I.
Tonight I want to be ten pounds lighter. I want to have written more pages of an essay that sounds brilliant instead of boring even to me. I want to have weeded my back patio more thoroughly. I want my day lilies to still be blooming in two and a half weeks but I know they'll be spent out already. I wanted to deliver a dessert to a new neighbor and they weren't home so now I have a casserole dish of peach cobbler and no one to eat it except me, which will be great going down and then I'll find out that I need to lose fifteen pounds instead of ten. I wanted to run a mile but mapmyrun said I only ran three-quarters, and it was in the rain and now my shoes are wet and smelly. The crunches aren't working fast enough. My zucchini and cucumbers are going to be ready during the busiest two weeks of the year and I won't be around to pick/eat them. Henry had to have shots today. My husband is playing poker at a friend's house. I feel frumpy and old and tired. I can't get the dirt out from underneath my nails. One of my kids put a cup and a sticker in the upstairs toilet and I had to fish it out. Someone else drew pictures on the wall above her bed, and we're blaming a kid that doesn't live here. And the nightlight cover was jammed into the vent. I am discouraged and tired and lonely and depressed and impatient and disappointed and sad and discontent. Alexander has nothing on me and my terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.
II.
But I baked a mighty fine-smelling peach cobbler. The kids and husband and I took a walk around the block with its pleasant aroma wafting up through the potholders. And now it is waiting for me in the oven. Henry smiled at me. Several times. Lydia chased me down the driveway at lunch encouraging me to have a good day at work and see you after rest time and I love you! I made eggs for everyone at breakfast and didn't break anybody's yolks. My toast was still hot when I buttered it so the butter melted. My tea was just the right kind of sweet. Sometime in the last 48 hours my husband told me I'm a good wife and mom and he loves me too. Elvis snuggled up next to me on the couch and I could smell summer in his hair. My boss thought I had a good idea during our meeting. Lydia thanked God for God at dinner. Everyone ate their food, and everyone got ice cream. The run in the rain was refreshing and funny and I didn't even dodge the puddles. I ran faster than I have since the fall. The number on the scale keeps going down. We read two picture books before bed, one kid on each side of me. Elvis chose Mickey Mouse to sleep with tonight. They went to sleep without getting out of bed again. The air-conditioning is working. George Strait is singing "Carrying Your Love With Me".
I am running on empty, sure, but I have everything I'll ever need, I'm carrying your love with me.
I have these days sometimes, when the pessimist in me shrieks and squalls until I pay enough attention to him. He bleeds out into all the crevices of my consciousness so that I only see his ugly face and all of the negative ways he appeared today, in the sweat and the grime and the dirt. He blots out the satisfaction of living, that deep breath, that gratification, that swelling of joy at a job well done, that quiet peace at the end of a day thoroughly spent. It's hard to shake him once he's fixed his eyes with mine, but this staring contest has to end. It takes more than just looking for the positives in the day, I must rely on God who makes all things new, whose faithfulness is great, who redeems and renews and brings us to completion even in the face of grumpiness. He's conquered sin and death, I think he can conquer crankiness, too. It sounds trite and easy, sure-- turn to God, problem solved. But the promises he has made and the salvation he bought has the power to wipe away all of these weeds and replace them with the fruit of the spirit. And let me tell you, I much prefer love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control to the laundry list of feelings above. That fruit is waiting for me. I have to choose into it.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The Freshmaker
It's official - maternity leave is over. The transition back hasn't been too painful so far. I'm fortunate to live so close to home, and that my baby is just about the best and easiest little guy ever. Not only has he slept as many as eight hours overnight, he's waking up to eat just when I need him to, and sleeping at the best times of the day to have a sleepy baby. He's been awake, for the most part, from 5 p.m. until 9:30 p.m., so I've gotten a good hunk of baby Hank lovin' the last two nights.
After the other two kiddos went to sleep last night, I took Henry out for a walk. It was a really beautiful night after some storms blew through, a cool breeze and sailor's sunset. Henry has grown to like the Baby Bjorn, and I prefer it to packing him up in the stroller... mostly because I can play with his feet and chubby thighs and kiss his cute little head. We walked around Ashland for about an hour, running into a few friends while we were out. It's one reason I love living here-- wherever you go, you are bound to run into a friendly face.
I'm glad to admit that I'm excited to be back at work, especially with the residency just ten days away. There's a lot that needs to be done before then, and after the residency, I have some ideas for recruitment and promotion along with program development that I'm looking forward to exploring. I can't ask for a much better situation with my job and family life. By the time Henry goes to sleep, I'm definitely tired, but the energy spent after work is even more valuable than the energy spent at work. It reminds me of a verse in Ecclesiastes -- "Sow your seeds in the morning and at night let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which one will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well."
I try to live this way, even though sometimes the lines blur and I find myself checking and responding to email after hours. Okay, so that happens all of the time. More often than the reverse, morning work intrudes on evening work. Someone somewhere (real specific, right?) said not to forget to live while you are earning a living. Maybe Dave Ramsey. Anyway, the last couple of days have been full, no doubt, but they have been full in a great way -- work has been fulfilling, walks and dinner and books with my kids, satisfying the needs of my newborn, watching the All-Star game with my husband, even getting some writing done -- this is the way I'd like to live all of the time. Don't you feel like you are in the middle of a Mentos commercial right now? But really, if I could maintain this kind of balance all of the time, I could testify regularly to the statement, "godliness with contentment is great gain."
I'm going to take Solomon's advice now, and eat my food (strawberry shortcake) with gladness, and drink my wine (merlot) with a joyful heart... and then sleep. Tomorrow's a full day.
After the other two kiddos went to sleep last night, I took Henry out for a walk. It was a really beautiful night after some storms blew through, a cool breeze and sailor's sunset. Henry has grown to like the Baby Bjorn, and I prefer it to packing him up in the stroller... mostly because I can play with his feet and chubby thighs and kiss his cute little head. We walked around Ashland for about an hour, running into a few friends while we were out. It's one reason I love living here-- wherever you go, you are bound to run into a friendly face.
I'm glad to admit that I'm excited to be back at work, especially with the residency just ten days away. There's a lot that needs to be done before then, and after the residency, I have some ideas for recruitment and promotion along with program development that I'm looking forward to exploring. I can't ask for a much better situation with my job and family life. By the time Henry goes to sleep, I'm definitely tired, but the energy spent after work is even more valuable than the energy spent at work. It reminds me of a verse in Ecclesiastes -- "Sow your seeds in the morning and at night let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which one will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well."
I try to live this way, even though sometimes the lines blur and I find myself checking and responding to email after hours. Okay, so that happens all of the time. More often than the reverse, morning work intrudes on evening work. Someone somewhere (real specific, right?) said not to forget to live while you are earning a living. Maybe Dave Ramsey. Anyway, the last couple of days have been full, no doubt, but they have been full in a great way -- work has been fulfilling, walks and dinner and books with my kids, satisfying the needs of my newborn, watching the All-Star game with my husband, even getting some writing done -- this is the way I'd like to live all of the time. Don't you feel like you are in the middle of a Mentos commercial right now? But really, if I could maintain this kind of balance all of the time, I could testify regularly to the statement, "godliness with contentment is great gain."
I'm going to take Solomon's advice now, and eat my food (strawberry shortcake) with gladness, and drink my wine (merlot) with a joyful heart... and then sleep. Tomorrow's a full day.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Devotional
"Devotional"
In the morning when I rise give me
a hot cup of tea. Burn away the bitter
with a couple dabs of melted butter
on a bisquit dripped with honey,
or a steamy bowlful of old-fashioned
oatmeal, strawberries and brown sugar.
If only every day began with all this sweetness.
In the morning when I rise give me
a hot cup of tea. Burn away the bitter
with a couple dabs of melted butter
on a bisquit dripped with honey,
or a steamy bowlful of old-fashioned
oatmeal, strawberries and brown sugar.
If only every day began with all this sweetness.
Monday, July 4, 2011
For Freedom
"I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts." Psalm 119:45
"Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment." James 2:12-13
"In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12
"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Corinthians 3:17
"Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God's slaves. Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor." 1 Peter 2:16-17
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galations 5:1
"You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love." Galatians 5:13
Isn't freedom beautiful?
These verses remind me that freedom in and of itself is to be valued, but possessing this freedom comes with responsibility. Yes, we're free to do whatever we want, but that doesn't mean we should do whatever we want. Today, I am celebrating the freedom in Christ from guilt and shame, the freedom to work toward the best version of myself through Christ, and the freedom to do so in a nation that does not persecute me for proclaiming the name of Christ. I am celebrating the freedom to choose good over evil, to serve humbly in love. I am thankful to those who serve to preserve freedom. Today, I am celebrating with family, and friends, and BBQ, and watermelon, and wine, and fireworks. Enjoy your Independence!
"Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment." James 2:12-13
"In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12
"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Corinthians 3:17
"Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God's slaves. Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor." 1 Peter 2:16-17
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galations 5:1
"You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love." Galatians 5:13
Isn't freedom beautiful?
These verses remind me that freedom in and of itself is to be valued, but possessing this freedom comes with responsibility. Yes, we're free to do whatever we want, but that doesn't mean we should do whatever we want. Today, I am celebrating the freedom in Christ from guilt and shame, the freedom to work toward the best version of myself through Christ, and the freedom to do so in a nation that does not persecute me for proclaiming the name of Christ. I am celebrating the freedom to choose good over evil, to serve humbly in love. I am thankful to those who serve to preserve freedom. Today, I am celebrating with family, and friends, and BBQ, and watermelon, and wine, and fireworks. Enjoy your Independence!
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Peace, Not War - Online and Print Publication
In the last few days I've been thinking again about publication. Unlike my last meditation on posting poems to a blog site, my most-read post to-date, I've been thinking about how hard we all work (and how much money we all spend) trying to get our poems published in elite literary journals, like Poetry and the likes. I must admit to submitting every single poem I've written to Poetry in the hopes of publication (their online submission manager is FREE!!!!). And I've submitted nearly every poem I've written to Rattle (they take email submissions, and they are FREE!!!!). But of the poems I've had accepted for publication in the last two years, the ones that have gotten the most readers have appeared online.
I do not want to knock the literary journal, that ambitious little creature surviving off of grants, institutional support, and buckets of blood, sweat, and tears from their editors. Writers in academia require the juried selection of their work by their peers in order to secure tenure and to give evidence of their mastery of craft. This selection process is long, painful, and subjective-- I've learned as much working with a journal-- and when a publication boasts a 1% acceptance rate, that means 99% of submissions receive a generic note apologizing for not being able to publish it, encouraging the writer to submit again and granting best wishes for placing their work elsewhere. What an honor and privilege to be among the 1%!
Besides building one's CV for tenure, publication in the big guns builds a writer's reputation in the literary world. Work is exposed to the broader literary community (supposedly). Submitting to the patriarchs and matriarchs of the literary journal is worthwhile and encouraged, so long as those grandparents of literary publishers are still being read.
As more and more opportunities to access literature open up online and in digital print readers, writers and publishers of writers need to reevaluate the way we spread the word, so to speak. I don't think it is any surprise that print media subscriptions are slip sliding away. In light of this fact, in order to stay current and accessible, journals need to begin exploring alternative means of delivery and additional ways to lure subscribers and readers to their material.
There are some very worthy examples of journals that have embraced the digital age and are broadening readership by doing so. One such journal here in Ohio is the Kenyon Review. A quick peek at their homepage shows a full acceptance of the changing of the times-- they are blogging, posting excerpts, offering eBook editions, sharing interviews, and airing podcasts. Compare this to journals that may have a website with subscription and submission information, but tracking down any actual writing in that journal requires ordering a back issue.
The sad fact is there are hundreds of literary journals and a handful of faithful print subscribers. Journals like Kenyon Review, Rattle, Poetry, and others are making the wise move to providing alternative access and bridging the gap between the print version and the online version. Given the choice between having a poem of mine appear in a journal with hundreds of other poets who will all mostly scan through until they find the page their poem appears on and then look to see if they recognize any of the poets in the table of contents, and publishing a poem online, where I can link to it on my blog, share it on Facebook and Twitter, email it to friends and family, all without any cost to me... I'd rather go online.
As an administrator at a university rather than a faculty member at a university, my primary interest isn't in building my CV, although being able to wave the flag of a hot journal in my list of acknowledgments down the road would certainly be nice. My primary interest is in readers. I'd like to be able to share what I've written with friends and family while still adding to a list of publications, which will serve its purpose toward book publication, someday.
The print journals that make the leap into hybrid forms of publication and alternative delivery are the ones that I expect to survive and thrive. The online journals that are popping up and delivering the same level of editorial selection as the highly regarded print journals will continue to grow and gain respect. The journals that resist technology are likely to fade into the past along with the land-line telephone and the typewriter-- two devices that served their purpose for a time and still exist today but are becoming endangered species, dangerously close to extinction. Except, of course, in academia.
I do not want to knock the literary journal, that ambitious little creature surviving off of grants, institutional support, and buckets of blood, sweat, and tears from their editors. Writers in academia require the juried selection of their work by their peers in order to secure tenure and to give evidence of their mastery of craft. This selection process is long, painful, and subjective-- I've learned as much working with a journal-- and when a publication boasts a 1% acceptance rate, that means 99% of submissions receive a generic note apologizing for not being able to publish it, encouraging the writer to submit again and granting best wishes for placing their work elsewhere. What an honor and privilege to be among the 1%!
Besides building one's CV for tenure, publication in the big guns builds a writer's reputation in the literary world. Work is exposed to the broader literary community (supposedly). Submitting to the patriarchs and matriarchs of the literary journal is worthwhile and encouraged, so long as those grandparents of literary publishers are still being read.
As more and more opportunities to access literature open up online and in digital print readers, writers and publishers of writers need to reevaluate the way we spread the word, so to speak. I don't think it is any surprise that print media subscriptions are slip sliding away. In light of this fact, in order to stay current and accessible, journals need to begin exploring alternative means of delivery and additional ways to lure subscribers and readers to their material.
There are some very worthy examples of journals that have embraced the digital age and are broadening readership by doing so. One such journal here in Ohio is the Kenyon Review. A quick peek at their homepage shows a full acceptance of the changing of the times-- they are blogging, posting excerpts, offering eBook editions, sharing interviews, and airing podcasts. Compare this to journals that may have a website with subscription and submission information, but tracking down any actual writing in that journal requires ordering a back issue.
The sad fact is there are hundreds of literary journals and a handful of faithful print subscribers. Journals like Kenyon Review, Rattle, Poetry, and others are making the wise move to providing alternative access and bridging the gap between the print version and the online version. Given the choice between having a poem of mine appear in a journal with hundreds of other poets who will all mostly scan through until they find the page their poem appears on and then look to see if they recognize any of the poets in the table of contents, and publishing a poem online, where I can link to it on my blog, share it on Facebook and Twitter, email it to friends and family, all without any cost to me... I'd rather go online.
As an administrator at a university rather than a faculty member at a university, my primary interest isn't in building my CV, although being able to wave the flag of a hot journal in my list of acknowledgments down the road would certainly be nice. My primary interest is in readers. I'd like to be able to share what I've written with friends and family while still adding to a list of publications, which will serve its purpose toward book publication, someday.
The print journals that make the leap into hybrid forms of publication and alternative delivery are the ones that I expect to survive and thrive. The online journals that are popping up and delivering the same level of editorial selection as the highly regarded print journals will continue to grow and gain respect. The journals that resist technology are likely to fade into the past along with the land-line telephone and the typewriter-- two devices that served their purpose for a time and still exist today but are becoming endangered species, dangerously close to extinction. Except, of course, in academia.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
In the Center Ring: Motherhood vs. Work
Ugh. I am three full weeks away from the end of my maternity leave.
You people must know I love my job-- I do. It is one of those job descriptions that feels as if it was written precisely with me in mind. I've been at Ashland for four years now, helping to build a low-res MFA program and manage a poetry press and a journal, and there have been few days where I've come home frustrated or upset about work. I have a strong working relationship with my boss and the editors of the press and the journal, good co-workers, great support from other departments on campus, and perhaps most importantly, I have earned respect and trust, granting an autonomy I value. For the most part, I am trusted to do my job, and to do it successfully. Besides a paycheck, I earn the satisfaction of a job well done. Work might be stressful occasionally, but it is that good kind of stress that doesn't suck the life out of you.
Okay. So what's the big deal about maternity leave ending?
I am love, love, LOVING motherhood right now. In spite of the interrupted sleep and a demanding infant who wants to nurse RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR ELSE, waking up at quarter til eight to a silent house and a cool breeze through the window to sip a cup of tea and wait for Baby Hank to wake up is pretty near to that sacred place I mentioned in my previous post. The casual summer schedule of showering, oh, whenever, and the impromptu walks, piling into the car to go to the waterpark, listening to the giggle of Elvis and Lydia in the pool, and holding that precious little Henry... all of it, even the squalls and squabbles, makes me wish this time would never end.
It's an odd place to be, yet again. Back before Lydia was born, I thought for sure there was no way I would want to work at all ever again no thanks. And then, she arrived, and three-quarters of my brain died within six weeks. Please, please, please let me come back to work! I begged, and after eight weeks of maternity leave, I started back at being an adult, connecting neurons and earning back a few brain cells while my little girl slept in a pack 'n' play in the closet of the Development Office where I worked. When school started up and it was no longer possible to keep Lydia quiet or immobile, we found a great stay-at-home mom to watch her for us, and that's where she hung out for forty hours a week the first year of her life.
When the opportunity to work at Ashland came, BW and I made a decision that drastically changed our family structure-- I would work full time, and he would be the primary caregiver of our two children under two. Bravely we arrived in Ashland, buying a home in late October and carrying along our faithful redbone Tex, Lydia (18 months) and Elvis (3 months). Anyone who has stayed at home with toddlers and infants can sympathize with Brandon--I, on the other hand, was blissfully ignorant of how difficult life was. It was a tough year and tough transition for all of us, but I think it is safe to say it was hardest for Brandon.
Not once since returning to work in 2006 after Lydia's birth have I felt a significant pull to be at home with my kids, until now. Sure, I entertained the notion when Brandon started getting more work with ESPN, and at every job posting he emailed, I insisted that I would be happy to be home with the kids if he found something he loved doing that could support us. Always the thought of giving up my job, the job that fulfilled a deep need for me to be creative, solve problems, and work hard to achieve great results, made my heart ache. I couldn't imagine leaving.
Five weeks into my maternity leave, over half-way through, and going back to work seems impossible right now. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation and the loose schedule of waking at nine and going to bed at eleven. Maybe it's the sunshine. I think it's the kids' fault, mostly. I didn't think I would enjoy the mundane daily routine, but I am so content with hanging out and doing lots of nothing... how could anyone expect me to return to work, given this level of contentment with life?
Oh, I'll go back to work. In three weeks, I'll wake up at 6 a.m. to shower, eat, feed Henry, and head out the door on my bike to my office, and I'll remember how much I love what I do. We will adjust to working-plus-family-plus-baby and restart the hectic routine we abandoned back on May 10 when Henry arrived. In the meantime, I am going to keep reminding myself to treasure these minutes because they will expire July 10. Pout.
You people must know I love my job-- I do. It is one of those job descriptions that feels as if it was written precisely with me in mind. I've been at Ashland for four years now, helping to build a low-res MFA program and manage a poetry press and a journal, and there have been few days where I've come home frustrated or upset about work. I have a strong working relationship with my boss and the editors of the press and the journal, good co-workers, great support from other departments on campus, and perhaps most importantly, I have earned respect and trust, granting an autonomy I value. For the most part, I am trusted to do my job, and to do it successfully. Besides a paycheck, I earn the satisfaction of a job well done. Work might be stressful occasionally, but it is that good kind of stress that doesn't suck the life out of you.
Okay. So what's the big deal about maternity leave ending?
I am love, love, LOVING motherhood right now. In spite of the interrupted sleep and a demanding infant who wants to nurse RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR ELSE, waking up at quarter til eight to a silent house and a cool breeze through the window to sip a cup of tea and wait for Baby Hank to wake up is pretty near to that sacred place I mentioned in my previous post. The casual summer schedule of showering, oh, whenever, and the impromptu walks, piling into the car to go to the waterpark, listening to the giggle of Elvis and Lydia in the pool, and holding that precious little Henry... all of it, even the squalls and squabbles, makes me wish this time would never end.
It's an odd place to be, yet again. Back before Lydia was born, I thought for sure there was no way I would want to work at all ever again no thanks. And then, she arrived, and three-quarters of my brain died within six weeks. Please, please, please let me come back to work! I begged, and after eight weeks of maternity leave, I started back at being an adult, connecting neurons and earning back a few brain cells while my little girl slept in a pack 'n' play in the closet of the Development Office where I worked. When school started up and it was no longer possible to keep Lydia quiet or immobile, we found a great stay-at-home mom to watch her for us, and that's where she hung out for forty hours a week the first year of her life.
When the opportunity to work at Ashland came, BW and I made a decision that drastically changed our family structure-- I would work full time, and he would be the primary caregiver of our two children under two. Bravely we arrived in Ashland, buying a home in late October and carrying along our faithful redbone Tex, Lydia (18 months) and Elvis (3 months). Anyone who has stayed at home with toddlers and infants can sympathize with Brandon--I, on the other hand, was blissfully ignorant of how difficult life was. It was a tough year and tough transition for all of us, but I think it is safe to say it was hardest for Brandon.
Not once since returning to work in 2006 after Lydia's birth have I felt a significant pull to be at home with my kids, until now. Sure, I entertained the notion when Brandon started getting more work with ESPN, and at every job posting he emailed, I insisted that I would be happy to be home with the kids if he found something he loved doing that could support us. Always the thought of giving up my job, the job that fulfilled a deep need for me to be creative, solve problems, and work hard to achieve great results, made my heart ache. I couldn't imagine leaving.
Five weeks into my maternity leave, over half-way through, and going back to work seems impossible right now. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation and the loose schedule of waking at nine and going to bed at eleven. Maybe it's the sunshine. I think it's the kids' fault, mostly. I didn't think I would enjoy the mundane daily routine, but I am so content with hanging out and doing lots of nothing... how could anyone expect me to return to work, given this level of contentment with life?
Oh, I'll go back to work. In three weeks, I'll wake up at 6 a.m. to shower, eat, feed Henry, and head out the door on my bike to my office, and I'll remember how much I love what I do. We will adjust to working-plus-family-plus-baby and restart the hectic routine we abandoned back on May 10 when Henry arrived. In the meantime, I am going to keep reminding myself to treasure these minutes because they will expire July 10. Pout.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Balancing the Writer Life with the Mom Life
Last night I wrote a poem for the first time in several months. I go through seasons of creativity - like the seeds I just sowed in the garden yesterday, it takes a while for my ideas to germinate. Eventually, the seeds pop, the stems poke through the soil, and before you know it, you are picking bowls full of cherry tomatoes.
Some writers are able to chisel out a very structured and sacred writing time and space. I envision an overstuffed armchair, an open window, a morning breeze, a couple cardinals too-weeting at one another, and a hot cup of tea. Probably some James Taylor playing on Pandora, too. And my lap top, since I write and revise with greater efficiency on a computer, though I can never retire the writer's notebook, that essential tool for when you are on the go and trying to use a smartphone notepad just doesn't cut it quick enough. I can see that sacred space in a corner of our bedroom, waiting to be created, but let's be honest, when in the next decade will I be able to sit in that overstuffed armchair?
So let's revise the first sentence of this blog entry. Last night, I wrote a poem between nursing and rocking Henry, who decided to be cranky when he wanted to fall asleep, which also happened to be the time I decided to try to write. Last night, I balanced my baby on my lap and my laptop on my knees, Henry's head propped up with my elbow and my wrist bent at an awkward typing angle. I chicken pecked the keyboard, one. lousy. letter. at. a. time. while he nursed, and then we switched sides. I slid the laptop back on the coffee table and stood up to rock and bounce Henry to the rhythm of iambs, rehearsing the words I already wrote and revising in my mind. Last night, I eked out a poem. Probably a bad poem, but at least it was something.
The sacred writing space, both physically and temporally, just can't exist right now, and I'm okay with that. In fact, in the time that I've been writing this blog, I've needed to get Lydia allregy medicine, change Henry's diaper (and onesie since he wet through the diaper), and change loads of laundry. Though it isn't a writing space, there is still something sacred here, in this tending to babies and the daily tasks of living. It is in these daily tasks and relationships that the writing is conceived. The plucking of the fruit has to be something of a family affair for now. A season of quiet for writing will come later down the road.
Some writers are able to chisel out a very structured and sacred writing time and space. I envision an overstuffed armchair, an open window, a morning breeze, a couple cardinals too-weeting at one another, and a hot cup of tea. Probably some James Taylor playing on Pandora, too. And my lap top, since I write and revise with greater efficiency on a computer, though I can never retire the writer's notebook, that essential tool for when you are on the go and trying to use a smartphone notepad just doesn't cut it quick enough. I can see that sacred space in a corner of our bedroom, waiting to be created, but let's be honest, when in the next decade will I be able to sit in that overstuffed armchair?
So let's revise the first sentence of this blog entry. Last night, I wrote a poem between nursing and rocking Henry, who decided to be cranky when he wanted to fall asleep, which also happened to be the time I decided to try to write. Last night, I balanced my baby on my lap and my laptop on my knees, Henry's head propped up with my elbow and my wrist bent at an awkward typing angle. I chicken pecked the keyboard, one. lousy. letter. at. a. time. while he nursed, and then we switched sides. I slid the laptop back on the coffee table and stood up to rock and bounce Henry to the rhythm of iambs, rehearsing the words I already wrote and revising in my mind. Last night, I eked out a poem. Probably a bad poem, but at least it was something.
The sacred writing space, both physically and temporally, just can't exist right now, and I'm okay with that. In fact, in the time that I've been writing this blog, I've needed to get Lydia allregy medicine, change Henry's diaper (and onesie since he wet through the diaper), and change loads of laundry. Though it isn't a writing space, there is still something sacred here, in this tending to babies and the daily tasks of living. It is in these daily tasks and relationships that the writing is conceived. The plucking of the fruit has to be something of a family affair for now. A season of quiet for writing will come later down the road.
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