Have I mentioned my belief that the key to happiness is low expectations?

So, adjust your expectations and you may just enjoy this poetry. For me, a polished piece of poetry has the potential to be something to fear from the writer's point of view--because I'm saying, "This is perfect! There is nothing more I can do with it, so don't bother to look. Just sit back and enjoy this symphony of sounds." [Chef's kiss into the air . . . mwuuaahhh]

It's so much less intimidating to open up my rough and tumble sketchbook (no, I don't often--ever?--sketch, unless doodling counts. But, taking a break from writing and making time for art of the more visual sense was the intent of the workshop where I received my sketchbook and, like that prized pair of jeans in the closet fitting a little too snugly, I am leaving the sketchbook open to the possibility of being sketched in at some point in the future.

Ok--the poems. That was what this blog post was all about before my sketchy sketchbook swooped in and distracted me, but I have to admit digressions are such fun! So--how did these unpolished poems come about? Well, long story short: this past summer: two adults three teens and a tween = 6, plus cat = 6.25, two weeks later: minus three, subtract another one unexpectedly = 2.25 (a mom, her boy & a cat:) = the ability to hear myself think. Combine this with a collaboration between The Room to Write and Arts Collaborative of Wakefield special art exhibit requiring 12 writers to pair with 12 artists + one summer slumber for all + deadline = 9 writers + me = 10.
So, I had to write. 

At one optimistic point, I told myself that I would write a poem a day. No big whoop! But, I also had a cottage to paint, a garden to rehab, an uncharacteristically angsty teen, and a boy to spend the tail end of summer with. I started with the poem that ended up being paired with a piece of art for the exhibit. Next day a revision of that first poem. Then two poems, rough and ready. Then two more poems with two different pens. That was a challenging day, which is reflected within the poems. The next day, one poem while life simplified. Five days in a row: nothing. I was too busy kayaking, bike riding, beaching, painting, reading and allowing my mind a rest. Then one last poem on the last day of vacation. And, as Pa Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well." And it did. There was a lot to love about our family's summer vacation, but that last week was a slice of serenity that was something to be savored.

Wow, I did it. 
Yeah, I know I wasn't going to mention my cheating ways in the next post, but this is where criminals go wrong: 
They boast!
I just published my cheatin' post and it has a date in June. Mooo--hahaha. Tech isn't so bad after all.
It lets us pretend we were somewhere we never were.
Wait a minute?! That's bad.
Ok--so tech is as bad as I suspected all along.

This makes me wonder:
Why don't I just post on time?
Clearly there's no magic here. I just talk to you, and you listen, and I don't allow comments, so you don't talk back. 
It all works out.
Why the delay in my monthly commitment?
I don't know.

That's something for me to think about. Figure out. Iron out.
Why do I think this is hard? I think that's a writer thing. We see writing as work and perhaps that's why social media is so prolific (and side note: toxic:) because there is no filter, no editing, no holding back.
It seems everybody wants to be a writer. And everybody wants to be famous.
So--perhaps social media offers up what everybody seems to want whether they should be given a platform to write or be famous at all. They are able.

And now, there's AI. But, really--there will always be unique stories created by humans.
So don't just spill yours away on social media. 
Sit down. Write it out. Think about it. Edit it. Control your own story and don't let people just pull you apart online.
Let your words sit and settle within each reader in their space--
not while they're standing on a subway and looking for ways not to look at the person across from them.
Your story is meant to be digested by someone who is prepared to sit down--napkin on knee--and take it in.
Respect yourself and your story.
It's all each of us has.

OK. So, I'm cheating.
Don't judge. I've been busy.
Yes.
But, that's no excuse.
Remember when our parents used to say to us, "You don't know how lucky you are!"
​
Well, now that I'm a parent--THEY don't know how lucky THEY were.
Barely any tech to deal with from a parents perspective.
I remember walking up to my friend's house in first grade to play ColecoVision. You don't know what that is?!
Of course you don't know what that is.
You probably never heard of a Vic-20 or a Commodore-64 either.
Your dad probably never had to teach you how to type C:/run to make a game start. I might have it wrong--but it was something like that.

And--remember video cameras?!?
Anyway, my point is, life was so much simpler. Parents went to work and if it snowed, they didn't go to work.

​They drank coffee and smoked cigarettes (those are bad for you!) and drank beer (also bad for you!!!) while standing around a car with the hood popped trying to figure out what was wrong and actually--usually someone in the neighborhood--could fix it.

So, back to why I'm cheating. Right--the title. Haha.
This ain't your mother's decade of parenting anymore. It's hard. Everything simple has like twenty parts to it and those parts have a variety of names. And, you'd better know the names and the under-definition of those names lest you insult somebody by accident. Oh, right. There are no accidents anymore, just offending people. Don't ask.
Honestly, I don't know and, really, I don't want to know. These days there's just too much to know. How can one brain fit it all?

Oh, right, my point.
Well, life is busy and complicated now. Who can keep up with it all? Even without a phone--I told you I don't have a phone, right?! Thank the Lord. I'm pretty sure he never meant for us to have phones. And by "phones" I mean "smart" phones--computers in your pocket that nag and beep and buzz and harass you out of any potentially blissful moment you might have focusing on family or friends or that passion project you finally have a moment to focus on.
Nope. Too bad. Blip. The moment is gone.
​
So, I am late. With my blog post. This blog post.
I swear this is the first time. The other months were all legit and (barely, but still) on time.
I lost the tail of the thing called life as it scrambled around the corner this past spring which bled into the start of summer and then suddenly it was actual summer. My mind needed time to thaw out. To chill, which was hard because basically all of July was a heatwave. Which leads me to my other confession:
I didn't write a blog post in July either.
Ugh. I'm bad. 

Wow--ok. So, I'm down the Cape right now and the music on 104.7 is amazing but it's a throwback. And, since I can't make this stuff up (well, except for the publish date on this post) I have to tell you Linda Ronstadt's song "I've been cheating" came on the radio. Now, this is a testament to what we hear and what we want to hear. I just googled her to make sure I was spelling her name right and then to be sure I had the right title for the song and of course I didn't have either of those things correct the first time. Apparently, according to the lyrics, Linda Ronstadt has been cheated and mistreated and is wondering when she'll be loved. So, the title is actually, "When Will I Be Loved?" It did have "cheat" in there, so it was still an interesting coincidence.
When does a blog become a ramble? Now?
The End:)
PS: My next blog post is also going to be one month late, but I'm not going to mention it then. Only if you read this post you'll know. Our secret, ok?;)

This morning I woke up tired. Exhausted. 
For good reason. My family and I were out at a Red Sox game last night. It was one of those days that didn't start out looking like it would be a nice night to watch a ballgame, but it ended up being pitch perfect weather. And, despite not knowing most of the basics about baseball--like rules, jargon, who the players are, stats and such--I really enjoy a game at Fenway Park in my favorite city of Boston! 

The walk-out songs for the players and the intermittent song samples in between plays gives me reason to dance in my seat and feel like I'm out at a dance club and yet . . . I'm sitting (haha:) and the songs don't last long so there's no getting sick of one particular song or sweating on the dance floor. 

Oh--and there's a ball game going on and depending on how good it is, you can tune in or out of it at will. The peddlers are walking around with various snacks and drinks balanced on their heads. I LOVE THAT!! In the midst of the world's attempt to make everything electronic--super annoying--Fenway Park insists on clinging to some of that traditional human element that really makes it a creature all its own. And it feels so alive in there. People getting in and out of seats at all times, peddlers crawling around the aisles hoisting over their heads: hotdogs, lemonade, chowder, popcorn, beer, pizza, cotton candy and whatever else they think fans might want. The hotdog guy is most impressive with that heavy, metal container of steaming dogs and rolls safely outside the vat so they don't get soggy. 
$7 will get you a dog in a fresh bun, wrapped and with one packet of mustard.
Not much to pay for nostalgic-and-nitrate-filled magic from my husband's youth delivered to his seat:)

I can't claim to be a baseball fan, but I am definitely a Fenway Park fan. The energy is an automatic mood lifter. Participating in the wave and singing Sweet Caroline off key is something you have to experience. Even the construction of the building, with its cement and steel painted green, feels so real as you walk around and you're inside and outside at the same time--inside a city and yet outside of it, too. I love it!

So, now.
It's May 31st.
I'm tired.
It's Friday.
I want to have a nice cup of tea and write in my journal.
​--to not really think or have to make sense quite yet.
But, wait!!
I finished the journal I was writing in yesterday morning.
I'm pretty sure I bought several journals last time I purchased one.
I even found the website for my favorite journal company, Studio Oh!, and got them delivered to my house.
So. Where. Are they? Even. Just. One?
No.
​I'm out of journals.
Like someone who craves coffee or something sweet in the evening. I'm searching around unconvinced I can't have a single journal ready to call into action. Coffee and chocolate lovers? You know what I'm talking about as you open cabinets, refrigerator doors, check your favorite stashing locations telling herself there has to be one coffee's worth of grounds . . . one forgotten piece of chocolate--SOMEWHERE!!
And after looking at the same locations you already looked you realize there is none.

I have already cued up several journals online to be delivered, but not this morning. Not today.
So, what does a girl who needs a journal like a morning cup of coffee do?
Well, I look at the list of "to do"s that I did not want to do and decide to do them. Ugh!
The good news is that this is the second thing on my list and now it's done.
And was that so hard? No. Did I even enjoy it? Yes.
So, why do I procrastinate doing it every month until the last day of the month?
I don't know that I have a good answer for that. I think it's just easier, safer to write in my journal and know that it is only for me. Spelling mistakes are not an issue. Substituting the wrong word is obsolete--and my least favorite writing mistake: not adding "not" before a word so that the meaning of the sentence is actually the opposite of what I meant to write. Fictional example to give you an idea of what I mean: "I do not like bunnies." becomes "I do like bunnies."
(Sorry bunny fans. I currently do not like bunnies since they eat everything in my garden down to the nub.)

Here is my blog for May. Is it amazing? Let's say, sure:)
It's a blog. My thoughts as I think them.
A concept that is simple but not always easy.
Musings I usually capture in my journals.
Go get yourself a journal.
​It will pair perfectly with your cup of tea or coffee
​--or that hidden piece of chocolate!

Here I am--another last-day-of-the-month . . . and year . . . blog entry. 

The bare minimum blog requirement that I gave myself in 2020 was that I do one entry a month. When anybody first starts out on anything like a blog, podcast, video series--whatever medium is chosen to express themselves--there is usually a big wad of pent-up creativity resembling second-graders in a line at school all wanting to be first, all smooshing into each other if the line slows, and all eager to get to wherever it is they're going. There is a sense of urgency. Temper that.

Telling yourself to do something as infrequently as once a month, which boils down to 12 times a year, well--that seems too low a bar. It's like limbo with the stick still over your head and you think, "I got this! I am going to outlast every person in this limbo line." 

Your smile is eager, but you haven't had to bend your back in the opposite direction that it's used to bending yet. The music has you energized, there are enthusiastic people all around you in line, and you just tip your head back ever-so-slightly when you reach the limbo stick. Easy peasy!

Then you cycle through a few times and the sweat starts. There are less people in line, but the crowd is still feeling the music and now you need to act energized rather than actually feeling energized. The limbo stick is below your shoulders and let's face it--that's low for a middle-aged woman who hasn't done back-walkovers with her friends on the front lawn in about something-something years. ​

The point is--you're confident and even cocky at the beginning of any quest whether it's a blog, a plan to get organized, a vow that you'll make more time for your friends, or a limbo line. I have said it before and I'll say it again, "The key to happiness is low expectations." Bite-sized pieces can be very helpful. We've all seen The Great Outdoors and what happens with the Ol' 96er (if not, you should see it and have a good laugh in 2024). Don't make the same mistake our beloved John Candy made by letting other people set expectations for you, by going outside of your comfort zone to please others. Letting others dictate your actions can not only cause avoidable stress but it can sow resentment. And resentment is, unfortunately, the gift that can keep on giving even after the stress has been eliminated.

​Think simple.

Case in point: this blog post. I told myself to just sit down and write something quickly so that I would get a blog entry in for the month, the last day of the year. Here I am still droning on and now looking up clips of John Candy eating the Ol' 96er and figuring out how to wrap this up and wondering what my point was to begin with. I guess my point is set the bar low and just begin. Say you'll only write a few sentences and perhaps you'll walk away from a few paragraphs instead. Give yourself the possibility of a victory, no matter how small, and you may just exceed your own low expectations. If you make goals too lofty, too intimidating and too stressful--you risk sabotaging the whole thing.

Gratitude plays an important role as well.
If you set a small goal then you are more easily grateful when it is reached.
Gratitude is integral in life, to love and to growing in your faith. 

Start small and be grateful.
Happy New Year!

Good news:
I am finally getting to my September blog posting.
Bad news:
Yes, it's October:)

The same thing happens with apple picking. I know September is prime time, but the month of September consistently goes by in a blur and then October arrives and we finally pick apples.
​
​It seems to be a resounding theme in my life lately. And--what exactly is lately? This week? This past month? Absolutely not. "Lately" is more like the last several years.

Even this year's month of August, which is usually a time when I try to relax fully and gather all my energy for the fall push, was interrupted by coughing. A cough from nowhere. Just a cough. Wet and productive. At least something has been productive--haha. It's amazing how a cough can be so disruptive, so sleep depriving, so socially unacceptable, and so mysterious. I still haven't discovered the exact cause or cure or for how much longer. For now, it's under control, but only because of a daily inhaler. Something I can't wait to be without.
I suppose we age and our health wanes whether we like it or not.
I don't like it!

So, what now?
Will I ever catch my stride.
How is anybody ever able to proceed at a pace that is enjoyable when life seems to blare at you and then go quiet, then honk, then hum, then crash, then cancel, then . . . then . . .

I am not an animal who can sit by the fire and fetch slippers every morning. I cannot recognize that I have wings and not try to use them.
​Maybe I should? Chickens seem content with it.
I need to work, to use my skills, to feel fulfilled in meaningful ways. But, I don't know that I have found a way to do that at a reasonable pace. I don't know how to get the ebb and flow to cooperate. It seems it's just flow, flow, flow. 

I was recently talking to another writer who has a similar difficulty. The world tells us, "Say 'yes' to everything in order to advance in life." Ok. But, what happens when you've gotten so good at saying "yes," that you forget how to say "no?" I think I need a more fine-tuned instruction manual going forward. 

I can't say I'm sorry to see the year 2022 bid adieu. Goodbye!
"Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord . . . well, you know the rest."

This year has been skipping to the same beat all year and it sounded like this, "What! A new month? Which one?! (Insert current month here) already!! No way." Even on the lead-up to Christmas week the song I remember hearing most was any Christmas song by Trans-Siberian Orchestra with its electric guitar and spastic musical climax. That could have easily been the theme of the entire year: hurried, admittedly painful, too much and yet not enough.

So, there it is: my year in review. Uninspired perhaps. Soggy and a bit stodgy, as they say on the Great British Baking Show when they bite into a piece of cake that is supposed to be yummy, looks promising, but just isn't--at all.

Let's hope that 2023 is all that 2022 wasn't. 
I did not dress up for this evening's ringing in of the new year. 
Wearing my favorite pair of sweatpants (with pockets of course), a well-worn t-shirt that has an image of Cape Cod's Sagamore Bridge and reads "Cross that bridge when you come to it!" beneath a long, cozy sweater (also, pockets:) and fuzzy, purple polka-dotted socks is how I will enter the new year:
Comfortable.

Hopefully 2023 will skip to more of a Nat King Cole beat: slower, steady and soothing.

Delete. It's magic and it's a curse that's available at the touch of a finger.
No wand required.
This (here) text block had previously waxed poetic about Due Dates. 
Yes, I went on about it for about the same length I will consequently go on about Dew Points, but with one important difference: I deleted the block about Due Dates. 

Did I mean to? No. I had inserted an image and then something went kaflooey, as things tend to do in the tech world, and as I thought, "Maybe I should copy the text in case something goes wrong." Another thought pushed that first thought out of the way insisting, "Just keep going--fast. Do it. Press that little 'x' and only the image will disappear, not all of the text too." 
So, I went with option number two and "Delete" happened. And, worse? I did not see an "Undo" for the life of me. 
Come on! No "undo" to hit?
Whatever.
​It's done. 
I'm not rewriting it. I'm writing this rant instead and since this is a blog and not a term paper, or a novel, I can do that.
Thank the good Lord for blogs and journals.
Now, onto Dew Points . . . 

Dew Points?
Wow--how did I go most of my life without caring or even knowing what these were?
It's not the heat, it's the humidity. No--it's the dew point! Dang that number that either means I'm going to have a refreshing breeze dance by or that I'm going to feel beads of sweat gather and drip down my back or from the inside crease of my elbow at some point. Ugh and ew!
Does that change anything? No. But today started out with a dew point in the 70s, which is nasty, and it ends somewhere in the 50s, which is Shangri-La.
After a summer that has been moist in all the worst ways and yet somehow extremely dry also in all the worst ways, I am running towards September and its promise of low dew points and long sweaters with absolute adoration in my eyes.

I have a few wonderful events coming up that will mark the transition from summer--when I let my brain go into detox and veg mode--to fall--when I fire up my pens and all things start to buzz and bubble with energy. Next weekend (not to be confused with this weekend:) I am off to a Writers' Retreat at Squam Lake. Boy, could I use anything with the word "retreat" in the title just about now. Then the following week is the Commonwealth Pen Show in Somerville, MA where I can go and luxuriate in all things pen and ink and paper. If there is a better two-weekend lineup that inspires the written word, I can't imagine it right now.

So, go. Retreat. Write. Then, pen. Write some more.
I'll put the pen show flier below for those who would like to attend and need more concrete details than my general gushing above offers.
Here's to extended deadlines and falling dew points!
Happy Autumn:)

Dear Diary,

I can't help but feel like a slacker. The trouble is there's still only the original 24 hours in a day and that just doesn't seem to be enough for me to get the things I need done, followed by the things I want to do done, followed by the things I should do done: you know that resting, relaxing, recovering, and rejuvenating thing we hear is necessary for a healthy and happy life.

Some writers and artists seem to create when the mood strikes them or when they feel something come over them and that used to be my method too, but with life so busy I'm going to have to come up with some other way that forces me to make more time for my personal writing projects, not just the writing I need to do for work or various other commitments, but the novels and poetry and blog posts (ahem!) I really want to be able to do. 

Some writers and artists claim that the morning hours are best and I'm sure they are, but I'm not a morning person. Can I try to become one? Sure. Do I want to try to become one? No. I don't want to try, anyway. If I woke up one morning and was suddenly a morning person--sure, I'd love that. But, I don't have the energy to try to become one.

So, what's a gal to do? Well, it's almost summer. Ok--technically it's summer on the calendar and meteorologically it's summer, but according to my children's school summer is has not started yet. Yes, it's nearly July and "summer vacation" is still hours away. 

What does summer have to do with anything, you may be wondering?

More time? Hopefully. But, based on historical precedent there seems to be no more time in the summer months than there are in the other nine and anything extra should be devoted to a good amount of resting and relaxing that every body needs in order to carry on for those other hectic, hurry-up-and-go months. One thing July has going for it is sunnier mornings which may be a help toward earlier mornings which may be a help toward writing in the mornings.

Throw in a good, old fashioned one-month challenge! Don't forget to include public accountability so others can see if you are holding to your commitment and have every right to heckle you if you slack off.

So, here goes. I am going to try to challenge myself to produce something creative for one month's time. I suppose I have to figure out what that is first, but I have a week to come up with something and report back.

That's just what I'll do.
​Stay tuned. :)

The "to do" list. 
That list is absolutely necessary for me to function, to remember, to prioritize, to be productive. But--
It is in so many ways an enemy to my "artist" inside. Yes, I'm sure that is my fault. I should be making time for my art. I've read the books, heard the calls to artist arms, and agreed completely.

And yet.
Here I am--with a blog explaining, complaining, --

But, that was not all.

I was just finishing my breakfast when a friend came by to drop off books that we had lent her kids.
My kids had been asking about them but, well--you see--the "short on time" situation has been a problem for me.

​My friend is in the same, creaky, late boat as I am
But, she amazingly squeezed the errand in.

I grab the books, hand her something and she's off to work. Now I will write. ​

​Not yet. Enter: The Cat!
​
I love the book Olivia by Ian Falconer. Not only is it adorable, but I always loved it when part of Olivia's day required that she "move the cat" a few times. It's true. Any cat owners or dog owners know that just when you are about to stop rushing around and put pen to paper, brush to canvas, or perhaps do something quiet and contemplative--the cat shows up and wants something from you, but it's not always clear what it is they want.

So you reason with them for a bit: go out? hungry? a quick pat or scratch behind the ear? What!!??
And so, here I am about to get back to the blog I promised I'd write only to be negotiating with a feline who clearly has all the time in the world . . .

​So, what is a writer "to do"?
Write about it.
And take some photos.

I know that when I started I was going to launch into the "to do" list and all its merits and evils and now--who knows what I was going to say. As you can see there is often no planning even to my day and the course it takes, let alone my writing. I consider it a win if I am able to write anything. 

Fortunately I have kept up with this blog at least on a monthly level, which is much more than I can say about my newsletters. Those fell tragically off a cliff somewhere in the twilight between winter and early spring.
But--in keeping with the saying "perfect is the enemy of the good" I will slap together a newsletter and hope to draw you to this blog where you will see what I have been up to or thinking about even when it wasn't delivered to your inbox.

Yes, in that photo above you see little seedlings.
That, truth be told, is the other love that keeps me away: Gardening!
It is my passion in the spring-time and so when I am able to steal an hour or so I have been transforming my garden out front (actually, more than transforming, I have created a brand new one which is a large undertaking). I will post about that in the coming weeks or months, but for now you can imagine those seedlings are just the tiny tip of an iceberg.