Grad School

is a challenge. My writing instructor is an accomplished person. She's one of those who's been writing since she was ten and she's won all kinds of awards etc. I don't think I really even started writing until I was at least 42. It's difficult not to compare myself to others, although as far as the students go, we're a pretty good group. No one person stands out as being really fabulous or really bad, but that might change...Last week I misunderstood the assignment and I turned in what amounts to a child's ditty:

Oh may you live in a humble house,
a rumble, jumble, tumble house
with rats for friends and a purple mouse,
a laughing toad and a curious louse
da-da da-da da-da da-da...

you get the idea...now maybe if I were taking a writing for children workshop...but I turned it in, not just to the teacher, but to every student for critiquing! Oh well, as least I have the option of emailing to them a do-over...

I Did Not Die When the Year Did Even Though You Thought So You Thought Wrong

I've had several ideas on my mind lately, regarding the New Year, the Washington DC/Baltimore temple, the doctrine of faith and works, and other things, but I just have not had the time to do justice to any of those subjects. At night I'm thinking, thinking, thinking, but too tired to blog and soon it's the next day and a new opportunity. Disclaimer: Tonight's entry is straight from the hip. Don't be surprised if you see changes later. For now, I'm making amends and getting to it.

I took some great videos of the boys playing recently--Owen "performing" for the camera, Soren talking to the camera and Chantel and Austin dancing. I lost all of it during download from my flash drive to my laptop. pth@$$!%@*^$hhh! That's a raspberry in case you didn't know.

I have finished unpacking and organizing. I even hung pictures. Chantel took a huge box of mostly clothing to a donation station for me. I'm getting my computer work space set up with shelves etc, but I know that some days I will go to an internet cafe somewhere and do my work there instead. It's too easy to play with the boys when I should be catching up on my writing. Of course, catching up is a ridiculous phrase when it comes to writing; there's always more to write about. Lately, I've been thinking about the daunting task of transcribing my personal journals. Yikes. The upside is that someone would probably have to do it anyway as parts of mine are in pencil which won't last. Another upside is the opportunity to do take-backs and do-overs. I'm not so sure that the way I thought 30 years ago would hold any water today. Surely I'm a different person. The downside is I don't know if I really want to read what I wrote so long ago, and the job is a big one but, 'bird by bird' as writer Ann Lamont says.

Brandon has been visiting since the 29th. Tomorrow is our last day with him as Friday he takes the train to New York City for a friend's wedding.

Put a Fork in it. We're Done.

The title of our senior thesis reading event at Mills on April 30. Everything I've written so far about that night sounds cheesy or dull, and then...and then...and then... The experience was too big for words. So this is my last attempt. I can't do justice to it, I know, but to say nothing doesn't feel right either.

The words flowed: I knew how to modulate, when to pause, what tone of voice to use.
The room was mine: When I looked out, which I did, often, every eye was on me, with interest.
My family looked expectant; they also looked proud of me. Even before I read.
The applause was great, and the cheering. Zen.
Even my professor was crying.
At the end of the night, strangers were shaking my hand.
Someone said, "Book tour..."

Thank you, dear family, for coming to support me, and for classmates who encouraged me to keep going, especially Sarah Tannehill who is an amazing writer and now, a dear friend. To Gloria who believed in me and believes in me, still. To Brandon who listened to me read aloud and didn't mind his story being told. And to my Telly who has been a constant source of love and support, and who didn't seem to mind doing a long-distance critique at the last minute. Hugs, everyone.

Zen

Last night was a public reading of the senior creative writers' theses. Preparation was intense. This was no ordinary final. This was a presentaion of the culmination of all our work at Mills College. We were fortunate to have use of the historic Bender room, with its high ceilings and beautiful arched windows. I'm told that the Bender room was the original Mills College library, and it appeared so with its dark wood glass-faced cabinets lining the walls.

Brandon came with me and we went early to help with set-up. It was a party, complete with beautiful food and drinks and fresh flowers. talk about brandon and what he did to help.

I wanted my family to be there so much and they came: Larry, Brandon, Clayton and Michelle. I felt varying degrees of nervousness all evening. Everyone sat with their friends and family. We came up from the audience as Elmaz, our incredible professor, introduced us.

My best friend, Sarah, read first and set the standard. Each woman as she was called, walked up to the podium with confidence and read with clarity and pride. Hearing these final presentations, I was so proud of them. Every one! At the beginning of the semester we workshopped together--everyone read everyone else's work. Then we broke off into small groups for the majority of the semester. I didn't hear the completed versions until last night, and what a transformation.

When it came my turn, the clapping and cheering sounded extra loud, but it made me smile and I was still smiling when I turned around to face the audience. I looked out and saw my family all smiling at me, and others. The room was dead quiet. It was my turn. I opened my mouth to read and a strong settling energy came over me. Any nervousness vanished. I was in my element, in my space, doing what I do; I knew how to pace the reading. Where to pause; where to slow down; when to speed up. Elmaz had told us that readings are really telling stories, that our paper copies are just for reference. I felt myself doing that, being connected to my audience. Every eye was on me. When I finished, the applause felt GREAT! Elmaz was crying. I knew that I couldn't have done any better.

Please Come

To Mills College on Monday, April 30, 2007 from 7 - 9 pm to hear Mill's Creative Writing Seniors (me and my crazy friends) read from our senior theses. Free. Wine and juice, cheese, crackers, strawberries, cookies, chocolate, pumpkin bread... Held in Carnegie Hall, 2nd floor, in the beautiful Bender Room.

At the Hop

I think it's happening to me. And I'm going to fight it--this all too natural inclination to censor my own writing. The more my blogger "audience" grows, the more I self-edit. Not my intention when I began blogging. I do enough of that in my other life. So...random thoughts--reveal thyselves!

Brandon is doing GREAT--physically and spiritually. He said the other day, "Mom, I think I was the last one of your children to grow up." Hmmmmmm, ya think?

I sent an Easter package to my grandsons this week. While I packed the box, I remembered that Mamaw, for packing materials, used bags of marshmallows, boxes of instant pudding and jello, and cereal boxes (full, unopened) whenever she shipped to us. And that reminds me that starting when I was 10, we moved 14 times in a 4-year period. Now that's a memoir in itself. In fact, that time period has the most stories in it, and it's the least known to my children and those I love. After I got married, I decided that my childhood wasn't important. Oh, the things we believe when we're young!

I'm moving to Baltimore and going to grad school there. Can't wait!! The program is the only one like it in the country. But sometimes I think that school will just be an added bonus, and being with Chantel, Austin, Owen and Soren is more important (for them and for me) than any "education" I might receive. Changes...plans...decisions...right now I think the move will be a road trip, because I have to have my car. If I don't drive it, then I have to ship it, and the cost, either way, will probably be about the same.

Alessandra's Story

When Alessandra was 5, she visited Morocco with Claude, her French-Canadian come-what-may father, and Danielle, her American feminist mother. Danielle agreed to wear traditional dress out of respect for their hosts, but the family found their vacation to another country not exactly what they had in mind.

Alessandra and her parents shopped at an outdoor market for figs and vodka. The local men and women were fascinated with Alessandra's golden curls and large blue eyes, but Dani resented their unfamiliar hands and constant reaching out to touch her daughter's hair and face. (Chantel gets this). When Alessandra and her parents returned to the home of their hosts, Dani was even more resentful when she realized that she was expected to spend the rest of the day helping to prepare dinner-- tending a fire and turning the spit that held a whole lamb.

Dinner was a process in which everyone ate from the same bowl with their fingers: Take two fingers, dip, suck, dip again, suck, and pass. The bowl went to all the men first, boys second, women third, and little girls last. By the time the food reached Alessandra, it had passed through 30 hands, (or 150 fingers and 30 types of saliva.)

After dinner Danielle was dancing with the other women when Alessandra pulled on her skirt. She looked down at her daughter's green face, scooped her up, and ran out into the courtyard where Alessandra "evacuated her dinner at both ends."

A local doctor came to the house. As soon as he arrived, the doctor turned Alessandra over and much to her surprise and her mother's horror, gave her a suppository. Danielle had had it.

"Claude, call a cab! We are leaving!"

Danielle wrapped Alessandra in a blanket, changed back into her jeans and t-shirt, and the family went to a hotel in Marakesh.

This was the gist of a story we critqued the other day in my non-fiction workshop. Our purpose was to discuss what worked, what didn't. We made comments and suggestions, and we asked the writer questions. Our chatter was full of astute observations--invaluable to any serious writer. But typical of the feminine ability to multi-task, our critique went from the meaning of the word "evacuating" into multiple directions like exploding fireworks--or maybe like projectile vomiting.

"What's a suppository?"
"Have you ever heard of those intestine cleaning things?"
"I know a woman who gives herself a wheat grass enema every day."
"Some people use coffee--"
"Yeah, or cocaine--"
"Its like a giant horse-pill in some kind of medium that dissolves quickly."
"Using suppositories is the absolute fastest way of absorbing medicine, much faster than swallowing a pill."
"Did you say a cocaine enema?"
"Those are called colonics."
"Have you ever seen pictures of what's inside your intestines?"
"If you eat a lot of cheese and stuff, you can have a build-up."
"I guess that would help if you can't hold anything down."
"What's a colonic?"
"People get carried away with the whole cleansing thing."
"It's supposed to be really relaxing."
"Yeah, right!"
"The pictures on the internet are amazing."
"Yeah, but you have to be careful what you eat for awhile after that."
"Well, what's the purpose of cleansing if you're just going to eat more crap?"
"Like this two-foot long piece that looked like tar."
"How does it work?"
"That sounds gross."
"Is there a drip pan, or what?
"Well, some people want to see what's in their bodies--sort of motivating you know?
"Some things are better left to the imagination."

Clearly, this critique had gone sideways. Alessandra sat at the end of the table to my left. "See what your story started?" I said. She laughed.

I had been watching the faces of my classmates, but especially my professor, a small Chinese man with a dry sense of humor and quick, anxious mannerisms. He had been listening the whole time, laughing occasionally, but remaining quiet. Finally when there was a break in the chatter, he said, "Ok then...uh...'evacuate at both ends'---that means puke and poo, right?" The whole table erupted in laughter. We had come full circle.

Sitting Witty

I'm sitting at a counter at Peet's Coffee in Pleasant Hill with my laptop open in front of me. There's a large glass window in front of me facing the street. Peet's is on the corner of an intersection; foot traffic is fairly consistent. Right now there's a young man sitting right in front of me--outside on a bench. If the window weren't here, I could reach out and rub his buzzed head. Some guys don't look good in buzzed heads. This one does. But I have still never seen anyone with a more beautifully shaped head than Clayton! He keeps his head buzzed and still lets me rub it once in awhile. (Thanks Budster!)

This guy looks like he's in his twenties. Has a couple of days of stubble, wearing a navy blue t-shirt and jeans. Acts like he's waiting for someone...oh, here she is. Curly blondish brown hair in a pony-tail. Sun-glasses on top of her head. Tiny silver hoops and even tinier stud earrings. Black t-shirt. Beige cargo pants. She sits down right next to him, close. He pulls his arm from the back of the bench and puts it around her instead. Now there are two heads within touching distance. She just turned and she's looking into his face. Her eyes are blue. I'm trying not to stare. She kisses his cheek. She's in love with him, obviously. He's rubbing her back now while she talks to him. The glass must be tinted from the outside because they're oblivious to my presence. I can read her lips if I try, but I won't. What a way to eavesdrop on someone's life! Ok, she just stood up and ran across the street to her car. Now she's walking down the street, out of sight. Maybe she's going to run into a store. There are so many wonderful shops down here.

I remember when this area was a few scummy businesses, including a decrepit bowling alley and some empty littered fields. There was one fabulous gourmet cheese shop though. I used to go there once in a great while. One time the owner noticed the car I was driving--a 1972 Renault. I told him it was my 'Flintstone car' and he said in his strong French accent, "What? No bottom?" We laughed. Now this area is modern and beautiful with banks, restaurants, Bed Bath and Beyond, Michael's, a Hallmark store...It's the new mecca for yuppies young and old.

Ok, now the young man is taping his fingers on the bench. Waiting. She probably won't be long. Oh, here she is again. Aha! I was right...she's carrying a bag...sandwiches. That was fast. She must have called ahead. They unwrap their food and they're both eating now with gusto. My guess is that he works near-by and she's met him on his lunch break. A big red-headed guy on a bicycle has just stopped to talk to them.One foot on the ground and one resting on a bike pedal. He reminds me of a combination of Shane and a young Danny Bonaducci (Partridge family brat for those too young to remember). They seem to all know each other. He looks through the glass right at me. I look back at my computer screen. The young man sitting on the bench turns and glances at me briefly but I keep typing, pretending to ignore them. Not quite as fun now that they know I'm here. A shirtless man with a six-pack runs by with a black lab and a golden setter in tow. Wow...Come back!....

They're fast eaters. He finishes first. She probably takes smaller bites like I do. She keeps sucking the tips of her fingers. Now she's leaning against him. It's 12:25. Does he get a thirty minute lunch or an hour? My guess is 1/2 hour, or they would have probably met at the Greek place down the street, or Sweet Tomatoes. What a beautiful day. The sun is out, but they're in the shade of the awning. They stand up to leave. She shoulders her leather bag and they walk away holding hands. They disappear around the corner, out of my sight.

A gray haired man sits down now. Plaid flannet shirt jacket, baby heinz on a leash, newspaper in hand...oh, never mind. At this rate I'll never get anything done. Time to get to work on my thesis.

One ringy dingy...

Early this morning I received a call from Meg B, an editor at Guideposts magazine, who wanted to talk to me about a story of mine, "A Friend In Deed." It's about an experience I had with an eccentric woman who was also spiritually sensitive, and how her knowing exactly what I needed prompted her to knock on my door, right after I had been trying to figure out what to pray for. This was an example of how sometimes even thinking about praying is enough of an act of faith to have it answered, but the real story is about not judging others unfairly--something that's so easy to do. Anyway, the magazine publishes only 1st person, true stories, and Meg was calling for more background information on the story. They plan to publish it in May of this year. It was a great phone conversation because she is the same editor I worked with 4 years ago when "Snowbound" was published (Jan 2003). She asked what I've been doing since then, so I told her about going back to school and my writing career, how that first story changed the way I think of myself. Talking to Meg felt like talking to an old friend! She asked about the kids too, then said, "My favorite part of 'Snowbound' was when your daughter said, "My daddy's home!" That moment truly was the climax of 'Snowbound', and talking about it brought back all kinds of good memories. And actually, both stories happened during the same time period. My little girl has grown up now, and she has even more of that fierce love for others than when she was little. To think that she has precious ones of her own now! Life is sweet, isn't it?

1st Post, Thank you!

After following Chantel and Austin's posts for almost a year, I decided to jump on the wagon (where did that phrase come from anyway?--I'll look it up and let you know) and create a blog of my own. I'm in my last year of school at Mills, but I feel as though I'm already out of there because I'm in the process of applying to grad school. I've chosen the University of Montana, Missoula; University of North Carolina, Wilmington; University of Baltimore; West Virginia University; Emerson College in Boston; University of Iowa, and University of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania; I will be pursuing an MFA in creative non-fiction. There are plenty of creative writing programs out there, and all of them offer MFAs in fiction or poetry; only some offer an emphasis in non-fiction, and that's where my interests lie and, apparently, my talents. Angels on Earth magazine will be publishing another true story of mine this coming Spring. I gradutate from Mills on May 12. I can't believe how fast the time has gone by. So anyway, thank you, Chantel and Austin, for showing us all how it works. I love my family and I'm grateful to live in a time when technology allows us to keep in contact in a variety of ways.