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 digression 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.

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!

I've kept a journal since I was a teenager. However, writing in a journal was like one of those on-again, off-again relationships. I can't say I ever really wrote with any reliable level of consistency over a long period of time and often, when I was younger, the entries were more centered on "what I did" than "what I thought."

But, when the pandemic started in March 2020, that changed. I started filling up a whole journal every three months, so I'd say I probably filled about six journals since then, alone.

It was as if writing in my journal was my moment to take a deep breath at a time when it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Today, the third page I wrote in my journal was my attempt to figure out why writing in my journal is something I have begun looking forward to as much as my morning cup of tea. I'm transcribing my thoughts here--in this online "Diary," to encourage others to find solace and sanity in the safe confines of a journal, diary, notebook or whatever you term it. (Warning, part of the perk of journal writing is no grammar, run-on sentence, spelling mistakes exist or matter--so I'm copying it in here as it was written in all its carefree format.:)

Here's what I wrote: