Monday, November 2, 2009
Letting Go
I've completely let go of the stress about the case with my son. The court date is set for later this month and I am optimistic that it will turn out well. I spend my days writing the story that continues moving forward on its own momentum and am grateful for the Chrysalis critique group for keeping me motivated. I enjoy my afternoon walks in the beautiful autumn weather, but aside from that don't get out much. Still waiting for the final stage of the remodel to begin and try not to get irritated by the mess and the dust and the disruption. Soon it will end, we can put the house back on the market and get on with life. I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, haven't seen friends and have little to write about, with all my writing energy going into my story. I'm happy, quiet, don't have a lot to say right now.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Still here
It's been forever since I've written. Still waiting for some news, any news, on the case. Waiting and waiting--nothing is harder than waiting. Well, some things probably are. Also waiting for the freaking bathroom remodels to be done. Haven't even started on my bathroom yet because the master still isn't functional. This means I have to be home for workers who may or may not show up. On Thursday Bill gave me a day to go out. I went to Oregon City and did research for my book, which takes place there in 1951. I went to a museum, walked along the Elevator Promenade, looked out over the Blue Heron Paper Mill, which used to be Publishers when I was growing up in the 50s and 60s. It's on the Willamette River and on the other side, across the Arch Bridge, is West Linn, where the Crown Zellerbach Paper Mill used to be. Up the hill from there, on Broadway Street, is where I grew up. Even though I spent a lot of time in OC, I'm just now learning things about its history that I didn't know before. It was the capitol of the Oregon Territory, but when Oregon became the 33rd state, the capitol was moved to Salem (I did know that part--every school kid here does). The elevator that connects the lower part of OC with the part up on the bluff was built in 1915 and was powered by water until 1924, when it was converted to electricity. In 1954, the "new" elevator was built and is still in use. The book continues to crawl forward despite constant interruptions and laziness. See, this is why I haven't published any posts.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Low Profile
I've been lying low, flying under the radar, hunkering inward. I spend days writing and playing online Scrabble, telling myself it helps keep my mind sharp (there's no evidence of this) and that it is using words, after all, which justifies the hours every day I sit at the computer learning new nonsense words that I don't believe actually exist. But the writing is real. The characters and story are revealing themselves slowly, compellingly, even though I have no idea at this point where they're going. My generous critique group tells me they want more, are involved and want to know (as I do) what will happen.
The other thing, the one having to do with my son, the court system and the Evil Penny, continues to lurk in the background. We know something is happening behind the scenes but we don't know what. The stress mounts; even when we're able to sleep nights we still feel exhausted, irritable and short tempered. I have headaches and tense shoulders. I don't know what I'd do without my morning pages, where I dump the anxiety and the small daily frustrations I'd blow out of proportion and frighten my poor partner with if I didn't have that release valve. Some information that might be positive was leaked yesterday. I'm holding on to it.
In the meantime, we are remodeling three bathrooms. Actually, only two are in the process--we're keeping the other one functional until the master is usable again (sharing a bathroom causes its own stress). My son is general contractor on the job and he is GOOD, if I do say so. It also keeps us in close contact, as we are the only ones we can talk to about the situation mentioned above.
This weekend we'll go to the beach. A woman in the critique group invited us all to a day in Manzanita. We'll stay over in Seaside and make a weekend of it. We both so need to be by the ocean. It's been way too long.
The other thing, the one having to do with my son, the court system and the Evil Penny, continues to lurk in the background. We know something is happening behind the scenes but we don't know what. The stress mounts; even when we're able to sleep nights we still feel exhausted, irritable and short tempered. I have headaches and tense shoulders. I don't know what I'd do without my morning pages, where I dump the anxiety and the small daily frustrations I'd blow out of proportion and frighten my poor partner with if I didn't have that release valve. Some information that might be positive was leaked yesterday. I'm holding on to it.
In the meantime, we are remodeling three bathrooms. Actually, only two are in the process--we're keeping the other one functional until the master is usable again (sharing a bathroom causes its own stress). My son is general contractor on the job and he is GOOD, if I do say so. It also keeps us in close contact, as we are the only ones we can talk to about the situation mentioned above.
This weekend we'll go to the beach. A woman in the critique group invited us all to a day in Manzanita. We'll stay over in Seaside and make a weekend of it. We both so need to be by the ocean. It's been way too long.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Getting Girly
My good friend Nancy is getting married Saturday. This is a love story that beats anything written in fiction.
I met Nancy in Asheville at an art workshop. She had driven over the mountains from Johnson City. I'm not an artist and would never in my life have gone to an art workshop had my UU minister Maureen talked me into going to keep her company. She insisted one didn't have to be an artist to go because it was all about "the process not the product." So, full of trepidation, I went--just to keep her company, remember. I got there early because I hadn't lived in Asheville long enough at that point to realize how short the distances were. I'd assumed the map was scaled the same as my worn-thin Seattle map. But a drive (measured in inches on the map) that took 45 minutes in Seattle would take 10 minutes in Asheville, so I was always early everywhere I went for the first year I lived there. Anyway, I got to the workshop early and felt conspicuous and ill-at-ease waiting for Maureen to show up. People came in with bags full of art supplies and took places at the long table that was splattered with paint looking very artsy--both the people and the table. No Maureen. The class began and I was getting panicky. About 15 minutes into it, an energetic woman (I just accidentally typed "wowman" and that is so accurate) came in and took the seat across from me. Her face was animated with good humor and she clearly was at home with art. She started painting and sketching as the instructor made her opening remarks. At the lunch break Nancy and I took our brown bags down to a pond that was in the backyard, under an enormous curly willow. We talked as if we were old friends and that's what we've now become. Maureen? She never showed up. And yes, you did need to be an artist. I was so far out of my element I felt like a kangaroo in a koi pond.
I forget how long Nancy's been single, but it's a very long time--maybe 20 years. She is a totally self-sufficient woman, a true Renaissance woman who has masters degrees in metallurgy (she's a jewelry maker), counseling and art therapy (Nancy, if I've got that wrong I apologize). She's a visual artist, writes for a local paper, plays a number of instruments, including flute, viola da gamba, recorder, french horn, and sings. A very talented woman. But the one thing she's pined for that has alluded her all these years is a committed relationship. It seemed to be her pattern that she'd date someone she liked and next thing she knew he was engaged to someone else. Until this past May, when mutual friends introduced her to Bob, a recent widow. Ten days later they were engaged and this Saturday is the wedding.
That's fast by anyone's standards and they've been busy getting acquainted at the same time they're planning the wedding. They've had some things to work out, but they do work them out. I love what Nancy said about their process. They talk about whatever it is that's going on, then put music on in the living room and dance. Holding each other, moving together to the music, everything comes right.
Where I was going with this post is my own process of getting ready to go to this wedding. I never dress up anymore. The biggest reason for that is that I have very painful problems with my back/legs/feet that all stem from misalignment in my back that eludes all my chiropractor's best efforts. As a result I have to wear clunky, supportive shoes and I refuse to wear them with dresses, skirts or other feminine attire. If I wear sandals or even semi-feminine shoes that are supportive, I look like the stereotypical old librarian, so I almost always just wear casual pants and tops. But I refuse to look clunky at Nancy's wedding. She is an artsy, classy dresser and (maddeningly) she finds almost all her clothes at second-hand stores. What I was most concerned about was the dinner/dance after the rehearsal on Friday. There's no way I'll be able to wear my dance shoes. I haven't danced in more than five years because of this problem. But I have put together two outfits--one for the wedding and one for the dinner/dance that, if I do say so, look pretty darned sexy. They involve slinky black pants with supportive black Mary Jane shoes, honey-colored cami and black lacy sweater, with a silver belt and silver earrings. The top for the dinner/dance (which I found in a second-hand store!) is a tight-fitting, 3/4 length sleeve sexy top with gold threads, black, brown and rust-colored print) that really shows off curves I'd forgotten I have they've been disguised for so long. I've been shopping for jewelry, getting my hair done and Friday, I'm going with the wedding party for a manicure. The wedding is in Johnson City, TN, where Nancy lives. I'm flying in Thursday, doing all the girly things and rehearsal stuff, and then going to the wedding. Hopefully I'll be able to spend Sunday in Asheville reminiscing about the five years I lived there, and fly home (to Oregon) Monday. It feels good to be a girl again.
I met Nancy in Asheville at an art workshop. She had driven over the mountains from Johnson City. I'm not an artist and would never in my life have gone to an art workshop had my UU minister Maureen talked me into going to keep her company. She insisted one didn't have to be an artist to go because it was all about "the process not the product." So, full of trepidation, I went--just to keep her company, remember. I got there early because I hadn't lived in Asheville long enough at that point to realize how short the distances were. I'd assumed the map was scaled the same as my worn-thin Seattle map. But a drive (measured in inches on the map) that took 45 minutes in Seattle would take 10 minutes in Asheville, so I was always early everywhere I went for the first year I lived there. Anyway, I got to the workshop early and felt conspicuous and ill-at-ease waiting for Maureen to show up. People came in with bags full of art supplies and took places at the long table that was splattered with paint looking very artsy--both the people and the table. No Maureen. The class began and I was getting panicky. About 15 minutes into it, an energetic woman (I just accidentally typed "wowman" and that is so accurate) came in and took the seat across from me. Her face was animated with good humor and she clearly was at home with art. She started painting and sketching as the instructor made her opening remarks. At the lunch break Nancy and I took our brown bags down to a pond that was in the backyard, under an enormous curly willow. We talked as if we were old friends and that's what we've now become. Maureen? She never showed up. And yes, you did need to be an artist. I was so far out of my element I felt like a kangaroo in a koi pond.
I forget how long Nancy's been single, but it's a very long time--maybe 20 years. She is a totally self-sufficient woman, a true Renaissance woman who has masters degrees in metallurgy (she's a jewelry maker), counseling and art therapy (Nancy, if I've got that wrong I apologize). She's a visual artist, writes for a local paper, plays a number of instruments, including flute, viola da gamba, recorder, french horn, and sings. A very talented woman. But the one thing she's pined for that has alluded her all these years is a committed relationship. It seemed to be her pattern that she'd date someone she liked and next thing she knew he was engaged to someone else. Until this past May, when mutual friends introduced her to Bob, a recent widow. Ten days later they were engaged and this Saturday is the wedding.
That's fast by anyone's standards and they've been busy getting acquainted at the same time they're planning the wedding. They've had some things to work out, but they do work them out. I love what Nancy said about their process. They talk about whatever it is that's going on, then put music on in the living room and dance. Holding each other, moving together to the music, everything comes right.
Where I was going with this post is my own process of getting ready to go to this wedding. I never dress up anymore. The biggest reason for that is that I have very painful problems with my back/legs/feet that all stem from misalignment in my back that eludes all my chiropractor's best efforts. As a result I have to wear clunky, supportive shoes and I refuse to wear them with dresses, skirts or other feminine attire. If I wear sandals or even semi-feminine shoes that are supportive, I look like the stereotypical old librarian, so I almost always just wear casual pants and tops. But I refuse to look clunky at Nancy's wedding. She is an artsy, classy dresser and (maddeningly) she finds almost all her clothes at second-hand stores. What I was most concerned about was the dinner/dance after the rehearsal on Friday. There's no way I'll be able to wear my dance shoes. I haven't danced in more than five years because of this problem. But I have put together two outfits--one for the wedding and one for the dinner/dance that, if I do say so, look pretty darned sexy. They involve slinky black pants with supportive black Mary Jane shoes, honey-colored cami and black lacy sweater, with a silver belt and silver earrings. The top for the dinner/dance (which I found in a second-hand store!) is a tight-fitting, 3/4 length sleeve sexy top with gold threads, black, brown and rust-colored print) that really shows off curves I'd forgotten I have they've been disguised for so long. I've been shopping for jewelry, getting my hair done and Friday, I'm going with the wedding party for a manicure. The wedding is in Johnson City, TN, where Nancy lives. I'm flying in Thursday, doing all the girly things and rehearsal stuff, and then going to the wedding. Hopefully I'll be able to spend Sunday in Asheville reminiscing about the five years I lived there, and fly home (to Oregon) Monday. It feels good to be a girl again.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
New Writers Group
I had a chance conversation this morning with the woman who sat at the table next to ours at Sully's, our favorite breakfast place. I knew that she is a writer because Sully's has her books displayed on a table by the front door. The conversation led to the writing group she goes to every Wednesday at Clackamas Community College. She said the women (it's all women) are kind, but won't tell you, "That's just lovely, dear," and leave it there. They'll tell you if something doesn't work or if you might want to look at this paragraph again. You bring in your work for critique and what they give you is helpful. Sounds like what I need now. That last ingrown group I tried served the purpose of jump starting my writing. This group may be the one I need now to keep me focused. I'm working on a story that I like and want to keep going with it, however it may turn out.
P.S.
If I've offended the Karma gods, please forgive me. I'm only a mother who wants her son to have a chance to succeed when he's doing so well. You know how mothers are. What you don't know is that I was the one who fought to have him convicted. To save my mother and get him straight so he could make of his life what he has shown now that he can. He's done an amazing job and to have Penny kick him in the teeth now is unbearable. It makes my heart hurt, it sends my blood pressure sky high. I need to stop because my blood pressure rises as I write this.
Getting My Heartrate Down
Things in the legal world have quieted down and now it's just a matter of waiting: waiting until Mom's lawyer gets back from his 10-day vacation, waiting until a hearing is set that will, presumably, release my son from all this messy stuff that no one wants in his or her life. The best news in all of this is that both my son's lawyer and Mom's lawyer are well acquainted with the evil Penny Barnes and have won cases against her. My idea of the best possible outcome of all of this is that Penny Barnes (evil woman) will lose her job. It will finally become known in the Clackamas County Court System that she is working against the System's goal of getting probationers back on their feet, in good jobs, off the substances that led them into trouble and out of the system that taxpayers pay to maintain. She actually does everything in her power to make sure they fail, that they can't meet her requirements, that they get slammed back in jail. She is a woman with issues if ever I've seen one. She needs a good therapist. Or a long time out. Her name again, in case you missed it, is Penny Barnes, and she's evil. If you do voodoo, do one for Penny. There aren't many people on this earth that I wish bad things to happen to. She's one of the two. I won't talk about the other one because I've pretty much recovered from that.
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