Music Monday: Play On

I've been revisiting a bunch of my old CD's lately, and I happened upon one I bought after a concert in Bothell, Washington. It was a concert by An Dochas, a group specializing in Irish/Celtic/Gaelic music, and it's about as rousing a style of music as I've ever heard.

Forget the placid coffee-sipping kind of stuff. This is more like the kind of music to possess the red slippers, to make you skip through the house cleaning everything in sight before you can wonder what the hell is going on...

I have two of their CD's, "Play On" and "What'll Ya Have?" though I like the first better.

It's rather like Zumba music... I can't keep my feet still from the first measure, and before I know it I'm whirling all around the house. It would horrify all of you, I'm sure, but my kids and the hubby are used to it by now. And when An Dochas is playing, my kids are dancing, too. It's rather contagious that way.

Now I just need to get a pair of those clogs to go with the music. And one of those twirly skirts, too.

What music gets your feet tapping? Please share. Even better, how do you use music in your daily lives? Does it help your writing? Does it calm you down at the end of the day? Entertain you on your commute? Well, don't hold back! Get out that twirly skirt of yours and let us all see!

The Persistent Voice

I have three hours of Zumba today. I have to lug kids everywhere, shake, shake, shake all over the place to earn my income, dash to the store, do dishes, cook, tend to the house, get papers signed and faxed, and the list goes on.

Why am I still happy? Why do I have a cheesy grin on my face here, at the very start of the day, when no item has yet been crossed off? Because I also have a book waiting for me, the end of a novel I've been happily editing, a few good ideas to flesh it out, to make the climax nail-biting.

And I know, once I'm showered, once I've cleaned and fed everybody, that I'm sitting down here, at my beloved Mac, and working on it. That is the most beautiful thought I can imagine at this point.

More about that later. For now, it's off to make the kids' lunches!

The Art of Waiting Patiently

A recent game I tapped into on Yahoo Games had a cute message as it loaded up:

"i am somewhat impatient, but i know that the game will be loaded soon"


It made me think so much of my own life--well, two aspects of it, anyway. You see, all my life I've been struggling with my weight. I could never fit into my older sister's hand-me-downs as a kid (and that was pointed out quite often, given our financial hardship), and even now, as a Zumba Fitness instructor and careful eater, I still have trouble losing a pound. My husband gives up desserts and loses ten pounds without really thinking much about it. He admits he would have given up years ago if he'd seen as little progress as I have in trying to lose weight.

Yet I've seen the same sort of success in my writing. (Translation: not bloody much). I've sent out tons of queries and received nearly as many rejection slips (nearly as many only because many agents and publishers don't send replies if they don't like something). Not a single request for more material. My plays have been only slightly more successful, only because I've been pretty lucky to find places where I can do a staged reading or get some great feedback.

So why do I do this? People have asked me why I don't just give up. Why continue to do Zumba if it doesn't make the pounds drop off the way it seems to for everybody else? Why keep writing if I don't sell any novels?

I see the rational basis for this. It is logical. But it errs because it's based on an assumption which simply isn't true: it assumes I do these two things only because of the outcome I'm hoping for.

I know many who do. I know all sorts of people who try Zumba--or vegetarianism, or some diet fad--only because of the outcome they hope for. I know writers who are only concerned with completing a novel so that it can be marketed.

They and I do not work towards the same ends. Or perhaps, for me, the ends simply aren't as important as the act of doing. Why do I do Zumba? Because I adore Zumba. It is more fun than I have doing any other physical activity. It fills me with joy, fosters in me a belief in my own beauty and sexuality, frees me like nothing else does. The act itself is fantastic, no matter its outcome.

The same goes for writing. I don't write to finish. The process is what matters. Writing is my therapy, my shy chance to speak, the who I am in a long list of whats. It's part of my chromosomal make-up, and the only frustrating parts of it include not making enough time for it and not being as good a writer as I would like. But writing is bliss. Sheer bliss.

I suppose the title is a lie, then. I don't have to be patiently waiting for the outcomes I would love to happen. I'm delirious in the moment, charged with energy and elated by the passion of these two activities. I'm not really waiting patiently for anything. It's already here.

Where do you find your joy? Do you hold onto this, or does the outcome matter more?

Nocturnal Not-Sleepings

Before I was awake

Aware

I killed a bug that wasn't there

And brushed my leg

Along the sand

Rubbing dirt with outstretched hand

I heard the mower

Someone snoring--

No, more like a pig exploring--

Felt the poke

Of knees, cold toes

And coughing, snorting from a nose

I rubbed my eyes with gritty fists

Rubbed out the dreams

Unfogged the mists

And rose from bed a little sad

No dreams, no rest

The night I had

Was no more restful

Than a Zumba class

But my fatigues, like hours, shall pass.

Kudos to Darrell B. Nelson at Project Savior for unintentionally giving me the third line of the poem. I hope all of you slept better than I have lately. This waking up between 3 and 5 every morning is starting to wear on me. If only I can figure out why... or at least make myself get to bed by 9. I did finish my Zumba instruction training, though, and that means I am now a certified instructor... now to get my whole class routines together, and start teaching!

My Favorite Day

I bet y'all thought today must be my birthday! You know it isn't Christmas, nor is it (American) Thanksgiving. No gifts will be exchanged, no parties planned, no cakes made (thank goodness!).

No, it's just my favorite day in the world, the one day of the year I get an extra hour to work on stuff. I've said about a million times before (on this very blog) that I wish I had a Timeturner (and if you don't know what that is, you need to read the Harry Potter books--or at least the third one). This is the one day when time is turned back for me.

Sure, it's only one hour. But that hour is one of the most precious things I have to use, and I have so much I can do with that one hour:

1. Read more to my kids.

2. Give them their piano lessons this week (unlike last week).

3. Go to zumba.

4. Write my day's installment of my NaNo novel.

5. Assess the 101 essays (okay, this will likely take two hours--but I can get half of it done).

6. Revise 3-4 pages of my Thomas novel.

7. Make and enjoy a gourmet, made-from-scratch dinner or cheesecake.

8. Cut out a dress or blouse to sew.

9. Finish reading The City of Ember.

10. Go through my daughter's clothing (or son's clothing, or my own clothing).

I have a much longer list of possibilities, but these are the most likely. What will you do with this blessed extra hour? Sleep? Whine? Watch the boob tube? Don't do that! Make the hour count for something!

Now I'm all done bossing. I don't want to waste anymore time, for that extra hour is awaiting me, needing all my energy and drive. Make your own hour count! I know I will!

Happy Mediocrity Day to Me!

[Disclaimer: I am really okay. One of my beloved readers actually called me this morning to make sure I was okay after she read this post, so I didn't want any of you to get scared. I'm pretty chipper this morning, but perhaps that doesn't come across in the tone of my post below:]

I've been seeing several celebrations by other blogs lately--five year anniversaries, one- and two-year milestones, so I thought I'd check to see how long I'd had this blog. I know I started blogging on Today.com first (and sometime in August, 2007), but I moved from there when my sister and so many others were locked out of their accounts when Today.com didn't like what they were saying.

But this is not an anniversary. It seems my first blog here was in April 23, 2009. So I've been blogging one year, four months, and 17 days. Wow! That is so not any kind of milestone! Fantastic!

Oh, and it's not like I've been blogging every day, either. In one month I only wrote six blogs, which comes out to about one blog every five days (see, I can do simple math). That's pretty awful! How much more mediocre can I possibly be?

And this proves something, and it's something I need to remind myself of every now and then: I do not have to be the best at something (or even really good at it) to have fun. I can write crappy poetry, and as long as I toss in a good one now and then (or at least one that rhymes) I can keep my sweet readers coming back. I can offer gardening/editing advice, and people take me seriously.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty mediocre (and happy) in several facets of my life: I have written three unpublished novels, I play piano badly, my paintings are far from professional, my mom skills are questionable, my housecleaning...well...let's just say Merry Maids wouldn't hire me, I'm only an adjunct English teacher (even with a doctorate), and I still look a bit like I'm wrestling pigs in Zumba. But I'm happy. No gold medals, no sign of physical grace or exceptional talent, but I guess that doesn't really matter much to me.

Today, I embrace my mediocrity. And I embrace all of you (though that's really not comfortable through a laptop--oof!), and thank you for sticking around these last one year, four months and 17 days. You help make my life exceptional!

So, how about you? Anything you delight in being mediocre at? (Notice how I used a preposition at the end of that sentence? Cool, huh?)

Envy in a Zumba Classroom

She looks in the mirror

Sees the ashy hair

Like hay in a barn

(Her mama always says)

Wonders if her bony knees

Look bad in shorts

Wishes for the legs

On the third girl from the left...

Who's stepping to the side

And sees her stomach isn't what it was

(What it never was, but she wishes it could be)

Her hips show signs of babies

Doughnuts, and genetics

Why do they put this mirror up

So she can see how fat she is

When next to all these skinny people

Just like little miss Hot Pink...

Who shimmies, with futility

Seeing women's breasts

Full and shaking all around her

While her own boyish ones

Practically non-existent

Don't move at all

Babies didn't help, either,

A brief reprieve from flat

Not like the rock star in the front row...

Who always dances in the foreground

Not to see herself

(God forbid!)

But because the Amazon women crowd her out

And she can't see the leader

The one with the perfect legs

The perfect tan

The perfect clothes

The perfect hair

Who's grateful not to face the mirror

So that she doesn't see

Her own imperfections.

Happily Making Do

It seems that life never gives one exactly what one desires. For instance, this morning, after being away from my home for THREE weeks, the number one thing I wanted to do is get to the Y and do my beloved Zumba. 

But then my kids, worn out from their time at Grandma's, slept until nearly nine a.m. Only a half hour to get them ready! And both wanted to wear their new tennis shoes... must get them laced, de-tagged, etc. And breakfast--almost forgot about that.

We were going to be late... but only by a few minutes. But then, oh no, where are the YMCA ID cards? I'm sure I put them in a "safe place" before I left, so I'd remember where to find them. Yes, by now the irony is killing me. Then, a solution: I'll just show them my drivers license (it's worked before). 

But then, the insurmountable obstacle: no keys. You see, I left my car and other keys behind when I left for Houston, and they have yet to return to my purse (darn!). I could walk to the Y, but the Zumba class would be more than half over by the time I got there... and the kids would be whiny (it's about a mile and a half to get there). So that was a deal breaker.

You might think this is the Whining Blog... but it isn't. What did we do? Well, my daughter is restarting her Wi Fit this morning instead, and then we are going to put our little Zumba/Bellydancing jinglebelts (are they called sashes?) on and DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!

I have to remind myself sometimes that it takes far more energy to whine about a problem than it does to solve the problem. Problem solved! 

(Maybe I should take a picture of the jinglebelts so you can see what they look like!)

Meme from Ask Me Anything

My sister urged me to do this one, too, so here goes. Let me know if any of you do the same on your blog, so I can see your answers!

1. My uncle once:
Tried to pressure my daughter to give him a hug. She wasn't impressed (you go, girl!).

2. Never in my life:
Everest. I have no death wish, nor do I wish to lose my fingers, toes, or anything else. And I hate intense cold, especially when accompanied by intense wind and tons and tons of exercise.

3. When I was seventeen:
I was a complete dork. Oh, darn, I still am!!!!

4. High School was:
Lonely. I was too smart for my own good, and had the social skills of a psychopathic killer. Only I wasn't one on the inside (it only seemed like I would be on the outside). 

5. I will never forget:
The moment I held my daughter in my arms. Life changing.

6. I once met:
Ray Bradbury. Didn't give a lick what people thought of him, so he was very open about everything. Loved having lunch with him. (Note, if you do dine with him, he hates broccoli and cauliflower.)

7. There's this girl I know who:
Knits, and knits and knits. She calls herself Knitting Mama, and I know that knitting is her way of keeping her sanity as a SAHM (mine is writing).

8. Once, at a bar:
My husband called me pretending he was in jail. When I found out he was at a bar with his buddies I hung up on him. He never did that again.

9. By noon, I'm usually:
Starving. And I eat breakfast, too. Weird.

10. Last night:
I looked at the new ihome, finished laundry, and discussed a property my hubby and I are thinking of buying.

11. If only I had:
Gone to my big sister's wedding! My one regret in the world!

12. Next time I go to gym/church:
I'll be doing Zumba Thursday. LOVE IT!

13. Susan Boyle:
What about her? I have a good voice, but I'd never make it as a star. So what?

14. What worries me most: 
My kids' dying before I do. They've promised me they won't... I hope they keep that promise.

15. When I turn my head left, I see:
My son and his friend watching Monsters Inc.

16. When I turn my head right, I see:
My deliciously old piano. 

17. You know I'm lying when:
I start giggling. I can't lie in real life. Though I do have a poker face when I know the outcome of a movie/game and I know you don't (I hate it when people give that kind of stuff away.)

18. What I miss most about the eighties:
Can't think of anything. Honest. I don't tend to miss the past, especially if I was living at home at the time (and I was).

19. If I was a character in Shakespeare, I'd be: 
Hamlet. Or Beatrice. Or Shylock. I'm probably most like Isabella in Measure for Measure... but I'd pretty much play anyone, male or female, except for Sir Toby Belch.

20. By this time next year:
I hope to have the research for my ghost book--and the writing--completely finished, and have it all out to the publisher.

Again, let me know if you decide to do the same meme. I'd love to know what your answers are.