Surprised by Beauty

This morning I stumbled out of bed after another restless night. I first awoke at 4:00 a.m., tossed and turned for a bit, contemplated getting up but decided to stay put a while longer.  Around 6:00 I dozed off, only to be woken again by the classical music station's version of reveille - a Sousa march which they play each morning at 7:00 a.m. Very funny.

So the aforementioned stumbling began. My thoughtful husband had generously prepared the coffee, so I poured a cup and shuffled into the living room, where I was stopped dead in my tracks by the views outside my front window.

Despite the old adage about "red sky at morning...(sailors take warning)" I was mesmerized and startled out of my doldrums.

Beauty can surprise us when we least expect it. When it does, revel in it and let it energize your heart and soul.

Sleepless in Detroit

Insomnia. It started two weeks ago when I was in Florida with my friend, and I blamed it on eating too much and exercising too little.

It continued when I came home, and I attributed it to generalized anxiety about some things which I won't go into right now but which passed uneventfully.

It didn't go away until last night, and I think I've discovered the remedy.

I'm usually a very good sleeper.  I follow a strict bedtime ritual, about which I'm quite obsessive compulsive.  Here's the prescription:

• One hour of engaging television programming (think Dancing With the Stars, Modern Family, Parenthood), enjoyed with one glass of perfectly chilled Chardonnay, followed by...
• A hot bath, after which...
• I climb directly into bed and tuck in with my book until I fall asleep.

This remedy has been successful for as long as I can remember.

But it hasn't been working for me lately. I've done everything according to plan, but I either can't fall asleep, or I fall asleep and then startle awake almost immediately, wide eyed and restless.  I've been tossing and turning, finally surrendering about 3:00 a.m. when I throw back the covers, get out of bed, and head off to my study to read.

Until last night.

I substituted for a friend in our church handbell choir.  I haven't played bells at church for over a year, but last night I rehearsed with both of our adult handbell groups, followed by Chancel Choir rehearsal.  So from 6:00 pm until 9:00 pm, I was making music with my friends.

Afterwards, I came home, watched some TV (Pan Am, which I have to say is very disappointing), took my bath, and slept like a baby.

Hmmm....

I've always had difficulty maintaining a balance between music and writing. Usually one or the other dominates my thoughts, time, and energy.  Since I quit working, I've been spending a lot of time alone, focusing my efforts on writing as well as some marketing activities for a new community theater group I'm working with.  There hasn't been much musical activity going on here (as evidenced by the layer of dust clearly visible on the piano bench). I've been spinning my mind in the same circles lately, so it was beneficial to send my focus in a different direction.

I think it's just as important to maintain healthy portions of the things that feed our passions as it is the things that feed our bodies. I just spent some time with a Mozart sonata to help me transition out of an afternoon fiddling with computer graphics and press releases.

Now I'm heading off to catch an episode of Blue Bloods on the TiVo.

Sweet dreams...

(wordpress is being extremely stubborn about the formatting on this post and will not do it the way I want it.  seriously annoying. )

Finding The Moment

"The story more or less comes down to a moment when something changes forever. It can be a little thing or it can be a big thing, but something that somehow reverberates through somebody's life in some ways."  ~Danielle Evans, author short-story collection Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self, which recently won the  PEN/Robert W. Bingham Prize for a first book.

Last week I wrote about the fear that keeps me from the page - fear of failure, fear of committment, fear of the work itself. Sometimes part of that fear is just uncertainty about where to start. Maybe I've done the research, maybe I've amassed pages scribbled sentences or scenes, maybe I have characters to die for - and maybe I don't know how to make sense of it all or where to begin.

In her interview on NPR, Danielle Evans talked about the "moment" she looks for in every story, the one that changes everything. It could be a "little thing or a big thing, but its something that reverberates through somebody's life." When she's thinking about a story, she's often thinking about "where is that moment," and "how are the other elements of the story putting pressure on it?

Pivotal moments occur not only in fiction but in nonfiction too, particularly in memoir.  There are game changing moments in every story, real or imagined. Back in my junior high school English literature class, we might have called it the "climax" of the story, the time when people react differently than you might have expected, when fate or circumstance forces them into new ways of feeling or behaving.

Finding that moment can be a way of jumping headfirst into a story or essay.  Like being tossed overboard into the deep end of the pool, you must overcome your fear and start paddling like crazy.

Before you know it, you're swimming.

A Word About Autumn

Autumn is a second spring, and every leaf a flower. ~Albert Camus

I treated myself to this package of beautiful postcards bearing this splendid crimson leaf, a true autumnal flower.

I've been writing on them with my lovely fountain pen, copying snippets of verse about this favorite season.

If you love autumn and would like a word or two about it to flutter into your mailbox someday soon, send me your address (to beccasbookstack (at) gmail (dot) com) and one will come winging its way to you.

Time Machine

Yesterday was my husband's birthday, so I took him on a little trip in a time machine.  After a long lunch (which included his favorite cocktail as a special treat) we spent the afternoon meandering around Greenfield Village.  The streets were nearly empty, and we walked at our leisure across the green, through the covered bridge, past the Suwanee River boathouse, and around the chapel where we were married over 35 years ago. Jim had a long talk with one of the glassblowers in the craft area, and I learned that my husband has always been fascinated with that art form - who knew? The streets were nearly empty so it was pleasant and even a bit surreal. The sky was alternately overcast and sunny, so we felt either a cool shiver down our spines or a warm glow on our face. Occasionally a Model T would rumble past us or the train engine would belch and snort as it went around the bend.

Sitting on the patio at the Taste of History cafe, sipping hot coffee and sharing a chocolate chip cookie, it felt as if we'd stepped back in time, away from the stresses of work (his) and the pile of paperwork on the piano (mine). We'd wandered into a place where life seemed simpler and easier, where you might work an eight hour day, share dinner around the table with your family, spend the evening reading, taking a walk, visiting with friends, listening to the radio.

You all know how I fantasize about the Mitford way of life, the kind of slow paced lifestyle epitomized in Jan Karon's series novels set in that small town nestled in the foothills of North Carolina.

I had a taste of it yesterday afternoon, and it felt wonderful.

So I made a vow to return as often as I can before the snow flies, to soak up the serenity of a more peaceful time gone by.

How about you? Do you have a favorite place to go back in time?