thoughts from the spiral

breathing room

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 18:33:00 +0000

Around the middle of May, I was struck by the rather surprising realization that I want marriage and a family. More accurately, I was struck by anxiety and something approaching panic when I juxtaposed that realization with my age: I’m 38, and was half-way convinced that I was already out of time.

Turns out I’ve got quite a bit more “reproductive breathing room” than I’d anticipated.

Something I like to do — some nights when I’m feeling particularly wired and am not ready for bed, even as the late night of one day slides into the early morning of the next — is research family history and genealogy. That’s how I finally pieced together my Jewish ancestry last year.

I was caught up in one of these genealogy marathon sessions three or four weeks ago and started looking more closely at the reproductive histories of my ancestors — specifically, how old these women were when marrying and giving birth, and how their children fared. What I uncovered was surprising.

I grew up hearing how my great-great-great-grandfather had had twenty-one children by two wives. His first wife had a single child before she died, and he’d remarried and had twenty children by his second wife. I was curious about the details. That second wife, my great-great-great-grandmother, had her first child at the age of 17, and her last at the not-so-tender age of 45.

45 years old! In the first half of the nineteenth century, no less. Seventeen of her twenty children survived to adulthood — two died at birth (or were stillborn), and another died in infancy. She did not die in childbirth but lived into her 60s. Her sons were the soldiers of the Civil War.

But I was more interested in her daughters. Some married early, some later, some not at all. Those who did become mothers themselves also bore children into their 30s and 40s, in the mid-1800s.

I’d no idea women at that time were giving birth so late in their lives. I’d assumed that was more of a modern trend, but apparently it was a regular practice in my family.

So I’m not so worried, not anymore. When my great-great-great-grandmother was my age, she still had another seven years of childbearing in front of her. This is the stock that I come from. If they could do it — and do it rather successfully — then so can I. If I get to be 41 or 42 and am still in the same boat as I’m in now — single, with no real prospects (I’d rather be childless than be a single parent) — then maybe I’ll give myself permission to get a little nervous.

In the meantime, I’m much more relaxed.

As a side note, I’ve only once had my “biological clock” go off. That was ten years ago. Out of nowhere, I felt suddenly driven to have a baby. It made no rational sense, but I started looking into artificial insemination — I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time — and costs of childcare. I was on the fast-track in IT, had a stable career and was making more than enough money to support a family, so I started making plans. I even told my boss about it, and he was very supportive. After about two weeks or so, however, the reproductive drive vanished into thin air. It hasn’t resurfaced since.

shabbat in the park

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 16:54:00 +0000

When it comes to shabbat services, I’m more of a Friday evening gal. I enjoy the smaller gathering, the lighting of the candles and the more meditative feel of winding down the week and welcoming sacred time and space. It’s a peaceful and relaxing way to let go of whatever has been weighing on me and to make room for reflection and some degree of serenity. It also sets the stage for spending at least part of the weekend enjoying the outdoors — which is my true temple.

I was all set to head to the shul this past Friday evening, when I discovered that the Saturday morning service was to be celebrated in a local park. Perfect timing for the summer solstice. I made a quick call to Mom — who was going to be in town anyway — and brought her along to her first Jewish service ever.

We couldn’t have asked for a better day. There was a brief sprinkle of rain in the early morning, but the clouds quickly gave way to warm sunshine. A group of picnic tables under some trees had been reserved for us, and folks trickled in — on foot, on bikes, with strollers — as we set up camping chairs and picnic blankets.

Plenty of passerby stopped to watch us as we started singing — I guess a bunch of Jews in the park isn’t something you see every day — and I slipped off my shoes and pressed my bare feet into the grass. Children laughed and played throughout the service — one of the things I love about going to temple is that the kids aren’t commanded to sit still and be quiet, as we were always instructed in chapel growing up. It’s very family-friendly, and gathering in the park only emphasized that.

It was so freeing to be outside in spiritual community — and in the company of flowers and trees — to feel the sun on my skin and breathe the clean air, rather than being inside while following the same order of service. I prefer natural surroundings to man-made ones. The earth beneath my feet and the open sky overhead create the most sacred space I know of.

We weren’t the only people celebrating in the park that morning. Two different groups of Neo-Pagans set up their own circles within sight of our gathering to mark the midsummer holiday of Litha. The rabbi commented, “Well, we’re all pagans, aren’t we?”

Talking about the service later, Mom shared how much she had enjoyed the event and the people. I’m so glad her first visit with my shul was a positive one, and am grateful for those few hours spent with my spiritual community in natural surroundings. I held this experience up to Mom as a more tangible example of the “roots and wings” I’ve been yearning for.

I’m not sure I’ll join them for next month’s “Shabbat in the Pool”…. Perhaps I’ll instead head over solo to the grove of trees not far from my home, and mark my own observance there.

It’s the beginning of another work week, and I’m already looking forward to Friday evening — when I can sit outside, light candles and take time to enjoy and appreciate the ready-made sanctuary just outside my door.

dog fight update

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 19:27:00 +0000

I wanted to give a quick update on the dog fight from a week-and-a-half ago.

My neighbor has been released from the hospital, and I went to visit him and take him some soup. He had his family with him and seemed to be in good spirits, though he’ll require some recovery time. At the time that I saw him, he still had no memory of what had happened.

I gave him an overview of the details. He was glad to hear that Lakshmi is alright. Indeed, Lakshmi is healing nicely and finished her round of antibiotics this morning. I hope to get her back to the dog park some time this week, as she’s been anxious to get out and play again.

My neighbor’s daughter let me know that his dog, who had attacked Lakshmi, had been put down. She had apparently been showing signs of increasing aggression toward family members, and this incident with my dog was the last straw. I’m sad that this was the outcome for the dog — though it would have take some very special circumstances and a lot of time and energy to try to rehabilitate her — and am sorry for my neighbor to lose another companion.

In the aftermath of this canine altercation, and under the crunch of work and some other projects and turbulence, I’ve not been as personally active online as usual. If you’ve tried contacting me lately and you’re not an editor, you probably haven’t heard back from me for a week or more — other than quick-hit e-mail exchanges, I owe replies to most of my friends and family. I did take off some time last Friday afternoon and Saturday, to get away from the computer and catch up on some reading, but then was back at work Saturday night and into Sunday.

It’s still crunch time for my writing work, but I’m starting to catch up. I think Lakshmi and I both could use some time at the dog park.

improve the world

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 16:03:00 +0000

This morning, I’ve had a particular piece of wisdom on my mind:

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.

— Anne Frank

Rather than waxing philosophical on the power of mere existence — and how every person’s every action is like that small stone thrown into the pond, the impact rippling outward to touch even the farthest shore — I thought I’d instead think up a couple of quick, simple ways to put this truth into positive, constructive action.

So, how can one person start to improve the world right here and now?

* Say, “I love you,” and mean it.
* Take a deep breath and appreciate being able to breathe.
* Be generous to other drivers merging and changing lanes in traffic.
* Offer your seat on the bus or train to someone who needs it more than you do.
* Say, “Hello” and share a smile with a stranger.
* Treat your body to a glass of clean water and a fresh piece of fruit.
* Take a five- or ten-minute break to get outside. Take a walk, touch a tree and the grass, literally stop to smell the roses.
* Wave to the children on the school bus as they go by.
* Take a box of languishing items — clothing, housewares, books, etc. — to a local charity.
* Turn off (and even unplug) household and office lights and appliances when you’re not using them.
* Pick up a piece of litter and make sure it gets to a trash bin.
* Greet neighbors and co-workers as they come and go through the day.
* Say, “Thank you” to your librarian, postal carrier, street sweeper, retail cashier, teacher — anyone — to express appreciation for his/her service.
* Think of a favorite game from childhood — whether it’s Red Light Green Light, Twister, Hide-and-Go-Seek, Crazy 8s or chess — and make a play date with your friends.
* Register to vote, if you haven’t already.

It would be easy to spend the rest of the morning coming up with more ideas, but you get the drift. I’d rather spend that same time actually making a difference.

What are you doing today to have a positive impact?

tv log and territorial spider

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 15:47:00 +0000

Yesterday, a friend announced that he and his family were giving up their paid television service and would simply rely on what they can receive via antenna — and will keep watching their favorite cable shows on BitTorrent and iTunes.

I did the same thing from 2000 to 2004, but with no TV-on-internet supplement. I’d worked for MediaOne (formerly Continental Cablevision, later AT&T Broadband, and now Comcast) 1996-1999, and like all full-time employees had gotten full cable service as part of the standard benefits package. My TV had quickly become a black hole. Living alone, I found myself too easily settling into the comfort of having the television keep me company.

I’d pull myself away from it and would deliberately keep it turned off for days at a time while I got back to living my life — what life I had, outside of my 80-hour work week, wasn’t much. At the very least, I was reading more. But it was still all too convenient to switch on the box as I was cooking or doing housework, sewing dance costumes or working out.

So when I left the company — and they finally remembered to shut off my service — I wasn’t all that sorry to see it go. I did miss access to 24-hour international news, but I’d more frequently turned to public radio for that anyway, and I had a VCR and DVD player for watching movies. I’d like to say that I was generally happier and had more breathing room in my life.

Then I moved to Oregon — where I wouldn’t have access to locally broadcast Atlantic Coast Conference games. And, the Olympics were coming that summer! I simply had to have multi-channel, 24-hour access to Olympic and other sports coverage, or so I told myself. I was the only woman I knew who chose her satellite service package based on what sports channels were offered. (Yes, last week I even watched all four hours and thirty-eight minutes of Game 5 of the NHL championships, Pittsburgh Penguins vs. Detroit Red Wings.)

But the service package comes with a lot more than just sports channels, and that’s the problem. I’ve got a whole lot of nothing being aired all day every day. I’m paying for it whether I watch it or not. I don’t watch it, of course, but it still seems like a huge waste.

A la carte service is not available because of the deals that media corporations make with the distribution companies. They’re under contractual obligation to offer blocks of channels and programming, rather than just individual networks — which means the end consumer doesn’t get to pick and choose either. But I’m wondering…. If I made a list of the programming I wanted to view on a regular basis, and calculated the costs of getting that programming via my computer rather than via a satellite/receiver, it would be interesting to see how that monthly cost would stack up against what I’m paying DISH Network every month.

So while my friend and his family are going cold turkey on paid TV service, I’ve started making a television viewing log. I just want to see what my TV habits really are, what I’m watching, and what — if anything — it’s contributing to my life.

I’ve only been keeping this log for a day, and I’m not sure I want to post the results regularly online, but here’s the log from yesterday:

Monday, 9 June 2008
1:05 p.m. - 1:26 p.m.: CNN’s The Situation Room
While eating lunch. Have there always been so many commercials on CNN? Seems to be more advertising than programming/news.

5:19 p.m. - 6:16 p.m.: Friends/Law & Order/Ocean’s Twelve
Channel surfing while making and eating dinner, and while running upstairs periodically to check e-mail.

8:57 p.m. - 9:59 p.m.: Sex & the City/ER
Post-painting in the bedroom. Just wanted some mindless entertainment to wind down the evening.

(I have a tendency to skip around between channels whenever there’s a commercial break. One reason I love my DVR service is that it allows me to skip over commercials — saving both time and annoyance.)

I’ll keep this log running for at least a week. Admittedly, knowing that I have to write down my viewing behavior will very likely act as a deterrent to too much TV viewing, but I’d still like to see where my TV time is going, and then use this to make a “real use” calculation to compare to my monthly subscription service.

And yes, the Olympics are coming, once again…. Gotta have those sports channels.

On another, somewhat curious, note: While painting the walls of the bedroom last evening, I encountered a spider that was hiding in a small crack between the wall and ceiling. Initially, it was rushing out as if to challenge the paint brush that was sweeping closer and closer to its hiding place, but it finally retreated. At first, I found this a little amusing — a spider battling against a paint brush — but I’m also concerned about having such an aggressive spider in my bedroom, even way up high.

dog fight

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 16:34:00 +0000

While out walking yesterday morning, Lakshmi was attacked by a neighbor's Rottweiler-Lab mix. I am uninjured. Lakshmi has some puncture wounds which the vet has tended to. The other dog is fine.

My neighbor, however, is in the hospital with a brain contusion. He is an older gentleman, and when his dog first lunged for mine, he was pulled to the pavement and hit his head.

I just wanted to let everyone know why I've been quiet, and may be off-line for a while. All of the stress of the day -- screaming for help; trying to wrestle the Rottie off of my dog's throat; chasing after Lakshmi when she ran off, terrified; etc. -- has left me feeling like I've been hit by a truck.

And I'm very worried about my neighbor, a dear man who has had a rather bad run of luck lately. I'm told that this has happened before -- getting knocked down by his dog -- but that it had occurred on grass and so hadn't caused injury.

If you're a praying person, I'm sure he'd appreciate the good thoughts.

osiris warms up

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 21:06:00 +0000

Osiris, my five year-old black cat, has always been a bit stand-offish.

He was easily startled as a kitten and didn’t appreciate being brought into a home with two rather curious — and large — dogs in residence. He eventually settled in, by degrees, but remained overly cautious. He’s still rather jumpy, and doesn’t like to be picked up or held.

In the last few months, however, he’s gotten a lot more snuggly than he ever was before.

As a kitten, he was very serious about heavy kneading when he was purring, and I sometimes awoke to what felt like shiatsu massage, care of this little kitten. As the weather got warmer and the blankets got lighter, these greetings weren’t nearly as welcome as his claws easily penetrated the bed linens to my skin. Still, he’d wait until I was asleep, and until the other kitten and the pups had settled down for the evening, and then would find an empty spot on the bed to curl up.

But he’s suddenly decided to stop being quite so distant.

At first, I’d thought it was the cold winter weather that was driving him to curl up next to me so quickly and so closely. He easily displaced Kenobi (the smaller cat, of the same age) at the head of the bed, nearest my face and torso, and even occasionally climbed up on the sofa with me, careful to lie down a short distance away from me, just out of reach.

Kenobi and Osiris

But now it’s June. Sure, this is Portland, so it’s still occasionally rainy and rather chilly as we move into summer, but Osiris is getting more and more snuggly even as the warmer weather makes its appearance.

As soon as I head to the bedroom — whether I’m retiring for the evening or just feel like taking a quick nap — Osiris is there. He’s on the bed as soon as I am, and curls up very close to me before my head even touches the pillow. He’s lately started jumping into my lap on the sofa — something he’d never done before — and while he won’t actually curl up on me, he snuggles right up against me.

It’s likely not the weather. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been feeling rather low these past few weeks — as I’d grieved for Nanook and then Journey recently, Osiris similarly became more attentive. This sweet and rather large kitty — the King of the Cats, the Pharaonic Feline — has been tending to me, letting me know that I’m loved, keeping me company. At least, that’s what I’d like to think he’s doing.

Or maybe he’s just finally warming up to me, and is after five years at last coming out of his shell.

swamped, and color therapy

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Fri, 30 May 2008 04:49:00 +0000

As with last evening, there will no -- or few -- deep thoughts or reflective musings from me tonight. I am quite literally swamped with work -- good in a way, though on a short-term, immediately temporary basis. Other freelancers and independents will likely understand what that means.

There has been no additional painting, as much as I'd wanted to get back to that today. I have conducted an unprecedented number of interviews today, all on little or no notice. My call and e-mail volumes were enormous.

To top it off -- because, after all, when it rains, it pours -- I have family coming into town tomorrow evening, and have just gotten word that an old friend from Virginia is in Portland this weekend for a conference. All this is happening while I absolutely have to do a large amount of work over the weekend.

But I am not complaining (much). I do love my work. I just wish it were steadier, rather than these waves of crunch time followed by more quiet troughs, but I am working toward a more even flow.

I did notice, however, that with the official beginning yesterday of the house painting project(s), there was a definite shift in my personal energy. This could be due to the fact that the color in the master bathroom -- and I've also started in on the bedroom now, with the same color -- is one of my favorites and easily has my house feeling much more like my own space. The existing colors of this place have been a constant, if unconscious, reminder of previous residents. My home is finally becoming my own.

But I'd also colored my hair recently -- I tend to make changes to my hair when dealing with heartache -- and even this has me feeling more like myself. I am really rather witchy looking.

Reclaiming myself through color. What a concept.

painting, day 1

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Thu, 29 May 2008 03:35:00 +0000

Not much of a blog entry from me this evening, I'm afraid. I am covered in "Roslyn's Blue," a color I picked out yesterday for the master bedroom and bathroom.

I went to work on the bathroom a few hours ago, thinking that it's a small space and should go quickly. "The best laid schemes of mice and men gang oft agley," as the saying goes. Small space, sure, but lots of corners, cabinets, and fixtures to negotiate. I'd not even considered trying to paint behind the toilet tank, but I did it. I covered every square centimeter of that wall, without removing the toilet. And I have the paint in my hair, on my clothes, and on my skin to prove it.

There remains a fair amount of space over the sink to be painted, as well as the walls surrounding the shower, but I think I'm done for the evening.

I'm glad I started this project, however. I'll finish up the bathroom in the next day or two, and have already started on the bedroom -- if painting about six square inches of one wall counts as having started. The master bedroom is huge, and there's still the entire downstairs to paint as well -- and there are several gallons of "Falling Rain" awaiting that project start.

It's a lot of work, but I'd forgotten how much I enjoy these household projects. It's all about making a house a home.

Now it's time to try to wash this paint out of my hair, and to try taking a shower with the ladder still dominating the bathroom.

home holding pattern

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Tue, 27 May 2008 19:18:00 +0000

I’ve been reading the first book of Jim Butcher’s “Dresden Files” series — Storm Front — and just this morning, I’ve come across the following passage:

Here had lived someone else who knew that the only thing waiting at home was a sense of loneliness. Sometimes it is comforting. Most often, it isn’t.

This got me to thinking again about this “intentional vacuum” I’m creating in my home, clearing out that which no longer serves me as a means of inviting in more of the life I choose to create for myself.

I’ve been living very much a “bachelor” lifestyle, for lack of a better term — granted, my home and schedule are significantly more organized and livable than those of many (but not all) bachelors I’ve seen. It wasn’t until reading this passage in Butcher’s novel about a wizard private investigator that I realized that my house doesn’t feel very much like a home — at least, it doesn’t feel like the home I want to live in.

In recent months, I’ve found myself reminiscing about the house I left behind in Virginia. I loved that house. I owned and lived in it for seven years, and I’d absolutely made it my own. I replaced major appliances — including switching the house over form oil to gas for heating — tore down walls, stripped wallpaper off of every wall and ceiling in the place, rebuilt the screened porch, planted a garden…. That place was a real home, and I loved it.

I’ve been in this condo now for almost four years. I’ve made some changes — ripped up the downstairs carpet, painted the kitchen, installed central air, planted some herbs, and the like — but for the most part, I still haven’t made this place my own. I’ve not made the investment of my time, energy, and vision into creating a home for myself here.

I suppose I kept thinking of this place as being temporary, that I’d stay here until I found something better, until I found my mate, until I moved on. All of that is absolutely still the case — after all, today is merely the space and time connecting yesterday to tomorrow — but it has given rise to rather tenuous feelings and circumstances in my life as a whole. Not to mention that my house doesn’t feel like my home.

To build the life I want for myself tomorrow, I have to commit today. If I’m living a life of waiting, then the forecast for tomorrow will similarly be more waiting. To create the home life I envision for myself moving forward, I’m going to have to get to work right here, where I am now. That means finally picking a couple of paint colors and making some choices about what rugs, artwork, and pieces of furniture to keep and what to give away, instead of waiting around to “see what happens” before making any decisions.

I’m not sure how or why I got myself locked into such a holding pattern, but one thing’s for sure: My house is not a waiting room. I choose to make it my home.

optimism

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Tue, 27 May 2008 02:19:00 +0000

A friend wrote late last night in response to yesterday’s “intentional vacuum” blog entry to tell me how much he admires my optimism.

I responded that in all honesty, if it weren’t for my optimism, I’d probably be dead by now.

The people who know me reasonably well will understand that statement. Maybe this has to do with something a spiritual counselor I know calls “potentiality” — the ability to see the highest potential a person has within him/herself, even if that person isn’t embodying it at the moment. Somewhat along the lines of what Anne Frank wrote in her diary:

Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.

Or maybe it’s because looking for the bright side in just about everything is an easy way to keep sane.

For instance, even though I’m in the midst of getting my heart broken, I’m keeping focused on the positive aspects of my most recent relationship. For one, even though I’d not been with anyone in a long time and had been afraid of getting involved again, I discovered that I’m actually rather good at being close to someone. It’s comfortable. I like it. That was a happy surprise. Also, I learned that I do want to marry and raise a child with my husband — again, something I’d not known previously.

These are good things to know about myself, and this allows me to hold a vision of what I want to create moving forward.

The tricky part of that, however, is not getting emotionally attached to specific outcomes. Building a vision of what I want that involves specific institutions, objects, people, places, timelines, or other details can fuel expectations that more often than not will get dashed on the rocks. It is, as my mother likes to say, a matter of holding the vision alongside the mantra, "This, or something better."

So I’m still generally hopeful, and am becoming more practiced — through trial and error — in the art of detached optimism.

intentional vacuum

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sun, 25 May 2008 17:09:00 +0000

Nature abhors a vacuum.

That certainly explains the state of my house. ;) When I get stressed or am feeling doubtful and uncertain -- in the absence of tranquility -- my house has a tendency to get cluttered. Things really got out of control after Nanook's death, and the chaos came home to roost in the midst of Journey's illness and then in my dealing with Lakshmi's anxiety and socialization problems. After that, I suppose it was a matter of inertia; even though my living space was uncomfortable, I was exhausted and addressing organization required more energy than I had to expend.

But I've slowly been crawling back out of this. Before I lived with animals, my living space was very tidy. I can assume I'm naturally orderly. Unfortunately, I didn't develop too many new organizational skills to adapt to living with the four-footeds.

I'm taking some time now to more actively pursue the life I choose to create for myself. I've learned through recent experience that I do want a loving partnership. I want marriage and a child. As I'd been growing older, and was still single more often than not, I'd gotten very comfortable not making space for anyone else. It's absolutely appropriate that we fill the gaps in our own lives (and not expect someone else to do that for us), but as with any new venture, we do have to carve out the time and space necessary to let the new energy in.

When I was in college, a good friend of mine gave me his perspective on why he thought I was still single. He told me that I was absolutely what he and many other men were looking for -- attractive, smart, vibrant, confident, funny -- but that my life seemed so full that he wasn't sure where or how he'd fit into it. Part of that is reflex -- filling my own time with my own pursuits, since there wasn't anyone around to share in it -- but I hadn't seen how I'd unintentionally been edging out what I wanted.

More recently, I was honestly surprised by how much time and space my relationship required. And even though that is on hiatus now, or possibly even over, I got a wonderful taste of not only what I do absolutely want in my life, but of the fact that I need to get better about making room for it.

In my neighborhood, there are between two and four people living in condos the same size as mine. There are also quite a few singles, like myself, but these are typically older women who have family regularly come to visit. Sure, no one else has a banshee dog like I do, but I still look around my space and wonder where a family would fit. (Ideally, I wouldn't be living here with my family -- but would be somewhere with a fenced yard -- but that's beside the point.)

My bedroom closet -- built for two -- is full, mostly of clothes I no longer wear. My bookcases are stacked with volumes I've not touched in years. And so on. If I were going to share my living space with a partner -- either having him move in here, or my packing up to join him -- I would certainly want to pare down my possessions. So why not begin that process now? Why not start, today, to clear the space -- in my life and in my home -- for the reality I want to bring into being?

Nature abhors a vacuum. Isn't it reasonable to assume, then, that creating space in my life for what I want is a more active invitation? I should tackle that closet anyway -- there are perfectly good clothing items in there that simply aren't being used -- and in the process, I am also clearing the way for my partner's clothes, literally and symbolically. Just as making a clean sweep of my desk when completing one project makes room for the next, so too can de-cluttering my living space help to attract real love and light into my life, and make it welcome.

plastic windows

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sun, 25 May 2008 05:02:00 +0000

Up until this evening, I firmly believed that the plastic windows in paper envelopes could not be recycled. I suppose that must have been the case when I first started recycling -- back in the Stone Age, apparently.

This is good to know. I just wish I could get back the untold hours I've spent "processing" the vast amounts of junk mail I received each week, all in the attempt to remove plastic that turns out can be recycled.

Doh!

co-working trial

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Thu, 22 May 2008 16:32:00 +0000

Wednesday afternoon, I headed over to Souk in downtown Portland. Stories about co-working — independents like myself converging on office space to work in parallel — have been frequently in the media in the past several weeks, and I’d been curious about trying this out.

To accommodate a video being made for one of the Meredith publications, Souk was offering free hot desk space to anyone who wanted to come down and "work" while the video shoot was going on. It was the perfect opportunity.

Co-working is not foreign to me. For several years, I’ve been regularly packing up my computer and heading out to a coffee shop or to the library to work remotely, at least for a few hours, sometimes several days each week. Working alone in a home office can be very isolating — particularly when you also live alone — and sometimes I just crave being around other people.

Coffee People had a wonderful set-up, with plenty of table space, free WiFi, occasionally adequate access to electrical outlets, friendly staff, and no limit on how long “remote workers” could hang out and be productive. They even let you bring in outside food and beverages — as long as it didn’t come from Starbucks. There was a core group of us who would descend on the coffee shop at various times, and we built up our own casual little network. We’d help each other out if someone had a question or was experiencing technical difficulties. We referred each other to friends and colleagues for goods and services. It was great.

But then Starbucks bought Coffee People. It’s just not the same. The re-designed space isn’t at all conducive to productivity, the Coffee People baristas and managers have all moved on, and the WiFi connection requires a paid subscription.

I’ve been hunting out other spaces and found a few — Bella Espresso, Longbottom Coffee, and the Hillsboro Library — but they’re just not the same.

So when co-working venues started appearing in the news, I paid attention. Of course, excitement quickly turned to disappointment when I discovered that none of the co-working spots in the metro Portland area are located anywhere close to me. Souk — in downtown — is the nearest one, and requires an hour-long light rail commute, each way. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, even on an occasional basis.

But, a free hot desk for an hour or so made it worth my while to try it at least once.

When I arrived, the video crew was already setting up equipment and rearranging the main room. I settled in at one hot desk, resolved some problems connecting to the WiFi network, and started working. A few minutes later, I was asked to move to one of the hot desks in the center of the room, where they’d be shooting video. Apparently, I was just part of the "background" for those shots, as the action focused on three men sitting together at a table in front of me. In reality, these Portland professionals had never met before and spent their time introducing themselves and talking about their work, but in the video, they appear to be having an interesting and productive meeting.

A few minutes later, I was asked to move again, this time to one of the conference rooms. Souk offers several conference rooms as well as private offices to those who need them. For a while there, I appeared to be a conference of one, until a few other people were relocated into the room with me. A restaurant manager and I both had our Mac laptops and were doing actual work while also contributing to the pretend business meeting. One guy stood up at a white board and pointed to words like "national," "marketing," "energize," and "global."

I asked if there was any possibility of expanding the business galactically, which started the conversation on how to set up franchises on Jupiter and what the plan was for full solar system domination. It was a fun couple of minutes. Then they shut off the cameras, and we were free to leave.

Souk has a nice space. It’s clean and open, and I can imagine how this could really help people to connect to boost their productivity, while also encouraging more focus and motivation in a professional setting. Trust me, I often feel like anything but a professional when I’ve got cats pushing file folders off the desk onto the floor, the dog is barking and dashing in and out of my office, my neighbor is standing in his courtyard yelling at someone on the phone, and I’ve just barely gotten myself dressed before sitting down behind the computer.

Other than the location — ideal for some folks, but definitely not for me — there were only a few drawbacks I saw at Souk. One was that the windows in the open hot desk area are higher up toward the ceiling, so the only view you have is of the sky and the upper floors of surrounding buildings. Also, the desks — and everything on them — vibrated whenever someone walked across the floor. These are hardly deal-breakers but were jarring in the short term. Also, the WiFi network seemed sluggish.

I’m glad this idea of co-working is catching on. If a similar space became available closer to me, I’d be a charter member. In the meantime, you can still find me on occasion at a local coffee shop or the library.

keep on keeping on

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Wed, 21 May 2008 17:18:00 +0000

I’ve missed the past two days in the May blogathon. There’s been a kind of personal crisis that’s gotten in the way of quite a bit lately.

Which brings me to today’s blog topic: sometimes all you can do is just keep on keeping on.

Moving to Portland was a huge change from Richmond, Virginia — where I’d grown up and where I’d lived as an adult for more than a decade. In many ways, this relocation was very good, but this change also presented some unexpected challenges. There are some things I’ve been grappling with since I got here, not the least of which was the untimely death of my beloved Alaskan husky, Nanook — followed several months later by the trials of Lakshmi, an illness in one of my cats, and the severe diabetes, seizures and ultimate death of my dog, Journey.

It’s been a year since Journey’s passing — that anniversary was this past Sunday — and there are parts of my life that are still recovering from those very difficult months of prolonged trauma and grief. My life was impacted in ways I couldn’t have imagined, and it has been a struggle to come back from all of that, as well as from some other hits I’ve taken.

But that’s life.

In the past several months, things have really begun looking up, on several fronts. It was wonderful to feel my optimism at last being rewarded. Things weren’t perfect, of course, but good things were happening, and I was really enjoying myself. I felt like I was finally firing on all cylinders in the three most important areas of my life — my work, my love life, and my health.

And then a huge wrench got thrown into the works — something completely outside my control, and I’m still not sure what the outcome might be. In the meantime, there’s frustration, anxiety, and pain involved, along with a great amount of compassion. I feel very much in limbo. The temptation to ignore pretty much everything but this current crisis is rather strong, to sink all my energy into fixing this. But I don’t have that option. It’s not my problem to fix. It’s not easy to turn my attention to the rest of my life and just let this sit, but sometimes that’s all I can do.

I grew up in a home of high drama and didn’t learn at an early age that giving something room is not the same as ignoring it, and that backing off is not necessarily the same as abandonment. I had to learn on my own that some things take time, that some problems really do need to be tackled head-on with full force, but if I find that I’m beating my head against a wall, a better strategy is to take a step back and look for a doorway through. And that no measure of love or good intention gives anyone the power to solve other people’s problems.

So I’m keeping on keeping on, or trying to. I’m working on investing my efforts in areas where I can have positive and productive impact — in hopes also of gaining a more balanced perspective on what is not within the realm of my control. I simply have to trust that the rest will work itself out.

twitter

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Mon, 19 May 2008 06:16:00 +0000

About three weeks ago, I joined Twitter.

I’d been hearing about Twitter for several weeks, but had no idea what it was. Even when a friend and fellow writer tried to describe it to me, it still didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Why would I want to post tiny little descriptions about where I was and what I was doing, and read similar offerings from other people? It sounded like a self-indulgent waste of time.

The reality of it has proved far different.

I don’t have a huge number of followers, nor am I following all that many people on Twitter. There’s not a whole lot one can say in 140 characters or fewer, so I choose my words and phrasing carefully, and I don’t post every little thing that comes to mind. Sometimes it is pure whimsy, but mostly it’s about some of the smaller details of life that I’d just like to be able to share.

Rather than being a source of distraction and procrastination — big reasons I don’t keep IM windows open when I’m trying to work — I’ve found Twitter instead to be a means of motivation. Many of the folks on my follower/following list are other writers, and I like reading about what they’re up to during the day. The mundane and sometimes even tedious daily tasks of the writing life make sense to me, and there’s a kind of solidarity in keeping abreast of other writers’ activities, and in posting updates of my own.

And when I do start feeling various diversions and interruptions pulling at me, knowing what my fellow writers are doing can even help me stay on task — not so much out of competition, but more in the spirit of right association. When those around me are being productive, it’s easy for me to be productive as well, and vice-versa. Hearing about other authors’ book signings, e-mails from editors, and book proposals in process can inspire me to dive into some of my own query and proposal work that I’ve been putting off. Even reading complaints about sources and PR people is a comfort when I’m dealing with the consistent frustrations and tedium that come with writing professionally.

I’ve also found Twitter a fun way to stay in touch with “real friends” as we all go about our days, and to learn from relative strangers who are skilled in areas of expertise that are completely foreign to me. I may not have the intimate and far-reaching international network that others have built, but I’m enjoying myself all the same.

I’ve not yet added my “Twitter feed” to the Ravenwald website, but I’ve been thinking about it. For now, you can find my Twitter page and profile here: http://twitter.com/jenwillis

I’ll keep twitting away.

blogathon

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sun, 18 May 2008 08:15:00 +0000

Some of you may be wondering why I’ve suddenly been blogging so frequently. I’m part of a blogathon — sponsored by fellow writer (and fellow Portlander) Michelle Rafter. All participants are posting new blog entries every day for the entire month of May.

(Of course, I didn’t find out about it until 7 May, so I’m about a week behind everyone else.)

I’d initially started this blog with the idea of posting once each week. For the first week or so, that was a piece of cake. I was actually having to hold myself back from posting daily. That was in autumn 2004. After a short while, I found my entries were less frequent, and my blogging motivation was waning. I wasn’t sure what to write about, and what to keep to myself. Plus, I was convinced no one was reading this thing anyway.

More time went by, and I was sometimes lucky to post one new entry per month.

This year, I’d been getting better about returning to the once weekly blog schedule, but it was still way too easy to slip. That’s why I joined in on Michelle’s challenge. Post at least once a day. About anything. Even if all I’m throwing up here is the ingredients list from my dog’s breakfast. (Interesting to note that “dog’s breakfast” has also been used to euphemistically refer to the human brain.)

The logic is similar to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), in which I’ve participated annually since 2004. Write 2,000 words a day, every day, for the month of November. By the end of the month, you’ve got a first draft of a new novel. It’s hard work, but it’s wicked fun.

I figured that writing once a day, about anything, would be a good exercise — not only in revitalizing my blog (assuming I’ve not frightened anyone away with my strange range of subject matter of late), but in spurring on other creative juices, too. And I have to say it’s going rather well. I started out the process by typing up a tentative list of topics I thought I might cover during the month, yet I’ve scarcely had to refer to it. Enough comes up each day that I generally still have to pick and choose what to write about. No dearth of material here.

Save for this evening, perhaps. This is my Saturday post, which will actually be going online in the wee hours of Sunday morning. I’d not factored in a cook-out with my boyfriend’s pals, followed by back-to-back hockey games. My apologies.

I’m not sure that I’ll keep up this same pace after 1 June, but I won’t have any doubt that I’d be able to continue blogging daily, if I wanted to. This is also a good indication that I have plenty of material for regular podcasts, too — it’s just a matter of working podcast writing and production time into my schedule. Sometimes, once you’ve decided to just dive into the middle of a challenge, it’s not nearly as difficult as you’d anticipated.

hot puppy

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Fri, 16 May 2008 23:39:00 +0000

It’s wickedly hot here. For May, and for the Pacific Northwest.

Although it was snowing just a month ago, the mercury hit 87-degrees (F) yesterday, and has passed 97 today. I’ve finally broken down and turned on the AC — mostly for my poor husky puppy, who has been clinging to me, panting and whimpering most of the afternoon.

I had central air put into the house shortly after I moved in. Most homes here in Portland don’t have air-conditioning — for the most part, it’s unnecessary — though it does feel like it’s getting a bit warmer here a bit sooner each summer. As an eco-conscious gal, I dislike even having AC — much less using it — but it’s becoming more and more of a necessity, even though I use it sparingly. Turning it on before it’s even June really doesn’t make me feel good.

My last full year in Richmond, Virginia, it first hit the 90-degree mark in April. Our last over-90-degree day that year was in October, so we effectively had six months of summer. Both the heat and humidity were getting harder and harder for me to take, and each summer I spent increasingly long hours and days lying around on the bed — even with the AC running — because I simply couldn’t function. When I get hot, I run fevers and get sick to my stomach — thanks to some problems with heat exhaustion when I was a teenager.

One summer in Richmond — I think it was 1995 — we had an atrocious heat wave that lasted about three days. I was living in an old house without AC and not much in the way of window ventilation, either. I remember spending the entire weekend lying on the floor, with my cat and Alaskan husky stretched out nearby. Occasionally, I’d get up to change out the water bowls and ice cube trays I’d set in front of the box fans. I was exhausted and dehydrated, but I was still better off than being outside.

A move to the cooler weather of the Pacific Northwest greatly appealed to me, with its mild, dark days and frequent rainfall. Even the winters are easier here — though it first snowed in November, and then again last month…. Five months of winter?

Yesterday’s high temperatures took me by surprise, and not in a good way. But I had fair warning that we’d be even hotter today. I got as much work done before 10:30 a.m. as I could, then ran errands before my brain officially melted — but I was already sweating by 8 a.m., and we cracked 80 degrees soon after 9. I bought every popsicle mold Bed Bath & Beyond had in stock, and — as I type — I have orange juice, cran-grape, limeade and Dr. Pepper popsicles setting in the freezer.

The cats were first curled up in dark corners of the house, but in the afternoon have taken to stretching out across the floor. I’ve been unable to think all that straight and so was just lounging on the couch, having a rather unpleasant pseudo-dream about being alone in a mini-sub that was being attacked by a shark. Maybe something I could turn into a screenplay for the Sci-Fi Channel.

It’s getting later in the afternoon, but the heat is holding. I thought I could just hang out on the couch and try my best not to move until after sunset. But my dog was increasingly in distress. This poor Siberian-wolf has a thick fur coat she can’t take off. It’s nearly 90-degrees inside the house right now, and it could take a while for the cooling system to really have an impact, but at least it’s getting better for her.

That’s the hot and steamy report for this afternoon.

little patients

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Thu, 15 May 2008 17:21:00 +0000

This past Tuesday, I was at Legacy Emanuel Hospital for a media event put on by the Children’s Cancer Association, Nike, and the Portland Trailblazers. The unveiling of the Music Rx media cart was held in the Infant and Toddler’s playroom, and in addition to the planners, designers, basketball players and reporters, there were cancer patients present.

And they were all children.

One of the Nike designers, who is a friend of mine, said he had no doubt that these children were chosen for the morning’s presentation because they looked pretty good at this point in their treatment and were able to be cheerful and smile for the press. My friend had been in and out of the hospital for several months working on this project, and he admitted that the process had been tough.

“Even though you’re there to work on the project, you’re surrounded by these sick children,” my friend said. He watched healthy-looking children deteriorate rapidly from one week to the next. “These kids look okay today, but if you saw them again in a week, you wouldn’t recognize them. The treatment takes such an incredible toll.”

Some of the kids looked perfectly healthy. Then there was Faith, all of perhaps five or six years old and the spitting image of her father. She enjoyed playing with the toys and giving and receiving hugs. She had a huge smile on her face during the entire event. But her skin was a sickly grayish-tan color, and she weighed only a fraction of what she should — and she had a feeding tube taped to the side of her face and running up through one nostril.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. She was so obviously happy, and yet so obviously unwell. I had to physically turn away from her so I couldn’t watch her. I concentrated instead on what the fabricator was telling me about the materials design process, and fought back the tears I could feel welling up.

These children didn’t ask to be sick. It’s hard enough coming into a world that is increasingly complicated and frightening, particularly when you’re little and are totally dependent on the big people around you to take care of you, but to get smacked with a life-threatening illness right out of the gate is just plain cruel. Of course, the parents didn’t sign up for this, either. Who adopts or conceives a child with the fervent hope, “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if my child develops cancer!”?

I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d talked to everyone I needed to talk to and just couldn’t do anymore glad-handing. I stepped out into the hallway, out of the crush of people — cancer-riddled children, healthy adults, and freakishly tall basketball players alike — and checked my voice mail. I sent out a few superfluous text messages. I sat down on the couch and busied myself with taking notes.

That’s when a young mother rolled over my way with her son. He was all of perhaps 18 or 24 months old — it’s difficult to tell a child’s age when s/he is sick — and he was riding in a big red wagon, complete with pillows, comfy blankets, an IV stand and other monitoring equipment. The scant hair on his head was scraggly and growing in patches. No doubt the rest had fallen out. He had scabs on his arms and chest from where tubes had formerly been inserted, and surgical tape holding down the current lines and tubes. He was fussing, crying, uncomfortable and in pain.

His mother sat down in the chair beside me and called her husband on her cell phone while one of the hospital volunteers brought her a piece of cake from the event still going on in the playroom.

Her son was in too much discomfort to even listen to his father’s voice on the phone. The young woman placed the piece of cake inside the wagon with her son and stood up to continue rolling him down the hall. Then this little boy did something that nearly made me burst into tears.

He reached for the plastic fork, carved a big chunk out of the piece of cake, and held it up to offer to his mother.

In the midst of his own dis-ease, this little child’s simple act of generosity and love toward his mother just floored me. Like Faith’s unwavering smile, the spirit of these children remains steady and undaunted.

the jewish thing

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Wed, 14 May 2008 17:20:00 +0000

“Why do you want to convert to Judaism?”

I get this question a lot, sometimes several times from the same people. I was asked this again last evening — while at the rock gym with a new climbing buddy (that in itself is likely a separate blog entry) — and I realized that I’ve probably not adequately answered such a query on this blog.

So here goes.

I was a student at a Montessori School from the ages of 2 to 9. While there, I was exposed to many different perspectives, cultures and religions. We celebrated anything and everything. It was fantastic. I learned the commonality of faith, rather than the separateness of traditions. Of course, I also had no idea that Christmas and Hanukkah were two different holidays, that a menorah and a Christmas tree don’t naturally go together.

It was when I transferred to St. Catherine’s Episcopal School for Girls as a fourth grader that I learned I wasn’t Jewish. It was rather disappointing.

Around that same time, I turned ten. As was the family tradition, my father’s father presented me with a leather-bound edition of the King James Bible — “Words of Christ in Red” — with my name embossed on the cover in gold. I still have that Bible. As a child, I used to read the Book of Genesis over and over again, and the story of Abraham was a particular favorite. I loved the idea of being called out into the wilderness, away from the safe haven of the city and previous belief, out into the unknown. Indeed much of my life has mirrored that very pathworking. But I’d get to the part about Joseph heading off into Egypt, and I’d lose interest and go back to the beginning again.

At that same age, I was asked to speak one morning in our Lower School chapel service — something each student had the opportunity to do at one time or another. I prepared a short talk on the Golden Rule — “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” — and emphasized that as the core of moral behavior and a common tie among all people. Not bad for a ten-year-old! At the time, I had no idea that was THE foundation — or the “on one foot” description — of Judaism.

There were other experiences I had along the way, such as going to a Friday evening, student-led Shabbat service when I was at Duke. I felt immediately welcomed by the other students, and it was so soothing and peaceful that I thought this was a great way to round out the week. I started studying Judaism on my own, but had no idea that conversion was possible.

The seeds for my conversion had been sown long before I actively began this process a year ago. But that still doesn’t answer the question of, “Why?”

I’m in a place in my life where I’m looking to put down roots, at long last. I am attracted to the strong community that Judaism offers, as well as the deep grounding in age-old tradition. But I’m probably most excited about the eternal questioning that Judaism not only encourages but practically requires — it’s not about accepting anything on blind faith, but instead is about really turning something over and over in your own mind, to find your own wisdom and to make the question itself a part of your personal experience and understanding.

This emphasis on study and experience appeals to my own questing self, the drive that has led me to pursue religious studies in a variety of academic and spiritual venues. A focus on action and social justice also obviously appeals to me. A deep tradition in mysticism speaks to the more esoteric side of me that yearns for illumination and communion. Add that to the fact that difference of opinion within Judaism is viewed more as an opportunity for learning and deeper development — rather than as a divisive threat to order and stability — and the attraction is pretty clear.

As I’ve stated earlier, my personal beliefs — which tend more to the Universal than the religious — are very much the same and are continuing along the same trajectory of growth and discovery. It’s simply that this is the first time in my life that I’m actively choosing a community and an affiliation. There have been rough patches — dealing with the misunderstandings and sometimes outright prejudice of family and friends — and times when I’ve wondered just what the hell I’m doing. I’ve worried about anti-semitism and don’t yet know my own position on zionism.

But I’m a year into this process now, and I’m still excited about it. So that’s my not-so-brief attempt at an answer this morning.

badges

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Wed, 14 May 2008 03:22:00 +0000

I was at a press event this morning. All of the official greeters had badges. The public relations people had badges. The designers and fabricators — of the new product being rolled out — had badges. Even the celebrity guests had badges.

You know who didn’t have badges? The members of the press.

Standing around at this event, watching the demonstration and then talking with folks afterwards, I kept thinking of that episode of “The Brady Bunch” where Peter decides to become a reporter, starts calling himself “Scoop” Brady, and sits behind his typewriter with a card reading “PRESS” stuck in the brim of his hat.

Sure, I wasn’t the only member of the press who wasn’t armed with visible credentials. Like I said, you could easily look around the room and identify who was with the media, because we were the only ones there without badges. But I started wondering about making up my own photo ID to be laminated and suspended on the end of a lanyard.

It could say whatever I wanted it to, within reason. I doubt I’d make up something that said, “Jennifer Willis, Pulitzer Prize Winner” or some similar fantasy. But a simple, “Jennifer Willis, Freelance Journalist” — along with a list of my professional memberships and featuring a recent photo — might at least help me feel more official, and might even open some doors for me. (Figurative doors, of course. Even if I put a fake magnetic stripe on the back of my self-created ID badge, I doubt it would get me through even the simplest security system.)

On a more serious note, I remember hearing from my fellow interfaith ministers who were on the scene in the immediate aftermath of the September 11 attacks on New York City. Those who had ID cards identifying them as ministers — even when they had created these cards themselves — were allowed unfettered access to Ground Zero in order to minister to the rescue workers and to the wounded and dying.

If another such tragedy or other momentous event were to arise…. It might not be a bad idea to look into freelance press credentials — to find out if any of the professional organizations I belong to offer such a thing, and/or to consider creating my own.

(And I got all the way to the bottom of this entry without once quoting, “We don’t need no stinking badges!”)

del.icio.us

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Mon, 12 May 2008 19:07:00 +0000

I’d heard of del.icio.us before, but I’d not looked into it. It wasn’t until another writer recommended the service for keeping track of websites used in research that I decided to give it a whirl.

I’m a research website junkie. For real.

My 2.16 GHz MacBook frequently starts complaining about the huge number of websites I’ll have open at any given time. When I do decide to give it a rest and shut down Firefox, I’ve learned not to be surprised by dialog boxes asking if I really want to close the 83 tabs I have open.

It’s nuts.

I do a lot of research, whether I’m working on an assigned story, digging up facts and figures for a lead or pursuing topics of more personal interest (like a recent search for a decent shrimp and grits recipe that didn’t use cream). Add that to keeping an eye on what’s going on in the world and checking in on professional online forums, and I’ve soon got dozens of websites on my desktop at once.

To reduce the processor load, I had been copying and pasting URLs into blank e-mail windows from time to time, then putting a date and occasionally even an umbrella topic (assuming all the links were related to one another) in the subject field. That helped me save the URLs I wanted to visit later without junking up my bookmarks folder — which, frankly, I never use anyway — but then I ended up with dozens of this URL lists in my Apple Mail Drafts folder.

So I’ve been giving del.icio.us a try this morning, and so far, I like it. If there’s a URL I want to save, I can tag it however I’d like — for instance, assigning "seo," "writing," "blog" and "tips" to a blog entry by Michelle Rafter on "What Freelance Writers Should Know About SEO" — et voila! The URL and my tags are saved to my online del.icio.us account for easy access. No more hogging up my processor memory with vast armies of Firefox tabs. No more (relatively) inefficient URL lists in e-mail drafts.

Excellent! This should be a big help moving forward, in minimizing the number of tabs I have open at any given time and in organizing and keeping track of sites I’d like to revisit for specific purposes.

Of course, now I’m realizing I should go back through my lists of links in those draft messages…. Ugh. Some of them date back nearly four years!

I also finally installed Google Analytics this morning. We’ll see if that ends up proving useful.

mother's day and little baby ducks

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sun, 11 May 2008 17:44:00 +0000

This Mother’s Day, I find myself thinking of my son and how different my life would be today had he lived.

He would be 19 this coming August, would be in either his last year of high school or first year of college, and would be getting ready to vote in his first presidential election. I smile when I think of that last opportunity, remembering how excited I was when I was a new voter, casting my absentee ballot for Democrat presidential candidate Michael Dukakis.

It was probably a blessing to everyone that I lost him — in the downstairs bathroom at my parents’ house, in the wee hours of the morning, while I was home on break. I was in an unstable and abusive relationship, and adding a child to the mix would have been a disaster. It was several years before I acknowledged the miscarriage, and now the memory makes me feel both wistful and sad.

Several months ago, I blogged about my childlessness. What I’d not admitted was my fear of trying to have a child — knowing how difficult it would very likely be and the high risk of miscarriage. Losing a pregnancy when I was just a kid myself is one thing; I’m not sure how I’d handle losing a child I wanted and had tried so hard to conceive. It’s not something I’m willing to face without a steady and loving partner, and at 38, I find that time is running short.

This, I believe, is the first Mother’s Day I’ve thought about my own lost motherhood. Before today, I don’t think I’d ever thought about whether a future Mother’s Day might actually belong to me. I don’t think being a “puppy and kitten mama” counts.

The day does, however, belong to my mother, my stepmother, my sister, my friends and many, many others. This will sound silly and sentimental, but I hope the sun is shining down on them all today.

There are some new mothers in my neighborhood, and this morning I’ve seen them out playing with their offspring. I was outside walking a bit ago and happily spied clusters of little ducklings out on the water with their parents, scooting around like tiny, feathered bumper boats. While I stood watching them, a neighbor came running down to the water with his camera, and we discussed different vantage points that would yield the best photos while causing the least intrusion to the duck family outing.

Cruising back to my place, I remembered a song I’d heard on the radio when I was a child:

“I Love,” by Tom Hall

I love little baby ducks, old pick-up trucks, slow-moving trains, and rain
I love little country streams, sleep without dreams, Sunday school in May, and hay
And I love you too

I love leaves in the wind, pictures of my friends, birds in the world, and squirrels
I love coffee in a cup, little fuzzy pups, bourbon in a glass, and grass
And I love you too

I love honest open smiles, kisses from a child, tomatoes on the vine, and onions
I love winners when they cry, losers when they try, music when it's good, and life
And i love you too

Not a bad song for any day of the week, but especially lovely this Mother’s Day. I hope you’re having a good one.

opening day at the farmers market (and the honey puppy)

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Sun, 11 May 2008 00:45:00 +0000

Today was opening day at the Beaverton Farmers Market. Saturday mornings spent wandering through fresh produce, cut flowers, organic dog treats, nursery trees and locally made treats — all while listening to live music from local performers — is one of my favorite summer activities.

It was a gorgeous day for it, too. These cool, gray, overcast days really appeal to me, and it’s precisely this kind of weather that played a major role in my decision to relocate to Oregon.

This morning, the place was hopping! It wasn’t quite as packed as it gets in July and August when the rows of vendors are choked with people, but things were definitely headed in that direction. There seemed to be more vendors than last year, and I was surprised by the array of goods available this early in the season.

One vendor I’d not seen before was The Happy Barker, whose banner carries the slogan, “Dog is great, dog is good.” I’ll look forward to trying some of their vegan dog treats in the coming weeks — assuming my dog behaves herself in the meantime.

I picked up some herb plants -- 2 oregano plants, catnip, mint and sweet basil ($3/each) -- and bought organic leeks for $2.25/bunch and fresh-cut asparagus for $2.99/pound. I also bought local wildflower honey, to help stave off seasonal allergies.

I stopped by Safeway on the way home to pick up some bath soap and such — and checked out the produce prices. At the grocery store, leeks are about $3/bunch, and asparagus is $3.99/pound, so the farmers market was a real deal: Fresh, local and less expensive.

Of course, after bringing my purchases inside — save for the herb plants — I put away everything but the honey. I ran upstairs to check e-mail and change my shoes, then came back down to find the honey was MIA. I checked the canvas tote I’d carried at the market, the bags from the grocery store, the refrigerator, every place I could think of to locate the missing honey bear.

Then I got a terrible feeling…. I looked over at my husky — the Banshee dog — sitting next to the couch, obviously very pleased with herself. I slowly approached, and soon found the honey, buried in the couch beneath the throw pillows, the cap having been ripped off, honey seeping slowly into the furniture and (new) pillows.

Most of the honey was still in the container, thank goodness, and I think the couch cover can be saved. Who knew huskies like honey?

Later, the Banshee insisted on “helping” me plant to herb starts. Her assistance consisted mostly of dashing around the courtyard trying to steal my gardening tools, barking at me from inside the house and tearing around inside the garage wreaking havoc that I don’t want to examine just yet.

rejection

noreply@blogger.com (rev. jen) — Fri, 09 May 2008 16:39:00 +0000

Rejection is a regular part of any freelancer’s working life. Often, rejection begins to feel like “situation normal.” You’ve worked and re-worked a pitch on a story you know is ground-breaking. You can feel it in your bones. You’ve studied your target markets and sent your query to a publication you’ve dreamed of writing for. Then you wait for the editor’s reply. And you wait. You follow-up with an e-mail message or phone call. You wait some more. Finally, the editor gets back to you — if you’re lucky — and declines your idea.

It’s difficult — sometimes impossible — not to take this kind of rejection personally. You can tell yourself that adversity is character building, but it’s still frustrating. I’ve been writing professionally, in one capacity or another, since the early 1990s, and I’m still learning about how not to take this lying down.

On the chance that it might be constructive, I’m sharing some of my strategies for dealing with rejection. These are mostly for rejections received from editors I’ve not worked with before. If you have your own to share, I’d love to hear/post them!

1. It was the idea that was rejected, not you. It may sound silly to point this out, and I do feel like an idiot when I feel a personal sting after I’ve had a query turned down. When you’ve put your heart and soul into something — even a story pitch — it’s easy to start personally identifying with it.

2. Consider the reason for the rejection (even if the editor doesn’t give you one). Was the idea not especially timely? Did the publication run a similar or related story in the past year? Was the idea simply not a good fit for that publication? Take a few minutes to look over your query to see if anything might be missing — even though you were sure it was perfect the first time.

3. On the heels of #2 above, send it out again. Tweak or re-work the query for another market, and get it back out the door pronto! Just because one editor (or more than one, as the case may be) didn’t buy the idea doesn’t mean it won’t be perfect for the next editor on your list. One thing is for certain, though: No one will ever buy your story pitch if they never hear about it.

4. Take a time out. For me, this can be anything from taking a hike with the dog or heading out to do some rock climbing, to sitting in meditation or relaxing with a good book. The point is to step away from the computer — and from the offending e-mail rejecting your story idea — and to take both a mental and physical break. When it’s time to come back, I usually find that I’m full of new story leads as well as ideas on how to salvage/rework the previously rejected one.

5. Acknowledge the rejection. Send the editor a quick reply letting him/her know you received the message. Keep it short and upbeat. I like to thank the editor for his/her time and indicate that I’m looking forward to submitting again and working with him/her in the future. You can even respond to the rejection with another query, if you’ve got another pitch that might be a good fit for that publication.

6. Vent. This is one option I admittedly don’t pursue all that often, but if you’re really angry or disappointed, find a friend — a fellow writer might be the most sympathetic — and feel free to indulge your woes for a few minutes. Just know it’s really not a good idea to do this publicly (particularly on the web) where your comments are visible to not only the editor in question but also to other editors you might want to work with.

7. Suck it up and get back to work. It’s important to keep moving forward — inertia is seemingly my worst enemy — and this is easily the strategy I employ the most frequently. Writing is all about sitting your butt in the chair — and keeping it there — and getting the work done. There is always more work to do, whether it’s making progress on a story already assigned to you, updating your professional website or starting in on the next query idea on your list. You can even spend some time organizing your office — anything that boosts your productivity.

So that’s my quick hit list of how I deal with the rejection that is a consistent part of any writer’s life. I also keep in mind a bit of sage advice that has bolstered me for taking a few chances I might otherwise have shied away from:

Don't worry about making a fool of yourself. Making a fool of yourself is absolutely essential.

— Gloria Steinem

How do you deal with rejection?