Some Thoughts Reading and Writing on a Cool Sunday Morning

Cool Sunday mornings seem to lead one to contemplation.  There is crispness in the air that relieves a significant amount of brain fog and creates a desire to find something creative and inspiring to fill the day.  It may be finding just the right piece of poetry, an essay that touches the soul, or looking up to see where the sunlight hits the edges of the leaves as they are wind tossed.

I never know what these days will bring.  I want to do more than I feel capable of at the moment.  My spirit wants to climb a mountain, paddle down a river, or ride a horse across a field.  My body wants to crawl back in bed under warm blankets with a hot water bottle and a furry cat.  My travels these days seem to be limited to where books can take me.  Right now I am living in India during the time of the Buddha.  Last week I was in Albania, Syria, and Turkey at the time of the genocide of the Albanian people. For most of July I was in Boston and its surrounding areas solving crimes with Rizzoli and Isles.  This coming week I am planning on going to the mythical land of Westeros.  I will be coming late to that party.  I haven’t read Game of Thrones yet for the same reason I never did heroin.  I am afraid I would like it too much.

This next week I am physically traveling to New Orleans for a conference.  Unfortunately that means that most of my time will be spend in a hotel conference center.  I hope to arrive early enough to be able to take a walk along the river and maybe to the French Quarter.  The New Orleans I want to see doesn’t really exist, though.  I want to walk through graveyards and visit a voodoo queen.  I want to dress in red and attend a mulatto ball and walk the streets with the characters from Isabel Allende’s Island Beneath the Sea or see one of Ann Rice’s vampires in the shadow of a cathedral. 

Reading has been both a blessing and a curse in regards to travel.  I went to England in 2005 and realized the London I wanted to visit was long gone, the blood of Anne Boleyn and Henry IIIV buried beneath the double decker buses and Mark and Spencer’s.  In 2007 I was able to see enough of Tibet to get the feel of what it must have been like to live there before the Chinese occupation, but Lhasa was merely a ghost of its former self.  Alexandra David-Neel would be heartbroken to see the Potala palace surrounded by Chinese military and tourists shopping for Western goods in gated shops, as was I, and is the Dalai Lama.  I am so grateful to those writers who chronicled their experiences during those times so I am able to be there whenever I pick up a book.

What does that mean about these times I live in now?  Will anyone ever want to read about the experiences of a woman living in the late 20^th and early 21^st century?  Will they find my experiences so compelling that they would want to time travel here and be a part of this world?  I don’t know.  I can’t imagine why unless they are interested in a political environment that is so divisive that I only wish I could travel into the future to see how this all ends up.  Or do I?  It is frightening.  Or would that glimpse into the future give me the hope I need?  Would a poor woman, black or white, from the world of the American south in 1840 wonder at my complaints and tell me to get a grip and appreciate that I am able to make choices that they never had? 

I guess that is what reading does.  It gives another perspective.  It may be fiction, fictionalized history, or one person’s view and interpretation of an era.  There is no real knowing.  It is just the reality of the individuals and the expression through the lens of their point of view. 

On this Sunday morning, that is what I contemplate.  My reality changes from one moment to the next.  My history will only be known by me and may be interpreted by others, but no one will truly know my story.  When I do tell it, I will only tell what I want known, what I feel is of value, and I may leave out bits and pieces in order to make myself look better or tell it all in order to explain all of who I am.  But then who would really be interested?  It doesn’t have to be everyone, just enough people who want to know what it was like to be someone like me in this time, at this place.  But it will only be my story.  No assumptions should be made that my story is the same as any other woman during this time in history.  It’s just mine and even my viewpoint changes from time to time, making my story different on one Sunday morning than it would be on another.

Hitting Speedbumps and Things That Go Boom in the Night

The summer has eased into fall and life goes on. I wish that I could say that I have been following my wellness plan perfectly but I seem to have come across a couple of bumps in the road. Pumpkin Whoopie Pies was one of them. Another was a bad bout of allergies that made me think I was relapsing back into how I felt last winter.
Here is what I have learned – no matter how I feel, yoga always makes me feel better. And – if I don’t feel well enough for a long walk a short walk will still do me good. I was feeling like a really bitch the other night. I mean, I could’ve chewed nails and spit them across the room at anyone who said a cross word to me. Really. It was so bad that I was exceedingly grateful I live alone because if someone had crossed my path it would not have been pretty.
I took a walk. A good one. It made such a difference and I was back to the edge of reason rather than far beyond it There is a lot to be said for just putting one foot in front of the other. Or over your head – if you are doing yoga.
I have been writing more and that is thanks to semi-regular writing challenges with Denise D. We set a time and word goal and off we go to see who can reach 5000 words before the other. That has resulted in an extra 15000 words for me in the past few weeks and a lot done on my novel. I don’t know about Denise’s process of writing but I tend to wait for the characters to speak to me and then I write down their story. They are filling me in with bits and pieces of their lives and more is coming as they trust me. The story revolves around a group of women who have experienced abuse of one type or another. There is also a seven year old boy who is telling me his side of the story as we go along. He is starting to trust me more so I am now in the process of sorting out where he is and where he is going to end up.
I know that it sounds a little strange but that is my process. There is a little bit of me in each of the characters but there is so much more also. A couple of them are managing to be a little more successful in relationships than I ever could be, so I guess I am also living a little vicariously through my characters.
Whether or not it ever gets published I just hope that whoever reads it finds something of value in the stories.
Tomorrow I will be the mother of a thirty three year old son. I can’t believe he is that old. He is such a good man and is dealing with the struggles of raising four kids in a bad economy. He is well loved by his wife and kids and I think that is a gift in itself.
Today I am off to Chicago again. After the last trip I am looking forward to it. I am already planning on having dinner at the great vegan restaurant, Karyn’s Cooked, I found last time and then relaxing before two long days of meetings. I am grateful for the direct flight to O’Hare and also for the ability to take a taxi rather than a shuttle. Taking a taxi should take some time off the trip to the hotel. I am also exceedingly grateful for the hotel. The Sofitel. Oy Vey!! Classy joint! I might even be able to take a tub at the end of the day before crawling into the most comfortable bed on the planet.
It will be two days of meetings before flying back on Tuesday evening but it will be exciting to hear what other people who are engaged in trauma work with domestic violence survivors are doing. It is always good to network.
My bags are almost packed and I even stuffed my knitting in. I have gotten this whole travel thing down. I know which shoes to wear to get me through security faster, what not to pack, what I can live without, and how to keep it down to one carry-on and a messenger bag.
I was going to take a hike this morning and then remembered that I will be walking in airports today and to dinner tonight. O’Hare airport is its own walking trail. My plane will be landing at the end of one concourse and it will be a long haul to the taxi stand. And then it is about 7 blocks or a half mile walk to the restaurant. I have already Mapquested my directions.

http://www.karynraw.com/Cooked/



Oh, I almost forgot. We had an earthquake here in New Hampshire last night. I was awakened by a big shake around 11:30. I thought someone dropped something big upstairs or that it was a sonic boom. I thought “hmmm, I wonder if that was an earthquake.” And then I rolled over and said “Nah, couldn’t have been.” But there it was on the front page of www.concordmonitor.com this morning. The epicenter was only about 5 miles north of my apartment and it was measured at a magnitude of 3.1. It didn’t even knock pictures off the wall so I didn’t get too concerned.