Mom's Magic Ring

 Before my mom passed away, she entrusted me with her wedding ring. It's beautiful -- a resetting of her original diamond with the addition of several others -- and I wear it often.

I especially (and intentionally) wear it when I'm going somewhere I think she'd like to go or visiting someplace she's never been. Most recently, she accompanied my family on our vacation to Niagra Falls and Toronto. On the evening we returned, my husband, my daughter and I were gathered at my daughter's apartment, and I wondered aloud what Mom would have thought of the trip. We were all tired and a bit unimaginative at the time, and didn't come up with much of anything in the way of a reply. As I continued to turn the question over in my mind, however, I came to a few conclusions.

I think Mom would have found the whole idea of an Air BNB a bit strange. Staying in someone else's house? Someone you don't even know? Why would anyone want to do that?

She would almost definitely have not participated in the Journey Behind the Falls at Niagra Falls, especially if she could see it on video for free and not get her hair wet in the process. And, while I think she'd have enjoyed browsing in the gift shop, I'm certain she'd have spent much less money than we did.

An inveterate crossword puzzle fan, I think she'd have liked the bilingual signs in Toronto and would have filed away a few words for future puzzle endeavors.

She would definitely have preferred the nighttime bus tour to the daytime walking tour. But, as someone who used to walk to work in all kinds of weather, she'd have loved the concept of the Path. I don't think I'd have gotten her on the subway, though. 

And St. Lawrence Market? Like her daughter, she'd have headed straight for the bakery.

It's fun to imagine taking Mom along with me on my journeys and adventures, such as they are, but it's even nicer to simply imagine having her there with me through the magical ring she entrusted me with. Someday, I hope she'll let me know what she thought of the journeys.

Photo credit: Wikipedia

Rediscovery

 I am a wannabe artist. I don't want to paint or draw still lifes (lives?). I just want to be a good doodler. I'd like to be able to sketch everyday objects just for fun, to liven up the margins of otherwise dull notes, or to  create little doodles related to the material that illuminate key topics.

Yesterday, I was reminded of my forays into life as an artistic doodler and sketch noter. I opened a drawer to look for a specific notebook and uncovered my archives, the most impressive of which  was a collection of three sketchbooks full of sketchnotes, something I made a daily habit several years ago. Although at the time, I'm sure my perceived errors and missteps were what jumped out at me, yesterday's assessment was that they were pretty good. This was followed immediately by a second thought. 

Why did I stop?

Although the simple answer is that other things got in the way, the truth is more nuanced. I recall getting bored by the nudge to create daily and overwhelmed by the blank page. Then there was technology, mostly in the form of games, always ready to fill the void, while promising to demand so little from me. 

At one point, I moved to a focus on lettering -- I uncovered the books to prove it, right beside those sketchnote sketchbooks. That fell by the wayside even faster than the sketchnoting. I had a brief flirtation with coloring in small, quick hit coloring books, but that didn't really take. From there, I moved on to collages, playing with shapes and colors and words in a different form. That, like the sketchnoting, is something that I still enjoy.

While a part of me is annoyed with myself for dropping the ball, so to speak, I know the fullness of life made other pursuits (and people) rise to the surface. Once I stopped chiding myself, I realized what a gift these pursuits have been. Along with my writing, these forms of creative expression have been not just entertaining, but have helped me embrace creativity in a variety of different ways. 

Stumbling across this treasure trove a few weeks before a milestone birthday nudged me to start a list. Retirement is on the horizon and while I absolutely do NOT want to create a retirement to-do list, I do want to remind myself of some of the things I might want to pursue again and why. I'm sure the list will evolve quite a bit and in many different ways over the next year, and I'm also sure that opening a drawer or a box and re-discovering something will continue to remind me of past pursuits, and to determine whether or not they have a future with me. Maybe I'll even give each of these hobbies a box of its own, stacking them all together neatly as a sort of three-dimensional menu from which I can choose. 

Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out where these pen-and-paper pursuits fit into my technology balancing act. They certainly pose a more creative alternative than the games I habitually open.

One thing that's definitely on my retirement list (as well as my everyday list) is going through all the accumulated stuff in our house, which includes opening up the drawers and cabinets that haven't yet hit my re-organizing radar. 

I can hardly wait to see what I'll find.

    

Image by Sunrise from Pixabay

Staycation Time

 We got back from a week at the beach two nights ago and I'm still putting the house in order. Part of that is simply the way I work -- tackling unpleasant tasks a little at a time, part of it is the fact that July is rapidly coming to a close and I am seizing moments wherever I can, and part of it is that the house never got fully "back together" after the chaos of having our master bedroom repainted (again -- a casualty of the way I work, and the domino effect that comes with rearranging things in a small house). Meanwhile, my daughter is also home and, given the choice of spending time with her and working on the house, I choose the former. 

Even before our vacation, I decided that some staycation days were in order. Time was flying by and I was afraid I'd wake up on the first day of school wondering where summer had gone, and desperately needing the respite I didn't quite manage to eke out. I typically shift into school prep mode when I flip the calendar to August but, looking ahead, the days between now and the start of school are quickly filling with tasks, appointments, travel, and other obligations. Many of these events will be fun, but too many crammed into the calendar won't allow me the breather I need before I dive into fall semester. 

Enter my magic pencil, crossing out days between now and the end of August, declaring them off-limits to appointments and, quite frankly, anything I don't want to do. These are days during which I'll (theoretically) have the house to myself, days I can amble through at my pace, tackling the "want-to-do" list instead of the "have-to-do" list -- y'know -- a summer attitude. While some of must-do items will likely get accomplished during those days, the sense that I have a choice in the matter makes all the difference in how I feel.

Over vacation, I was reminded that productivity is relaxing for me. I enjoy a sense of accomplishment and it's only when my routine is disrupted that I realize how much I value a certain amount of predictability as well. I don't need to be running and checking things off 24/7 -- quite the opposite, actually -- I just need to finish the day feeling as though I've done something worthwhile. On vacation, that can be something restorative, like sitting on the beach reading a magazine, or it can be something practical, like watching the next video in a class I signed up for, or restoring order to the space we're temporarily calling home. 

Staycation days give me the opportunity to float between restorative and practical and having those days on the calendar reminds me that, when things get overwhelming, there's a respite waiting just around the corner. Powering through the must-do list before those days arrive gives me permission to set those tasks aside for a day here or there, should I choose to do so.

The older I get, the more I realize that vacation is a state of mind. We can be in the most beautiful setting but, if we're tethered to our phones and working against what feels right to us, we might as well be in a laundry room somewhere sorting through socks and underwear. With the right frame of mind, we can vacation anywhere by choosing to restore our sense of peace and well-being and engaging in pursuits that make us and our days a little bit brighter. 

August may be just around the corner, but my road to the end of summer is peppered with staycation days.

Be Careful What You Wish For

 I'm not good at doing nothing and, to be honest, that scares me a little. On the cusp of retirement, I'm feeing as though this is a bit of a "be careful what you wish for" scenario. What will I do when my days no longer have the structure to which I've become accustomed?

Right now, life is often overwhelming. There are too many things to do, too many deadlines, and I find myself longing for a stretch of time to fill in any way I please. So, you'd think a vacation would provide just that.

But here I am, with no pressing deadlines and no looming to-do list, at the loosest of loose ends. When my husband tries to fill the days with activities, I push back, not wanting to overplan this gift of time. But when left to my own devices, I sometimes freeze, unsure of what exactly I want to do. I move from one thing to another, never alighting on any task for long before I'm displaced by dissatisfaction.

Such a rough life, right? 

As it turns out, the balance of routine, productivity, freedom, and flexibility is tricky. Some days call for a lot of one at the expense of the others, while others demand a mysterious mélange that reveals itself only as we move from one thing to another. Change the location, the players, and the expectations and everything shifts, often in a very unpredictable manner that leaves us feeling adrift and maybe even a little grumpy, no matter how beautiful or inviting the environment. 

As I was typing this, I looked around our rented beach digs and all I saw was chaos. Immediately, I had a task -- something I could control. The combination of productivity and the almost instantaneous appearance of clear space gave me the satisfaction and sense of peace that had been eluding me. 

Mysterious mélange indeed. 

I don't know what my post-retirement routine will look like -- I don't even know what the next three days will look like! But I do know that a key ingredient in finding a new normal, whether for a week at the beach or the rest of my life will require a key ingredient I sometimes find in short supply.

Patience. 

Wish me luck.

Cat image (from a decidedly non-cat person because I'm allergic) matched my mood.

Image from photosforyou from Pixabay.com

The Beginning of the End (In a Good Way)

 Yesterday, I entered the grades for the last summer class I'll ever teach. Then, I met my husband at a local restaurant to watch soccer, forgot to put the towels in the dryer, and spent the evening half-watching another soccer game with my laptop on my lap.

In other words, just another day.

Except that it wasn't. This final curtain on an online summer class was the first curve in the path toward retiring -- for real this time. I learned a long time ago to never say never, but I also know there are rare exceptions. At this point in my life, as I forge a path toward retirement, summer classes were the first domino to fall in the "never again" tower.

It's not that I mind teaching summer classes -- they're asynchronous online, so the deal doesn't get much better than that. It's just that I -- like everyone else -- would prefer to have the summer off.

Endings are often bittersweet, but this one isn't, mostly because it doesn't really feel like an ending. In fact, it's neither bitter nor sweet since I still have at least two semesters of face-to-face instruction ahead of me -- a form of teaching I much prefer to the online variety. In addition, all my upcoming classes requiring some updating or revising (in my mind, anyway), so I'm really just switching from one to-do list to the next.

In addition, the end of any semester often takes a while to sink in. Even thought I've crossed the last item off my to-do list, it takes a few days for the "I should be doing schoolwork" cloud to fully dissipate and move out of my headspace into wherever it goes from there. Only then do I realize that the finish line is behind me.

It's been twenty-four hours, and I'm not there yet.

I know that as the time to retire (for real this time) draws closer, all the feelings will start to emerge, but I also know it will be different this time. When I retired for the first time 14 years ago (and it clearly didn't stick), I knew I wasn't really retiring. I had a daughter going into high school, with college tuition on the not-so-distant horizon. In addition, I wasn't yet ready to leave a professional identity behind me.

But now, it's different. A week from now, the cloud will have dissipated and (mostly) on-vacation mode will have set in. But the reality of not teaching in the summer is unlikely to hit me for another nine to twelve months, at which point it really will be something to celebrate.

Meanwhile, I move forward, head and heart ready to do this for real.

I think.

Maternal Reflections

 My stack of reading material always contains at least one spiritual book, and one of my favorite authors these days is Father James Martin. In his marvelous, slim gem, In All Seasons, For All Reasons, he includes the following suggestion:

"Contemplate your favorite growing thing and let it 'speak' to you about how God works."

I'm not much of a nature person, but an answer came to me right away.

My daughter.

Told you I wasn't much of a nature person. But, even if I were, I can't imagine a better growing thing. And, while I'm not sure that my daughter speaks to me about how God works, per se, I know that raising her has brought me plenty of messages about how to be a better person.

I know I'm not alone when I say that, through my child, God spoke (and continues to speak) to me about patience. The patience to let her make her own choices. The patience to not say what immediately springs to mind (though I was much better at that when she -- we -- were younger). The patience to believe that this, too shall pass, whether it's toilet training, the "nag and ignore cycle" of junior year in high school, or the growing pains of young adulthood and the empty nest.

In addition, there's the most obvious message which, of course, is love. We love our children like we love no one else. Even when they make it clear they don't want us around (although feeling the love in that moment can be a struggle).  Even when we don't much care for their behavior, or the choices we patiently "allow" them to make, the love is a throughline the reminds us that, even when things are difficult, love is always possible.

My favorite growing thing has also made certain that I have a sense of humor and that I laugh – with her, at myself, and at the ridiculousness that often surrounds us. I feel particularly fortunate that we share the same somewhat snarky sense of humor, and that, most of the time she gets me. I think I get her, too, even though she's now pretty much all grown up.

But the biggest of all the parenting side effects is gratitude. My darling girl was my rainbow baby, the gift after a pregnancy loss that left me angry with God. I still don't understand what God was trying to say with that turn of events but I do know that if things had proceeded as planned, my favorite growing thing would not exist. The math just doesn't work out. 

I am moved beyond words by the enormity of the gift that is my child -- the person who is somehow exactly the same as and completely different from the baby I once rocked to sleep. Perhaps the most life-changing gift of all is that I will forever see the world and all the growing things in it not just through my own eyes, but through hers as well. 

And maybe, just maybe, that's a little glimpse of the divine.

Image by Jim Cramer from Pixabay

New Directions

Pixabay

 As a not-so-famous author, I'm 100% responsible for my book promotion and publicity. And, although I enjoy some of it some of the time, it's not something in which I have much expertise. Sure, I enjoy dabbling in it, but I can't escape the nagging feeling that I don't have enough background to create anything resembling a viable plan that gets the word about my books to anyone beyond my friends, family, and the wonderful readers who've already found my books.

And that feels a little like shouting into the void. 

Fortunately, I am an educator and, like most educators, I love to learn. So, I decided to take action and find a way to fill the gap between what I know and what I need to know. With this in mind, I signed up for a combination class/program to ratchet up my knowledge and help me approach the whole thing a little more systematically.

So far, I'm swinging wildly between extremes -- I'll open one video or slide show and think, "I know this." (I have done some homework after all). Then, I'll open another video or slide show and get the overwhelming and distressing feeling that it's been created in another language, one in which I have no fluency.

I think it's going to be an interesting journey.

Meanwhile, I'm thinking about where I want to carve out my niche in cyberspace for the long haul. At some point, I've had a presence on quite a few platforms, but I definitely feel more comfortable in some neighborhoods than others. For now, in addition to this blog and Organizing by STYLE, you can find information about all my work on my website and my Facebook group page, Jersey Girl Books & Giggles. I'm also on Instagram and I'm playing around on Threads and Bluesky, but I'm not sure how sustainable multiple platforms will be in the long run. Quite honestly, that will be driven by a combination of traffic and my comfort level on the site. 

I wish I could say I had a master plan but, at the moment, it's under construction. For now, I'd love it if you'd follow me in any or all of the places above, and drop a comment below to let me know if there's a different place you like to go online to read about books and/or find your next good read. In the end, I, like everyone else, want to be where my friends and family are and if you're a loyal reader, I don't want to create a road map that leaves you behind. 

Thanks for reading. I'm happy you're here.

 One night last week, I successfully crafted a blog post for STYLE Savvy, and wrote the better part of a second one but, when it came to creating a post for this blog, I came up empty. Part of it was simply being out of mental energy, but part of it was also coming up with something new. 

Earlier this month, I promised myself to spend a few minutes each day reviewing the various notes and ideas I have scattered about or, if the muse dropped by, coming up with a few new ones. Tonight, I came across a page of questions I'd jotted down when I read Kate Schelter's Classic Style over a year ago. She had various questions she'd posed to the stylish people who filled the pages of her book, and I jotted down a few of my queries. As I sat down to press a few of them into service for this post, I realized it's been a long time since I had my characters on the porch swing.

So, on this muggy summer evening, I welcome Marita and Bets back to the porch swing (Charli is playing miniature golf with her father and Angel). Together, my characters and I will answer a few of Kate Schelter's questions.

#1: Always in your fridge:

Lisa: Iced tea.

Bets: Wine.

Marita: Milk. For Charli's cereal. It's a mom thing.

#2: Skill you dream of mastering.

Lisa: French. Or knitting.

Bets: I'm pretty skillful, actually. 

Marita: Parenting.

Bets shakes her head. "You're a good mom."

Marita: Thanks. But the rules are always changing.

#3: Less is more or more is more?

Lisa: Less is more, especially as I get older. 

Marita: Depends. Clutter? Less. Shoes? More.

Bets: What is wrong with you people? More! More is always more. Although with some people, less is more than enough.

#4: Wrist watch

Lisa: Apple Watch

Bets: Ooh, fancy! No watch. 

Marita: Fitbit.

#5: Writing implement

Lisa: Depends on the task.

Marita: Pencil.

Bets: Red Sharpie. Or purple. Depending on my prose.

#6: Piece of furniture you really love and use every day

Bets: My bed!

Marita: Can't argue with that. I think my kitchen table, though. Charli and I have had a lot of good talks there.

Lisa: My blue chair in our sunroom, which is one of a pair. They originally belonged to my parents and we inherited them, so to speak, when my parents opted for recliners.

Marita and Bets (and Lisa) have lots of opinions. You can read Lisa's here any time, and you can find out more about Marita and Bets (and Charli and Angel) as well as the people who spark their strong opinions in any of the books below. (And yes, Casting the First Stone has a different cover now. Same contents, though :-)

Friday Feature: Putting Your Phone in its Place

 Some of my current reading -- perhaps a disproportionate amount of it -- has been focused on digital diets. This material has ushered me into a lovely guilt trip about the amount of time I spend on my phone doing things that aren't necessarily productive. And, when I vehemently resisted Catherine Price's suggestion that I remove those apps from my phone, I began to wonder if I had a problem. Was I deluding myself, or do I really have it under control?

In truth, the answer lies somewhere in between. Do I spend too much time on games? Probably. Do I sometimes mindlessly scroll through social media? Affirmative. Am I doing this at times when I could (reasonably) be doing something more productive? Sometimes. 

Am I out of control?

No. Not even close.

While reading these books has nudged me to take a closer look at how much time I spend in digital pursuits (as well as what those pursuits are), it has also reminded me that being productive 24/7 is really not a goal worth pursuing. Could I theoretically put my phone down at 9PM and write the next great American novel? Sure. Am I likely to really be able to do that?

No. Not even close.

We need a break. And in the 21st century, that break might very well be losing ourselves in an online game that allows us to not have to be doing anything in that moment. What we really need to consider is how that time and those pursuits make us feel, how much time we're (really) wasting, whether or not we have the cognitive capacity to engage in more productive pursuits at that time and, finally, whether or not that engagement would actually be a win.

To be fair, the books I'm reading do address this, particularly Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism, which I'm finding to be more nuanced than other books on the topic, nearly all of which suggest a period of going cold turkey followed by a slow, thoughtful reintroduction of key apps. What I like about Newport's approach (so far -- I'm still reading) is that he explicitly raises the question of whether or not the way we're using our devices is the best way to accomplish what(ever) it is we want to accomplish.

And that strikes me as a question worth asking. As a result, that's the question that's guiding my analysis of my time on my devices. If it's 10:30 PM and I'm in my recliner watching The Golden Girls and playing a game on my phone, it's a safe bet that I'm not trying to accomplish anything except downtime.  

And that's okay. 

So, as I analyze my time on devices, I have to separate work (teaching-related, writing-related, e-mail, social media posts for author purposes) from play and, as has been the case since long before we held computers in our hands, whether or not the balance between the two is right for me.

If you feel the need for a change in your social media habits, you might enjoy Cal Newport's Digital Minimalism. If you're looking for an overhaul of your habits, Catherine Price's How to Break Up with Your Phone might be a good fit.

But, if you're happy (and you know it), put down your phone and clap your hands. Finding digital balance is definitely a feat worthy of applause.

The Best-Laid Plans

 Yesterday, I promised myself that today I'd spend an hour on my current class (the one that just started today), an hour on the new class I'm planning for fall, and an hour on writing.

It's now 6:30 PM and the day, though well-spent, has not adhered to anything resembling those guidelines. 

Fortunately, my husband is planning to mow the lawn, which means it's not yet time for dinner, so I can squeeze in a little writing -- oh, wait, there's my phone.

Yeah. One of the many reasons my days don't go according to plan but, to be honest, I can't blame family phone calls (the only ones I pick up when I'm working) today.

This afternoon, I spent an inordinate amount of time revamping one single assignment, something I'm trying not to do this summer as this is the last time I'll be teaching this particular class. But, with the advent of AI, the assignment yielded far too many robotically voiced articles the last time I used it, and I don't want to read those papers again this summer.

So, revamping it is. I got a great idea for a different way to approach the assignment, which led me down a rabbit hole of videos, all of which I had to watch before I could assign them. 

None of this is terrible. In fact, it's one of my favorite parts of my job. I love learning new things, and I learned something new from everything I watched or read today. It was fascinating, informative but, unfortunately, time-consuming.

It also led me to think about what my reading and viewing habits will look like when I'm no longer teaching. Will I want to learn new things about child development? Will that $1 virtual subscription to Scientific American still tempt me? Will I actually read The New York Times virtual issues I pay for, or just keep playing the games?

There's much to be said for structure but also a lot to be said for flexibility. I've learned that, for me, flexibility is often where creativity dwells. The harder I try to stick to a routine that's not as well-conceived in reality as it is on paper, the less likely I am to come up with something new or to hit that lovely flow state where one idea begets another.

Today was a day well-spent, even if it was a little off-kilter. Now,  my brain is tired and ready for some leisure. I wonder what form that will take.

And I wonder what tomorrow will look like. 

Graphic credit: Image by Moondance from Pixabay

Yum-Yum

 Last weekend, I had the opportunity to visit the town that I consider my hometown, though in point of fact, I lived there only as an adolescent. My daughter was going to an event in Philadelphia and her idea was for her father and I to be her chauffeurs. We'd all drive to Haddonfield, and she would take the train Philly (and back after the event) so we could chauffeur her home again. Her selling point was that we'd get to spend time in my favorite South Jersey town. Kind of an impractical plan unless, of course, you’re the parent of a young adult who chooses to seize every opportunity to spend time with them, even if it’s just while they’re in the backseat of the car. 

Translation: I'm a sucker for both her and the town, so I took her up on her "generous offer."

Her main reason for the visit to Jersey, to be honest, was not her love for the town – although she does like it quite a bit, which makes me happy – it was to patronize a gluten-free shop. We'd first been there when she I took the trip (minus the Philadelphia detour) a year or so ago, and I shared all my stories of all the places. This time, she wasn’t around for the storytelling, but my husband was. 

It’s amazing how much a place can spark memories and emotion. Chief among them was pride, not just in the person I was then, but also in the town itself which still feels like a charming little hamlet -- one that was much more abuzz on a random Sunday afternoon than I expected it to be. This pride (and a bit of amazement) also extended to my mother, who did not drive, and walked back and forth to work every day dressed in full professional garb, as only she could. She was not that much younger than I am now, and the fact that I could definitely feel the difference in that journey now compared to traveling the same sidewalks as a teenager was what put me (once again) in awe of my mom.

I’m grateful that my husband chose to make the trip. Of the three of us, he had the least amount of interest in the destination, but opted to join us anyway. He also had the greatest amount of patience in the journey, not only in being the principal driver, but also in listening to my endless stories and letting me lead the way, which is not something that always comes easily for him.

It was a nice day, albeit a warm one. There were many wonderful memories, but perhaps the best one caught me by surprise. We were hot and tired and thirsty, and we stopped to sit, and my husband went to a little ice cream spot, ostensibly to get a beverage. He returned instead with an Italian water ice. 

I’ve had many versions of water ice over my life, but the one that’s stuck with me as the best was called Yum-Yum. It was a concoction I don’t ever recall having in Haddonfield, but rather in nearby Pennsauken where I spent my childhood. A man would go up and down our suburban street pulling a wagon with a tub of Italian ice in it, singsonging, "Yum-Yum, Yum-Yum." Parents would hand their children a few coins, and we would dash out and take this treat from a stranger dishing it out of a tub in a wagon. No one thought anything of it. In fact, it was just life in our neighborhood, another version of the ice cream truck that drew the same reaction.

Sitting in the gazebo in Haddonfield nearly sixty years later, my husband offered me a taste of his Italian ice and I was shocked to discover that it tasted exactly like the treat from the Yum-Yum man. Suddenly, I was eight years old again, and if I could have gotten my own tub of Yum-Yum/Italian ice safely home without it melting all over the car, I would’ve done exactly that. Even funnier, when I told my dad the story, I discovered that he was himself something of a Yum-Yum man, purchasing his own tub of the sweet treat and selling it at a profit.

It’s funny the memories that places stir up. And it’s lovely sharing those with the people we love now, sharing a history that precedes our current lives. 

I’m grateful that they listen to my stories. 

Book-By-Book, Part 2

 Last month, I kicked off a book-by-book feature with the story of my first two books, written primarily for school counselors. Keesha, described below, was originally in the cast of characters for Acting Assertively, but didn't make the final cut (read on for more details). Today, Keesha's story (Jersey Girls Don't Rule) and the final book in the MAC (Marita, Angel, Charli) series (Courting Peace) are on sale, so I thought it might be a good day to share part 2 of this feature.

Once upon a time, a school counselor wrote a book of scenarios for adults to use with children of divorce. Each scenario featured different characters and situations and each character had his or her own voice. Some were compliant; others were strident. Some were sad; others were defiant. Some spoke properly; others saw grammar as merely a guideline. 

As a result, some were more easily accepted into a book written to be used by school counselors who, after all, worked in schools where things like proper grammar and a lack of defiance were valued.

One of these characters, a girl named Keesha, had a good heart, but lacked not only the finer things in life, but also the polish that comes from having those things. This lack of polish led to her exit from the book.

But Keesha would not stop talking. She knew she'd found an audience in the author who had created her, and she insisted that the author make a place for her, ideally in a book of her own.

The author tried to honor Keesha's wishes, but other editors and agents were similarly put off by Keesha's voice, which frequently hid the tender heart that she went to a great deal of effort to keep a secret.

Or perhaps they didn't like the writing. Or there was another issue. In any event, Keesha remained homeless, at least in the publishing world, and eventually her voice grew faint, even to the author who had created her. 

Then Amazon, who had made a home for Marita and her friends, started a platform called Vella. Because Keesha was written more for children than adults, a serialized platform seemed like a good place for her to try out her voice, one chapter at a time. 

And, for a while, it was.

But eventually, Kindle closed down the Vella platform. Once again, Keesha was homeless.

And once again, she refused to be silenced. She's pretty determined that way.

So, on a January day, Keesha moved out of Vella and into a home of her own between the covers of an ebook. Her voice, still as strong as ever, could now be shared all at once, or a little at a time, depending on the preference of the reader.

But, because not everyone likes ebooks, Keesha insisted on another format as well. And so on Monday, January 20, Keesha's story will also be available in paperback.

Keesha is very happy with this ending, as is the author who created her. 

Keesha is also pushing for a sequel.

We'll see.

Whose Future is it Anyway?

 Last week, I had the opportunity to be an interviewer for my local high school’s mock interviews. Genius idea, by the way, and one I wish had been a part of my daughter‘s high school experience.

I live about a block from the high school so, despite the rain, I walked not just literally down the street, but also figuratively back in time. My daughter graduated from this same this high school, and I used to work for the district as well, albeit at one (and eventually two) of the elementary schools. 

I arrived 20 minutes early, which, if you know me, you know to be quite out of character. I was unsure of how much preparation I would need to do (none, as it turned out – the whole thing was a well-oiled machine) and I knew that the entry into the building had been upgraded so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Everything went quickly, though, and being ushered to my table in the gym brought back a variety of memories, most from my daughter's high school basketball games. But it definitely had the feel of stepping back into another life.

The students I interviewed – two sophomores, two juniors and one senior – were much bigger versions of the students I had worked with during my tenure in the district, and smaller versions of my current college students. Some were nervous, but all were prepared, and it was great fun to talk with all of them and to listen to their plans for the future. 

On the walk home, it occurred to me that my impending retirement will give me the opportunity to do things like this more often, something I found both comforting and exciting. Teaching only one class this semester has given me a taste of what a more flexible schedule with more actual free time looks like and feels like, and I've realized that, despite the fact that I vow and declare that white space days (those days with nothing on the calendar) are my favorites, I need some structure in my life as well. White space days are wonderful but that's because they're the exception. I'm fairly certain that making them the norm would get old much faster than I think. 

My retirement timetable is still in flux, but that date is no longer in the distant future. Consequently, I'm getting my ducks in a row -- applying for Medicare, considering supplemental health insurance choices and, just as important, supplemental activities. I think last week's experience with mock interviews was as informative for me as it was (I hope) for the students I met. I know they got me thinking about my own future -- an unexpected bonus -- and I sincerely hope more events like that one have a place on the agenda.

Unless I'm jetting around the world, of course. :-)

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

Taking Time

 Today's post is a re-run from two years ago and proof that I do, indeed, repeat the same mistakes. This past semester (the one that's currently drawing to a close), I taught only ONE class for the first time in a very long time. I also worried about not getting to used to it, just as I did when I wrote the post below two years ago, while simultaneously taking advantage of it by doing trips and taking actual days off. 

Next semester, I'll be back to my usual three classes, followed by only two classes in the spring. Who knows what the following fall will hold?

Every once in a while, I have a semester where I teach only two classes instead of three, and this semester is one of those semesters. In addition to having one less class, one of my classes is much smaller than usual, cutting the number of students I typically have in a semester almost in half. 

While teaching one less class is not a boon to my bank account, it provides me with the gift of time. For about the first third of the semester, I sternly reminded myself not to get used to this, as I'd return to a full course load in the fall. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself, but don't depend on it.

Then one morning, I realized how silly I was being. Holding my breath and tiptoeing through a lighter course load without enjoying its benefits was rather like telling myself I shouldn't enjoy a week at the beach because next week, I'll be home again and back to reality.

From then on, I began treating my days off more like the gifts they are. While I rarely take non-teaching days off completely, I do limit the amount of schoolwork I do on those days. My guideline for those days is personal and flexible: I do enough to keep myself from stressing over the work that needs to be done. The line between not enough and just enough is blurry (mostly because it's a moving target), but it's working for me.

After my realization, I began to really appreciate the benefits this gift of time has provided. My house feels less out of control because I have more time to keep after the day-to-day tasks that slide when my teaching schedule is more demanding. I have space for my writing, and space to do the creative part of course planning that so often gets pushed aside. I've created new assignments and lecture materials, revamped things that were stale (I hate it when I bore myself because it's a sure sign I'm boring my students as well), and had the luxury of adapting some of my materials to be a better fit for the students who are actually sitting in front of me. I've had time to read, connect with friends, and relax in the middle of a weekday -- all guilt-free.

The gift of time is something to treasure. We can be practical with it, tackling something that's long overdue, or we can splurge, reveling in the opportunity to do something we don't normally have time to do. Or maybe a little of both.

But the one thing we can't do is save it. The gift of time arrives when it arrives and departs on its own schedule as well. We can't bank it, and perhaps that should be reason enough to give ourselves license to be impractical with it when we're lucky enough to be its beneficiary.

What would you do with the gift of time?

Metacognition

Last month, I decided to engage in some reflection about my writing and writing habits. Each day, I jotted down a sentence or two about writing -- obstacles, feelings, thoughts, observations -- whatever came to mind. Some days, I reported on what I did (or didn't do); other days I just jotted down my thoughts or feelings about writing. 

It was cool and revelatory.

When you've been doing anything -- even something you really love -- for more than 30 years, it's inevitable that rough patches will pop up. Even though I still enjoy writing, I've been feeling disillusioned about the business of writing, and that has leached into my daily practice. Last month, I wanted to see if at the love was still there, what its traveling companions might be, and to better understand my writer self.

The journaling shed light on all three elements. The love for the writing itself is still there, but the frustration and disillusionment over what it takes to get work out into the world and how much mental and creative energy it requires is at an all-time high. I don't want to give up, but I'm also confused as to where the road goes from here. It feels as though wanting to get my work from my hard drive out into the world shouldn't be as hard as creating the product itself.

I may not have the path fully figured out, but this journaling practice definitely gave me some insights as I started to separate actual reasons from mere excuses (and a pity party here and there). Perhaps even better, I enjoyed this practice, making it something I want to continue.

And, as I've told many aspiring writers, any writing counts. Even if it's writing about writing.

Kind Enough?

 Last week, I was listening to a chapter in Tal ben-Shahar’s Choose the Life You Want  – one that focused on altruism. As is often the case when I ponder this topic, I felt guilty and somewhat inferior and I immediately started thinking of ways I can up my altruism game, so to speak.

Then I stopped short. Why was I beating myself up? In the chapter, the author was reflecting on a study where a researcher challenged participants to do five nice things in one day. Using this specific metric, I thought back over the previous few days and could immediately list at least five things I’d done, so I decided to go home and make a list.

The resulting list of items – mostly small acts, some a tad closer to medium, but nothing earth shattering – revealed actions that were so much a part of the fabric of my days that I no longer even counted them as acts of kindness. They fit the researchers’ specifications, though, reminding me that I had, indeed, engaged in kind acts.

Does this make me a saint? A martyr? 

No to both. It makes human.

Admittedly, some of the items – a number of them in fact– were win/win. Purchasing a piece of artwork from a student, for example, gave her her first sale, but I also got to acquire a thing of beauty that I could continue to enjoy every day.

So often, when I hear of heroic, selfless acts, guilt is one of my go-to emotions because I immediately think I’m not doing enough. I’m not curing cancer or contributing to world peace, after all, just maybe improving my little corner of the world.

And once I moved past the guilt, I realized that this isn’t such a bad thing. There’s much to be said, after all, for the small kindnesses we give without so much as a second thought. A smile. A hug parentheses (for those so inclined). Our time.

People from Phoebe and Joey on Friends to psychologists and philosophers have famously argued over whether or not there’s such a thing as a truly selfless act. And the data from the study described in ben-Shahar’s book only confounds this issue. Those who completed the task assigned by the researchers and did good felt good – and not just in the moment. Those simple acts, even the small ones, resulted in the kind actors feeling good for as long as a week after the act had been completed.

Some days, my kindness quota will be small. I’m tired, not feeling well, stressed, overwhelmed – you name it. But I think that, if I choose to go through life with eyes open to the opportunity to do good and be kind, and take advantage of those opportunities on a regular basis, I can ditch the guilt. While the world may advertise and celebrate huge altruistic acts (often justifiably so), it runs on the mundane, small kindnesses we offer each other daily. 

Every interaction we have is an opportunity to brighten someone else’s day and every choice we make can potentially make the world a little better – or worse – in some small way. Finding a balance between taking care of ourselves, so we have the energy to do good and be kind, and carrying out those random acts of kindness is, for me, the altruistic sweet spot.

Image by Alana Jordan from Pixabay

Friday Feature: More on that Age-Appropriate Makeover

 Blush sticks are everywhere! Maybe they have been for a while and I just haven't noticed -- we've already established that my interest in makeup waxes and wanes. As I've begun moving forward with my age-appropriate makeover, blush has been a recent focus.

For me, those blush sticks arrived just in time -- and not just because I found them right after I started writing about said makeover. The fine lines that snuck up on me (kicking off the desire for a makeover) were trapping my faithful powder blush, sending me in search of something a little more forgiving. I tried a drugstore-brand blush that came in a tube, then moved to Mary Kay gel blush, which seemed to have better intensity and staying power. For me, though, the too much/too little line that came with squeezing the never-quite-right amount out of the tube made my application inconsistent at best and ended up wasting a lot of product as well.

Then, I got a sample of the cream blush from Thrive Causemetics. The trial size didn't come in a stick, but rather a palette and I was in love (and online ordering the full-size product) in a flash. The blush stick also comes with a flat brush on the other end of the stick, allowing me to blend the product without getting it all over my fingers and/or wasting it, making it more likely that I'll land on the right side of the too much/too little line.

I went a little overboard with new products, so I'm going to give my wallet a rest and stick to experimenting with what I already have for a while. I am getting a clearer picture of what I like, what I don't, and what I feel confident using. Next steps?

Using that blush brush as a jumping off point for playing with new ways to apply the products that have made the cut. Best of all, I have a supply so I don't need to buy anything new. 

Stay tuned.

Rethinking the Shoulds

 One day last week, I was gathering up my things, getting ready to go to an appointment, and chiding myself over things I hadn’t gotten around to doing. Midway through "should-ing" myself – you know, I should have done this and I should have done that – I stopped. 

What had I done?

I'd listened to my body when it told me I needed more sleep. I'd started out my morning slowly, in a way that made me ready to take on the day. I'd helped my dad work out an issue with a frequently used app on his phone. I'd made a dent in my to-be graded list -- completing everything I'd put on the list for that day, as a matter of fact. I'd written a blog post. 

And yet my focus was on tasks I'd left undone -- tasks which, quite frankly, hadn’t been on the list to begin with. Despite the fact that everything I'd done had been a good use of my time, not to mention in line with what I'd set out to do that day (for the most part), I was still chiding myself. 

Beating myself up for what I didn't do is a bad habit of mine. (Just me?) Fortunately, on that particular day, I managed to catch myself in time to step back and really think about how I'd spent my time.

And only in looking back over the day did I realize it had been a balanced day. I'd taken care of myself. I'd helped out a family member. I'd managed work responsibilities, and I'd even gotten some writing in  -- all before I left for my appointment. 

Sure, there was more to do. But there will always be more to do. And deluding ourselves into thinking that our to-do lists aren't on infinite scroll will only make us unhappy because it leads to the unrealistic belief that we really can do it all.

Spoiler alert: we can't. At least not in one day, or all at once.

The truth was, I'd been able to write that blog post because I'd kept my tasks bite-sized enough that I wasn't mentally exhausted. And mental exhaustion is a surefire road block to creativity.

We are more than our to-do lists. And it’s high time we learned to press “mute” on our “should” buttons and be satisfied with what we do accomplish. And maybe, just maybe, that will leave us with the energy we need to step away from the list and do something that really matters.

Image by Rosy / Bad Homburg / Germany from Pixabay