Journal Junkie

Back to the ‘journals’.  I’ve documented a great deal of my life, as if anybody will care. I’ve done it for me, and I must say, I do enjoy reading back over the entries – one sentence will bring an entire day back.

For over 20 years I have written pretty well every day – in a diary - ‘details’ rather than journal.  It’s very strange to see a big chunk of your life lined up in a bookcase.

I have other journals too … quotes, and thoughts, ideas sprouting and random memories. My first ‘beautiful’ journal that I bought was in 1983 – a red leather look, Kahlil Gibran one. I was writing in when I got confirmation that I was pregnant with Ashley. The entry says: "The rabbit died.”  And no, I did not cut off its feet or tail.

With three young children, a demanding job and an ailing father, I couldn’t keep up with even a few lines of daily writing.  But rather than desert my beautiful book when it was empty from March on, I ignored the dates and just wrote about our life in general.  I would stick it away and not come across it for four or five years at a time.  I was 29 years old when I started it and 46 when it was filled.

It was the new millennium when I got to buy my next journal. I found one that was similar in size and feel. The store clerk said to me: “oh, I don’t think you want THAT one … it’s $25 – we have some that are much cheaper.” “I’m worth it.” I replied. I didn’t mention that it would do me for the next twenty years.

I don’t work in it regularly. Just like the previous one, I re-discover its existence every few years.  Yesterday, when I found myself having time and being drawn to writing, I remembered it. I was not overly surprised to find that it had been 4 years ... a wedding  and two grandchildren since I last wrote.

 It’s a shame that I don’t do it more often – I wish I did. It’s amazing to sit and read one’s entire life sandwiched between the pages of a couple small books.  Children and grandchildren born, parents and siblings lost, kids growing up and me growing old.  It’s a humbling experience to sit with a book in your hands that contains your life … to touch the actual paper that you wrote on, to see the actual words from your own hand. And more so, from your own heart.  Reading it on the computer just wouldn't be the same.

Instead of writing, I spent the afternoon re-visiting my life.  It confirmed for me that I have indeed made the right decision to get back to writing. To writing.

Tales

I found myself with a free hour yesterday afternoon. I’m in the midst of another task on my RESET mission and felt I deserved a break. I did not go to the computer even though it was well past twelve. Now that I have set the intention to get back to writing, and have started doing it, it was a natural draw.

Nope, I didn't go to the computer. Instead I went to my big Journal Box and decided to update one of those.  I am a confirmed Journal Junkie. There’s that Collector in me.  I stand before them in places like Chapters and fondle them.  I tell myself that I don’t need yet another one. But invariably my self does not listen and it rides home with me, where I diligently figure out what I could dedicate it to.

I got my first diary in 1965 – the 5 year kind – black with gold trim and a little lock and key.  I started every entry with Dear Diary because I somehow thought that was the proper thing to do, even if it did take up valuable space in the 5 allotted lines.  I didn’t lock it. Obviously I didn’t hide it either. Apparently I should have done both.  I was 12; my brother who was 10 called me at my friend’s house, screaming into the telephone: “How could you?!! You’re SICK!!!”  My reply to him of course was “YOU READ MY DIARY!!! How could you???!!! YOU’RE sick!!!”  He had read my entry about how I had cut my cat’s tail off.  It didn’t hurt her, she was dead.  I loved that cat – she was a big Persian with a gorgeous fat tail.  Her name was Tammy and she wasn’t a family cat – she was all mine. I had every right to her tail. Even back then I recognized that I was a 'memento collector’… I was the Keeper of Memories and I wanted to remember her.  Rabbit’s feet were big in those days – pretty well everyone had one on a keychain. I used to feel his little toenails and wonder if it truly WAS a Real rabbit – and if it REALLY was, that it was kind of gross, and sad. If I had some dead rabbit’s foot that I didn’t know, surely it would be more meaningful to have my beloved Tammy’s tail. It was also back in the 'Tony the Tiger' days where people attached tiger tails to their antenna or even had them coming out of their gas tank.

I was very brave about it considering I was quite attached to that cat. I apologized to her before I cut it off with the tin snips.  I laid the tail up on the barn window sill to ‘cure’, and had a funeral for my sweet friend. The tail disappeared. It could have been raccoons or rodents, it could have been my Dad thinking that some animal had done it and tossed it out, or it could have been my nosey little brother had marched right down to the barn and threw it away himself. I could hardly ask.  With both of us carrying the guilt of our inappropriate behaviour, we never spoke it.

I never did lock that diary up or hide it, or any other diary/journal for that matter.  I figure if someone is so inclined to get into my thoughts, then it serves them right if they find out something that wasn’t meant for their eyes. I also never did cut off anyone else’s appendages. And I disposed of the rabbit foot too. It really was kind of gross and sick.

The Write Thing to Do

There’s a little bit of an ironic twist to my pact to SAFTC (Stay Away From The Computer) and spend the time greasing my creative wheel by writing. 

Awhile back, if I was to have a pen in hand, I could write faster than the words would come out of my head.  It was like there was a direct line – a hose filled with ink from my heart more often than my brain – directly on to the paper. 

With plans for a family history, I have a lot of writing to do.  About 10 years ago I admitted to myself that I was never, ever going to go back and type up the pages that I had written.  They’re hard to read for one thing as the words spew forth at warp speed at times, and also – that was going to make it double the time and at the rate I’m going I’ll be 113 before I get to Chapter 4.

"I need me one of those ‘laptop’ things I professed; and then I can write!”  So I invested in one back when desktops were still generally the computer of choice. I found that my thoughts were so trained to come through a pen that I couldn’t co-ordinate them and my fingers and a keyboard. There was no flow. It was awkward. I was forever back spacing to correct the spelling. I’d lose my thought – it was like I was continually putting the brakes on. I didn’t write.  I wore it out, but I didn’t write. I got another laptop – a little sleeker this time. Again … no writing magically happened.

Then along came those tiny little netbooks. “I need me one of those netbooks”, I determined: “and then I can write”.  Because really, that five inches smaller made it SO much handier than that big wieldy laptop. I’d be much better with this cute little thing – it’s almost like a book itself, surely we would become good friends and we’d write together. Didn’t happen. I jumped the gun on that one. It is sluggish and the keyboard was hard to get used to. Haven’t written a page on it. Now, I’m on to my third laptop and I still haven’t written a single page of the proposed Family History.

I was very excited with my New Found Focus and writing time.  “That’s what I’ll do!” I proclaimed: “I will seriously focus on that task – an hour every day.”

And then it hit me. I cannot turn the computer on during that time.  I have two issues with that. #1 I’m back to having to transcribe what I have written.  #2 Now I have retrained myself to write with keystrokes. I am finding the pen now to be an awkward tool and I basically have to re-train myself. 

I am officially in a quanundrum. I've got to do some thinking on it.

Take My Advice

Probably one of the most accurate quotes that my life is centered around is: “Take my advice, I’m not using it.”  I have always been ready, willing and able to give anyone advice on their business plan, marketing, decorating, life strategy … whatever … but I appear to leave myself out of the when it comes right down to it.  Most likely because I talk to myself so much that if I actually listened, I’d be even more confused and befuddled than I already am.

I once heard that if you ‘hear the same message 3 times from different sources in a short period of time, then God or the Universe is trying to send you a very strong directive.’  Listen and Act.

The funny thing about the signal that I am getting is that one of the sources was actually ME. 

I was one of the speakers at our January W.I.N.G.S. meeting where the topic was ‘Strategies for a Fresh Start’.  I heard myself saying to the room full of women, “When I am at my very best creatively, I start my day with Morning Pages. My biggest obstacle,” I said, “and worst habit, is the computer. When I start the day with my own thoughts and I get things sorted out and lined up, I feel more grounded, more focused, more in control.  What I have been doing for a long time instead is turning on the computer first thing. Fifteen minutes turns into an hour and a half as I’m led in this direction and that. I find that I am spending my time with everyone’s thoughts BUT my own.”

At that point, I was just talking about it - acknowledging it without a strong intention of changing it, even though I had identified writing as an excellent tool for getting yourself together. Afterwards, one of the members told me that what I had said really resonated with her.  We got to talking about our ‘best hours’ and both identified them as ‘the morning’. It was like a lightbulb was switched on when we realized that we were giving the computer the very best of our time. We made a pact then and there not to allow that to happen ANYMORE, and that if we saw each other on line, we’d call each other on it.

A few days later I was at a two day workshop, where the facilitator, Keith Kochner of Mentorfish said that thing that he protected as fiercely as a ‘glass case with a million dollars in it’ is his FOCUS.  He actively and zealously PROTECTS it. He said he could get more money, but he couldn’t get that time back.  Lightbulb again!  The computer is a thief after my glass case that contains all my Focus!  I didn’t have to wait around for the third sign … I got the message loud and clear.

For one full week, I have kept my Focus.  I have not touched the computer once until after twelve. Granted, the first few days I was watching the clock and had my finger poised and ready for 12:01. What bolstered me and kept me on track was something one of the other speakers shared at WINGS. She said that breaking a habit is only 'uncomfortable' for a little while. When you work your way through that, it will become your new habit.

Indeed, I am finding my creativity is coming back. I am slowly starting to enjoy sifting through my thoughts in the quiet hour with my coffee.  In fact, I am now looking forward to it and savouring it. I am honing my Focus Skills.

Keeper

At my age and with my pack-rat disposition, I have accumulated Too Much Stuff. I have. Truth be told, I could be in qualification for the Hoarders show.

I am a bonafide Born Collector.  First it was Car Coins and  Airplane Coins from Jello. Yes, I AM that old.  Then it was the little ceramic figurines that came in Red Rose Tea.  And then Stamps, of course. In the late 60’s, Salt and Pepper shakers were on the top of my list … 99 cents a set.  In the 70’s … the macramé and crewel work days,  it was Owls that spoke to me.  Of course, over the years I have HAD to collect Donkeys. How could I not?  And then the momentum started the train to Clutter & Chaos going faster & faster as we sped regularly through auction sales and antique shops and my passions kept growing with every cool thing that I ever imagined… crocks and clocks, oil lamps, old dolls, antique toys, classic books, teapots and teddy bears. And Christmas Stuff – big time.

I am a Keeper.  A keeper of not only my memories, mementos  and stories, but of those I love who can no longer keep their own.  My mother, my father, my sisters and brother, my grandparents, Brian’s parents and grandparents.  And throw in the odd Aunt and Uncle.  That’s a lot of people, and a lot of responsibility.

I was also born with a sentimental heart – a deadly combination for a Collector and a Keeper. 

A few years ago my girls had an intervention with me. “Mom,” they said “seriously - you have GOT to STOP attaching stories to EVERYTHING.  And stop TELLING us. You’re making us as bad as you. We can’t get rid of stuff because we hear you saying… “that was my great aunt’s sister’s cousin’s neighbour’s husband’s”  They weren’t joking.  It’s a chain that they want release from.  I can’t help it, I’m all about Stories. It comes with the heart.

A couple years ago Jae was redoing her house – going from country décor to more funky and modern.  A big, beautiful Robert Duncan print that I had given her no longer suited and she needed to let it go. She made the move and  took it down and then called me in exasperation. ‘THANKS A LOT, Mom.” She growled. “I finally came to terms with letting it go, then I turned it over and you’ve WRITTEN the story on the back. So now, not only do I have The Story, but I have it in YOUR handwriting. And you’ve SIGNED and DATED it!  Now what am I supposed to do??”

So … what did ‘we’ do?  I took it back. And since I have no place for it either, I took this big honkin’ picture all the way to Newfoundland and hung it above the couch. It is far from ‘Newfoundlandish’.  Someone commented: ”Why do you have a winter picture of farm animals in a summer sea-side home? It’s kind of out of place.”  I answered: “It’s a long story.”

RESET

I have pressed ‘RESET’ on my life. It feels good.

Last year was such a different year for me. I let my own business not only take a backseat but actually not leave the parking lot.  It was so different than the previous twenty years when every single day I relied on my own imagination and self-motivation to earn my daily bread. Hard to keep the bakery open and goods fresh though. This concept of just showing up, doing a task that someone else has put the thinking power behind and then being given money for it ...regularly no less ... was such a novel and exciting concept to me.  After not having had that little bonus which most people don’t think twice about since 1989, I got a fair bit of pleasure out of it.

That job is over for me and now I find myself having to try and remember exactly how it was that I was able to create my own income for the past two decades.

Running your own business seems to me to be very much like exercising. You can do it regularly for years and years but then when you stop, you lose ground far faster than it took to build it up.

I’ve been trying to remember exactly what it was that I used to do and how I went about it.  And then the thought hit me. I shouldn’t concern myself as much with what I USED to do, as to what I WANT to do NOW. 

I have given myself this month to sift through my thoughts and get into position to move forward. 

I am in ‘strategic planning’ mode. I have a lifetime of knowledge and experience to organize in my head.  I have tools to do it.  The very first and most important question is front and center and I have to tackle it head on before I move on to Step 2.  “ WHAT is it that I WANT to do?”   Thinking … thinking … thinking….

Actually, I need to set that aside for the moment. There’s a step for me that I MUST do even before that.

Now I Get It!

I finally know what happened to 2011. And it’s my own fault. 

It got away on me.  Slipped through my fingers like a greased pig. No – not a pig. That would indicate that I was chasing it.  It was more like I was just standing still with my hand out and it slipped through my fingers like ... sand. Sand from an hour glass.

I blamed the fact that I was working at a Real Job.  That’s just a handy excuse. I didn’t work every day, and in fact – I didn’t work for months at a time.  I know people who have Real Jobs and they still create and produce.  I did neither.

Now granted, for the very first time in the history of Me, I got to enjoy Christmas like a normal person. I was not up to my ears with fabric & fur & packing boxes.  I didn’t have little heads staring up at me, waiting impatiently for a body.  I was able to shop leisurely. I was able to decorate early and enjoy the evenings basking in the Christmas lights instead of having my mind running like hamster wheel, trying to sort all the things that I HAD to do before I got to play Christmas myself.

But I missed it. I missed those little vignettes – the children, the toys, the Santas. I missed the faces that come through my hands. I missed the little twinge of excitement I get when it comes together and I’m happy with it. I missed the whole creative process that starts with the ideas popping around in my head like Bingo Balls.  And I especially missed the connection with all the wonderful people that I have met over the years because of my creations, and the wonderful people that I WOULD have met.  Now that it's over, I have come to the realization that a calm and chaos-free Christmas wasn’t much worth it. A big piece of me was missing.

BUT … it is my own fault.  I just discovered that today.

Every year for at least the past twenty, on New Year’s Day I get all cozied up and get out my daily journals – the one from the year just past and the new one.  I write down my top 12 or so Goals for the coming year, and I go over the previous one to see how I did on them.

Today, I searched the pages of my 2011 journal for that list and came up with Nothing.  It’s always the very first page – not hard to miss.  The page is blank. I searched in places that it wouldn’t be, thinking I may have had a momentary brain freeze last year and wrote it on some random page.  I even did what I do with my computer when I can’t open a file or it’s not behaving like I need it to. I shut it totally and opened it again, hoping that a RE-BOOT would solve the problem.  Nope.  No list of Goals. Nothing. Nadda. No darn wonder that my whole year was flapping in the breeze.

Now... I have to admit, that after I write out those goals each year, I actually never go back and look at them until the following January 1^st. And I might as well admit that 90% of the goals have been the exact same ones for the past two decades. But, that’s insignificant really – I KNOW they’re there, I don’t have to see them, I don’t have to act on them … I get a sense of control knowing that for the very briefest second, I have put some thought into what I could/should/would do with the 365 days that lies ahead.

I really was shocked today when I discovered that I had totally neglected that exercise.  I remember now, why that happened. My book was late. It got delayed in the mail and I didn’t have it for my New Year’s Day ritual. It arrived the following week, but by then I was working at that Job – all day, five days a week. And considering that the last time I had done that in my life was 1976, I do believe that I just got blown totally off course.  I’m sure I meant to catch up one day, but apparently it never happened.

Well, I’m done with just blowing in the wind. It was fun and freeing while it lasted, but I’m taking a hold of the reins a little tighter this year.  I am going to get my balance. I have done due diligence today, sorted my thoughts and made my plan. I am recapturing my Creative Soul and putting that little sucker to work.  

What's the Point?

In a matter of hours, it’s over. 2011.  It has been a wonderful, full, rich year.  For our family, there was only one single fly in the ointment – the loss of our dear Abby. And really, that is quite remarkable.  Illness & loss & not-necessarily-good change is part of everyone’s world and that we can only point to one heartbreak over the year is, as I say – Remarkable.      

I am grateful. Every single day, I am grateful. In fact, when I climb into bed each and every night, I snuggle down and I give God my list of the FIVE things that I am grateful for that day.  Most often, the very first that comes to mind is that I am grateful for a warm and comfortable bed when so many in this world do not have that simple luxury.  Back in 1997 I wrote the five things I was grateful for each day. It was enough of a ‘diary’ that reading those single sentence entries would bring back the entire day to me. I have often thought during my night time regime, that I need to get back into that habit.

I do need to. It is the habit of writing that I have most sorely missed this past year.  It is a habit. When I do it regularly, the words come naturally. I think of a dozen things a day to ‘talk about’.  With falling from the habit of writing here – which I really, really do love to do – I have found myself being ‘frozen’ – having no clue how I can even begin to write about something.  When I am ‘In the Habit’, the smallest things are a story. Lately, nothing seems worthy of words.  That’s out of character for me.

A few months ago, I had the most lovely compliment when I was contacted by ‘BECOME.COM’ saying: “We would like to feature you in our Best of the Web, our weekly series recognizing the most interesting websites on the web.” I was honoured. And shocked. I didn't expect that someone actually READS my blog and they could think that anything that I would have to say as I ramble away to myself is even remotely of interest to anyone else.  The sweet gal who issued the invitation asked that I send a couple sentence to ‘describe my blog to someone whose never heard of it.’  In other words – ‘what's the point’?

Upon reading all the wonderful blogs that they have featured, I REALLY froze. I became totally intimidated in the stark reality that IS no point. There is no focus, no intent, no redeeming educational factor, no Greater Good. It’s just me. Me ... yattering about my insignificant little corner of the world. Randomly commenting on what pops into my mind on any given day. Suddenly, that was just not good enough. I got to thinking that there really SHOULD be a point. Me muttering about the goats in my flowerbed, a light that shines forever, my relationship to my fur-covered friends is of no interest to the world in general.  Simple as that.

I couldn’t follow up on that sweet & generous invitation because I am not worthy of a feature on anything.  I starting looking to change, to focus so perhaps I would be worthy. The truth is – it’s just not going to happen. My thoughts are random. My life is random.  I can’t explain any of it. If I wait until I discover the 'point' of anything - I will remain frozen.

I don't like living in a frozen state creatively. I need to rediscover that part of my being. I need to get back into The Habit.  The well is primed & ready ... a new year is on the horizon.

In 2012... I will write more – even if it is about Nothing Particular.  I will get back to ‘seeing photographs’ all around me and capturing them. I will get back to my studio and pull out all that wonderful stuff that I have been neglecting over the past year. And I will continue to do what I did all throughout 2011 – which was to expand my Circle, make new friends, have new adventures and generally LOVE all the people in my life, and indeed - just love and be grateful for Life itself. THAT is the point of my life, and I suppose, perhaps that is the ‘point’ of my blog … creating a Passionate Life from the very ordinary.

Slip,Slippin' Away

You know your life is out of control when it’s October and the calendar you walk by every day says JULY.  And the truth is, when you changed it in July it actually said APRIL.

You know your life is out of control when your slipper basket is empty, and now you can’t even find the ONE brother that is usually in there, missing his sibling. And you have to dip into your husband’s sock drawer (shhhh…) because, just like the slipper basket, the cupboard is bare. 

I don’t know what has happened to 2011.  I seem to have lost a big chunk of it for no good reason.  Yes, I’ve worked at a ‘Real Job’ for a portion of it, but that’s hardly an excuse – lots of people seem to do that.

I used to be able to do so much more with my time.  When I had four kids under nine, I also had a full time job, belonged to three or four organizations, cared for my aging parent, had a menagerie of animals and still ‘made things’ and did shows. When the kids got a little older and more active, so did I. I substituted the job for my own retail business, then added wholesale into that, a few more organizational involvements and I still was able to change the calendar regularly .And I usually could find my socks.

Now, shamefully, I am not involved in any community organization. Well, I suppose that’s not true – Jaime and I have started our own. I don’t have kids to tend and run around all over the countryside.  I don’t even have a dog to feed – just a semi-feral cat.  I have ‘made’ basically nothing all year, and my house is as disorganized and upside down as it was when I was in the throes of full blown creativity.

So what’s up with me now? I can’t get my head together to write on this blog. I can’t get my act together to do my photos and quotes on The Daily Muse.  For over 20 years I have every single day documented in a diary. I can account for my time. Sometimes I’ve had to back up and fill in a few when the week got away from me, but now I have two entire months BLANK.  That’s what my life kinda feels like … blank.

And I know THAT is not true. It’s filled to the brim with people I love, wonderful activities, full and eventful days – every minute full to capacity.  Some might say ‘Well, right there is your problem.’  But the point is, my life has always, ALWAYS been that full.  I just don’t seem to be processing it as effectively as I once could.

Age. I guess that’s the reality of it. I just can’t juggle as many things as I could.  Oh humbug (who says HUMBUG anymore – that’s how badly I’m stuck)  … that’s not it.  That’s a pathetic excuse. I surely have gathered up some wisdom and strategies for coping. Perhaps it’s just time to use them.

I’ve got to do some thinking on this. I’ll get back to you. Right now  I’m going to go change the calendar to NOVEMBER.  Oops ... that's not so bright. Time is slipping way too quickly as it is. 

Remembered

I went down to the corner tonight, something that I have done on the last Monday of August, for many, many years.  It's the day after Decoration Day at the Avonbank Cemetary. It is a beautiful and touching place to visit on a soft and gentle summer evening.

I am always moved by the display of love, caring and remembrance. Last year, there was a single gladiolia beside this broken stone that has been carefully placed by the foundation of the church. This year there was an entire bouquet laying on a bed of evergreen. I am so curious as to who it is that makes such a thoughtful gesture, but in a way, I like to hang on to it as a mystery.

I set to wondering who it is who it is that takes the time and trouble to lay flowers at the gravesites where the headstones have become illegible, or are over a hundred and fifty years old. Is it relatives or is it some kind soul who is performing random acts of kindness and colour.

I did, by chance, find out tonight who left the sweet little bouquets wrapped carefully with little foil flower pots. It was a darling teenage neigbhour girl who is carrying on a tradition that her late Grandma did.  What a wonderful way to honour her grandmother as well as the people where she laid the flowers.

I am also very curious about who it is that lays the flowers on the grave of the family that used to live in this house. Some day I'm going to have to go down there and sit and wait, just in case they are family and can tell me some stories about them.

I love that someone takes time to honour others in such a simple and beautiful way even when they would not possibily have known them.

It is indeed a lovely place to go and reflect on the kindness of the human spirit.