On Schedule

I’m a full-time believer in writing habits…You may be able to do without them if you have genius but most of us only have talent and this is simply something that has to be assisted all the time by physical and mental habits or it dries up and blows away…Of course you have to make your habits in this conform to what you can do. I write only about two hours every day because that’s all the energy I have, but I don’t let anything interfere with those two hours, at the same time and the same place.  ~Flannery O'Connor

Four months ago I quit my job. There were many reasons for that decision, but one of the things I hoped to do was to spend more time writing. Within weeks of making that decision to quit working, I learned that my first grandchild was on the way. This pregnancy was a long hoped for event, and one that was very important to me and to our family. Now I would be able to spend more time with him, help my son and daughter in law in this new adventure. So I felt confident that the gods had lined things up nicely for me, and were in fact smiling upon my decision.

Since it's been over 30 years since I cared for an infant, I started doing some reading about the latest thinking on the subject. During those first few months at home, new parents are advised to let the baby take the lead. Don't try putting them on a schedule, let them eat as often as they want. When they cry, pick them up and cuddle them, give them lots of attention and together time.

Indulge their every whim.

That fits quite nicely with my ideas about infant care. And it also mirrors the relationship I've had with my writing in the past four months. I've indulged my muse, let it take the lead with all this new free time. I've been writing whenever I felt like it, and if that meant three hours one day and 20 minutes the next, that's how it played out.

After three or four months, the child rearing experts advise parents to try and develop some semblance of a schedule. The baby is older now, feeling more secure about his place in the family. It won't hurt to let him cry for a few minutes after he wakes up, leave him alone in his crib while you take a quick shower or put in a load of laundry. Figure out a schedule that works for your family, and ease the baby into it.

I think that's probably good advice for my writing life as well.  "You have to make your habits in this conform to what you can do..." O'Connor writes. Because she suffered from a chronic illness, she "only had the energy" to write for two hours per day. "But I don't let anything interfere with those two hours, at the same time and the same place."

 Forming any kind of habit takes willpower. Part of that willpower involves creating a schedule - the same time and place - and sticking to it. But I also also have to be realistic.  Although I spent seven or eight hours every day at my office job,  I know I'm not ready or able to commit that kind of time to my writing - not yet anyway. I've chosen to dedicate two hours every morning to writing...not internet surfing, not blog reading/commenting, not social networking.

Writing.

Putting words on the page.

To help me be accountable, I'm putting my blogs on a similar schedule. I'm committing to posting daily, alternating between the three blogs, so there is new content somewhere every day.

Here's to forming good habits for the writing life, and for life in general.

Do you believe in writing habits? Do you have a schedule? What works best for you?

The Countdown Begins...

You all know which one I'm talking about. Not the Halloween countdown.

Not the Thanksgiving countdown.

Not even the Christmas countdown.

It's the Connor countdown.

It's just less than four weeks until our grandson is due to arrive.

"Wow, that went fast!" I said to my husband the other night as we marked the date by buying the baby yet another present.

"Well, it probably doesn't seem so fast to Nantana," he replied.

True. My tiny little daughter-in-law is getting pretty unwieldy these days. The last weeks of pregnancy are always uncomfortable downright miserable. By the time labor begins you want that kid out of there so badly you don't even care how painful the process is.

Throughout the pregnancy I've been thoroughly impressed with Connor's parents, and their level of preparedness. They've completed all the necessary classes, installed the car seat and practiced removing it from its cradle, set up the crib and play yard, arranged all the little clothes in the closet, laid in a good supply of diapers.

They've even submitted the paperwork for Connor's birth certificate and Social Security number. After all we must make sure Uncle Sam can identify him right from the get-go.

But as my friend C. and I discussed earlier today, you're never really prepared for the way having a child changes your life.  Not just the nitty gritty details of everyday living, but your entire perception of the world. You can never quite reproduce the kind of attachment, the deep and abiding sense of love, the awesome sense of responsibility, or the utter wonder of it all that you experience when you bring a child into the world.

I'm not sure I even got the full impact of it until much later, when my son was all grown up and on his own. Looking back over 20 or 25 years, seeing the trajectory of a life you've created and nurtured, you become aware of just how miraculous it all really is.

And now it's about to start all over again.

So let the countdown continue.  I know I'm ready.

Welcome Home

Aside from the plane ride home, our trip to Disney World last week was smooth sailing all the way. We got in right on time, grabbed our luggage and our little rental car, drove out to the resort, got a room in our favorite building with our favorite view, and were even able to check in four hours early. We had a nice lunch on the patio at the resort cafe, exchanged our jeans for shorts and our tennis shoes for sandals, and walked right over to Epcot to scope out the offerings at the Food and Wine Festival, where we enjoyed a roving dinner munching on things like scallops from New Zealand, shrimp on the barbie from Australia, chicken souvlaki from Greece, and lobster rolls from Maine.

The next two days were just as fortuitous. The promised thunderstorms never materialized, we met up with some old friends from church who are seasonal employees at Disney and spend a wonderful day eating and visiting with them. We were able to see our favorite singing group (The Voices of LIberty) at Epcot just before we left, and even pick up a toy for our grandson - his first Disney souvenir.

It was a whirlwind trip, but a good one.

We've been Disney fans since our first time at the parks, way back in 1989. In 1995, we became members of their Vacation Club, and so when we enter any of the resorts at Disney, we're always greeted with the words "Welcome Home!" The Vacation Club properties are spacious and homelike, and Disney really wants is members to feel comfortable. When we're in Orlando, we prefer to stay in the Old Key West Resort.  It's some distance from the parks, the accommodations are much larger than any of the other properties, and it has a lovely, relaxed, Old Florida feeling. Since we were there last year, the property has been renovated with hardwood floors, granite countertops in the kitchen, new furniture and window coverings, and flat screen TV's. Wireless internet is now available in every guest area, so your social network needn't suffer while you're on vacation.

Welcome Home, indeed.

We've been to Disney so many times, we really don't even spend much time in the parks anymore. We enjoy renting a boat and putting around Lake Buena Vista, taking the shuttle over to Downtown Disney and seeing a movie, or just sitting on our little balcony watching the ducks in the river that runs beside it.

We spent a little time talking about the fact that our Disney Vacation Club might

become our main Florida Vacation Home, since we may be selling our house in Naples this winter. We thought we could probably live with that - it won't be quite the same, of course, as having a whole house to ourselves.  But during the cold Michigan winters, a place of refuge in a warm climate can be a very welcome home.

And we're grateful for it.

How about you? Do you have a home away from home? If you don't, where is your dream refuge from the cold winters of your everyday life?

A Moment of Silence

Silence was in short supply on our trip home from Orlando Wednesday night. The plane was late and overcrowded, and naturally there were lots of small children. It wasn't long until I was desperate for Tinkerbell's wand so I could whisk them all off to Never-Never Land. Sitting directly behind us were twins about 18 months old who took turns screaming for the entire two hour flight.  Their three-year old sibling joined in whenever she was forced to sit in her own seat with her seat belt fastened.   As if in sympathy, at least half a dozen other little ones occasionally chimed into the chorus.  Even my husband's expensive noise canceling headphones weren't enough to drown out the cacophony.

I wanted to be patient and sympathetic. Before long, we'll have a little traveler of our own in the family, and one day he might be just as loud and obnoxious on a plane trip as the trio behind me was last night. But I was tired too, it was late, I had watched all the TV shows on my iPad and my eyes felt too strained to read. By the time we drove home in the cold, blustery rain, I was done in and could easily have thrown a good hissy fit of my own.

I've been flying for a long time but not long enough to have experienced airplane travel in its heyday, as depicted on the new TV show Pan Am.  According to my husband, who has been flying since he was a toddler, traveling on a jet plane was once very much like the elegant, relaxing experience that show reflects. Apart from the blatant sexism and the despicable objectification of women, (which could be the subject of another post entirely) flying seemed to be a very nice experience. The stewardess' were practically beauty queens, passengers were treated like royalty, and libations flowed freely. The cabins were spacious and comfortable, and the travelers comfort and convenience was paramount.

In return, I imagine passengers held themselves to a higher standard as well. One of my friends traveled extensively with her four children back in the 1960's, and recalls that preparing for an airplane trip was something like dressing for church. "We all got new outfits for the plane ride," she said, which included jackets and ties for the boys. "People often dressed up to fly back then - it was a big occasion!"

What a change. Planes are packed to the gills with people lugging their huge carry-ons, totes, and computers aboard. They've dressed as casually and comfortably as possible so they won't set off any alarms going through security. Besides, it's miserable enough to be stuffed into a tiny seat with only six inches of leg room- who needs panty hose and neckties? Garbled announcements are repeated on the loudspeaker, urging everyone to move out of the aisle and take their seats as soon as possible so the plane can push back from the gate and be considered "on time" for departure.

No wonder children cry. I feel like crying too.

So I propose a moment of silence, to help my eardrums recover from the din last night, and in memory of the days when flying was something to celebrate.

**For travel stories with a much more positive spin, read Traveling Light, Colleen Freisen's delightful accounts of her exotic journeys. She's recently spent some time in an ashram in India, which makes my recent travel experiences simply pale in comparison.**

Rolling in Ecstasy

“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” —Franz Kafka. I can only imagine the blog traffic that will come my way thanks to the title of this post. But it's such a brilliant observation, I felt it warranted some extra exposure.

It's not easy to be still in our 21st century world. There's a constant barrage of information, coming at us from cell towers and internet and television and radio. There are so many demands on our time, and even though we have conveniences that ostensibly make everyday living so much easier, they all require some degree of attention which can distract us from our own thoughts.

The other day, Andi wrote about coloring, and the way performing a quiet, somewhat mindless physical activity allowed her mind to freely roam through its own fields and pastures, happening upon all sorts of lovely thoughts springing up like wildflowers along the way. I get the same reaction when I go walking. My body moves by rote, and being outdoors with the wind in my hair and warm sun on my face releases my imagination from the stranglehold of everyday life so that ideas offer themselves for "unmasking," as Kafka says, and "roll in ecstasy" at my feet.

We pay so little attention to our innermost thoughts, pushing them away in favor of all those other demands. When we finally allow ourselves to notice them, it's like the sloppy display of gratitude you get from your dogs when you've been gone too long. They jump and wriggle and yelp and roll in ecstasy at your feet.

So find some time to be still today, whatever stillness means to you. Invite your deepest thoughts to come out of hiding, and let the world offer itself to you for unmasking.

See what ecstasy you might find rolling at your feet.