Notebookism

I freely admit to being a notebook-a-holic. I suspect there are a few more of my ilk out there~you know who you are ;) Of course, not just one notebook at a time will do. I usually have several going on at once, and they all serve very distinct purposes.

Like these....

The array of pastel colored beauties are my favorite kind for Morning Pages- the cover is vinyl, so it makes a hard surface of its own for writing on. And who can resist the great colors! I found a whole box of there at the Dollar Store~got so excited, I completely forgot everything else I intended to shop for!

Speaking of Morning Pages, it's been one year this month since I started that practice. This pile of spiral notebooks is full of my morning thoughts for the past year...a very fine collection of drivel, I must say...

Certainly there are more noteworthy things in my life that just don't fit into the morning pages category. So, for shopping lists, reminders about books I want to read, inspirational quotes, and doodles, I have this...

And of course, every aspiring writer absolutely must have one of these...the famous Moleskinerie. I use mine for jotting down ideas, rough drafts of poems, copying notes from writing books, etc.

I have one notebook that's just too pretty to use. It was a Christmas gift from my father and his wife. I'm saving it for something really special...don't know what just yet. Any ideas??

So, there you have it. My life in notebooks.

How about you?? Any other notebook-a-holics willing to come out of the closet and admit to their passion??

'N' Country - (A Meme)

I kind of like getting tagged for meme's - it appeals to the schoolgirl in me who always secretly liked homework (another weird thing about me!) And this one was just my cup of tea - a little research project. So, thanks Annie. Here's the assignment, and my answers, all nice and neat.

1. Take a country whose name begins with the last letter of your surname. (a) Jane Doe would take Ecuador, for example, or Egypt. England (like the USA and Ireland) does not qualify. Wole Soyinka would take Angola, or Afghanistan. If you can't find a country with that letter (and only then), move back a step. (b) Jane Doe would take Oman, in that case. And as for Wole Soyinka, he would go for Kazakhstan, or Korea;
2. Tell us what the capital city of the country is;
3. Say how many inhabitants that country has;
4. Find and share with us a poem in English of not more than 20 lines from that country. If it's longer, cut it to twenty lines or less;
5. Tell us something you particularly like about the poem you've chosen;
6. Add a line anywhere in the poem (beginning, middle or end), and clearly show which line is yours to avoid confusion and/or ambiguity.

My last name ends with the letter "N", and my country of choice was the Netherlands. It's a densley populated country (16,570,610 in the 2007 census), whose capital city is Amsterdam. The Netherlands is popularly known for its windmills, cheese, delft and gouda pottery, dikes, tulips, bicycles, and social tolerance!

In researching poetry from this country, I was most struck by the work of this young woman, Albertina Soepboer, born 1969 in the small town of Holwerd. She writes poetry in both Frisian and Dutch, and has so far published seven collections of poems. Poetry International says this about her: In her early collections, Soepboer showed herself a sensitive researcher of the female identity, displaying her exceptional talent for powerful earthy, sensory images.

I noticed that several of Soepboer's poems referenced pianists and music, which of course drew me to them particularly. I love the images this poem conjures up - the starkness of eboby and ivory keys, the freezing cold of winter, all colored by the royal blue mittens, and the warmth of the music and the feelings it engendered. (I added the fourth stanza.)

DECEMBER IS THE COOLEST MONTH

Never before had the moon been freezing cold. I bought a pair of royal-blue mittens for him.

Our first day he played Satie. Pure happiness, a windowsill, ten fingers flying through space.

Hands darted over ebony and ivory, glinted off ice crystals. The tone not just set but made.

Tears fell from my heart. Icy chambers locked

and frozen in silence at last began to melt.

The way we stood there, later, by the window. White, winter music we were, and warm too.

My Life in Cars

Although I've never done the meme going around which calls upon you to list eight "weird" things about yourself, I'd probably add this as a somewhat unusual thing for a woman of my age and situation - I love cars. Always have. When I was very small, my favorite toys were Matchbox cars and a Fisher Price Gas Station, and by the time I was three, I could name virtually every make and model car on the streets, a dubious talent my parents delighted in parading for their friends. As I grew up, my interest in automobiles grew proportionately, and I harbored secret (and very unrealistic!) dreams of being the Danica Fitzpatrick of my generation. And truthfully, although I met Jim when I was 13 years old, I really didn't have much interest in him until he started driving a 1971 black Mustang Limited Edition, with "mag" wheels and and a 350 V-8. Yes, my husband is quite definitely a "car guy," so you can imagine the kind of automotive crazy genes we passed along to our son.

I form attachments to the family cars, and everybody knows I'll be crying buckets when it's time to say goodbye to a well loved machine, no matter how much I'm looking forward to it's replacement. I've been fortunate enough to have some really nice cars in my day - my first car, a 72 Nova 350 gave way to a 75 Pontiac Trans Am, followed closely by a 78 Silver Anniversary Corvette. I got pregnant about the same time I got that car, though, and it's not really a family friendly machine. It was in the early 80's that my love for sports cars had to give way to the more practical sedans befitting a young suburban mom.

Growing up in Detroit, the motor capitol of the world, with parents and relatives all working for one or the other of the Big Three, I suppose it's natural to develop an interest in cars. For me, though, I think cars are all about freedom. When I get in my car, the open road before me, life suddenly presents itself as full of opportunity. With the windows down, the wind in my hair, and my foot pressed very firmly to the gas, I can let all the cares and worries of the workday world go streaming away behind me. Suddenly, I'm no longer a 50'ish menopausal matron - I'm 16 or 25, or, hell, even 40! with all kinds of fun ahead of me. That feeling is just enhanced all the more by a sleek, hard edged, preferably black sports car, with a throaty growly going on under the hood.

Of course, all this car talk is just a lead in to talking about the new car I got yesterday. I've been in a real quandry about what kind of car to get, knowing the lease on my 04 Grand Prix was going to run out. I've been driving Pontiac's for the last 8 years, and was just in the mood for something different. I nearly bought a Lincoln MKZ, the fashionable new sport sedan that seems to be all the rage among "women of my age." It was probably the comment from a friend of mine (a 73 year old gentleman who is a Porsche afficianado and world traveler) that put the kibosh on that car.

"Come on!" he said, with a note of derision in his voice when I told him I would probably get the Lincoln. "You don't want to drive that old lady car."

Damn right I don't! So, I opted for something a little different - not totally off the wall, but a definite departure from the cars I've been driving recently. It's a Saab 9-3 Turbo, a compact European style sedan with tight steering and a turbocharged engine that gives it a nice little kick on the highway.

I'll still be piling the dogs inside, and hauling my mom to the grocery store and mall, but once I'm on my own, I'm looking forward to opening up the sunroof, and letting my hair (and spirits!) fly.

So now, you'll have to excuse me, because it's Sunday, and I'm off to do some driving...

Solstice

As I sit in my "writing room" tonight, I hear the distant echo of fireworks, early Independence Day celebrations from a neighboring community. I love fireworks - the surprising explosions of color that fill the night sky, the anticipatory thunder announcing their appearance. In my mind's eye I see marvelous eruptions of color - reds, greens, purples, blues- in spectacular and surprising patterns, emerging like kaleidoscopes in front of my eyes. I'm still easing into this summer routine, these days that suddenly have so many more hours than I've been used to, hours when the sun keeps shining long after I expect it to have sunken to sleep in its bed on the western horizon. All this extra time reminds me of these fireworks that I love so much - hours that explode in front of me like brilliant gifts, evoking ooohs and aahs from the depths of my spirit. What should I do with this unexpected gift of time~should I write? play the piano? walk the dogs? ride my bike? read? weed my flower beds? call a friend?

"I'm restless," I said to my husband, "yet I don't feel like doing anything."

"Then don't," he replied, an easy answer from someone who never seems disturbed by that persistent itching of obligation and imagination, the combination of which drives me to incessant and often unnecessary activity.

So I took to my chair and sat, listening to children playing merrily in a yard whose location I couldn't quite identify, but reveling in their summer joy wherever it might be. Slouched in my plastic Adirondack chair, my feet propped on a square table, I sipped cold white wine and turned my face toward the blood red sun, still fixed proudly in the evening sky.

We have just passed the summer solstice, (from the Latin sol for sun and sistere for standing still) the time when the earth "stands still" in a moment that has come to mark the separation of seasons. Time seems to stand still for me in during the summer, unmarked by the many obligations that fill my fall-winter-spring days. During those seasons, I feel myself on a perpetual merry-go-round of frenetic activity, and life becomes a whirling dervish that makes me dizzy and seasick. When I turn my calendar to June, it's as if I've jumped off the ride and landed smack on my knees in the sand. Suddenly, the world stops spinning at its mad and hectic pace, and I sit for a while, dazed and confused, trying to get my bearings in this new and quieter place.

I have made no plans for this summer, no lists of things to do, no resolutions about what I hope to accomplish in this all too brief respite from the hustle -bustle of life during the academic year. My only plan is to focus on the solstice - on standing still and experiencing the marvelous and unexpected explosions of color, the fireworks of summer.

Is This Really Necessary?

Ahh, summertime, and the livin' is easy. This past week has been soooo quiet and slow, I find myself wandering around the house almost...dare I say it?....bored. Ironically enough, it seems my office job always slows down in summer, and, coupled with summer recess for all my school and church music activities, I suddenly find myself with lots of free time. So, what have I been doing to pass the time? Starting a vigorous new exercise program? Working like a demon on revising my novel? Doing all kinds of good deeds for my many friends and neighbors?

No.

Mostly this week, I've been loafing. I figure I've earned a few days of goofing off. For instance, this morning, after the ritual walking of the dogs, I hopped into the car and headed off to do some errands. I made an amazingly fast run through the drive-through at the bank, then an even quicker trip to Home Depot to pick up a couple more hanging baskets of petunias. Before heading on to the grocery store, I decided to stop at the Panera Bread next door to Home Depot, and indulge myself in a mid-morning coffee break.

At 10:45, the place was quite deserted, so I had my choice of tables, inside or out. With a cloudless blue sky, gentle breeze, and temperatures about 72 degrees, the choice was easy. I settled into one of several empty tables, sipped my coffee, while desultorily looking through a copy of the morning paper someone had left behind. Ahh, peace~what a treat!

Suddenly, a young woman burst through the door, followed by her male companion. I barely glanced up, because I was busy watching a mother duck leading her five babies across the grass toward a small decorative pond. The couple settled into the table behind me - they were both in their early 30's, dressed in business casual, and carrying some paperwork with them.

"I didn't mean to be so late," the young woman started explaining, in quite a loud alto voice. "My damn clock somehow got screwed up and I didn't wake up until about 20 minutes ago."

"No problem," her companion said. "Let just look at the schedule for next week, and we can...."

Loud electronic music begins to play. "Shit!" the young woman says. "Hang on. I've got to get that."

At this point, I decided to try and tune all this out, finish up my coffee and move on. After all, I'd been enjoying myself out there alone for all of 20 minutes - what more could I ask?

"Well, that is just all f...ed up!" came the young woman's vehement cry. "You just tell her there's no way in hell that I'll put up with that! That just really makes me so f....ing mad!"

A moment of silence.

"No way! You can just tell her to go f... herself! Yeah! Allright. Okay, Mom. See you later."

Now, I'm really not a prude, and I readily admit to using, well, colorful language on occasion. However... is this kind of verbiage necessary? And, in a conversation with your mother, while sitting in a public place with a co-worker?

There appears to be a trend toward using four letter words as normal adjectives in daily and very public conversation. It seeems to me a mark not only of disrespect, but of total igonorance. Had I been sitting at that table with a young child, would she have bothered to moderate her language? I rather doubt it. Because this young woman seemed totally oblivious to the fact that her words and tone could be offensive. She also seemed totally oblivious that anyone else was in the area, as is she and her concerns were the most important things going on in the universe. Once again, I found myself shocked and dismayed at the amazing self-centeredness that people can display.

Shaking my head, I tossed my empty cup into the trash, and headed toward my car, determined not to let this display of bad behavior spoil my day. That would just be too f(oul)ed up for words.