Open Book

Full.

 There are an abundance of plump snowflakes dancing in the air outside, landing softly to top off the previous wonderland of white that had begun to go slushy and soft. It's beautiful out there; pretty enough, in fact, to lure me into bundling up and taking Jake for a walk just to be in it and of it for a little while.

Walking in it is one thing. But today my entire family has packed up their respective vehicles and are taunting the winter travel gods with their respective determinations to reach their respective destinations.

The son took off on a southbound journey last night, ultimately headed to the WVU bowl game, meeting up with friends in Raleigh, North Carolina, before traveling on to Orlando. The past few days, North Carolina has been inundated with snowy weather they are ill-prepared to deal with, typically speaking.

The daughter and son-in-law left late this morning, en route home to Washington, DC. The city and surrounding areas are, naturally, expecting an encore performance of last year's snowpocalypse, just in time for my precious cargo's drive.

The husband is making his way along the snow-covered, treacherous mountain back roads of West Virginia to some middle of nowhere jobsite, where he'll spend the balance of the week monitoring things while trying to stay warm.

As for me? Well, I'm curled up in one corner of the couch with my dog curled up in the other, still in my pajamas at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, computer in my lap, hot tea by my side, and remote at the ready, cozy and comfy, safe and sound, worrying and waiting for the various check in phone calls.

And just like that, the Christmas holiday week has arrived at an abrupt end.

But my, what a lovely week it was.

There was (and is) enough food to feed three families and still have plenty of leftovers to tide every last one of us over for the balance of 2010 and perhaps a little beyond. There was last minute shopping, wrapping and stocking stuffing into the wee hours of Christmas Eve. There were at least three movies, with the whole bunch of us piled into the living room, sharing blankets and wine, oohs and ahs and laughter. There were visits with my (recovering nicely) brother and his family. There was the Christmas Eve dinner and church service with Grandma. There were late sleepers, breakfast casserole and luscious pomegranate mimosas on Christmas morning. And, of course, there were the usual embarrassment of riches under the tree, for one and all.

But mostly, there was us, together, sharing each other's company with happiness and joy.

So while they may each be headed off on their separate journeys, back to the normalcies of their everyday lives, and I may be here, suddenly by myself in a big empty home, the love and the memories warm and sustain me.

My heart is full.

 

From my heart to yours.

May you all have yourselves a Merry little Christmas, filled with peace, love and joy.

I sometimes think we expect too much of Christmas Day.  We try to crowd into it the long arrears of kindliness and humanity of the whole year.  As for me, I like to take my Christmas a little at a time, all through the year.  And thus I drift along into the holidays - let them overtake me unexpectedly - waking up some fine morning and suddenly saying to myself:  "Why, this is Christmas Day!" 
                                                                                                                        ~ David Grayson

At Christmas, all roads lead home.

1. It's been quite a while since I partook of the brain-palette cleansing delight that is Thursday Thirteen. Fixin' to fix that right now. Today's title quote was uttered by one Marjorie Holmes, and hello. Could it be any more apt?
2. First and foremost, my brother is home from the hospital. Late in the afternoon of the same day they admitted him, they released him into the care of his wife - an experienced nurse - who will be responsible for injecting him with the blood clot dissolving medicines over the next several days while ensuring he adheres to a strict regiment of bedrest and no exertion.
3. All while juggling their four kids - her two, his two - and their associated schedules, Christmas enthusiasm, etc. and so on. I personally find this an incredibly stupid, irresponsible move. But hey. It wasn't my call to make. Ergo, I will be supportive and upbeat and offer my services up in whatsoever capacity they may be best utilized, while praying - like holy hell - that they know what they're doing.
4. He's home. It's where he wants to be, I get that. It's Christmas. But if it were me? And I had a blood clot in my leg? I'm pretty sure I'd rather be in a place where they are dedicated to taking care of me and where rapid response is readily available should anything go wrong. But hey. That's just me. Or is it?
5. I'm working every day this week, up to and including tomorrow - Christmas Eve. In between, I'm trying my best to play Mrs. Claus within the traditional family dynamic. But I've got to admit, it just feels different this year and no matter what I said the other day about blaming it on retail employment, I'm not convinced that's the whole story.
6. That said, we've had a fabulous time this week enjoying the company of my baby girl and my new son (in-law). I've worked every day, but we've still managed to squeeze in lots of fun. Today the entire crew (husband, son, daughter, son-in-law) met me at the store and we scooted off to enjoy a (very) late lunch at the new, constantly packed Pies & Pints. The pies were deeeee-lish and the pints were of the high alcohol content variety. I had two and was toasted.
7. We went home, collected ourselves and then headed right back out to enjoy the last Art Walk of 2010. I hope there is an Art Walk-style event in your community, because there's just nothing like it. Once a month, every gallery in town (including the one in my store) stays open late, features a new show highlighting a new artist, serves wine and edible bits, and acts as part of a walkable chain where folks go from venue to venue on foot, mingling and making merry. It's just lovely.
8. Post-Art Walk, my son-in-law prepared a (very) late dinner for all of us. He's a hunter, see. One who just had a successful season shooting Bambi's parents in the deep woods of Virginia. Soooo...it was a deer meat smorgasboard at my house tonight. No disrespect, but I've never been happier in ALL MY LIFE to have vegetarianism as a fall back excuse. I'm just not down with the whole "venison as food" concept. But the husband and son loved every last morsel.
9. I miss my parents. They are in Kentucky, all by themselves, and I miss them being here, part of the family holiday goings on. My mother refuses to travel with my dad any more, and she can't be blamed for putting her foot down on that one. It's incredibly difficult. Hell, it's incredibly difficult staying put with him, much less trying to deal with his myriad of issues on the road, two hundred miles from home. So I can't blame her. But I miss her. And him. And the whole "the gang's all here" holiday spirit.
10. I'm headed down their way for a couple of days right after Christmas. It's not the same, and I resent the hole in my holiday bucket more than is appropriate for a full grown woman to admit. This is a gigantic entire subject I need to post on eventually - it was the intended subject matter for the Reverb 10 prompt about 'Letting Go' - but it's all still pretty raw and hard to get my head around right now. I will. I just need time. The internal to external processing is not going well.
11. Christmas Eve is going to be a day full of busy from my 6 a.m. wake up call to the late service at church with my mother-in-law. In betwixt all of the bustle, I'm preparing our traditional Christmas Eve steak dinner with all the fixin's, and then whipping up the traditional Christmas morning breakfast casserole to chill in the fridge overnight. I'm pretty sure when I finally lay my head down tomorrow night, sleep will be swift and mighty.
12. Funny sidebar: I recently asked both my kids in separate conversations which Christmas traditions they would carry on with their own children and grandchildren long after I'm gone. The daughter's instantaneous response was the Christmas Eve steak dinner. The son's equally quick answer was the Christmas morning breakfast casserole. There can be no denying: the pathway to my family's hearts runs directly through their respective stomachs.
13. I really should be in bed right now, in fact. Instead I'm curled up on the sofa with my beautiful little family all around me and my light-of-my-life pup snoring at my feet. The Christmas tree lights are all a-twinkle, and we're surrounded by gently flickering candles wrapping the whole scene in a cozy, evergreen scented glow. And suddenly, right here, right now, typing that out loud, I feel the spirit of the season beginning to work its magic after all.

Merry and bright, ready or not.

The Reverb 10 prompts are starting to feel like a circular firing squad in a way. I'm not going to say I'm giving up on them entirely, but there are only so many times a person can write herself down the same garden path before every new post starts to sound like the one just written, only different.

I'm also finding it unnerving how many of my responses center on the word "fear." I'm inclined to ignore further opportunities to explore my cowardly depths at the moment.

__________________

My daughter and son-in-law made it into town safe and sound late Sunday night. It's finally beginning to feel like Christmas around here, with all my babies under one roof, a fridge packed full of good eats for the coming week and the traditional holiday puzzle sprawled out on the kitchen table.

But here's the thing... I'm not ready!

Usually by this time, I've been ready for weeks, sometimes months. This year, the countdown clock is flashing "FOUR MORE DAYS!" and I still have gifts to buy.

I don't know what happened. Just before Thanksgiving, I thought I was in good shape in the readiness department. And then, the next thing I knew, a series of days passed by in a blur until here I am with the stirring rumbles of panic in my belly.

I'm mostly finished. I mean, it won't take long to be finished. But I've never been this close to the wire before and I don't mind admitting it's not a very comfortable feeling. There's a reason I've been known to have my Christmas shopping done by the middle of August. Being over-prepared is my comfort zone. One I seem willing to step out of more and more often lately, and not in a good way.

I'm going to at least partially blame it on working in the world of retail. Seems a fair, accurate, and coincidentally convenient rationale. Although truth be told, since I paid off my credit cards and no longer have access to an endless abundance of "cash money with strings" (the mindset that put me in debt hell in the first place), shopping isn't quite as easy as it once was, if you know what I'm sayin'.

__________________

And wow - nothing like a double espresso dose of perspective to wake a person out of her self-inflicted, superficial woe is me. As soon as I finished typing the bit above, my phone rang. Too early in the morning for a phone call to be anything other than bad news, sure enough.

My baby brother is in the hospital with a blood clot in his leg.

Talk about a piece of information with the power to turn the holidays on their head.

Bizarre. Reverb or no reverb, here we are, right back at fear.

This is scary stuff. He has Marfan's syndrome, the genetic condition inherited from my father, and as if a blood clot weren't frightening enough in its own right, this complicates things. I just got off the phone with my sister-in-law, and apparently there is a distinct possibility that he'll be in the hospital for a week or more - over Christmas - as the medicines work their magic to dissolve the clot and diffuse a potentially life threatening situation.

My brother is the funniest human being I've ever met. He can make a joke out of any situation and when he and my son get together, they sometimes hold entire conversations in quotes from bad movies. It's mind-boggling, and also hilarious. I'm the relentless hand wringer; he's more the "see the humor in every situation" type. During Dad's multitude of tediously long and heart wrenchingly frightening hospital stays over the years, this balance has served us well.

Not sure how that might apply here, now that he's the one in the hospital bed, a little terrified and a lot frustrated. I'm going to grab a shower, gather up a bunch of recent Sports Illustrated magazines, and head over to visit with him on my way to work. 

Maybe I'll work on honing my vast repertoire of knock knock jokes before I get there. He's entitled to own the hand wringing this go 'round.

Bless his heart.

:-(

The other side of the counter.

 

I love my job, I truly do. LOVE it.

But there is a special area in hell designed to replicate a retail establishment in the throes of the busy holiday shopping season, and it's reserved for those who dedicated their lives to being customers from hell when they walked the earth in mortal form. These lost and bitter souls will be required to spend their eternities behind a counter serving a public comprised of exaggerated facsimiles of themselves.

It's called justice.

Just sayin'.

______________

I'm at work this fine, cold, slushy Saturday morning, as I have been for the past three days, pulling 10 and 12 hour shifts because that's what being the manager is all about. Leading by example, filling in the gaps, accommodating employee quirks and schedule needs, wrapping gifts, assisting customers, answering the phones, stocking shelves, breaking down boxes, mopping up the melted snow that leaves lawsuit-waiting-to-happen puddles on the hardwood floors. I do what I do, which is whatever needs done, whenever it needs doing.

Doesn't leave a whole lot of time to be doing those things my life away from here needs done in the final days before hosting a big family Christmas at my house, but whatever. It is what it is. This is my life.

And it's a wonderful life.

Doesn't mean I can't enjoy kvetching about it a wee bit here on the ol' internets, now does it?

< *evil grin* >

______________

When I got here this morning, a full twenty minutes before we opened for business, one of my regulars was already standing outside, waiting to be let in for his morning coffee and newspaper. Never fails. He sits at a table, observing the goings on while we hustle around gearing up for the day. The coffee isn't brewed yet, the scones and muffins are barely out of the oven, the lights aren't even turned on. Does he care? No, he does not. So, 'round and 'round we go, and soon enough he's joined by a growing throng and the pressure builds for the poor little new guy charged with opening the cafe' by himself on this, the last Saturday before Christmas.

I feel a little bad for him. And yet this doesn't deter me from standing by the coffee vats, tapping my foot in an impatient cadence, coffee mug in hand, waiting, adding to his pressure. I like to think of it as a teachable moment.

______________

"Hello. I have a question."

It's the thing I hear seven times out of ten upon answering the store's phone.

"Okay," I say. "How can I help you today?"

"There's a store in the mall? They sell Mountaineer stuff. Do you know what it's called?"

I sigh - internally, of course - and say, "Ma'am, there are several stores in the mall that carry WVU gear. Have you tried going on the mall's website? Or calling the information desk?"

"No, I haven't. Do you have their number?"

I don't. I could look it up, but really? Seriously? HONESTLY? I AM NOT 411. Or the town's Chamber of Commerce. Which I tell this person, in the kindest of words uttered in friendly dulcet tones before extracting myself from the conversation as politely as is humanly possible. And  if you only knew how many calls like this I take in a day ("Do you have the number of that camera store downtown, I can't remember what it's called." "Can you recommend any dog-friendly restaurants in town?" "Do you know if the library is open today?"), I really don't think you would hold it against me.

______________

Before I have time to reach my prime caffeinated state, a man comes into the store bearing gifts. Or so he thinks. In fact, it is a sack full of old books he's claimed from his parent's attic. He's sure they are worth their weight in gold; or if not, then at least a wad of cold, hard cash.

Thing is? We don't deal in used books. I tell him this simple fact. He doesn't seem to care. Quite to the contrary, he seems to be convinced that if only he pulls the dusty tomes out of the raggedy bag they're currently in, one at a time, he can regale me with their awesomeness and certain value.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I can't help you. I'd suggest contacting one of the used book stores in the area, or perhaps an antique store."

He's a bit indignant and makes sure the rest of the clientele milling about knows he finds my business acumen lacking before finally packing up his "treasures." As he prepares to leave the store, already wholly disenchanted with my customer service, he pauses to ask, "Do you have the phone numbers for any of them?"

______________

The phone rings again - as it does continuously on days like these - and a woman on the other line says, "Hello. I have a question."

"Okay, shoot!" I say, armed with a holster full of book knowledge ranging from arcane to mundane.

(This might be an appropriate opportunity to interject my rather inflated esteem for my own ability to identify the most ambiguous of customer requests. "I heard about, read about, was told about this book that sounds really great, but I don't know the author, title or subject matter. Do you have it?" Boom. I'm your girl. I can usually narrow it down within minutes, sometimes quicker than that. It's a talent borne of my own immersion in all things book, and one I hone on a daily basis. And I'm righteous proud of it.)

"I'm looking for a book about a famous person," she says. And then pauses.

"Okay," I respond, attempting to prompt the rest of the question out of her. "Which famous person?"

"Oh, any famous person. You know, like Michelle Obama. Do you have books about famous people?"

I bite my tongue and refrain from informing the sweet little lady on the other end of the line that our memoir/biography section is second only to our fiction section in terms of quantity. And quality, for that matter.

"Well, yes. I have lots of books about a great many famous people," I offer instead.

From there the conversation deteriorates into me pulling random titles off the shelf and telling her how much they cost, repeatedly. Over and over and over and over again. Until, at long last, she settles on a book - Carol Burnett's recent autobiography - and asks me to hold it for her. I take her name and oblige her request.

The customer is always right. And even if they aren't, they always win - or you, Mr. and Mrs. Retail Store Operator - lose.

______________

Her grandson has been terrorizing the joint for AT LEAST an hour now. I can identify his trail through the store not by breadcrumbs, but by magazines shelved in the literature section, boxed Christmas cards stacked by the floor puzzles, stuffed animals unceremoniously shoved behind the week's current non-fiction best-sellers. He has been screeching all the while, a sing-songy annoyance to other customers who come here for the mellow music sounding, coffee scented, laid back ambiance.

But now she has him firmly by the arm as she piles a massive stack of books and gifts on the counter. "Let meee  gooooo!" he screams, unnerving the snaking line of other patrons behind them.

"No, I can't trust you anymore."

"Whhhyyyyyyyy?" he wails.

"Because YOU DIDN'T LISTEN."

This does little to convince him, but still, she holds firm. I ring up the bounty and give her the total. She puts her coat on the ground, hoists her purse up onto the counter and, never letting go of the boy's arm, begins to dig for her wallet.

And dig.

And dig.

To no avail.

It feels like hours are passing, although surely it was only minutes, at best.

Finally, I toss out a casual "no worries!" and cancel the entire transaction, moving the pile to the counter behind me, as she apologizes breathlessly, clearly in a bit of a state.

"Please hold those for me," she says, dragging the apple of her eye and the worm in our apples out the front door. "I'll be right back for them, I promise!"

The door closes behind them, and the next customer in line catches my eye. We both smile cock-eyed grins, and a ripple effect ensues until, soon enough, everyone gathered by the register is smiling.

The last person in line, a hefty man with one small paperback to pay for, says, "For the love of all things merry about this damned holiday - hurry up before she makes good on that threat!"

The whole store seems to chuckle out loud, and breathe a sigh of momentary relief; the ambient quietude returns, and all seems right with the world again.

Until the phone rings.

"Hello. I have a question."

I love my job.

I truly, truly, truly, truly do.

Unlimited.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Lesson Learned.
What was the best thing you learned about yourself this past year? And how will you apply that lesson going forward?

Truth: I've been working like an idiot holiday elf these past two days - upwards of 23 hours in the past 48. So, I'm on fumes, bone deep tired. And I'm falling behind in my Reverb 10 posts. All mentioned to justify the fact that I'm cheating - just a little - by reposting these words, written almost exactly one year ago. I just printed these words out and thumbtacked them to the corkboard wall over the desk in my studio, because it's a (seriously self-centric) lesson that was hard for me to admit I'd learned, and one that has proved harder still to act on. It's almost 2011 now; it's time for that to change.

___________________________________________

I am unlimited.

Or so my Yogi teabag tells me.

Truth is, particularly when I screw up the courage to wander by this place, I feel quite limited indeed.

I am not limited by outside forces, or lack of support, or finances, or geography, or any number of external obstacles. Rather, I am limited by self-imposed barriers of timidity, excuses and procrastination. And again - as always - it pains me to have such acute awareness of this highly undesirable personal trait.

Or so I tell myself.

Truth is, if that were true? I'd have fixed it by now. Ended it. Allowed ambition to wreak havoc on indolence. Engaged in the reckless abandon of temerity over the safety of diffidence.

But I haven't done that, have I?

Instead, over the (god, so many) years I've been posting here, I have taken great pains to deny a simple truth. I've coyly fended off the comments of others and even willfully ignored the obvious prods of the voices inside my own head. I've hidden behind a never ending barrage of banal excuses - too little time, too much reality. I've told myself I had to wait - for the right moment, the perfect circumstances, the ideal. And I've done all of that out of little more than base, crass fear. Of failure. Of appearances. Of arrogance. Of audacity.

"You are unlimited."

Or so the teabag says.

A nudging challenge? A blatant dare?

Maybe something much simpler than that.

Maybe just three little words seen at the right time, in the right place. Maybe just what I needed to read to set myself free. Maybe just a phrase, a mantra, a sign: if you really want something, you have to put it out in the world and make it real.

Okay then.

I want to write.

I need to write.

I am a writer, with a voice, with a purpose, with stories to tell.

If not me, who?

If not now, when?

I am unlimited.

Or so I think I am finally ready to tell myself.

No.

I am ready.

So I tell myself, "I am unlimited."

And I start to believe.

She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

5 Minutes.
Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010.

Have you met me?

Five minutes to encapsulate an entire year?

Not gonna happen.

Unless...well, you know what they say. If a picture is worth a thousand words, here's a mouthful on the subject of my fondest memories of 2010. (My thanks to Frank Deford for the title of this one.)

 

Clockwise from top left corner: Jake joined the family (May); WVU's Final Four season (February); a river runs through my lovely city (year 'round!); Christmas decor still graced the Greenbrier during our visit (January); art in DC (September); the National Book Fest in DC (September); WVU football (October); photographic evidence that I made Jonathan Franzen laugh (September); my son gifted me with a trip to the WV State Fair for my birthday (August); my son broadcast the WVIAC Basketball Tourney's championship game (March); the River Queen (June); my bookstore (year 'round!); BRISTOL, BABY! (March); Sen. Robert C. Byrd's cortege processional in Charleston (July); my baby girl's bridal shower (March); the riverfront (many summer evenings); and, most memorable of all, we gathered together to join these two beautiful souls in wedded bliss (April).

Morning glory.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Appreciate.
What’s the one thing you have come to appreciate most in the past year? How do you express gratitude for it?

This is probably going to sound trite and maybe even a little pathetic. But so be it; I'm going with my gut in response to this one. While there are undoubtedly dozens of more deserving other things I have come to appreciate in the past year, this one leaped to the fore of my thoughts immediately upon reading this prompt.

Ready for this? Believe it or not?

Morning.

The first hours of a new day, when my house is still and quiet. When it's just me, the dog and a whole pot of fresh brewed coffee. When there are a few hours of a good night's sleep behind me and a few hours of my own good time ahead of me.

This is a bizarre response, even to my own eyes and fingers as I type this. I have never - ever - been a morning person. But for the vast majority of my life, and at least 90% of my working adult life, I have been forced to rise and shine bright and early in some evil contortion designed to ensure my conformity to career convention. And for that same vast majority of my life, I have bitched and moaned, whined and groaned about same.

See? Seriously not a morning person. But day in and day out, there I'd go, jamming my square peg night owl self into the circular misery of an alarm clock driven workaday routine.

And then I became the manager of a bookstore, and my outlook changed.

Now I don't have to go into work until 10 or 11 a.m., depending on the day. My well-conditioned brain still rouses itself by about seven, no alarm required. But these days, instead of jumping out of bed with a well of panic in my gut and starting my day in a rush of go, go, go, I take my time. My feet hit the floor when they're good and ready, and make their way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I scratch the dog's ears and sing him a morning medley of nonsense words, just to watch him cock his head from left to right, straining to understand. I let him out to do his thing, fix his breakfast, and pour myself a piping hot cup of caffeine.

Sometimes I load or unload the dishwasher, or throw some laundry into the wash. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I read the morning Wall Street Journal, sometimes I read a few more chapters of the latest book on my stack. Sometimes I poke around the internet to see what's stirring, sometimes I stare at Sports Center or Morning Joe squawking on my TV, in a half-hearted attempt to figure out what I might have missed overnight.

Lately, I've been coming here. Lately, I've been spending my mornings on the sofa with the computer in my lap, trusty cuppa Joe by my side, and a lazy dog (not a morning person himself) curled up close beside me. Lately, I've started my day writing.

It's hard to overstate what a luxury it is for a self-professed nightowl like me to be afforded the time to unfold myself into the coming day at my own pace, on my own terms. It feels more than a little selfish to describe it that way, but it couldn't be a more honest take.

Think about your car in winter. You start it up and let it run before you ask it to carry out its responsibilities of the day - getting you from point A to point B, safely and efficiently. That's how these new mornings are for me. By the time I have to go out into the world and perform, I'm de-iced, warmed up, revved and ready.

It's a beautiful thing, really. A gift even. One I grow to appreciate more with every passing day, as silly or simple as that may sound.

The first step binds one to the second.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Action.
When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

To say I am a dreamer is to state the case conservatively. I am a fierce fantasizer, with a penchant for the sentimental and a belief in the power of influence-able destiny. I am full of ideas and hopes, consumed with the power of the possible. I practice, as often as I can, the fine art of putting out into the world those ideals I wish to extract from it.

A few months ago, an opportunity presented itself in ambiguous enough fashion to plant the seed of a Big Idea. This opportunity represents so much: the culmination of years of my life's journey to a specific destination. Evidence that the choices and actions I've taken in my life so far, both good and bad, both productive and destructive, both irrelevant and corporeal, have served to pave a path, leading me exactly where I am meant to be. The conceivable realization of a dream.

Kismet.

And yet.

"An idea not coupled with action will never get any bigger than the brain cell it occupied."  ~ Arnold Glasow

The next step requires putting one foot forward. Because dreams coupled with inaction are only dreams, ethereal and intangible. Only action can make a dream come true.

The next step requires keeping both feet on the ground. Because dreams untethered by common sense reality are only dreams, aloft and unattainable.

The next step requires setting aside fear. Because dreams pursued with trepidation are only dreams, tinged with regrets over what might have been.

The next step requires the exactness of common sense pragmatism. Because dreams kept afloat with a heart's impracticality, unbalanced by a mind's logical processing, are only dreams, destined to fail.

It's now incumbent on me to transform a proposal offered on two scribbled pages of a legal pad into a business plan, worthy of the confidence of those with the power to make it real. I need to make the case, negotiate the specifics, navigate the emotions, ignore the symphony of heartstrings, attend to the details, and beware the pitfalls.

It's thrilling, and scary. It's huge, and humbling. It's dreamy, and tangible.

It's the chance - and the risk - of a lifetime.

It's up to me to sort out the difference, in terms I can live with, and see where it goes. If that turns out to be a dead end road? Well...in that case, the next step will require me to summon the strength to accept that reality for what it is.

And the courage to dream - even bigger - tomorrow.

'Cause, hey. That's just how I roll, yo.

:-)

Cold Feet, Warm Heart: The Autobiography of a Snowman.

 

The Reverb 10 project has been very good to me so far. It's helped stir the pot of creative juices required to rehabilitate my blogging mojo, and for that I am grateful. But today's prompt landed with a thud in my simmering vat of inspiration, splashing ennui and disconnect all over everything. So I'm ignoring it. Completely. Acting like it never happened, and writing anyway.

Stream of Consciousness Sunday, let's call it.

Consciousness being relative, obviously, given my determination to spend the day in as near a vegetative state (see: couch potato) as is humanly possible (see: need for sustenance) and canine permitted (see: In? Out? In! Out! In? Hmm. Maybe...Out?)

Helloooo, Sunday.

I love days like this. The weather is a nasty combination of bone chilling cold and scattered rain showers that the weatherpeople collective claims will convert to snow by mid-afternoon and gather into a full-fledged, certifiable snow storm of ferocious proportions at some point in the middle of the night. I don't have the courage to SAY this out loud, but I am big and brave enough to TYPE it out loud: I hope they're right.

Snow is my friend. It thrills me. Turns me into a little kid again: a pig-tailed, saddle oxford wearing school girl in full squeal. I find it comforting. Cozy inducing and merry making. When big, fluffy flakes fall from the sky for hours on end, blanketing the outside world in crisp, white wonder, I sometimes imagine myself living in a snow globe, and smile.

Cheesy? Absolutely. True? You betcha.

Would it help, or make matters worse, for me to confess that I sometimes believe I was a snowman in a former life? Also true. For what it's worth.

Anyway.

The pending storm looms, and like any good citizen of a geographic region under a "you may be stuck in place for several days" weather advisory, I went to the store. (Because, you know: one must secure the milk, bread and eggs! French toast all around!) It was the first Great Snow Panic Grocery Store Run of the season. Always good for a few laughs, a little heartburn, and a depleting effect on the checking account.

Today's laugh: a man, speaking for the small but growing crowd gathering three hours too early at the "no alcohol for you until 1 pm on Sundays" roped off entrance to the beer aisle, chiding the store's manager. "You'd think they'd give you authority to adjust the situation during a state of emergency."

Today's heartburn: maneuvering through the store behind the meandering, moseying throngs who could care less that I was on a mission to get through this stockpiling ordeal and back to my sofa in record time.

Today's depleting of the bank account: paying full price for everything in my cart because I was too lazy to sort and organize the dozens of coupons I usually  use to the tune of 30%+ savings on my weekly grocery bill.

And then there are today's none-too-small victories: my son arriving home from his weekend travels just in time to carry in the groceries. Homemade hot chocolate, replete with miniature marshmallows. Flannel pjs and fluffy old slippers. A fresh from the dryer down comforter and freshly cased pillows piled on the couch. A soft, colorful glow emanating from the lights on the Christmas tree. A devastatingly good book in my lap and decent football on my TV. An agenda free agenda. A companion of the warm-blooded, four-legged variety. The threatening promise of snowfall. The lure of a long winter's nap. Peace. Quiet. Even a little good will toward (most) men fluttering about in my heart of hearts.

What's not to love about this time of year?

____________________________

I have a recipe to share with you. I bought all the ingredients for it today, and if the mood strikes, I might just spend a few lazy moments in the kitchen whipping up a batch or four myself.

I mix up massive amounts of this unbelievably simple candy every Christmas, and folks are crazy nutso for the stuff. I give festive little packages of it to everyone I know - neighbors, friends, co-workers, my mailman - and it's always a huge hit. It goes by many names (I've seen it listed as "White Trash," which, c'mon. Yuck. WTF?), but I prefer to give it a happier sounding name. (mwahaha)

Fair warning: it's irreparably addictive.

Dirty Snow

3 1/2 cups Cheerios

3 cups Rice Chex

3 cups Corn Chex

16 ounces red & green M&M's plain chocolate candy

2 cups small pretzel twists
2 1/2 cups salted mixed nuts (OPTIONAL)
                   Note: I usually don't use nuts to avoid any allergy issues

2 (11 ounce) packages white chocolate chips ( Ghirardelli is truly the best)

Dump the cereals, M&Ms, pretzels and nuts (if using) in a great big bowl. Melt the white chocolate slowly, stirring occasionally, in the microwave or in a double boiler. Pour melted white chocolate over the rest of the ingredients mix gently until the cereal mixture is well coated. Spread the mixture out on a large sheet of parchment paper and leave it alone until set. Break up cooled mixture into pieces. Store in ziploc baggies or air-tight containers. I usually put mine right into festive holiday candy bags or gift boxes/tins lined with waxed paper and give away before I eat the whole mess of goodness by myself quickly. Will keep for several days. If it lasts that long.

 

Enjoy!!

 

 

 

Bygones be gone.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Things.
What are 11 things your life doesn’t need in 2011? How will you go about eliminating them? How will getting rid of these 11 things change your life?

This prompt seems relatively simple and innocuous on its face. But the more time I let my brain gnaw at it, the more challenging it becomes. Granted, it's possible I'm over-thinking things. It's been known to happen. Then again, maybe that's the whole point of the exercise. If the prompts start a rumble in your synapses, maybe you are supposed to give in and ride the brain waves where they choose to take you.

So...let's try that. Let's just go with it, and see where it leads.

1. Stress. I have no use for stress. I'd like to vanquish all of it to the nether regions of my life in 2011. The older I get, the more I come to realize that, while some stress is good stress - adrenaline filled, positivity packed motivation - most of my stress these days tends to be of the self-induced negative energy variety. Think: the cement shoes bogging down forward motion. Think: self-defeating behavior. Think: the grossest act of unkindness one can effect on oneself. It's unnecessary. I can do better, and, ergo, be better. It's just not that complicated.
2. Procrastination. It's a hallmark of mine; one it's safe to say I'm not proud of. One that is also culpable for 90% of the negative stress I manage to create in my life. (see item 1) It's a hard habit to break - but isn't that really just a cop out? Isn't that...really...just more procrastination? Yes, it is. If it's worth doing, or needs doing, then I should set about to the act of ... doing. No more waiting until there are no more tomorrows to use as an excuse.
3. Meat and processed foods. I went vegetarian in April of 2010 and it's been among the greatest gifts I've ever given to myself, or my health, in years. It's hard to describe the physical and mental impact this lifestyle choice has brought to bear. Still, I oftentimes find myself taking the easy way out: cheese pizza, potato chips, french fries, bread, desserts - all these things have gained a far too prominent place on my list of "approved foods." They're - technically - vegetarian, right? Gah. Another self-defeating path, at its core. If I'm going to truly commit to this, then I need to make the effort to go all in, to avoid the traps, to grasp the full scope of the benefits of doing it the right way. 
4. Fear. Some fear is good. It protects you and warns you of looming danger. I'm not talking about that kind of fear. I'm talking about the kind of fear borne on the wings of self-doubt that stifles me from living life to its fullest; the kind that trails pathetic regret it its wake. This kind of fear transforms me into a paralyzed someone I don't enjoy being. It instills in me a need to find a thousand reasons not to partake in a social events. It prevented me from enjoying the thrill of a whitewater rafting weekend with my family. It feeds me reasons why I can't, I shouldn't, I mustn't, I couldn't possibly, and then leaves me starved for experiences that might've been.
5. Debt. We'll never be completely debt free - kid's college loans, our beautiful home, the vehicles we drive and more will see to that. But this year we made significant - and I mean SIGNIFICANT - progress in ridding ourselves of the stupid, superfluous debt of too many credit cards. I cannot possibly expressing how majestically liberating this has been. We've got one more to go before we're done with this kind of years-long in the making, crippling, asinine debt forever, and it will be gone before the summer of 2011. Can I get an AMEX AMEN?
6. Cigarettes. A 30+ year death wish that needs to be put to rest, once and for all. I could say more, but do I need to? I didn't think so.
7.  Poisonous people. We all know them, right? We all have folks who would sooner suck the life out of you than lend you a hand, or an ear, or a shoulder, or a morsel of honest friendship. It's a slow and difficult process, but I am determined. I will suck this venom out of my life, one snake in the grass at a time.
8. A vehicle. We, a household of three, possess four. Insanity. Two are leased and one is company provided, but still. It's ridiculous, and I want nothing more than for at least one of them to go away this year. Even if it is my snazzy little G35. *sniffle*
9. The ugly. I love politics. I love political discourse of the interesting, give and take, edifying, adult, enlightening, forthright and higher ground variety. Sadly, there is not enough of this in America today. I loathe what passes for political punditry and conversation these days, with everyone choosing a side and protecting their ideological flank with every arrow in their quiver, 24/7, forever and ever, no matter what, without end, ad nauseum. There has been an alarmingly quick devolution into the muck, even from people whose opinions I once respected, whether I agreed with their politics or not. In turn, there has been a painstakingly slow cutting off of these bloggers, tweeters, and talking heads from my world. I have no use for tribal loyalty at all costs, kindergarten playground bullying, name-calling, "if you disagree with me you are nasty, stupid, arrogant, egocentric, maniacal, uneducated, wrong" people who leave no room for growth, possibility or differing opinion. If you can't maintain a dialogue on the important issues of the day without painting yourself in the corner of hate, I don't really care what you have to say. Give me your open minds, or give me space. Idealistic? Perhaps. It works for me.
10. Memorabilia. Over the years, I've collected a lot of it. I have memory boxes stacked in the basement, labeled and full of ... frankly? ... junk. Do I really need every ticket stub from every movie my then-boyfriend/now-husband and I went to see when we were dating? Every card my children ever gave me? Programs from every show and concert I've ever attended? REALLY? No. I don't. I have the memories. The stories. I have photographs. I need to weed through the ephemera, separate the wheat from the chafe. A woman I know recently lost both of her elderly parents within two months of each other. I've watched as she has had to painstakingly sort through all of their possessions, including years and years of accumulated stuff that meant nothing to anyone at the end of the day. It grieved me to watch her struggle as she sent pile after pile of meaningless junk to the landfill. I don't want to do that to my kids. It seems a selfish, heartbreaking and thankless way to say good-bye.
    
11. Verbosity. As in...this simple list could go on forever, as I am wont to do. Oh, to hell with it - who am I kidding? I'll never get rid of this trait. It's in my DNA. It owns me. And I'm pretty okay with that when it's all said and done. Which might possibly be never, if I have my way.

 

 

 

Wisdom is in the eye of the beholder.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Wisdom.
What was the wisest decision you made this year, and how did it play out?

You know what? One of the wisest decisions I've ever made - moving home - played out to fruition in 2009 and parlayed itself into a 2010 devoid of the need to make sweeping, grand, fraught with meaning choices.

That said, the framework is already being built for a 2011 that will require me to don my thinking cap, exercise a little common sense, restrain my tendency to let my emotions be my guide, and, hopefully, make impenetrably wise decisions that will impact my personal life, my professional career, my financial standing, my way of life and more.

But that's 2011. Those weighty choices can...well, wait. There's too much at stake and it's inappropriately premature to document them here and now. As much as I might want to get some of the thought processes involved out of my head and into the sunlight of a blog post, it just wouldn't be prudent at this juncture. All things in its time and on due course, right?

So for now, let me just describe one of the very best decisions I actually did make in 2010. One that left an indelible mark on my heart and happiness. You'll have to be the judge as to its wisdom.

Meet Jake.

If you ask me? Adding this 90-lb. bundle of shelter rescue joy to our little family was the smartest thing I did all year.

"Woof!" (That's Jake for, "My sentiments exactly." He's a rather erudite fellow.)

 

 

Showered with love.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Party.
What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans.

This one brings a big ol' smile to my face, because 2010 was chock full of good times with good people, enjoying good food, good drink and good vibes. Thinking about this prompt brought back a flood of fun memories. Of course, the biggest and best party of the year, without question, was my daughter's April wedding.

Instead of talking about that momentous day again, I'm going to tell you about the bridal shower I threw for her about a month before her big day. Because I can. And because I want to. And because some of these prompts are offering me an easy way to make up for a horribly remiss lack of posting about these pieces of my life as they were happening.

And because I worked my ass off pulling this thing together - long distance - and the end result was nothing short of fabulous, if I do say so myself. *cough* < / horn tooting >

ANYWAY. Once we set the date for a Sunday afternoon in March, a garden party theme began to take shape in my head and the ideas just kept...um...sprouting, as it were, out of nowhere from there. We held the shower at her home in Virginia, and as the party's hostess, 90% of my planning and prepping took place via long distance phone calls and emails, which was a little stressful and hardcore. Until, as if by magic, my lifelong BFF4ever volunteered to come all the way from North Carolina two days early to meet me in Virginia on Friday morning to help.

I take that back. It wasn't "as if by magic." It was her, being her, rock steady, right there, all in, all the time, because she? Is magical.

I drove down on Friday, hugged the ever-living-life right out of the best friend a girl could ever dream of having, and spent the next two days doing all the set up, decorating, final shopping, cooking and drink mixing to the sounds of familiar old stories, accompanied by more laughter than is probably healthy.

Come one o'clock Sunday afternoon, the house filled with a couple dozen of the loveliest women who ever were - from grandmothers and cousins to college roommates and bridesmaids - and everything was as perfect as it was going to get.

Which, as it happened, was quite perfect indeed.

In the shape of a heart.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Beautifully Different.
Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different – you’ll find they’re what make you beautiful.

I have to be honest. I saw this prompt this morning and cringed a little inside. Not at the words themselves, but at the meaning they hold.

See, I don't think there's anything particularly unique or different about me, much less beautifully so.

On the best of days, I'm just a girl in the world trying to make her way the best way she knows how, like millions of others around me. Nothing special about that; to the contrary, it's only extraordinary in its ordinariness.

So, instead of allowing myself to be stymied into not even trying, I've opted to share some older words that speak to this subject for me, then and now.

____________

More often than not, I feel misplaced. An idealist drowning in a sea of cynicism, a sentimentalist awash in a tide of realism, a simple girl endeavoring to make her way through the maze of an over-complicated life. It's always been with me, this feeling of not belonging, this lack of connective tissue linking the inner me to the wider world, and so I cannot say with any depth of certitude that I would - or would not - have it any other way. I don't know any other way. It just is what it is, I am who I am, and so it goes, ever onward, one foot in front of the other, day into night, week into year, past into present into future, infinity into beyond.

Again, I don't imagine that I am particularly unique in this feeling of one-ness, alone-ness, only-ness. Rather, I imagine there are multitudes just like me, each of us too invested in watching our own steps for fear of falling to realize we needn't be afraid of anything except the fear itself.

Someone said that before me, didn't they?

Everything there is to say has already been said before, though, I sometimes think.

All we have left is context.

Most of my days are filled with small moments, each one less than grand alone, scarcely worthy of a thought or comment, and yet as luminous as a thousand tiny treasures when joined together and appreciated whole.

There is much beauty to be found in these sorts of days, when the simple things prove to be among the finer in life and the hours roll gently past, unencumbered by the weight of the world. When there is air enough to breathe, and room enough to grow, and time enough to notice. When the morning passes in the company of the final chapters of a good book, the afternoon is spent in pursuit of a job well done, and the evening lays spread out before you like a promise, waiting to be kept.

Sometimes I think the secret to everything is so obvious as to render us oblivious.

Sometimes I think the secret to everything is taking a step back, observing your world and your place in it through the prism of wonder and gratitude it deserves.

I am not perfect, but I am loved.

I am not yet everything I want to be, but I am free to keep trying.

I am not finished, but I have come far.

I am not rich, but I am so very blessed.

I am not complacent, but I am happily content.

I am not always worthy of the gifts this life presents.

But I never fail to be awed by them.

I think I'd do well to remember that, and appreciate the inherent raw beauty that shines through an immensely grateful heart, every single day of my life.

Virtually yours.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Community.
Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?

As alluded to in an early prompt response, my online communities - Twitter, Facebook - have been a fairly large part of my life in 2010, often to the detriment (or at least distraction) of my writing here. But those two virtual gathering spots have brought more positives than negatives to my world in the big scheme of things.

My network of connections on Facebook is like a maze through the days of my life. There are the usual suspects, of course - family, close friends, co-workers. But then there are the bonus players: my first childhood best friend, who I haven't seen since we were 12 years old and she moved away. Neighbors from our stints in Richmond and Raleigh, who we might have otherwise lost touch with completely. Old acquaintances from high school. A long lost second cousin once-removed on my father's side of the family who, once upon a time, was my co-conspirator at nearly every family holiday get together.

Twitter serves a different purpose: it offers an "instant gratification" sense of community through quick bursts of conversation on the topic of the moment with like minded folks from all over the world. It's a place I can freely discuss subjects I tend to try and avoid in my real life world - politics being the prime example. Then, layered on top of all of that, it gives me a little insight into the collective attention span from moment to moment through links, retweets and trending topics. It's a one stop shop of community ties.

For 2011, I'd like to jump back into the community of bloggers that used to be such an important and valued part of my day. When writing here became a series of stuttering stops and starts, I walked away from that community a little bit. Participating in this daily prompt exercise has led me back, and one of the greatest benefits I'm getting from this daily practice is reconnecting with bloggers again, both those I've known online for years and the new-to-me ones I'm discovering through Reverb 10.

Instead of viewing my avid participation in the virtual world as a distraction to real life, I'm coming slowly to appreciate its ability to bridge and strengthen the connectivity and sense of community between the two. And when you think about it that way, taking time to cultivate both becomes a pretty empowering action toward creating a place to belong.

 

Creative is a verb.

A brief note: yesterday's Day 5 Reverb 10 prompt is still...well...reverberating around my brain. It's a tough one, and while I fully intend to respond to it, I'm going to give it the time and thought that it is due. And with that...let's move on to today's Day 6 Reverb 10 prompt:

Make.
What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?

It's funny. The very first week we moved into this old house, I carved out a space to call my own. A small-ish pentagonal shaped room with bright blue walls, four windows, freshly refinished hardwood floors, filled from floor to ceiling with supplies and inspiration. My studio.

And yet... in the near two years we've been here, one constant lament of mine has been over my failure to take full advantage of this built in opportunity to create.

And yet... while reviewing the year that was to answer this prompt, I was pleasantly surprised to realize that room or no room, these past twelve months have been filled with a quirky homage to my more creative side.

For starters, there was the Julia Child Experiment.

I spent the entirety of one winter Sunday conjuring the great Ms. Child in my kitchen, faithfully following every word of the recipe for her signature dish: boeuf bourguignon. I'm proud to say, it was a rousing success, and I'm glad I did it, even as I'm quite sure I'll never attempt it again.

My daughter's nuptials provided another significant creative opportunity.

I designed all the printed material for the big day, from the wedding program shown here to every last bit of signage gracing the reception. I also created a seventeen minute video, complete with animation and set to music, featuring photos of the bride and groom from infancy to the beginnings of their life together, that was shown at the rehearsal dinner party.

Then there was the photographic exercise, documenting a Year in the Life of a Rescued Pooh Bear.

I found Pooh in a dark, cold parking lot in Vermont on the first night of our October 2009 trip. Ever since, in the grandest roaming gnome tradition, this silly old bear has been photographed through a  myriad of experiences. He's been to the National Book Festival (shown above), he's tailgated at Mountaineer Field. He's been to the WV State Fair and taken in art show openings. He's bet on the horses at Keeneland and cheered on the drivers at Bristol. Browsing through the many Pooh photos stored on my hard drive, I realized something. I didn't just make a funny little photo essay for the entertainment of my family and friends; I did a pretty fair job at making life memories in the process.

I've got one art project underway right now.

There is a large blank wall that runs the length of my second floor hallway. And, as the family historian, there are a multitude of large boxes of old, beloved family photos in an upstairs closet. For this project, I'm taking photo copies of some of my favorite pictures and mounting them on painted canvasses of all shapes and sizes. When finished, these 30 or so mini works of art will be hung in a vast collage on the now blank hallway wall. I'm pretty excited about it; the finished product looks pretty amazing, and represents a veritable trove of the thing I treasure most: family.

So despite my internal bemoaning, it seems 2010 was a more creative year in terms of things I made than I realized when I started thinking about this post. Which makes me happy.

But still...going forward? The one thing I want to make is more time to spend in my cozy little studio, letting its inspiration take me on a journey of surprise and discovery.

It thrills me to my core, just to imagine the places we might go.

Sublime

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Wonder.
How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

The honest, easy response to this?

I lived, every day, filled with a sense of awe and wonder and...deeply felt gratitude.

...

I'm feeling indescribable lately.

Trying to put a frame of words around a snapshot of my present mind is difficult.

I'm quite used to old habits involving penning lines of listlessness, or sadness, or discontent, or frustration in my daily journal entries. For years, these were the lyrics of my life. I think maybe they had to be, to help me find my way.

But now? It's so very, very different now.

Who knew that one could be so content to be...so content.

Rather than searching, scrambling, unraveling, today I'm stretching, engaging, reveling. Yet, still and always, dreaming.

No more furiously flapping wings, flying stubbornly headlong into the storm. These days I'm soaring high above its fray, with what I hope is a modicum of grace.

Things have changed. I have changed. And I have learned.

I've learned the undeniable truth in the power of giving being the key to receiving everything I've ever needed; but more than that, to being given things I never knew I wanted.

I've learned living fully open does not have to mean leaving myself raw and exposed; instead, it means being available to, and aware of, the nuances of the world around me.

I've learned valuing the life I'm seeped in has nothing to do with settling and everything to do with empowering. Peacefulness does not equal stagnation; constant searching for some ambiguous ideal assures it.

I've learned growing never stops, and seeking never ends. But failing to acknowledge with appreciation the milestones and treasures encountered along the way defeats the whole purpose of both.

I've learned imperfection adds rich texture to life. I adore the imperfections in the people I love. I've come to respect the flaws in myself, goading me to constantly strive, reminding me.

I've learned joy is practiced, not given. And yet, in sweet contradiction, the more of it I give, the more comes back to me.

I'm overwhelmed with the sense of being in the exact right place at the exact right moment, right here right now. As if I've reached a scenic overlook on the road of my life, and the view is spectacular. I can look back at the journey thus far with an honest understanding that every single step, or misstep, along the way served to get me to this point. And I can see the long, winding road ahead, knowing I'm prepared and ready for the trip.

I'm feeling indescribable lately.

And it's a wonder-filled thing.

 

Momentous.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

Moment.
Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail.

____________

Months of planning have led us here. Emails and phone calls, meetings and contracts, nerves and tears, joy and laughter, details and more details. And it's finally here.

My daughter's wedding day.

There is something about life moments we all share in common, milestone events millions of others have experienced before you, and millions more have to look forward to, but that still, all the common ground aside, are uniquely your own.

A first born daughter's wedding day is that kind of moment.

My beautiful girl, armed with a purple binder full of facts and figures, planned this day almost entirely on her own. Every last detail was coordinated by her, composed like a symphony. From the music to the flowers to the arrangement of the chairs on the vast lawn, the entire day was designed to play out the melody of her life, her love, her hopes and dreams.

And it was flawless.

Mother Nature decided to grant us an April day without the showers; the sun shone high in the sky, and aside from a few random gusts of wind that threatened to whip the bride's six foot veil from her head a time or two, the weather seemed custom made for the outdoor setting. 

The morning was dedicated to pampering - hair and make up, mimosas and  manicures. The flowers arrived, the cake was rolled in, the caterer went above and beyond the call of duty in transforming a clubhouse into a reception fantasy fulfilled.

Family and friends, gathered from far and wide, began to arrive and take their places. The bridal party dressed, fussed over final touches, peeked anxiously out at the burgeoning crowd. The grandmothers' wedding bands were tied carefully to the bride's boquet. The officiant guided the participants through a brief review of the ceremony and our roles, and soon, there was nothing left to do but wait.

For the moment.

And still, even as such careful and diligent attention to detail was playing itself out to perfection, emotions were high. There was a palpable nervous energy in the air, a tension comprised of such a mix of far reaching feelings: from the bride's excited energy to the mother-of-the bride's determination not to devolve into a puddle of sentimental tears; from the groom's giddy smile to the catering staff's intensity of purpose; from the near-overwhelming  love emanating from the gathered witnesses to the father-of-the-bride's concentration.

My husband, the aforementioned father-of-the-bride, the love of my life and heart of my heart, was consumed with focus on the three tasks he was expressly responsible for on this day: giving away the bride, the post-nuptial toast, and most nerve wracking of all, the father-daughter dance. These three things were at the fore of his every thought this day, a thing I know because I know him so well.

Until, finally, the moment arrived.

I squeezed my husband's hand and kissed his cheek. I held my daughter's lovely gaze and told her how much I loved her. I put my arm through my son's and walked down the aisle to take my place. I looked on as my husband gathered up the bride's wildly flowing veil, put her arm in his and, on cue, to the sounds of "Hello, Sunshine," led my daughter through the first steps into her the rest of her life.

I was determined not to cry, but it was hard. Everyone I loved was here, witnessing a moment when all of the hopes and dreams of a girl, a boy and their extended, far reaching families are joined together.

My husband and my daughter stood at the altar, against a backdrop of majestic mountains. The officiant looked at my husband and smiled.

"Who gives this woman into marriage today?"

My husband, my serious, funny, surefooted, focused, privately emotional husband, collected himself, held his head high with all the solemnity the moment required, cleared his throat and said...

"My mother and I do."

There was a brief, silent pause.

And then the crowd erupted in laughter.

In that moment, any and all remaining tension in the air dissipated entirely.

In that moment, there was unbridled, pure joy.

In that moment, two families were well and truly united as one.

In that moment, two hearts were joined on a journey toward their ever after, surrounded by hearts filled near to bursting with happiness and love.

On not writing, and other self-destructive behaviors.

Today's Reverb 10 prompt is an eerily apt one for me, if only because it's a subject I've been actively contemplating for a couple of weeks now.

Writing.
What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it?

The answer to this also happens to tie back nicely to yesterday's Reverb 10 prompt, because all of those rejuvenating things that have occurred during this year have also served as a sort of living, breathing obstacle course between me and the act of reflective writing. Not necessarily in a bad way. Unless, of course, I allow the obstacles to build upon themselves until an impenetrable fortress forms.

I'm determined not to let that happen. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, what *do* I do each day that doesn't contribute to my writing? Everything. My whole life frame of reference has altered completely over the past several months. Completely. It's all changed. Every fragment of who I was, how I spent my days, my state of mind, the forces - external and internal - that shaped my world is different now.

Used to be, I didn't have Facebook or Twitter on which to offer up pithy, short comments relaying every passing thought that happened to cross my mind at any given second of every single day. Both of these virtual venues offer a more instant gratification means of clearing out the mind clutter than sitting down to compose a thoughtful, reflective, creative, holistic piece of writing. Trouble is, both are also an incredibly fragmenting, almost abusive thing to do to a writer's mind, one that scrambles said writer's ability to effectively execute their craft. At least this is true in my craft-defying writing experience.

Can I "eliminate" this as an obstacle? I doubt it. I'm an addictive personality, and the virtual, interactive ADD has collected my obsessive compulsive tendencies in a death grip. But I can work around it. And maybe, once I start writing again, I won't "need" it so much anymore.

Used to be, I sat in front of a computer for 8-10 hours every day, working a career focused on writing. Technical, marketing, message-intent, pressure packed, deadline driven writing that accosted my creative sense with facts, figures and spin. Creative writing - just for fun, just for me - was a powerful tool. A much needed brain break. It helped me re-center, refresh, recharge. The act of writing down the bones (so to speak) of my life's daily inanities and/or profundities enabled me to strengthen my focus on writing down the technical, business savvy reasons why you should pay my company many millions of dollars to work our magic for you. It was a balancing act in the purest sense.

Now, I run a retail establishment. An independent book store, to put a finer point on it. The perfect environment for a practicing writer to thrive in, one might think. In reality, I am the book buyer, the event coordinator, the babysitter, the business face, the marketing arm, the cashier, the stock girl, the chief bottle washer and manager. It's a busy day, spent on my feet, running around from here to there, switching hats on the fly as needed, on a schedule that changes from hour to hour. It's hectic, chaotic, exhilarating and fabulous. It is not, however, very conducive to reflective, creative thought, much less reflective, creative writing. There's not as great a need for the outlet, the energizing effects; and, in truth, there's not as great a space for the process in my head.

Can I "eliminate" this as an obstacle? Yes, I think I can. I've had more than twelve months to grow accustomed to this entirely new experience, to find my footing and hit my stride. I'm ready to calm the chaos, reign in the crazy and build a little more stability into the routine. I need to do this, not just to make room to get back to writing, but to regain a little more semblance of control. It's totally do-able. In fact, it probably should have been done a long time ago. Hectic chaos is fun...for a little while. But sooner or later, inevitably, it just becomes fuel for burnout. I'm determined not to let myself get to that point; I love what I'm doing too much to willingly, knowingly sabotage it. That gathering the reigns will have the added benefit of producing the serenity of mind required to write is a bonus of the first order.

Used to be, there was a lot of drama in my world. This is clear and self-explanatory if you've spent any time with me over the course of these blogging years, and easily accessible via the archives if you haven't. I don't need to go there. I lived it. All of it. The totalled vehicles. The high school graduation that almost wasn't. The 3 a.m. phone calls from jail. The ensuing tension. Writing it down, putting my pent up frustrations and embattled emotions on paper - even the virtual kind - helped save me. It kept me sane.

Now? Can I be honest? Pssst....come closer. I am sane. And whole. And happy. The biggest dramas in my life today are of the rather mundane, almost joyful variety. Do I or don't I business plans and options. The care and feeding and head-over-heels loving of a 90 pound puppy. Watching my children blossom and bloom - as a sideline observer, not an active participant. Renovating a century old house into a family homestead. Enjoying the freedom to indulge my inner urban hippie - cultivating my vegetarianism, riding my bike everywhere, building immunity to the noises of city life. It's all good. It's all...wonderful.

Can I "eliminate" this as an obstacle? Yes, I think I can. When you've gone through your writing life writing what you know, and what you've known is drama - it's easy. Really. I mean, think about it. Venting, releasing, emoting...it comes naturally to me. When what you know has gone through as many wholesale changes as what I know has? It's different. Writing it down seems redundant. Irrelevant. Maybe even boastful or arrogant. But is it? Really? Does it have to be? I don't believe it does. I believe, in the grand scheme of things, that once a writer, always a writer, whatever the sensibility, and that the truth of the matter is, to some of us, writing is as essential as breathing. Go long enough without putting pen to paper, and soon you'll be gasping for air.

And that's the crux of why I'm back here, now, writing again. Not to impress anybody. Not to gain fame and fortune. Not to be noticed. Not to say anything brilliant. Not even to say anything at all, when it comes right down to it.

But to breathe again.

It's just that simple, and that complicated, all at once.

Used to be, I carved out time every day to write. Whether it was journaling, blogging, sending off a letter to someone I'd been missing, or just noodling around with words with no purpose in mind. For me. It was a gift I gave myself, just because.

Now, I'm ready to re-gift this notion to myself.

From myself.

For me.

Just because.

One Word

Today I decided to take a stab at breathing new life into this old blog. And a mere few hours later, I stumbled upon the Reverb 10 website.

Coincidence? I like to think not. But if so, it is a freakishly happy one.

Reverb 10 is..."an open online initiative that encourages participants to reflect on this year and manifest what's next. It's an opportunity to retreat and consider the reverberations of your year past, and those that you'd like to create in the year ahead. We're connected by the belief that sharing our stories has the power to change us."

One prompt a day for thirty-one days, designed to help find your voice, transition into the year ahead, and share in a community striving for the same? Oh yeah. I most definitely subscribe.

The first prompt - today's - is deceptively simple:

One Word.

Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

Not as easy as it sounds.

My word for 2010?

Rejuvenation.

It fits. Wholly. Completely. Indubitably.

This year marks our first full one since moving back to West Virginia after nearly two decades away, a choice that has proved to be among the wisest we've ever made, as a family, as a couple, and individually. We've all been rejuvenated by the change, in multitudinous ways that can scarcely be transcribed in a sentence or two. My husband is no longer working a career; he's pursuing his passion - one that just so happens to pay the bills. My daughter is newly married, intensely loved, and living in a big city like she's always wanted. My son has transitioned from potential lifelong loser into a stunning overachiever, taking giant leaps into an incredibly promising future with every passing day.

And me? Well, I'm just living the dream, fulfilled and happy, content and hopeful, encouraged and inspired to varying degrees on a near daily basis.

Which leads me to the word I'd like to see capture 2011.

Fearless.

A bit of a mouthful, but a potent one.

I want 2011 to be the year I allow myself to be fully open to all the possibilities that are swirling about me, even as I type this post. I want to go fearlessly into the promise, make decisions and choices based on a level head, as opposed to with a timid heart or a skittish soul. I want to go fearlessly into the come-what-may, eliminating any regret that might - will surely - come by holding myself back through self-doubt.

I want to move forward, not with reckless abandon or mindless consideration, but with faith in myself, strength of will, and the courage of my convictions.

I will be fearless.

Hear me roar.

On This Day

Once upon a time, there was a girl with a blog. And once upon a time, this girl was so addicted to her blog that she posted. Often. Sometimes as much as four times a day, once upon a time.

As the years went by, this girl settled into a routine with her blog, her addiction, and managed to limit herself to a single, usually well-thought out post every 24 hours or so, and she and her addiction lived reasonably, and happily, ever after.

Except.

Not exactly, yeah?

I last posted in this space on September 1st, three months ago today. THREE MONTHS. How does that even happen? Beyond the throwaway cliches about not enough hours in a day, or happy living making boring writing, or a growing virtual ADD caused by too much Facebook and Twitter...I have no earthly idea.

Because I love this space, well and truly. Was a time it meant nearly everything to me, in fact, and held as close a place in my heart of hearts as the dearest of friends. And now, on this day, I find myself drawn here again, attempting to set to rights the year or so of neglect and taken for grantedness I've subjected the place to, in hopes it might forgive me and allow me to open the book of my heart on its pages again.

And yes, I know, I know: I've said it before.

Let's just go with it, on this day, and see what ensues.

For the record, on this day is a great place to start because I find myself confined to a tiny little chair at a tiny little table in a tiny little school, selling books to tiny little humans for eight hours. On this day, just like yesterday, just like tomorrow. And I sit here on my tiny little perch with ants in my pants, butterflies in my stomach and a million flitting thoughts bouncing around my brain: things I should be doing, things I want to do. Things I'd rather be doing, things I should've taken care of last week. Ideas, to-do's, don't-forgets, plan making sorts of things, all aflutter in this hard little head of mine with nowhere to go.

But here.

There is an intimidation factor at play, of sorts, in resurrecting this whole thing, no denying. A "where to start?" issue. How to catch up with myself and all the life that has transpired between the then of active writing and the now of ... active living. The old 'mind the gap' condundrum, as it were.

Chasing my own tail (in a manner of speaking) won't take me anywhere but in a big ol' circle of avoidance.

And yes, I've said all this before, too, but bear with me, because I'm trying to convince myself that the best place to start is just... here.

On this day.

In this place.

No time like the present.

Let it be.

Just do it.

Carpe post.

So here I am, and here we are, and ya know?

I've got a feeling I kind of mean it this time.