Category: 365

Drama, drama, drama

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I feel bad for a neighbor who is going through some stuff. I’m not going to judge her or what she may or may not have done. I am going to judge the people who showed up at her door screaming and yelling at her when she has small children inside.

I won’t go into her drama. I’m just saying – we’ve all had some, right?

Drama seems to follow some people – or does it? For some time, I felt drama followed me around like a stray dog. But like a stray dog – if you feed it, it’ll come back.

Once I got away from EVERYONE, and I mean everyone, who was into drama, gossiped, was jealous, said half assed things to me, the drama went with them.

Many, many years ago someone said to me, you are who you hang around with. They were talking about one particular girlfriend who was in trouble quite often. So, at that time, being the smart ass kid that I was, I refused to believe it.

It took me some time, sadly, to realize that you are who your friends are. Even if most of my friends were saints, I always had that one… you know the one… and I thought that really didn’t matter. They need me. I need them. They would help me hide the body.

At some point, I realized that person, or those people, don’t bring anything to my life. In fact, they take away from the quality, happiness, calm, peacefulness, so I decided to find a new crowd.

Well, not exactly. I decided I’d rather be alone than have people around me who didn’t truly care or support me. But soon I started finding real friends. Good friends. They may or may not help me hide a body, but I know they will stop me from doing stupid things, support me when I want to step out of my comfort zone. They will help when I need help and lift me when I’m down.

I’ve had enough drama to keep my journals filled and my writing sparked for the rest of my life. I don’t need anymore of that sh!t.

I checked on one of my friends recently, and she responded, “you are so incredibly kind.” And it took me a minute to see myself as she described. I mean – I have always, always attempted to be kind and giving and loving. But I was around people who did not care, people who said I did not give enough. It feels wonderful to be surrounded by those who see me, who help me to be who I want to be.

Drama can be addicting – some people live off of it, thrive off of it. They draw it in and pull others in with it. They create it through gossip and misadventure! Lie. Invent things.

One must really decide to make a change. And one must decide they’d rather be alone. Being alone can mean working on ourselves without outside interference and we all need that. And then be selective about those you include in your circle. There is nothing wrong with deciding who to fill your circle with. It’s one of the most important decisions in your life. It dictates who you want to be and who you can become.

An Avalanche of Journals

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It’s amazing how sometimes ideas occur to you. Sometimes you hear a snippet of of conversation. Sometimes an avalanche of journals falls on you when you’re cleaning out a closet.

As I was cleaning the storage closet – admit it, we all have one – I reached up for something, which hit the stack of journals I placed up there some time ago and all of them proceeded to rain down upon me. I stepped back, surprised. There were so many.

Does anyone else have a stack of saved journals?

I’ve been vexed about these journals. See, I have way more than one stack. I have boxes. I can’t say I hate to admit it. I’m certain if I look through them, I have some from way back when. I think I started keeping a journal when I was ten or eleven.

Some people have been consistent, writing daily. There have been times that I journal has sat by my bedside for some time before I picked it up. I find that I’m a more organized and write more regularly when I keep a journal.

A writer told me she refers back to her journals for accuracy or ideas when writing memoir. OF COURSE!

I’ve been struggling with a memoir. If I can find those childhood journals, it might help…. it could hurt.

The Unnatural Nature of Advice

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I met an award winning author recently who offered me a review of my memoir in progress. While she had many good things to say, she had much advice to offer. It was logical, solid, understandable advice.

Which made me rethink the whole memoir and wonder if I should even be writing it. That’s okay, doubt is natural.

The following day I met another award winning author who offered me advice on the same work in progress. While she too had many good things to say, she had advice to offer as well. She had well thought out, strong ideas.

Which were completely opposite of what the first one said.

This made me rethink the nature of advice and writing. (not my memoir!)

One must seek advice and sometimes take advice to improve and grow. Seeking advice is natural for us. Giving advice when asked (or for some unasked) is natural.

Advice usually comes from someone who has experience in the field, sometimes they are not an expert but speaking from their own experience. It’s not invalid advice. It’s not necessarily bad or wrong.

HOWEVER, when writing, you must follow your heart, your passion, you must get it all out, lay it all down, before someone even begins to tell you what to do with this or what to do about that.

This is the unnatural part of advice and advising. Giving advice without understanding the end goal is presumptive and could be incorrect. Taking advice at face value without seeking other input could be a mistake.

Advice must be taken with a grain of salt. It should be backed up by others (or research). And must be evaluated with your own common sense.

My memoir is still a work in progress. Telling me now how it should be formatted or must be framed only interrupts the flow of writing.

There is also more than one method for memoir. Memoirs are personal experiences and must reflect the person and their experience.

Out of Life’s School of War…

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A friend once said to me – they stole the life you were supposed to have! I was surprised by her angered response about something from my past. I’d never considered that anything had been stolen from me, taken from me, or that I missed out on anything in particular having not had the perfect childhood. See, I don’t believe there is a perfect childhood.

I remember a young woman saying, “my life would have been so much better if I’d had a father.” She was bemoaning the fact that she was raised by a single mother. And I said, “What if you had a father that beat you and your mother? What if he drank? What if you had a father that stayed out all night or didn’t work for a living?” She fumed – how can you say that?

People have this image in their heads of how things are supposed to be and they lament what they believe they do not have or what they’ve lost. They believe their lives might have been magically transformed had that …. blah.. blah.. blah… been different or perfect. I consider – it could have been worse!

I’ve just always taken the experience at face value. My parents made mistakes. Everyone’s parents make mistakes. But you get what you get and you make the best of it.

In watching the Arnold Schwarzenegger documentary, he said his tyrant of a father motivated him to do more, to do better; he says, if it wasn’t for his father, he would have never left his small town.

YES! Had it not been for the childhood I experienced, I may not have been so incredibly motivated to escape, to do better, to strive for more.

The truth is – like Schwarzenegger’s brother – some people don’t get out. They stay stuck. That was my worse nightmare.

My experiences of lack have informed my writing, have inspired me to strive for more, have helped me develop empathy and compassion. My shitty childhood motivated me to do more, want more, be more.

When I write about the past, I am not wailing about it. I’m praising the resilience I gained to overcome life’s challenges!

Nietzsche’s whole quote: “Out of life’s school of war: what does not destroy me, makes me stronger.

It’s a much abused and misquoted line. Maybe even I am oversimplifying it.

It’s a choice. You can choose to let the school of hard knocks keep you down, or you can choose to get back up. It’s hard sometimes to keep fighting – and you have to refine your technique. But you can win. And it’s not by looking back and wishing for what might have been, but by looking and moving forward.

Create the life you want.

Dad’s Pancake Breakfast

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We’d just left Collinwood in our rear view for a better neighborhood. No gang fights at this school. No bars at the end of every block. No kids sniffing glue in the churchyard.

Back then, Shaker was far away from the gritty streets of the city. The blocks wound around in curved patterns, trees and bushes, grass and squirrels surrounded us. The main street consisted of two lanes and a transit to bring riders to the square which housed an art gallery, upscale shops, and restaurants.

The neighbor next door brought over cookies. My mother grew strawberries in the yard. And for a brief shining moment, we had a life that seemed pretty normal, like what other families might have.

On Sunday mornings, my father would call upstairs – who’s coming? And some of us or all of us would race downstairs and hop into the car. My father was taking us to the McDonald’s All-You-Can-Eat-Pancake-Breakfast.

“For ten bucks,” my father said, “I can feed the whole family. Eat your fill!”

We’d eat pancakes, talk and laugh, and eat more pancakes. He’d raise the paper in front of his face and allow us to sit longer, talk about hair and make up and boys. Or maybe we talked about the music on the brand-spanking-new MTV.

For me, it wasn’t the All-You-Could-Eat, and it wasn’t the pancakes. We’d never really done this before. We hadn’t gone out as a family. We would order pizza. We would occasionally be treated to McDonald’s or Red Barn, but we never went out to sit down and eat. Part of it was money. Eating out takes money and we didn’t have any. This was evidenced when my mother pawned her wedding ring for bread and baloney, milk and cereal to get us through the week.

As a roofer, my father worked from sun up to sun down, especially in the summer. In the winter, he’d be laid off and laid up, not in the mood for much.

This summer was different. We were happy.

Maybe it was because we were growing up. Maybe my father had decided to work just a little less that summer. Maybe it was the new place, the new neighborhood, and a new lease on life for all of us.

It didn’t last. But the memories survive. And, in a body full of bad memories, we have to hold on to those handful of good ones.

Before my father passed, but long after I’d moved away, I sent him a Father’s Day Card: “That summer we went to McDonald’s for that All-You-Can-Eat-Pancake-Breakfast nearly every Sunday was the best. I loved it! I Love You!”

I needed him to know that I remembered some good things.

This week, I made pancakes thinking of him. He always liked my cooking. He’d say, “there’s only one thing wrong with your cooking – you don’t make enough.”

I made enough this time – they’re sitting on the counter. Maybe I’ll wake in the morning, like a kid on Christmas, and they’ll be gone – for old time’s sake.

Grandma’s Tour

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Published a few months after my grandmother passed. Enjoy.

Where the Poet Roams

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My first published poem, many years ago.

Fall in Love with Poetry

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How to Read a Poem and Fall in Love with Poetry by Edward Hirsch is the most passionate, love filled book about the writing of poetry. It changed how I read and wrote poetry. It changed the way I taught!

This book isn’t prescriptive. No hard and fast rules here.

This is written by a person who loves poetry and wants readers to love it as well. I took this philosophy into my teaching of literature. I want my students to find things they enjoy reading – which I hope will encourage them to read more. We don’t spend hours analyzing poetry only to be told we’re wrong (how many of us have those high school memories?!).

Reading poetry should be like taking a warm bath, sinking into the steamy water, enjoying the bubbles against your skin, the scent wafting over you.

As for writing poetry, it seems there are no rights or wrongs. He suggests you give colors sounds, sounds feelings, etc. My writing grew more descriptive, creative, beautiful. I took chances and created new meaning in the relationship between words and ideas. I stretched my poetry muscles and it has paid off. This month, I plan to share some of my poetry with you.

It was the most illuminating, freeing book I’ve read throughout my academic and writing career.