A December Miscellany

Why a blogpost today? Where should I begin? (Where does anyone begin?)

On Sunday, my three daughters came over to make cookies and help us pick out a tree — just my girls and no boyfriends (which is rare!). I always enjoy seeing the whole noisy bunch of them, but it was a joy to see my trio hanging out and talking together.

Then, they were gone, leaving behind a completely naked tree in my living room, and a million memories of their younger years bumping inside my head and my heart. (I decided to feel grateful and happy instead of bereft.)

Lately I’ve been awash in memories of my childhood. For years I’ve wanted to write a Christmas story to share with my family — something about the Port Orford cedar that stood in our front yard. This is me, setting a marker. Why not write it?

And, I really, really want you to read this poem, “Christmas Mail,” by the phenomenal Ted Kooser.

Is that enough for a blog post? Mostly, I just spent an hour making one of my favorite quotes pretty so I could share it with my women’s circle — and now I can share it with you, too.

The Unsinkable Priscilla Long

If you have been my student or talked about writing with me, then you probably already know that Priscilla Long, author of The Writer’s Portable Mentor and other books, has been my friend for 30 years.

We met while I was studying for my MFA in poetry at the University of Washington and Priscilla, for her fiction MFA. Or, she was supposed to be studying fiction. After taking a workshop with Colleen McElroy, we decided to exchange poetry manuscripts, and we began meeting for dinner almost every week to rework and deepen our poems.

At our table at the old College Inn in the university district, I confessed to Priscilla my very un-feminist craving for a baby and she told me, “For heaven’s sake! If you want a baby, have a baby! Don’t blame feminism!”

When my twins were a year old and I stalled on my Ph.D. dissertation, Priscilla saved me. “Send me seven pages! They can be terrible! Even with two babies you can write seven terrible pages!” She coaxed that dissertation out of me, never rewriting a single sentence, always telling me, “Of course you can do it!”

So, for those reasons and many others, I am very pleased to direct you to this bio, newly posted at History Link, the free on-line encyclopedia of Washington state history.

https://www.historylink.org/File/20845

Procrastination Kills

OK, so no one was killed.

For years I’ve been opening my wallet and thinking,

“Why do I carry all these credit cards? Wouldn’t it be a hassle if anything ever happened to this wallet?”

Ever since I began my habit of walking trails — usually combined with going to the library or a coffee shop and writing for an hour or two — I’ve been leaving my bookbag in my car, but thinking,

“I really need to stop leaving my bookbag in my car.”

This small inner prompting was usually greeted with a small inner shrug. “Soon,” I told myself. (Usually I hid it, sort of.)

Soon, I told myself, I would winnow through my cards and perhaps even follow advice and make photo copies of the 2 or 3 I decided to continue to carry. Soon I would come up with a backpack or start dropping my bag at home before I walked. Soon, I would take seriously this persistent inner voice.

In fact I had stopped using my purse, most of the time. I kept my driver’s licence and debit card in my phone wallet, and carried that with me on my walks.

Then, last week, I had my purse and my bookbag with me as I ran errands. I wasn’t going to walk, then I found out that my hubby was supposed to report to Urgent Care for a problem he was having. He wasn’t home, but called me and said he could meet me at home in 30 minutes. I would drive him. That gave me time to stop at a local park and take a 20-minute walk.

My bookbag and purse would be fine for 20 minutes. There were people around. It was broad daylight. No problem!

Right?

Wrong.

I came back to find my passenger door window smashed and my bookbag — and the small purse tucked inside it — gone. The police were called. One of my credit cards sent me a fraud alert (within minutes). Three other cards were successfully used — all within about 1/2 hour. I’m not liable for charges on stolen cards, or so I’m told, but it still felt awful. I felt like an idiot. And I had hours and hours of work ahead of me getting cards canceled, my checking account closed and reopened, and my Euros for my upcoming trip replaced. (I didn’t just feel like an idiot; I was an idiot.)

I lost all the writing time I thought I would have in the week before my trip.

I have had to remind myself that 1) I wasn’t personally harmed and my family is okay (even my husband, whose problem was resolved); 2) I am lucky to have resources and abilities to handle a setback like this; plus, 3) I am pretty good at learning from the bad stuff and this event proved an especially great teacher.

This also made me remember something that happened in (or to) my writing life many years ago. My daughters were young, I had my first full-time teaching job, and I told a writing friend that I would write…later. I may have said that maybe I wouldn’t ever get back to writing. In any case, I gave the clear impression that despite an MFA in poetry and all my huge writing goals, which my friend knew all about, I was going to put off writing.

She wrote me a letter — old school, sat down and wrote it in long-hand and mailed it to me (of course, that happened more often back then, but we did have email). She said something like this:

No one cares if you write. The world is not going to come and pound on your door and insist that you write. No one will miss it if you don’t write. They won’t even know. Meanwhile, life will unfold. You’ll get older. You’ll get farther and farther from your writing dreams. Eventually you’ll say to your grandchildren, “I used to write.” But your grandchildren won’t especially care either. It makes no difference whether you write or not. EXCEPT TO YOU. A place inside YOU will dry up and never be expressed if you don’t write. YOU will miss it. YOU will care. The only way to keep your writing alive, to keep this important part of yourself alive, is to write.

I probably have this letter somewhere. I should have framed it. I took it seriously (even though it was like that small, inner voice that I so often don’t heed). And I kept writing. Often, I didn’t have much time; I had little kids for a lot of years; I had a teaching career; I had teenagers and a mother who was ill. Nonetheless, I made a little time every day and I wrote. Some days the little bit of time turned into enough time.

And it has mattered. It has mattered to me. Writing has sustained me and saved me and even made things like parenting and teaching richer and more enjoyable. I am glad that I kept writing.

So this is what I want to say to you today. Is your small inner voice nagging you to do something? (To write?) Take 5 or 10 or 15 minutes right now (no one will miss you for 5 minutes), and do it. (Writing, or whatever it is.)

If you don’t, if you procrastinate (i.e., if you never do it), no one will be killed (probably). But I guarantee you’ll be glad that you took the time.

Who’s in Your Circle?

Sometime late last fall, one of my daughters had a work crisis. It wasn’t the run-of-the-mill, ordinary crap that happens at work–it was huge and it threatened to crush her spirit.

If you have met my kids, then you know that they do not like taking advice from their mom. Usually, if I think it’s a good idea, they run skipping and laughing in the other direction. This time, however, my kiddo came to me and said, “What would you do?”

This is what I said.

Pay very very close attention to this. You are being taught something that you have to learn if you’re going to stick in this career. Learn all you can from this. Go in every day determined to learn all that you can.

Don’t defend yourself. Stay open.

Stop calling it a crisis, stop calling it horrible. Call it a challenge. Call it an opportunity.

Know that I absolutely believe in you. Know that I absolutely believe in your ability to grow from this.

The really cool thing? She did.

At the beginning of this episode, she was removed from her classroom assignment and told by the principal that maybe she shouldn’t be a teacher. One week in, the principal admitted, “We threw you into the deep end of the pool.” By the end of her half-year contract, the principal wrote a glowing recommendation letter.

This past week I have been a dark place. My husband is better, he’s reading books and doing crossword puzzles again, and he’s even made it back to the gym. He’s doing chores around the house. He’s cheerful! Meanwhile, I’m angry and defensive. I’ve felt all alone and embattled. I’ve given over precious writing time to watching television. I’ve raged and wept.

And I’ve reached out to friends, and I’ve shown up at Writing Lab. I’ve reread The Circle and reread Parker Palmer’s chapters on his circles of friends. I’ve read poetry. I’ve taken long walks in nature. I’ve called on God. I’ve thrown myself on God’s mercy. I’ve remembered my advice to my daughter last fall:

Stop calling it a crisis — learn all you can — keep your heart open — this is the way forward.

Someday, honey, you’re going to look back on this and see that it was where something wonderful began.