Sweet Spot

When I recently decided to return to my handbell group for a "limited engagement," I was a little bit anxious about what my bell assignment would be. If you're not familiar with handbells, they're actually set up like a piano keyboard in which each player is assigned a certain number of bells which correspond to notes on the page. I've played in enough positions to feel comfortable with almost any of them (except the big bass bells, which are physically more than I can handle). But there are a few places on the bell table where I'm much more sure of myself than others. So when the director contacted me and said she'd like to assign me to the E and F (6) position, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. That position was where I first learned to play four-in-hand (the technique of holding two handbells in each hand and playing them simultaneously) and where I played for the majority of my years in bell choirs.

That's my sweet spot.

You all have those spots, don't you? Places in your work that you feel so comfortable because you know what you're doing, know how to work around the kinks, know what the pitfalls are, and have so much experience in this one area that you could write a book about it.

When you're in the sweet spot, you have confidence in your ability, you can rise to greater levels of achievement because you've mastered the basics.

You can have a lot more fun.

So for the past couple of weeks, I've been reveling in the sweet spot in more ways than one. Music lifts my spirits like nothing else can. This morning, even though we'd had a long weekend of extra rehearsals, it felt so good to be playing again, to be thinking about music and all the little nuances that elevate a performance from good to great. It took my mind off all the other not-so-sweet things that have been dragging me down lately. And it provided me with a surge of inspiration to tackle a writing project I've been procrastinating, an added and much appreciated side benefit.

I also realized that playing music makes me feel more like ME than anything else I do. I think music itself is my own personal sweet spot in life - the area where I'm most comfortable, where I feel the most confidence in my abilities, where I have the most fun. As much as I love to write, I don't always feel that way when confronted with the blank page.

I suspect we'd all be a lot happier, more productive individuals if we could spend more time in our sweet spots.

I know I would.

How about you? What's your sweet spot in life? Do you get to spend enough time there?

Let's Start Over, OK?

Remember when I wrote about our New Year's Eve pizza bonanza, and my idea that getting all that unexpected free pizza was a sign that 2012 would bring us "more than we expected" in other ways? Well, it has.

But not necessarily in a good way.

Sure, the weather has been delightful instead of frightful. But that's about all I can say.

Last night at choir rehearsal I learned another friend had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer, while another had suffered a serious mental collapse, and a third was in the hospital following a possible "brain bleed." My mental worry list has now stretched even farther across my brain, adding these folks to my heightened concerns about my dad, and my sadness over the impending death of my neighbor.

When we came home from rehearsal, I went outside with the dogs. It finally turned cold and blustery, and I was trying to hurry them inside. As I followed them through the back door, I tripped over my own toes and went sprawling on my face, landing my entire weight <crack> on the bridge of my nose.

And in case you ever wondered - yes, you do see stars.

And yes, there is an obvious, tiny broken spot just south of the bridge.

I'd like to start January over, please. I'm declaring this National Do Over week. Let's do the Etch-A-Sketch trick, shake up the past two weeks, and erase them so we can start again with more positive experiences this time around.

Anybody with me?

How about you? Has your year so far been delightful or frightful?

The bright spot in an otherwise troubling month? Seeing this little face pop up almost daily in my in-box:

Putting It Out There

But I still encourage anyone who feels at all compelled to write to do so. I just try to warn people that publication is not all that it is cracked up to me. But writing is. Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises. That thing you had to force yourself to do - the actual act of writing - turns out to be the best part. It's like discovering that while you thought you needed the tea ceremony for the caffeine, what you really needed was the tea ceremony. The act of writing turns out to be its own reward. ~Ann Lamott in Bird by Bird

People write for all different reasons, and lately I've been struggling a little bit to determine my own. I've been reading a lot of blogs about writing, people who've managed to parlay their blog writing into successful businesses, people who have published successful eBooks based on their blogs, people who teach writing. People who spend a lot of time promoting their work on all sorts of social media sites.

Honestly, it's made me feel a bit like a slacker. Like maybe I'm being lazy, just sitting here contentedly writing my little blogs every week.

Like I'm missing the boat.

So when I'm feeling confused about my personal writing experience I turn to some of my favorite "teachers."

Like Ann Lamott. She says that sometime when we think we need the tea ceremony for the caffeine, all we need is the tea ceremony.

Do I need caffeine? Do I need to put myself out there for the big payoff? Or do I just need to write - about life in general and my own in particular, about the books I love and hope you'll love too, about this writing life that I try (on my best days) to live?

I suspect I'm more of a ceremonial person than a caffeine oriented person.

Not that I don't want to work at writing, to get better at it- because I do.

Not that I don't want other people to read my writing - because I do.

But writing is a very personal means of expression for me and being able to set my thoughts and ideas on paper is hugely rewarding. I don't need to worry about blog stats or Facebook "likes." I don't have to "follow" a zillion people on Twitter.

All I have to do is write. That's the payoff.

And it's fine for me.

How about you? Do you go for the caffeine in your writing life, or are you happy with the ceremony?

A Gift From the Weather Gods

Sun warm on my face. Blue, cloudless skies. A gentle breeze. Michigan in January? No way.

Yes, way.

Today, in fact.

Today I wore my new winter jacket when I walked this morning, but started sweating and had to unzip it after 10 minutes. (Frankly, I'd be perfectly happy if I didn't have to wear this extra warm jacket again all winter. At least I was smart enough to look for an online coupon from Eddie Bauer before I bought it.)

Today, I hung curtains on the outside clothesline at 3:00 in the afternoon and they were sun dried, wind-ironed, and ready to hang at 4:00.

Today, I sat on my back porch steps wearing only a hooded sweatshirt and drank hot tea while the dogs chased squirrels around the pine trees.

There is something unnatural about this gentle winter. The ground is dry, the grass is still green(ish). Who can believe this is winter, after the last two years of harsh daily snows and pervasive gray skies.

"Payback's going to be hell," someone said the other day, expecting that winter will kick in with a vengenance. And this morning, the weather forecaster did warn us of impending winter doom by the end of the week- colder temperatures, a rain/snow mix, and a jet stream that brings long-lasting cold in its wake.

You'd never know it by today's weather, though. Just like life in general, the world can be rosy and warm one minute, but turn icy cold and brutal in the wink of an eye.

Still, it's been lovely while it lasted. At least the weather is testament to my New Year's Eve prediction that 2012 would bring us "more than we expected." More warmth, more sunshine, more nice days than I can recall in all 55 of my Michigan winters.

Why Re-Organizing Cupboards Has Been the High Point of My Week

If you read last week's Write on Wednesday post, you know I'm on an organizing kick. Clutter control is my New Year tradition - some people join the gym or go on a diet, I clean closets and dresser drawers. This year my efforts are more purposeful than usual.  I've got my eye on moving, and I'm trying to make a tiny dent in the collection of stuff that's been growing here since 1976. In the process, I'm also re-organizing the way I store things, which might seem silly after all these years, but it's helping me start to think about what works best in terms of cupboard and closet space, something I had no idea about when I moved in this house as a 20-year-old bride.

My biggest problem area is the kitchen. I'm short, and it's hard for me to reach anything stored higher than the lowest cupboard shelf, a problem that's been compounded by the fact that I've shrunk in height during the past five years. I have very little counter or wall space, and don't have room for a spice rack, so for the past 35 years, my spice jars have all stood on the middle shelf of the cupboard. Invariably, three or four tip over while trying to find the one I want. They fall out, clattering to the floor and sending the dogs skittering out of the kitchen in fear.  I noticed that my daughter in law has this wonderful little tiered shelf in the cupboard for her spices. So I made a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond, and got not one, but two of these clever contraptions.

I was absurdly excited about arranging my spices on the rack. It fit perfectly onto that shelf, and all the spices looked so neat lined up on it. Problem was, I still couldn't reach them on that middle shelf without tipping half of them over.

Wait a minute, I thought to myself in a flash of inspiration. Why not change the whole cupboard around and put the spices on the bottom shelf?

You're probably rolling on the floor laughing by now. I know, it sounds ridiculous to live somewhere for 35 years and never change the way you organize your cupboards. But you get used to having things a certain way, and it simply never occurs to you to change them.

At least, it didn't to me.

Until Wednesday, when I rearranged all six shelves in that cupboard.

Next hurdle - how long would it take before I "unlearned" where everything was kept? In other words, how many times would I open the wrong cupboard and reflexively reach in for the bread, or the napkins, or the Worcester sauce?

I'm happy to report that I've only done it wrong two or three times. I think I've already retrained my brain, an accomplishment that makes me feel quite pleased.

All this cupboard cleaning has provided a satisfying diversion from what has been an otherwise sad week. This week I learned that my father has had a recurrence of colon cancer, and that his kidney is failing. He also told me that his younger brother was just diagnosed with bone cancer and is already bedridden. My elderly neighbor, who has lived in the house beside me for 30 years, was taken to the hospital on Thursday and I learned she has a large, inoperable esophageal tumor.

Sadness and bad news all around.

Change is inevitable, and I readily admit I don't accept or handle it well. So much of the change I see is related to the decline of places and people I care about, a consequence of living in a city with huge social and economic problems, and also of being involved with numerous elderly people. So if it seems I'm unusually proud of my kitchen rehab, you must realize that it was actually nice to make a small change in my kitchen and discover that it worked out so very well.

If only all changes could be so painless.