Where I've Been...

Amidst the zany-ness of the holidays and the busy-ness of semester's end, I get glimmerings of what the next year might bring. Small flashes--I think of them as portents--come to me in my night and day dreams, and likely reflect my hopes and desires. Of course, these glimmerings come from where I've traveled this past year. So to make sense of my future I need to take stock of its foundation.

Physically, I've traveled many places this past year. In visiting my son, I've gotten to know Utah more than I'd ever thought possible, and come to appreciate her grand mountains and gentle people and mercurial weather. With my graduate students, I attended a conference outside of Los Angeles, and we've walked Venice Beach, dipped our toes in the warm Pacific. I've visited family in Massachusetts and North Carolina, always a blessing. I traveled briefly to New Orleans and marveled at that City's resilience and grace and eccentricity. I spent a week in Taos, a magical place, with a gracious and strong writer friend who I consider a soul mate. I could spend every night watching the skies in New Mexico shift under God's paintbrush.

Literally, I've struggled, for the first time, with my writing. My novels overwhelm me; just as I think they're finished, something surprises me--an omission, a plot hole, a character flaw--and I fix these, and revise again. And again. And again. I ache to write new words, fiction and non-fiction ideas that wake me up at night. And I will, once I have wrangled these other two beasts to the ground and sent them out to others. I have begun that quixotic search for agents and received personal rejections already. Which feels good because it means I'm almost hitting the sweet spot, and I am letting these stories go.

Physically, I have pushed envelopes. I zip-lined down a mountain in Park City, surfed on synthetic waves, climbed a rock face. Big deals for someone afraid of heights. I'm learning karate with my daughter, which also pushes me.

Spiritually and emotionally, I've moved from a reactive place to a proactive one. I am learning to let go of the emotions surrounding expectations and outcomes. As a Type-A, this is difficult for me. But as I relinquish control to outcomes--mine and others'--I find myself feeling lighter, freer somehow. Also, I realize that there is very little 'real' control; rather, it's my perception of control that has paralyzed me in the past. I've also come to value relationship above all else--spending time in the creek with my daughter, climbing rock faces with my son, coffee and yoga with friends, Saturday nights with my husband. People ground me.

In a nutshell, this is where I've been this past year. What about you? Where have you traveled, physically or literally? Peace...

 

Wassup?

In  between the time of my last blog post and this one, I could've birthed a baby. A preemie, mind you, but a healthy one. So wassup with me? Where have I been?

Lot's is up, and I've been lots of places. Mostly, my attention's focused on family: my kids, my husband, the animals (one deaf cat, bunny, three mice, and two betta fish). My son is in private school in Utah, which is mighty far from Baltimore. He's doing well; it seems a good dose of maturity kicked in on his 16th birthday. Ditto with my daughter, three years younger. Dear husband will get his extra dose of maturity later this week, when he turns a year older.

This year, I've pushed envelopes: I've zip lined down mountains, surfed in a man-made wave machine, sewn two handbags, and even ridden a horse. I have hugged the huge pine that Georgia O'Keefe once rested under, her face to the sky. I've hiked into wind caves and swum in icy mountain lakes. On the emotional and spiritual sides, even more envelopes pushed. All have served to make me more whole and more grounded.

And I have learned to say no.

Travel? Mostly due to family and work--and my writing. For work, I've traveled locally, to Washington DC and the Chesapeake Bay. For family, I've visited Mom in North Carolina and Mom-in-Law in Massachusetts. As a family, we've traveled to Utah twice, and I'm heading out again for a third trip. I spent a long weekend in a hobbit cabin with my daughter and her friend in deep Creek, Maryland, where we wrote, swam, and ate. And I spent a week writing in Taos, one of my spiritual homes, with a dear friend.

But the best journeying I've done in my head and with my hand, helping my characters continue to fumble through their lives. I am writing again, and revising; I've suffered not from writer's block but more a paralysis of the soul. For I have written, but in my personal journal, stuff I'll never share (though it make permute into my stories and poems eventually) because it is too raw.

I'm back on facebook. Back on twitter. Find me. there or here. Tell me what's new with you. I have missed you.

Peace...

Here, Everyone Smiles

And why shouldn't they--they live in sunny San Diego.

The day job took me west to discuss problems of geriatric health with like-minded colleagues. Although I spent my fair share in dimmed conference halls soaking up knowledge or, hopefully, imparting it, the sun beckoned through tinted windows.

How the heck does anyone get anything done here?

Sure, I can see how washing down your gazillion-foot yacht might be an okay task, or driving the water taxi that takes you to and fro between San Diego and Coronado, or even serving at hostess at one of the uber-nice restaurants doting the harborside.

But seriously? Work?

We ate well, too well--sushi made with snow crab, grilled sea diver scallops, tapas of Rioja-braised ribs and vanilla-lacquered pork belly, house-made spinach and basil ravioli. Topped off with a pilgrimmage to Extraordinary Desserts (and no, I was with friends--we shared the two cakes, one a passion-fruit ricotta, the other a chocolated-up tiramisu cake. But the cappucino is all mine).

 



 We traipsed to Balboa Park one afternoon, to visit the Marston House, one of the finest examples of arts-and-crafts architecture. Chock full of Stickleys and Rookwoods and Native American rugs and such. There, I found my dream writer's spot.

 

After my last presentation I made my own mecca--to the Pacific Ocean. I found myself not wanting but needing to walk in the Pacific's cold surf, to hear the roar and tumble of it's waves. I took the ferry to Coronado and walked the 1.5 miles to the beach. The sand fine as dust between my toes, I walked for two hours, pelicans and gulls overhead, the waves crashing hard, the occasional happy shout of someone as they body-surfed onto shore.

I found a sort of peace there, one that quelled a recent restlessness. A good trip, but happy to return home, or at least my family, as we join more family in chilly New England.

Have a restful and blessed Thanksgiving. Peace...