Singing and Swinging

One of my favorite childhood past times was swinging on the swing set in our backyard. And while I was swinging, I was singing, the volume of my voice increasing as my short legs pumped the air, propelling me higher and higher toward the blue sky. I sang "This Old Man," and "Row Row Row Your Boat." I made up a song using the words from Robert Louis Stevenson's children's poem (How do you like to go up in a swing...up in the air so blue? Oh I do think it's the pleasantest thing that ever a child can do!) It was exhilarating and satisfying and comforting all at once.

As soon as I was able, I joined the elementary school Glee Club, and eventually graduated into the Madrigal singers. There were only six of us, and we were all good friends. We got to wear nifty blue sashes and we felt very self-important singing a cappella. I cannot tell you how much I loved it. But maybe that's evident because it's such a strong memory 45 years later.

The notion of singing being fun isn't new to me.

The science behind the experience of it, however - well, that's something I'm enjoying learning about.

Read more about it in my post today on Medium.

Write On Wednesday: For the Longest Time

Last night I realized I hadn't written anything on my blog in the longest time, and I stared feeling nostalgic for the olden days of blogging. Many years ago (seven!) when I began writing in this online space, I wrote nearly every day - partly because of the excitement that comes with a new venture, but also because of the connections forming between myself and other writers. We visited each other's writing spaces daily, like children checking their secret hidey-hole in a hollow tree to see if any new messages had arrived. We joined and created groups that provided prompts for our writing, that gave us a little spark to incite ideas to flow.

We wrote and wrote, telling our stories, honing our skills, learning from each other about writing and life. We emboldened one another to try new things - poetry, haiku, flash fiction, even novels. We encouraged and cheered from whatever part of the world we lived.

Over time most of those connections have faded into the ether. People who bared their souls in words on the screen suddenly disappear from orbit. Having no other way to contact them, one is forced to ponder - were they real? did they exist? have they been abducted by aliens?

I miss them. Miss their unique voices, miss their life stories, miss the inspiration and impetus to write they often provided me. Like the cafe society that Fitzgerald and Hemingway enjoyed so much, the online society of writers we formed in those days was a way to connect with others, to share ideas, to support each others efforts, to discuss books and art and life in general. In this decade, it seems  that personal blogging has been usurped by the faster, quicker connections of Facebook and Twitter.

Writing is a solitary occupation. And writers tend to savor the solitary, so much so that we forget how much there is to be gained by sharing ourselves with others.

I'd like to enjoy that again.

How about you?

The Sunday Salon: Permission to Read, Please

On this hot summer Sunday, I've been seriously contemplating climbing the stairs to my bedroom, stretching out on the king sized bed underneath a gently whirling fan, and reading napping. It's a revolutionary concept for me - the napping part, not the reading part. I never nap. But I haven't been sleeping very well, and last night was another in what has become something of an ugly habit - wake up at 1:30, stay awake  until 3 or 3:30, and then drift off into restless sleep until the alarm sounds Summer afternoons seem made for reading, and I'd love to allow myself the luxury of lolling around with The Burgess Boys, which I picked up at the library yesterday. But most of my reading is done at the extremes of the day. I'm used to reading first thing in the morning, often before anyone else is awake, and last thing at night, just before falling asleep. And these recent middle-of-the-night periods of wakefulness have proven a boon to my reading life, if not my physical one.

I wonder why it seems such a decadent pleasure to read in the middle of the day, one almost akin to eating dessert before (or instead of) the meal. In my youth and early adulthood, I often spent time in the afternoon reading, and recall many summer afternoons spent on the back porch of our house or under the shade tree, book in hand, while baby napped inside. It was so rejuvenating, that hour or so spent with a book, that it seems churlish not to engage in it more often.

It is without a doubt my Puritan work ethic that nudges me off the couch and on to more "productive" tasks. I tell myself that reading is sustenance for a writer, that it's is necessary for the betterment of my craft. I remind myself that many of the books piled on my TBR shelf are review books and require my dedicated attention. But even as I settle comfortably on the sofa, I can feel nagging tugs at my shirtsleeve...how about that laundry? did you remember to get the chicken out of the freezer? have those bills been paid yet?

What I really crave is permission to let that other stuff go and read in the middle of the day just for the pure love of it. Isn't that silly?

So without further ado, I will attempt to spend at least part of this summer Sunday engaged in the practice of reading.

How about you? When does most of your reading get done? Is reading during the day a guilty pleasure for you?

Beating the Brain Drain

Since we've moved into our new neighborhood, I've met more people than the first day in a new school. But unlike my school days, I'm finding it much more challenging to remember everyone's names. In our little cul-de-sac alone there are Bob and Sue, and Bob and Karen. There's  Jim and Mary Ellen, and Jim and Darlene, and Jim and Marilyn (I kid you not). There's Kevin and Karen, and Roger and Fran. Roberta and Bill. Ned and Elaine.

You get the picture. All of it reminding me (again!) that I'm not as young as I once was, and my brain no longer works as efficiently as it once did.

I've read a lot recently about the ways we can keep our brains in shape, and I've been happy to learn that many of them are already part of my daily life.

Brain boot camp, I call it.

You can read more about it here at Medium.

The Sunday Salon: Summer Time

Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

It is, isn't it? Anyone who has ever been a slave to the school year (student, parent, teacher) has a special affinity for those precious three months of freedom. Days are loooonnng, creating a seemingly infinite number of possibilities. When I was a child, it meant staying outside until 9:00 at night, it meant hours riding my bicycle side by side with a girlfriend, not going anywhere particular,  just riding around talking and gossiping companionably. It meant queuing up for the Good Humor truck, slurping rainbow popsicles or Nutty Buddies. It meant slathering on Coppertone suntan lotion and jumping into the neighbor's pool or running through the backyard sprinkler.

But even as a child, reading was an important part of my summer fun. I always joined the library summer reading program, and usually cajoled several of my friends into joining me. We made weekly trips to the library, our carefully completed summer reading logs in hand, and picked out even more books which we'd bring home and pile up next to our chaise loungers under a shade tree. I would carry my reading on far into the night (or as far as my sleepy eyes would let me), my book propped surreptitiously under my pillow with only a tiny flashlight to guide me along its pages.

I noticed our local library has started a summer reading program for adults, in addition to their programs for children and teens. Reading is usually a solitary activity, but it's human nature to be drawn toward a group so there's something enticing about the idea of sharing this pastime with other readers. Probably why we like book clubs and readalongs, why I can so easily start conversations with strangers if they've got a book in hand. We recognize our compatriots and gravitate toward them.

Sometimes I make plans for my summer reading, but this year I'm winging it - whatever takes my fancy on trips to the library or bookstore. Right now I'm engrossed in Wild, Cheryl Strayed's breathtaking memoir about finding herself on the Pacific Crest Trail. It's an inspiring allegory for  life in general, and I highly recommend it if you haven't yet read it.

How about you? Do you read more in the summer? What's on your reading list?