Oh No It’s a Bullet Journal

Someone in my writing group said the words – Bullet Journal. Of course I had to check it out, wasting hours of time online to find just the right journal, pens, rulers, stencils and stickers. Oh, but I can now schedule that writing time on a monthly, weekly or daily calendar. I can track my writing goals, every book I’ve read, every movie I’ve seen. And my weight. And a reasonable diet and exercise routine. The weather. You name it – there’s a page for that.

Unlike all those fill in the blank kind of goal journals, calendars and planners, I get to choose my own set up. And every week I can change my layout to match the predominant personality trait of the week. It only takes an hour or so each Sunday night to prepare for the week. It’s quite simple: Check Pinterest for a new idea, trace it into my notebook, put in a couple of stickers (because I have no artistic talent), pen in the appointments (blue for work, green for JJ, purple for red hat, red for the important stuff), transfer all the To Dos from the previous week that didn’t get checked off because I was too busy looking for a better layout for the following week, add new To Dos for the current week, and decide what I might want to track for the next seven days.

Some people choose to keep a daily page. I’m not going there – yet. Well, truth be told, on my first week, I did keep sort of a daily journal. But, that required sitting down each night, regurgitating all that happened, noting all the important events, feelings, calories, weight, To Dos that did get done, and finding some small thing to be gracious about. Honestly, it’s that gratitude thing that put an end to daily pages after the refrigerator quit working during the heat wave and hubby got bit by a pit bull.

The big advantage to spending the money for a Leuchtturm1917 journal, is that it comes with an index and nice little dots that help keep things lined up. The index is important. The journal will soon become a helter-skelter of disorganization because you work on it page by page. No leaving extra room for this or that. Just keep on going. That’s the general idea. Without an index it will be impossible to find that growing check off TBR list of books to read or the last time you weighed in. Problem is I’ve yet to figure out the proper way to list that index. By subject? Date? For now, I have left my index blank and tagged the important list pages with cute little kitty tabs purchased at Daiso for a dollar.

I thought since a writer brought this bullet journal subject up, it must be the best tool for getting a writer’s work done. I promised myself that my bullet journal would serve a writer’s purpose. It would contain all my scenes, possible themes and book titles, characters, story arcs, and goals. When I reach the end of this journal, there will be just enough pages remaining for that book tour calendar. And when it becomes a best seller, I’ll afford a whole new set of top of the line bullet journal tools.

So you see, it seems I have another procrastination technique, just like Social Media, E-mail, errands and laundry, to keep from writing. Now you know where I’ve been. At least now I get to check off that nagging little box that has been forwarded for the last four weeks: √ Write Blog Post.

The Sunset Years

Farewell Micky

Ten years ago today I said goodbye to my best friend.

We met in the sunset of our lives. It’s not an uncommon occurrence that two women become best of friends in the Red Hat Society. This disorganization of women over fifty has grown in exponential proportions since its inception only a few years ago. It fills the need for those women over fifty to gather together to celebrate life with fun and frivolity. And that is exactly what we do. We do it with whim and wit flaunting our age in shades of purple topped off with brilliant red hats.

When I learned about this society of women, I felt that my conservative and shy nature made me an unlikely candidate for such a prominent public display of splendorous glitz. Under the guise of a dare I coerced a few old friends into buying red hats, purple dresses, and showing up for high tea at a local tea room. We giggled under our bright red brims, a conspicuous spectacle of color amid the dainty pink and white décor. Due to a few inquiring ladies with sense of admiration we emerged a couple of hours later with our hats tilted with a new attitude (hat-itude). The next day I registered with Hat Quarters as Queen of the newfound RHS Molls.

The Molls chapter has now grown into an eclectic group of over sixty members and while I enjoy the exaltedness of being a queen, so contrary to my life before red hats, the biggest reward has been my bond with one special new friend. She walked into my life with a handful of silly purple clappers, the biggest grin ever, and the heartiest of all laughs. We had the same purpose in mind… pure fun. And fun we have, time and again.

Neither one of us had a single clue that the biggest problems in our lives would be our biggest bond. It happened a few months after we met when I shared with her a rather personal reason for my escape into this society of women. Her face dropped as she blurted out her reason. While our situations were different, we shared equally desperate challenges. The point is not what we suffered from but how we would take care of each other. We allowed each other the space to share the daily trials in our life and then we moved past that into fun and friendship. We learned that sharing the grief, with compassion and a good sense of humor lessened the burdens and intensified the fun.

This friendship that developed was far beyond the friendships of my youth. For me the young friends came and went as we grew apart in our individuality, moved on, or moved away. My life has been a journey with turbulent twists and turns. But as I settle into my second half of life and learn who I have become through these circumstances of life, the growing pains recede. I begin to let go of the past and enjoy a new set of friends; friends, who know and like each other for who we are today.

There is a new set of dynamics however in these recent relationships. Youth behind us we now realize the evidence of our temporary existence as friends, old and new, begin to pass on. And so, this special friend and I shared our last days together in sadness and in joy. Together, we cherished the journey and the gifts of each day.

Rest in peace my dear friend. I miss you every day.

Will This Make Me Smarter?

desk

Here I stand. I’ve never tried standing to write other than a brief tweet or message once in a while on my smartphone. Some people stand all day at their computers. They say it helps their back, burns more calories and makes them think better. I remembered that when I was looking through the latest Costco catalog and came to the article about standing desks. Of course I immediately went on line to see what I could find. But I didn’t need to spend $600 or more for a whole new desk. I have a perfectly fine desk.

So I checked Amazon (sorry if you are one of those people who refuse to shop at Amazon but convenience wins when I need to find out about things, and I get free shipping). First search brought up three pages of desktop standing desks. I ordered this one. It was reasonably priced and the right size for my desk surface.

I came home from work just as the mailman was delivering our mail and waited patiently in the street since his truck blocked my driveway. I knew by the disgruntled, look on his sweat dripping face that he wasn’t exactly pleased having to huff up the steep driveway in 90 degree weather. When I reached the front door I realized why. Hard to believe it but Amazon chose to ship this 56 pound package through USPS. Even harder to believe is that our slightly built mailman was able to heave it up the driveway.

It took two of us to bring it in the house. It took two of us to figure out how to get it out of the package. And two of us to heft it onto the desk. It took me two hours to clear off the desk, re-hook up the computer, glue on the little rubber feet and figure out how to make the innovative simple touch height locking mechanism lift the desk with ease. It would have helped if I had thought to remove the plastic shipping ties hidden under the desktop first.

So, here I am testing this out. It seems ergonomically correct. My arms are at right angles, feet firmly planted, and eyes a good enough distance away for bifocal work. Now about those extra calories we can burn standing – I know someone who says she walks on her treadmill while using a standing desk. Seems like a good way to multitask. Mayve I should check Amazon for one of those. But will it make me smarter? Or just poorer?

Happy Mother’s Day – Chapter One

“Your mom is very sick.” After five years of marriage, I can read the tension on Eric’s face and feel it across the kitchen table in the grasp of his hands.

“And?” I ask. I know there is bad news to come. News that I don’t want to hear.

“Maybe you would like a cool drink. It’s been a hot day,” Eric stalls. We are in the middle of a heatwave and yet I feel a chill run down my spine.

“No. I think I know what you’re going to say.” I had been visiting Mom at Letterman Army Medical Center at Presidio of San Francisco for months, watching her fade away. Dad had mentioned a week before that Mom would be going to Stanford University Hospital to be evaluated by Dr. Shumway, a pioneer of heart surgery.

“Your dad called earlier and asked me to tell you something. Dr. Shumway says there is nothing more that they can do.”

Eric moves his chair back as I shift around the table and fall into his tender hug.

Don’t cry, I think. I’m twenty-four years old and can’t dodge the recurrent reminder of Dad’s words, “Big girls don’t cry.”

“How long?” I ask, trying to maintain composure. My temples pulse.

“Maybe a few weeks.” His words trail off as the tears come. His tears. Not mine. There’s a swift kick in my belly as I try to digest the pain. My mother will not live to see this baby, I realize.

Is Dad crying now? Is that why Eric is the one to break this news? Only Eric will witness my tears.

Four months later I sit in stoic silence at the memorial service as Rev. Boring offers words of comfort at Carmel Valley Community Church. It feels odd to have someone other than my father at the pulpit. My sister, a blossoming teenager nine years younger than me, buries her tears in a lump of tissues. I see my older brother brush his tears away on his coat sleeve. My head pounds with backed up tears. Did I imagine Dad’s gasps and sniffles?

After the service, we gather at the house. It was Mom’s dream come true, this house on the hillside above Carmel Valley. With a glass of wine propped on my growing belly, I feel the touch of my mother’s sister. Her hand is on my belly. “You are so strong,” she says. “You will make a good mom.”

When Writing is a PITA

20170429_165308 The journal is blank and the posts have been zilch for a reason this month.Writing literally became a pain in the a$$. It all began in shortly after Christmas as I sat on the edge of the bed and bent over to tie my shoes. Zing. I felt it from L4 all the way down to my toes, but mostly centered left butt. Too much information perhaps but that’s the way it went down. Sitting, standing, walking, driving, sleeping all became a thing of the past. Ice, heat, physical therapy, doctor visits, sitting on a donut, meds – prescription and OTC – nothing worked. Sitting at the computer to write after working at a desk all day was not an option.

Finally it came to an MRI – visual proof that this was not a figment of my imagination. I wasn’t going to wait for some doctor to see it first. I simply slipped the CD disc into my computer and took a look. After careful comparison to photos at Dr Quack.com I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be sitting in a wheelchair savoring meals on wheels.

Ortho guy studied the CD, watched me limp across the room, tapped here and there, tickled the bottom of my feet and announced “We can fix this slipped disc. All it takes is a needle this long.” His arms extended to fish tale length.

Was he kidding me? Trying to scare the sh*t out of me? My stomach churned. “And, if I do nothing?” I asked adding “I hate needles.”

“It will go away eventually. But why suffer?” he asked.

“I’ll take my chances on a quick recovery,” I commented on my way out the door.

The receptionist handed me a prescription for a Lumbar spine epidural” as I passed her desk. “Call if you change your mind.”

Instead I signed up for some yoga classes. Restorative poses and meditation seemed to be making a difference. I quit taking the pain meds and shopped for a grocery cart full of anti-inflammatory food. I ate turmeric until it poured out my pores.

This morning when I couldn’t see the road through the six foot weeds across my front yard, I decided I had no choice but to tackle the mess. Did I mention I am predisposed to hay fever – it happens every year on Mother’s Day. Like clockwork. But this year it arrived early. I pulled a barrel of thistles before the sneezing began. “Listen to your body” my yoga instructor had said. I stood up slowly, listening carefully. Hmmm. Is it possible? Could it be true? That one sneezing frenzy – was it the cure all?

Knocking on the wooden desk as I finish this piece…