It started with coffee. It wasn’t ready. And it wasn’t just coffee, it was three travel packs of coffee for a meeting. 7:15 a.m. pick up time. “Do you have your invoice?”
“No, I never received one, but I’ll pay for it now. I have my tax-exempt form.”
“Well, we don’t have your order. We could have it ready in fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“Sure, I’ll wait.”
Even waiting twenty minutes, I’ll make it by 8:00.
I didn’t, but I got there with three travel packs of coffee. The rest of the day unfolded as one of those Mondays.
The icing on my slice of cake with un-brewed coffee was finding a surprise gift from a friend waiting at my seat. A great tote bag stuffed with mini-notebooks, a cheerful pencil pouch, and fun pencils reminded me to regret nothing, even if it means being late.
Inspired by Tammy’s post, here are my top five things I’d bring to a Favorite Things Party to share around a fire.
Archer and Olive notebooks. I even researched paper weight on the quest for the perfect notebook. Trying different brands, this one is my favorite. Size B5, but currently working in an A5 and A6. Definitely a splurge, but worth it.
Sanders Dark Chocolate Sea Salt Caramels. My kids claim to dislike dark chocolate. I bought a tub at Costco several years ago, not worried they’d eat them. Of course, on the occasion I wanted one, I found the jar more than halfway empty. When I buy them, I take them to work. There’s a cabinet in my office for teachers where I keep a stash of chocolate for them. Non-dark chocolate eaters have converted to the dark (chocolate) side. I imagine these will make delicious adult-level s’mores to pair with a nice glass of red wine.
Corral boots. I’m a native Texan and I only got my first pair of boots two years ago on a trip to Ft. Worth. These are comfortable enough to wear all day. Surprisingly, they don’t make my legs or feet sweat when I wear them through hot summer days. I like wearing them with shorts or dresses. Sugar skulls are a bonus.
Palmer’s lip balm. I have it everywhere: my purse, work bag, nightstand, desk drawer. It’s oval shaped and slides on well with no stickiness.
Stickers! I’m a child of the 80s and had a sticker collection. I bought a kids sticker subscription from Pipsticks for my daughter’s tenth birthday. I promised a full year. When the year ended, I kept it for myself. I plan to cancel, but I get fun snail mail once a month in shiny holographic envelopes. What’s not to love? I re-purposed the envelopes and used the stickers to make buttons I give away to kids at school. You can have your sticker and wear it, too. Anyone want to trade?
“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.”
Barbara Kingsolver
I (still) don’t have a door to close. I now have a spare room to call my own. My craft room. My “writing” room. Except I’m still perched at the end of the table in the kitchen. My writing cabinet holds the essentials: a caddy full of my favorite writing sticks, my current notebook, a planner, some books on creativity, cookbooks, mixology books, wine, and wine glasses.
I haven’t figured out what I want to say. Yet. I’m opening myself up to whatever story wants to be told as long as I’m brave enough to tell it. Julia Cameron says I need ask for guidance, and I do, but I must be blind to it. I’m a looks-too-hard type of person, making things harder than they need to be. I also like simplicity, so maybe it’s too simple because I thrive on complexity.
However, isn’t simple…complex? I think there’s a depth there few people are able to extract from effectively, a shallow looking pool that somehow becomes an abyss. With no one looking over my shoulder, I let whatever wants to be said, be said. Some days it’s in the saying where the figuring out happens.
Despite some changes to routines, I signed up for year four of this writing challenge. My only expectation is to show up every day. My morning pages have faltered from daily to weekends, but this will bump me back in the right direction. With spring teasing us, I’ve been sitting in the backyard under the twinkle lights, taking my pen and notebook with me, a sweater for the chill that unexpectedly curls itself around my shoulder. Half finished books on writing are opening up again. My mind is opening up again.
I’m also looking at other routines that have seemed to have slipped away. I re-assess. Are these things I need to continue doing? It’s okay to let some go and replace them with something new. Do they need replacing? I’m working on decluttering my space, but I also think decluttering my mind and responsibilities opens me up to welcome whatever comes my way. It’s acceptable to leave space wide open for a while. Why the rush to re-clutter?
This fourth year of slicing, I’ll focus on figuring out what to say. I’ll close the door behind me and enter the backyard in the evenings, before days get too hot and mosquitos feast on me. Pup will chew on mulch while sitting at my feet. I’ll start a cozy fire, careful not to accidentally pick up a lizard dwelling in the pile of wood. I’ll open my notebook and start writing whatever needs to be said.
I used to name my summers, give them a theme in hopes of having something to do. I suppose I was setting an intention before setting intentions became a thing.
One year, it was The Summer of Learning. I taught myself to knit and made scarves in the comfort of an air conditioned home while sweltering triple digit temperatures fried the yard. I had a guitar and tinkered with it for a while, but I didn’t get far. I had a three year old and it mainly revolved more about his learning than mine. A summer with a three year old certainly counts for something though. After several summers, I lost track, had another child, and got too busy to even think about naming them.
As the end of the school year became a reality, a friend asked what I’d name this summer. I hadn’t thought of it. Great question. I contemplated.
The Summer of Breaking Free.
My life is good, but there are things I still hold back on. One of them is following through on projects here and there. The fun ones I long to do, but don’t seem to make time for while I’m working because I’m flat out tired. I have a fresh fourteen year old, so I’m now the resident Uber driver. Then there are the necessary projects that best lend themselves to be done during the long stretch of summer break. Look at flooring samples. (Probably best to budget for it first). All the paperwork in case something happens to us. Repaint bedrooms. Might as well paint the bathrooms while we’re at it. And don’t the cabinets need to be replaced too? Yeah, breaking free seems to be more of a long term commitment I didn’t want.
I signed up for a virtual craft and art workshop earlier this month. It’s free, within my price point. I also participated last year and completed some projects. Regrettably, I didn’t purchase access to the courses. This year, I allowed myself to purchase access because the instructors were fantastic, down to earth, and encouraging. For a full week, I connected with thousands of people from around the world and followed along for watercolor orange slices, planner doodling, mandalas, making a stamp from an eraser, sketch noting, block lettered paper collage, illustrated and cut bursts of happiness with sticky notes, and mixed media florals.
This led to cracking open a new notebook, not for writing, but for playing around. For a week I put my work in there and I’m popping in to view the sessions I didn’t have time to complete. I’m not out to become an artist, but it sure has helped me do something beyond my comfort zone. My medium of choice is words. Doing something I’m not great at is a way to stretch myself. I intended for my notebook to be a wordless journal, but some sessions involved journaling, a change I didn’t expect.
One big idea instructors continued to remind everyone was that of embracing what’s on the page (or canvas). If you make a mistake, it just becomes a part of the piece. Keep going and let it be what it wants to be.
Last week my body ached from painting. Walls. My daughter moved into my son’s ex-bedroom and she went in all interior decorator mode with a fierce vision of how she wanted to make it hers. (She is an artist). It took her all of ten minutes to choose her paint color. Dark Ash.
I’ve renamed it Teen Goth.
Her room will become my craft and writing room-at least that’s the plan. I’ve narrowed down my color choices to three. I’m indecisive, but I’m ready to have my own room. Our kitchen table is tired of having me perched at one end with a hot mess of whatever project I happen to be working on. My husband is tired of it too. Soon we’ll be able to eat at our kitchen table without having to shove everything to one side. But first, there’s the paint color. Maybe I’ll close my eyes, spin around three times and point at one. Otherwise it might wait until next summer. I can always repaint if I don’t like the color.
This seems to be The Summer of Painting. Should I rename it? I think I’ll hold on to my original title because painting and doing something other has helped me break free from the walls I put up around myself. On to the next project!
Is they’re ordinary
basic
inexpensive
collectors of
dreams
disappointments
mileage
scribbles
doodles
facts and figures
A crayon mark
or two
Sometimes they’re blank
like a mind can feel
or like a sadness
or a fresh start,
a new beginning
with the possibility of an end
or eternity
Sometimes they're a continuation of ideas
The thing about notebooks
the containers of one's soul,
potential,
possibility,
is people dismiss them as mere notebooks
without appreciating the fact
that anyone who bothers with a blank page
may never be the same
The thing about notebooks
is the infinite variety in which they’re bound,
that people want to read them
the ones that are filled fat with words,
oozing with thought,
seeping with taped in mementos
receipts,
tickets,
love letters
to do lists
notes
a thumbprint
coffee stains
and the magnificence
of what’s contained in the creator’s mind
somehow finds its way
into the world
leaving an indelible mark
on those lucky enough to read them
Nerds Beget Nerds 