the facility, but she’s been having more good days lately than bad days. The facility change was definitely a good move. Still, the uncertainty as to when she’ll come home and what kind of help my brother-in-law will given as he continues care for her subdues my efforts to be positive. We all just keep saying, “One day at a time.”
Maxine, our feline dowager, has been more her old self lately. Spunky, willful, and talkative. She’s been handling our handling of the twice daily antibiotic injections and every-three-days subcutaneous fluids quite well. My husband has even been able to give her the antibiotic injection by himself, that is, without me having to hold her still. Unfortunately, she has “good” days and “bad” days: good days are when she limits her pee and poop output to a litter box or a potty training pad; bad days are when she and Junior get in a tussle and, in her excitement, she poops on the kitchen floor (this morning) or when she sits on the potty training pad but still pees on the floor (also this morning).
I’ve been working through my stress not by writing, but by gardening (healthy activity) and binging on a podcast call Casefile (maybe, maybe not healthy). If you enjoy true crime stories (is enjoy the right word?), check out Casefile by clicking here. A few things I like about the podcast:
The narrator is anonymous. He wants the audience to stay focused on the survivors and victims in these stories; however, his fans call him Casey.
The podcast has no dramatic reenactments, no roleplaying, no editorializing, no aimless, mindless banter. Casey narrates in a steady, calm voice. Occasionally he narrates dialogue, which can sometimes be humorous with his Australian accent.
I say no editorializing, but Casey’s empathy toward survivors and victims is real. At the beginning of each podcast, he cautions the listener in case the crime is of a particularly disturbing nature, such as crimes against children. For example, I chose to not listen to the episodes on The Moors Murders because Casey admitted he had to stop recording a couple of times because he was so disturbed by the abuse done to the children.
He has, on occasion, expressed frustration with law enforcement responses (or lack thereof) to violence against women. But he doesn’t rant, he doesn’t rail. He just points out when injustice is being served.
The episodes do not focus gratuitously on details of crimes. Casefile only shares what is necessary to understand the seriousness of a crime, which doesn’t require a second-by-second account of an assault or a murder.
The podcast often includes interviews, audio clips and other materials, providing a deeper context of the crime.
The effort Casey and his team put into their research and production is impressive. Links to their sources are provided with each episode.
My most recent binge from Casefile was several episodes on crimes committed by the The East Area Rapist, the Original Night Stalker, and the Golden State Killer in the late 70s to mid-80s who happen to all be one man–Joseph DeAngelo. The best episode was the last one where Casey read or played clips of survivors’ impact statements at DeAngelo’s sentencing hearing. It was the best episode because too often, justice is not found. In this case, it was. A little late, but that was due to the limitations of forensic testing at the time, the fact that DeAngelo was a former cop and knew how to avoid capture and identification, and lack of communication among the various law enforcement agencies involved.
Finally, if you write crime fiction, this podcast will teach you a lot about crime, the justice systems in the U.S. as well as other countries, and how law enforcement, even with truly dedicated officers, can be hampered in their efforts to find and bring the perpetrators to justice.
Now, what about my novel, which is about a murder?
I don’t consider myself a gardener really, but I might allow myself to wear the label of amateur gardener. I am thrilled when one of my plants starts to bloom. Why, hello there, Georgia Aster! I’m so grateful to have a fall-blooming plant.
Georgia Aster. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
My red penta is still going strong, and I’ve planted a lavender penta and a red-yellow lantana in the front yard. Fingers crossed that I can keep them safe during the winter. The following Ruellia or Mexican petunia was an impulse buy.
Ruellia simplex. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
We had gone to Home Depot to order a new dishwasher (a whole other story, but let me just say that we’re never buying GE appliances again). I needed a couple of pots so we went to the gardening section. This lovely purple plant caught my eye. We’ve seen it around our city so, hey, let’s get a pot and see what happens.
What happened was I did some research since the pot only said the plant was Ruellia. Well, according to the iSeek app, this is Ruellia simplex, a highly invasive plant.
WTF.
Through my research (and panic … what does one do with an invasive plant and why was it being sold at Home Depot????), I found the distributor (Costa Farms) who claims: “We sell sterile Mexican petunia varieties that don’t spread by seed. However, these are often vigorous plants and can colonize quickly in gardens and landscaping beds and borders — especially when grown in rich soil.” Okay, fine. The Ruellia I see around town seem well-controlled, but I’ll have to think long and hard about this. It’s so tempting to plant just this one in the front yard, yet perhaps I should keep it in a container.
Meanwhile, there’s that novel I should be working on.
One of the joys of gardening is discovering critters who like to eat my plants. I have three Black Swallowtail larvae on my Rue which is fine because that’s what Rue is for.
Larvae for Black Swallowtail. Photo by Marie A Bailey
More Black Swallowtail larvae. Photo by Marie A Bailey
I’ve also been knitting. Finally finished this wool lap blanket so I can put it away in my cedar chest since cold temperatures won’t be arriving down here anytime soon.
Teal and purple wool lap blanket. Photo by Marie A Bailey.
I’ve started crocheting granny squares for a larger blanket in a desperate effort to use up my stash.
I have a punch needle kit and a cross-stitch kit as well as three knitting projects waiting for my attention. And sewing? Did I mention sewing?
And then there’s my novel. Oh, boy. You see what I’m doing here?
I’m avoiding my novel because I’m intimidated by the idea of writing from the POV of three narrators. My instinct (these days anyway) says to stick with one, that it will be enough of a challenge to write in first person. I’m trying to work through that. I’m trying to get my writing groove back. But I’m a bit overwhelmed.
Going back to the quote at the beginning of my post, I am realizing that I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to being distracted and drowning. I need to develop some discipline if I’m ever going to finish my novel.
So what do you all do? You publishing writers out there: How do you organize your time? I see a lot of you engage in social media. How do you manage to do that AND work on your writing? Is it just a trick of the Internet that you all seem to be out and about on social media all the time? How do you manage to stay engaged and yet productive?
Thank you for reading, and thanks in advance for any advice you wish to share.
Bonus cat photo: Junior, the green-eyed bully who harasses Maxine until she poops.
Junior, green-eyed monster. Photo by Marie A Bailey
I’ve always been indecisive, sometimes very indecisive, but never not indecisive. I wonder if indecisiveness is related to procrastination because I’m afflicted with both conditions.
I have worked on my novel a bit here and there, but I’ve been spending the bulk of my creative energy learning punch needle work and knitting up some old yarn into a blanket.
This here is my first-ever punch needle project. It was fun although I had some difficulties with the tools. I bought a kit, and the yarn provided was thick (and forgiving) wool.
I’ve since bought another kit but … surprise! … the yarn provided is cotton floss, what I would expect to use in embroidery. Because of that, I bought a different punch needle and now I’m scared. I’m intimidated by the project and am going to have to clear away a lot of space in my brain before I get to it.
Meanwhile, when the going gets tough, I go to my knitting. This here will be a lap blanket once it’s all done. The yarn is 100% wool and quite old. I either brought it with me from California thirty-some years ago, or I bought it soon after moving here. I can’t remember. In any case, the yarn has been stored in a cedar chest for many years. It’s past time it became something.
I have enough of the same yarn in different colors to make a second blanket. Times like this I wish I lived back where I grew up, in north-central New York where warm wool items are valued and used more than they are here in hot, humid Florida.
I procrastinate when I am waiting. But waiting for what? Good news? Is there such a thing?
Our 17-year-old cat Maxine has been wreaking havoc by peeing and pooping outside the litter boxes most of the time. We’re treating her for yet another UTI, but I think it’s her wobbly back legs and diminished eyesight that’s causing the havoc. I bought new litter boxes designed for cats with arthritis, and I have puppy training pads around them to catch any “overflow.” As well her kidney disease seems to have gone from a stage 2 to stage 3, according to her latest lab results. Fortunately, the steroids she’s taking keep her appetite up. At this point, the good news is that she still does her business in the vicinity of the litter boxes. She’s also still spunky, so two bits of good news.
My previous employer thinks I’m dead. Last month they refunded “the deceased policyholder” (i.e., me) for overpayment of my health insurance premium which had been automatically deducted from my pension, as it is supposed to be. I got it sorted out, but now it looks like it’s going to happen again this month. I can check my premium payments online so I guess the good news is I’ll be able to handle this before my premium is past due. Still, I don’t like being addressed as a deceased policyholder. Creepy.
My sister in New York is in a rehab hospital. She fell and broke her leg a couple of weeks ago. She’s been living with Parkinson’s Disease for several years, and falling is one of the symptoms. I’m struggling to find good news here. All I can think is how unfair it is that she, of all of us, has been saddled with this disease.
My sister has been a caretaker all her life. When our mother divorced our father (RIP), my sister stepped in and had him stay at her house when he came for visits (long story short: my father was mentally ill and during that time was living in a group home). When our father became ill, my sister pulled out all the stops to get him into a nursing home near her so she could visit him on her lunch breaks. When our elderly neighbor (RIP) was in failing health, she did the same for him.
My sister and I used to talk about how our mother would come and live with her. Our mother will be 98 in a couple of months. She lives independently and is in better health than my sister, so living with my sister is not going to happen. While my mom’s health is good news, I still struggle to find any good news about my sister.
All I have is this: she’s been married for 55 years to a wonderful man who loves her deeply. My brother-in-law is the epitome of “salt of the earth.” She has three sons who love her deeply. She has seven grandchildren who give her much joy and pride. This good news will have to do.
***
Thank you for listening reading. I’m always hesitant to publicly write about my family, but, hopefully, I’m not crossing any lines here. Plus, I’m pretty sure few of them (if any) read my blog. Here’s a prize to all of you who have read this far: Raji in his “safe place,” which is our closet, on top of my husband’s clothes.
Don’t worry. I’m not writing this post from my bathtub. No, I’m well-covered up in comfy clothes (including a wool cardigan), preparing another post of this and that and the other thing. Sigh. Where do I begin?
I sometimes think I should write my blog posts one thought at a time.
A while ago I wrote that I was knitting a lap blanket for my 96-year-old mother and was afraid I wouldn’t finish it before she left for Florida (yeah, she’s one of those snowbirds). You can read about my anxiety here. Well, as things have turned out, she’s still in New York for another six weeks at least.
My mom’s trip got derailed because she got a UTI. She wound up in the hospital only because one of my cousins insisted (and I quote from another cousin) that “it wasn’t normal for her to be in bed at 4:30” in the afternoon. My mom loves her bed, but, hey, there’s a limit.
Turns out my mom had had the UTI for awhile, but because she wasn’t in pain, she didn’t see the need to seek medical help. My mom would argue that her longevity and good health is due to her deliberate effort to avoid doctors. Her argument didn’t pass muster in this case. So she wound up in the hospital feeling lousy and thinking that this might just be “It.” She’s 96, I remind you, and she’s buried most of her siblings and two husbands.
The good news is the UTI got cleared up, her mood perked up, and she’s back in her double-wide, wondering what the fuss was all about. I called her the day after she came home.
Me: Hi, Mom! How are you?
Mom: I’m fine. (Pause). Who am I speaking to?
Me: Marie. Your daughter. (Pause). Remember me?
Mom: Vaguely.
I almost fell off my chair laughing. That’s my mom’s sense of humor. Smart-ass. Wise-ass. Wise-cracker. Whatever you want to call it. She thought I was being a smart-ass for asking if she remembered me, so she gave me one back.
The bad news is she still plans to come down to Florida. No, I’m not happy about that. The only reason why she got this UTI cleared up was because she’s heavily monitored visited by my cousins and my sister in New York.
In Florida, she stays with my other sister … eh, let’s just say my mom wouldn’t have the same network of support in south Florida that she has in New York. I’m about a six-hour drive from where she stays and that’s when traffic is light and the weather is perfect.
But let’s look on the bright side: I have more time to finish the lap blanket. I panicked last week because the instructions called for the border to be knitted separately and then sewn on. Sounds like one of my worst nightmares. Not to fear, though. I figured out I could knit the border while picking up a stitch along the edge, securing the border without sewing. Yay! Life is good! Now I just have to go on a knitting marathon to finish the blanket before the end of the year.
This is the last lap blanket I’ll ever knit. I mean that.
While all this was going on with my mom, I was taking every opportunity to get out and walk and find solace in nature, especially during my work week. In no particular order, here are some scenes from the nature walk that feeds my heart and soul.
A white egret and a blue heron at the same time!
Turtles!
Spotlight on the blue heron.
Wood storks grazing.
I don’t know the name of this plant, but it’s poetry in motion (except it’s not moving).
Ibises at work
An anhinga sunning itself.
I love these branches. They remind of a love knot.
By the way, for those of you who might be wondering about my often-talked-about novel … you know, the one I’m supposed to be working on right now for NaNoWriMo … well, I’m still working on it, but in a musing kind of way. You can read about my musing on Medium, in this article: Turning a True Crime Story Into Fiction. I’m sharing the Friend Link so you can read without subscribing.
Thank you for reading. To show my appreciation, here’s a gratuitous photo of Junior. I did not pose the cat pillow nor the cat.
For extra fun, here’s what I think of when I hear “Splish, Splash”:
I’ve been leading a non-writing life lately … well, if you don’t count writing letters (of the snail mail variety). Although I’ve been writing in my head a lot. Somehow I don’t manage to put those thoughts down on paper. No, what usually gets down on paper is my endless to-do lists for both work and home. Over the last few weeks, aside from writing lists and letters, I’ve done a few other things, things that compelled me to be in the “here and now.”
Knitting
I’ve been knitting up a storm, folks. Not for me, mind you. No, I’ve got plenty of shawls, scarves and hats for this relatively warm climate. I’ve been on a mission knitting for others. My most favorite knitting is serendipitous: I see a pattern and yarn combination and a friend or family member pops into my head. So I knit.
A shawl for a friend.
This shawl requires two different colors of yarn, but in the pattern, the colors are both solid. I had originally intended to knit a different shawl but the pattern and I weren’t getting along so I reverted to this one. It is one of my favorite shawl patterns, but the yarns deviated from what the pattern requires. So I was a bit of a nervous Nellie while knitting, worried that it wouldn’t look very nice at the end.
Ha!
Detail of shawl.
What’s not to love about this detail?! It was a real pleasure to knit and even more fun when I gave it to my friend. Nope, she had no idea.
Next up was a scarf for a family member. He is a relatively new family member, older than me and related by blood, but we’ve only just “discovered” each other recently. Yup, I took a DNA test and got more than I was hoping more. His birthday was recently. Usually I don’t knit for birthdays because, well, I don’t want to set expectations (i.e., no, D, you are not going to get a knitted scarf every birthday). But, again, serendipity. I wanted to do SOMETHING. I had the yarn (alpaca blend) and a favorite scarf pattern. So I went to it.
The long view.
Believe or not (and I know some of you non-knitters won’t believe it), this is a very easy pattern. It knits up quickly and is a real pleasure. I love seeing the pattern unfold.
Cables.
More cables!
Cables are fun to knit! I learned to knit cables decades ago. I used to be so intimidated by them but they are ridiculously easy to knit. The cool thing is knitting cables makes you feel like you’re actually building something :)
Hiking
Another living in the moment experience was going on a hike with my husband to Shepherd Spring. It’s a flat hike (no hills to stretch our calves), but lovely. It was quite pleasant until we got to the Cathedral of Palms when we were dive-bombed by mosquitoes. Usually this is a place where we would want to linger, but, since I have a blood type that mosquitoes can’t resist, I picked up my pace and nearly left my husband behind.
It was a lovely afternoon. A much-needed immersion in nature. There are a lot of things I don’t like about living in Florida. I can count on one hand the things I do like. Shepard Spring is one of them. Please enjoy the slideshow.
If you’re new to my blog and want to know how this road trip began, click here for the first post.
We arrived in Evansville, WY, just outside Casper, in the evening, early enough to take a walk around and become oriented to our new “home” for the next few days. To our surprise and delight, we found a “rail trail” that would take us all the way into Casper. Following are some photos of the trail, overpass and tunnel.
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Downtown Casper was pretty interesting. Well, this was just plain weird:
The Dick Cheney Federal Building. Seriously.
Although my husband doesn’t like to have his photo shared on social media, it was his idea to pose:
The convention that made this trip possible. And my husband doing his best cowboy impression.
The Chamber of Commerce was one place we stopped to pick up maps and to gawk at this “water feature”:
Since the trail is about 2.9 miles one way, the next day we elected to walk into town, assuming we could find a bus back to Evansville. (Spoiler alert: we assumed wrong and wound up walking all the way back. Over 20,000 steps went on my Fitbit that day.)
We spent some time at the convention and then went searching for Hell’s Half Acre, a 320-acre geologic wonder of ravines and rock formations. We had seen pictures. We were prepared to be awed. It was only a 40-mile drive from Casper. We had snacks and water with us. And long underwear.
Hell’s Half Acre wasn’t hard to find. As we approached, to our left stood tall chain-linked and barbed wire fencing. Yup, the geologic wonder was not just closed but sealed off.
I should have taken out my iPhone and started snapping the fences that obstructed our view, but I was too upset. And my husband … more so. We had researched Hell’s Half Acre. We already knew the original diner and motel were no longer there. We already knew there would be no amenities. An aerial view on Google maps suggested that we should be able to view the rock formations and ravines. All we had wanted to do was park and film.
My husband found an opening in the fencing and decided to investigate, see if it would be worth dragging his gear through. I sat on a splintery post and wondered if we would be both charged with trepassing, or just Greg. I mean, there were no “No Trespassing Signs” to be seen. And we had come all the way from Florida so we could put the “duh” into Flori-duh if needed.
Greg came back, still angry but now resigned (to my relief) to the fact that the county meant to keep people out. There was nothing to be done but find the nearest supermarket, buy some wine, and drown our disappointment.
Since he failed to achieve the Holy Grail of a time lapse of the Milky Way over Hell’s Half Acre, the next day Greg decided that we would drive up to a scenic outlook on Casper Mountain Road. There he would film a time lapse of Casper as the sun set and city lights came on. Following are my humble iPhone photos and video.
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Next week: the eclipse! Let’s hope I can show you more than just my humble iPhone renditions. (I keep telling my husband, the photos don’t have to be perfect … ).
The title of my post is a riff on the fleetingly popular #SorryNotSorry. I’m writing but not really writing. I mean, I haven’t been writing but I’ve been thinking about it a lot. As usual.
What I have been doing is … knitting.
This purple and gray wrap will soon be wrapped up and sent to a friend who has cooler temperatures this time of year than I do.
Just finished this cowl in time for a friend’s birthday.
The beginnings of a shawl for a relative who lives in a cooler clime than I do. And off to the lower left … my foot.
When in doubt, I knit. Not only is knitting a meditative practice, it is also quantifiable. It moves linearly (for the most part anyway). There’s a definite beginning, middle, and end to my knitting. I don’t (often) feel that way about writing.
I have also been studying Spanish, for the nth time since I was in high school. I’ve become a bit obsessive, loading countless learning apps onto my iPhone, logging hours on Duolingo and Rosetta Stone, and downloading videos on learning Spanish from The Great Courses.
And, yet, my fluency leaves something to be desired. Yo tengo tres gatos y un marido.
And, yet … with both knitting and studying Spanish I persevere. I make a knitting error? I just rip it out and start over. I stumble over my grammar in Spanish? I can retake the lessons as often as needed. But writing is different. When I hit a wall in my writing, everything stops and it feels near impossible to get going again.
Quality of writing seems so subjective. I can quantify the number of words I write, but I can’t speak to their quality. With knitting and Spanish, I can see a steady progression of quality as a beautiful pattern takes shape or my review lessons become easier.
The subjective appreciation of writing trips me up every time. And I’ve been working at it as long as I’ve knitting and studying Spanish.
Now, this post will continue on to a rant I wrote almost a year ago. I’m sharing it now because it speaks to my frustration with literary and popular criticism. I had just finished listening to The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt and needed to get a few things about the novel off my chest. If you haven’t read The Goldfinch and plan to, you might want to stop here since my rant includes some spoilers. If you have read The Goldfinch and loved it, you might want to stop here because I didn’t. The rest of you may proceed as you wish.
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I’m a pretty sensitive individual. I internalize everything. Let’s say I wrote a novel titled The Goldfinch and not only was it published, but it was awarded a Pulitzer Prize. Sure, I’d be happy for the publicity and the money and probably both would be enough to keep me in a bubble, safe from the knowledge that most buyers of my novel couldn’t finish it, the awareness that some of those who could were not just disappointed but dismayed by it. All the hype, the publicity, the Pulitzer for a novel that is too long and too uneven and too clever. Near the end of the novel, one character complains about “relentless tedium.” That pretty much describes the pace of The Goldfinch for me. At another point Theo, the narrator, says to a character, “It’s a long story. I’ll try to keep it short.” I laughed out loud at that line. Was Tartt poking fun at her own book? The novel is full of “relentless” litanies and extended dialogues that sound like something out of soap operas. You know the kind. Where the characters keep talking around each other and asking but not answering the same questions over and over until you want to scream, “Oh, just answer the bloody question!”
Only at the end does the reader learn that Theo has been keeping a journal all this time, since his “childhood”; yet, there’s never a mention of him doing so in the earlier parts. I found that so odd given how much this young man moved from one place to another, never once losing a journal apparently but also never mentioning his journals and what might happen if they fell into the wrong hands.
And The Goldfinch itself? I never really felt Theo’s connection with the painting that he claimed to have. Too often it seemed as if he had actually forgotten about it. He’d have all kinds of adventures with his Ukrainian friend Boris, never once mentioning the painting. Then, suddenly, briefly, he’d describe how he thought about it all the time. And oddly, those descriptions always seemed to occur about the same time I had almost forgotten about the painting myself. Did Tartt have to remind herself that the painting was supposed to be pivotal to the story?
At one point, the reader gets the idea that Theo and Boris might be in love with each other, not an unimportant realization for two teen-aged boys. Yet, the idea goes nowhere. Theo has no problem taking up with women when he returns to NYC and eventually he forgets Boris until they have their odd reunion.
The pace picks up when Boris admits that he stole the painting which has now been stolen from him and he needs Theo to help get it back. But the plot is convoluted and the miracle of it progressing at all is simply because Theo has access to money. I know it’s a given in some genres, like romance novels, where the reader wants to escape into a world where money is not a problem, only love and lust. But this is literary fiction (I think). Maybe I’m being a “reversed snob” but it’s a pet peeve of mine when a character who heretofore has been nearly destitute comes into a large inheritance and suddenly, money is no longer a problem. He can hop a jet to anywhere, stay in a luxury hotel for days on end, and never worry about the bill. Boring.
And that’s another thing: Theo seems to suffer illnesses that go on for days, yet he doesn’t die. Somehow he always comes through, but these “relentless” illnesses were part of what pushed me to lose patience with the character. He is unsympathetic, perhaps even a sociopath, incapable of understanding anyone’s feelings but his own. Often, there didn’t seem to be any there there with Theo.
Now, I actually listened to an audio version of The Goldfinch and I think that’s one reason why I stuck with it. The narrator was quite good and his rendition of Boris was wonderful. And I was listening as a writer, trying to hear how the story ebbed and flowed. I did enjoy many of the other characters, but overall the novel sounded to me as one in a series of drafts, not the first, crude draft but not the final, polished draft either. There was so much that could have been edited out of the novel without doing a whit of harm and, more importantly, doing it much good. Theo’s journal writing would have been a nice thread to have had throughout the novel.
There was a surreal aspect to the novel, which made me cast about for comparisons. Dickens did not come to mind as anything more than Tartt “borrowing” some of Dickens’s characterizations. What I kept thinking about was Dreiser’s An American Tragedy. In both novels, two naïve young men go astray, one is spurred by his desire to be among the better classes, the other by survivor’s guilt and his desire to numb it. Both commit crimes without seeming to have the full sense of their consequences, and both seem naïve to the point of being led about by the “wrong” people. But whereas I was struck by the timeless quality of An American Tragedy, with The Goldfinch I was only struck by how long it took me to suffer through it. Oh, and that it got an effing Pulitzer.
Hello, dear friends! What an interesting week it’s been. And exhausting given that I had the luxury of roughly two weeks of staycation. Returning to work after any length of hiatus is never easy. But, still, my year started off great and I hope yours did too. To start off, when we went to have New Year’s Day lunch with friends, I got this surprise:
Yup, this is the little man (the one being held, not the one with the beard) for whom I knitted a little hat and cardigan. (Sorry it’s not a better picture but the lighting was low.) There was much oohing and ahhing around as well as gratitude that the day was cold enough for him to be all bundled up. Although I’ve knitted a fair number of garments for babies and children, I’ve rarely seen them worn in the flesh. Usually I get photos or perhaps a thank-you note since most of my handmade gifts travel thousands of miles to their recipients. I can’t imagine a better start to the New Year than this!
Now, I said going back to work is never easy. You may recall my complaining mentioning that my office mates and I were being moved back to the building from which we came two years before. I wasn’t particularly happy about this move, especially since it was done over the holidays. Also, I had a lot of wall decals to remove since I didn’t want to get accused of “interfering with state property.” So, with this move, I had resolved to spend less time “nesting” in my new digs. I consider myself a short-timer now so there’s no need to get too cozy. Yet, I have my priorities:
Cats on my computer screens (Maxine on the left, Wendy on the right)
Marking my territory.
Sitting off to my right, this kitty is ready to pounce on an unwary bird!
I had managed to salvage these wall decals and although I’m trying to eschew nesting, I’ll take whatever lifts to my mood I can get. It makes me smile to see the kitties on my door or the silhouette on my window (and I can even see her from the outside at the street level).
I’m happy to say that by the end of this week I feel reconciled to my new office if for no other reason than … well … I’m here ;)
And I’m a roll with the book reviews! A few days ago I finished Such is Life by Jeri Walker. Some of you may already know Jeri from her website, Word Bank Writing & Editing. I actually “met” Jeri through Triberr, yet another social media site that I spent too little time on. Jeri is a freelance writer and author, with a novel in progress and a few small pieces (short stories and essays) available through Amazon.
I loved the stories in Such is Life and, while reading, frequently compared Jeri’s writing (both form and content) to that of Joyce Carol Oates (totally innocent of the fact that other readers had made the same comparison). These are dark slices of life told with a sympathy that keeps you reading even when you know the ending won’t be happy. Go on over to Amazon, read my review, and then pick up a copy of Such is Life.
Finally, I want to direct you to the blog of a friend, a young man I’ve been following for some time and whose weekly updates were often sources of inspiration and validation, as well as some good eye candy. Phillip McCollum is a wonderful writer but also a dad and husband and full-time employee at a very demanding job. So, he’s making choices, thinking hard about what direction his life might/should go in. His musings echo my own. Writing is something I still care about and want to do, but these days it just feels like it has to take a back seat. Life is short. I may be able to carve out a month of crazy writing once a year, but I don’t (yet) have the discipline and focus to put my writing first every day of the year. And that’s okay.
I have plenty of books and blogs to read, yarn to knit up, places to visit, friends to write letters to. Writing is always there in some form or other.
Nothing. Yes, dear Reader, I got almost nothing for this post today. I have been fairly productive of late, but not with writing or blogging. Again, it’s the knitting.
A friend noted that the buttons on the baby sweater I knitted for a baby-to-be might not be appropriate for a baby.
Yes, they are cute cat heads but the ears are rather pointy, not too sharp against my rough old skin, but I don’t want to the buttons to be the cause of baby’s first injury. So I swap them out for these.
And, to be honest, I think these buttons are better suited. They are pretty without drawing the eye entirely away from the sweater pattern.
I hope to present the parents-to-be with the sweater and hat tonight. I’m sure they will be pleased that at least the outfit can be machine washed and dried, and yet it is wool. Merino wool, in fact, which is very soft.
Well, that’s it for now. I’m thinking (again) of changing my blogging schedule. If I aim for Fridays, then I can have all week to write and revise my posts instead of doing them half-off as I am now. We’ll see.
Oh, and what about the classes I’m taking? Well, the Modern Poetry class is a no-go for me. It’s too fragmented: too many links to follow, an audio here, a video there. Each week brings an email (or two) with several embedded links. In contrast, a class I started a long while ago (on a lark), through the same platform (Coursera) has a very simple syllabus, with all content accessible through my iPad app. The course is historical fiction and very interesting so far. I can (and have) happily watched a video lecture while knitting. I’ll say more about that class in a later post. I’m still looking forward (with eagerness and dread) to the Fiction Workshop that will be offered free through the International Writing Program. That will start on Thursday, September 24. And, no doubt, you’ll hear all about that as well.
Until then a little eye candy for all you cat lovers: my green-eyed boy Junior. Why buy a fancy cat bed when an old basket and a couple of magazines make him happy?
