the 100 day project: like basting a turkey, and other creative thoughts

A few of you might have heard about the 100 day project. For those who haven't, the rules are simple: pick a way to be creative every day for 100 consecutive days, then document it on social media for accountability/community. Remembering how fun and useful and focusing other streaks I've done have been (my blog every day in May streak, and then my #rwrunstreak, documented on Instagram), I knew I wanted to join in. A day or two later I used Instagram to post part of a poem that had become meaningful to me and used a photo I thought had the feel of the poem and that's where I found my 100 day task: caption an original photo (by me) with a poem I choose (not by me).

(Yes, this blog post is in part a plug for my Instagram feed. Follow me! My nieces and nephews keep asking how many likes they get when I post their photos, and they are clearly un-impressed by my following. I promise photos of cute kids, scenic runs and, now, poetry.)

But more than a scheme to get more followers, this project is about fostering creativity. The image of basting just came to mind when I thought of the term "creative juices." I'm not a huge meat eater, so the image isn't the most appealing to me, but it's a true one. This creative streak is about keeping things juicy with the hopes of serving up something good real soon.

It's been two weeks since the 100 day project started. Time to reflect:

• Choosing a poem a day requires me to read lots of poetry. And poems require slow, sometimes repeated, reading. Some days I'm not so discerning, and may just skim a few before I find one I want to post. Other days, I've sat with a poetry book and read deeply and slowly.
• Being quick and dirty about creative work is useful. It helps me to let go of perfection, and sometimes even understand a hunch or gut response that led me to match a photo with a poem, or take a photo from a certain angle, etc. (Or sometimes it's the opposite, like, there is nothing of value in that - which is ok!)
• Choosing two mediums that are not my own craft (not a photographer, not a poet - though I love both images and words) helps me to disconnect myself from the product. Both also refine the way I see, hear and think, which has been fun.
• I like that I'm promoting the reading of poetry. Posting poetry on Instagram makes me feel slightly subversive because it's all about scrolling, quick looks, a tap for a like. I don't know if everyone who likes the poetry-captioned photos are reading the poems (or just liking the photo itself) but if I can help one person to discover something or slow down while reading a poem they wouldn't have normally read, that's a win.
• Reading more poetry has helped me get more words in me. I think of it as eating, swallowing. I have more heft as a writer. My mind sings more. I have been thinking in story and image. This is a very good thing for me.

I may have more to say as the project goes on. But for now - see all of my poetry-captioned photos here! And if you have a favorite poem, I'll consider requests.

places you will not go

After a Back on My Feet run from Skid Row to the Water and Power Building, where we watched the sun rise over Los Angeles. A quick prose-poem of sorts.

Are there places you will not go? Maybe they are places you believe to be off limits to you. Where your type of person doesn't go. So far you wouldn't even know the way.

And so you don't even think about how much you really want to go, you don't bother to wonder whether the sunrise looks different from there or if the breeze is a little cooler, the stars a little brighter. You have never felt the urge to climb the steps that lead there because you question if your legs could carry you the whole way. You don't want to brave feeling alone or out of place, you are afraid of needing to run out, and fast.

But what is the alternative, the overcrowded streets you live along now, where your home is as small and flimsy as a cardboard box?

a night of wedding dancing is the best night of the year

Those who know me should be able to spout off a few basic facts pretty easily: I love coffee, I am an introvert, I talk about Pennsylvania with romantic nostalgia. I also love weddings, especially the dancing. Lucky for me, my friends keep getting married. So not only do I get a few good nights of dancing in each year, but I've also learned a lot about how to navigate the dance floor.

Here are the characters you'll find and how to dance with them:

The two girls who wish they were in the club: These two women are friends and have stuck together the whole evening. Their dresses are a just a little too short and too tight, and they are wearing heels that are just a little too high to be classy. Even though there are available men at the wedding, they have chosen to dance just the two of them. They help each other perfect their club-dancing moves. Song: Fancy by Iggy Azalea. Leave them be, they are enjoying their small world that is revolving around them.

The white man: He is in his element when a classic rock song comes one. At this point shirts are untucked, sleeves are rolled up (if they weren't already), fists are pumped, air guitars are played. Even though I am white, I still don't get it. Song: Don't Stop Believing by Journey or Sweet Child of Mine by Guns and Roses. Sing the lyrics if you know them and try to enjoy it. That's all they really want, is for people to love this music as much as they do.

The young skinny guy who is dancing alone: His moves consist of the robot and making some swirly motions around his head with his hands. His demeanor is self-serious. Nobody else knows who he came with or how he knows the bride and groom. He semi-secretly wants to be the center of any dance circle that forms. Song: Midnight City by M83. This is actually a tricky one. You will either want to steer clear if he is on some kind of substance (or you think he should be), or he may actually be really fun to dance with.

The kids: Everyone is secretly jealous of them because they don't need moves, they just run around and have the time of their lives. Parent's pick them up and spin them around. They are up past their bedtime and loving it. Song: They can dance to anything. DANCE WITH THEM.

The single woman in her thirties: She is well-dressed and well-put-together but has a limited number of moves, which includes raising her hands when someone is in the dance circle and bopping back and forth with her palms facing out at her bust line.* Song: Anything by Beyonce. Especially pre-2005. Don't feel sorry for this woman and her dated dance moves, this is one of her best nights of the year.

*If you didn't catch on, this is me.
**Photo via a fellow instagrammer who attended a recent wedding with me. Please don't sue me.

quick reflections on a trip to North Carolina

I just got back from a long weekend in North Carolina with my middle sister and her family. Andi is just 18 months older than me. We spent a lot of our childhood together, and people got us confused all the time because we look and sound a lot alike. Now, we are separated by 3,000 miles and the directions our vocations/roles have taken us (she's been a mother for nearly 8 years, a wife for 13, while I'm pretty accustomed to single, working-in-an-office life). But thankfully it takes a lot to truly separate sisters, at least in our case. Being with her is always like being closer to home, wherever we meet up.

She and her family moved to Durham almost two years ago, and this was my first time visiting them, save the drive down when they moved. North Carolina was beautiful and green and familiar in its rolling hills and summer cicada sounds. I love how wild nature is on much of the east coast -- here, green is often summoned then manicured, like a lot of other things. I took this photo on Sunday morning while I drank coffee on the back deck and waited for others to wake up. There was a slight drizzle in the air, and the sun slept in like everyone else. These trees, the friendly birds, bull frogs, the slower pace all convinced me that it's taking care of my family. I can trust them there.

For me, it was good to get away from Los Angeles and the many things that shape my life, at least for a short time. It's good to take note of what was not missed:

• high heels
• driving in traffic
• a regular schedule and planning ahead
• sitting in front of a computer
• responding to email
• doing dishes (sorry for being lazy about that, Andi!)
• netflix
• my running routes
• making so many of my decisions myself
• hearing lots of different languages (I heard some, but I have to say that I felt relief at less diversity - it happens)
• sorting through mail

It was such a gift to visit family and to see how they are growing where they've been transplanted. There is something hopeful about new beginnings and seeing where they have led.

feasting with kids during children's church

"Thank you God for giving us houses to live in so that we can have lots of toys to play with and lots of food to eat. Amen." - Joshua, age 4

They feast on the abundance of your house, and you give them drink from the river of your delights. - Psalm 36:8 

Amen.

recoup the joy

“I don’t actually look for inspiration. I look for ways to recoup the joy of writing when that joy is lost to me. Whenever I find myself stuck or just without any ideas, it’s because I seem to have forgotten how incredibly fun it is to mess around with words. So to remind myself, I read. But not just anything. I have to read fiction that is exuberant—not in content but style. Writers who howl on the page so loudly, you can hear them for miles. Barry Hannah and Nabokov, Flannery O’Connor and Angela Carter. Jose Saramago and Denis Johnson. Cormac McCarthy. Faulkner. Joy Williams. Annie Proulx and Nicholson Baker. Writers whose work feels alive and fresh and a little nuts, so that before long, I'll start to feel more alive, too. Alive to possibility, which is generally when I start typing.”

Fiona Maazel, on Writers Recommend

When I heard my housemates were planning a trip to San Francisco without their young daughter, I said, "Can I come?" I was sure they would pick up on the playfulness in my voice.

"Sure. Yeah, you should come." And that was that.

I figured it was meant to be. I had been thinking about San Francisco and the magic it's brought me the past two winters. Now I'm convinced that when it calls, I should go. It knew, I think, that I would need some clarity, that ability to see for miles and understand the geography around me, how things fit together. The city can be overcast, misty and foggy, but this past weekend I understood the phrase crystal clear. Things were sparkling. The water in the bay when I ran along the Embarcadero on Saturday morning. The sun bouncing off rooftops and windows as we stood on Twin Peaks, seeing the whole city spread out before us. The stars in the open night sky as we drove through central California on our way there.

San Francisco also knew I needed a destination and a clear way to it. I was a bit stressed when I woke up on Friday morning to hear that the I5 was closed through the grapevine because of snow and ice. This kind of thing is not supposed to happen in California, at least not the California that I know. And the only detours would take us hours out of the way on unfamiliar routes to get around the mountains. I'd had enough of detours in life recently. But the ice melted and the freeway opened up. We drove through the dusty mountains as the sun dropped behind them. And when we were through, just like that, they dropped off into flat land for miles, the mountains only hugging us from a distance to our side, reassuring us we were headed north. We drove and drove, nothing before us but flat land, and I was grateful for an easy way forward, for arriving on time, for the dependability of the road, the map, the timing. I was grateful for an expanse that helped me think beyond the little life I try to tuck myself into so often.

On the drive back, I felt ready to go home. Trips are always bittersweet because, while they're a fun escape, there's always the returning that's so hard. But somehow San Francisco knew what I needed to return me back home with excitement for what lies ahead on this journey.

shake it

Two-thousand-thirteen has clobbered me like an over-eager laborador. I thought I was ready, but now I find myself on the floor, wiping up drool from sloppy dog kisses. It meant well, I believe that, but I might have gotten a bit bruised.

But what I do know is that dear old dog wants to play, so let's do it. After letting some more leaves go, like the rose bushes in my yard, I decided I needed something light, so I started composing this blog post in my head. It started out as a Top Ten Dance Scenes, but I couldn't narrow it down to three, and I didn't trust that you all cared enough to watch this six minute segment that I would have included in that one. Then it was going to be an ode to one of my favorite actors. But he hasn't been my real favorite for a while, and instead I refer you to this movie to watch when you have some time. (The last scene is so good. And did you know that Emma Thompson adapted the screenplay? So talented.) Eventually I was led down a rabbit hole to Jimmy Fallon videos and I could have been down there for days. I still don't know how I made it out of that one.

Really, all of this was just an excuse to show you the video below. But then I realized I need no excuse. White men dancing enthusiastically and slightly off-rhythm has the power to brighten anyone's day and pick you up after a little tumble.

May 2013 bring you the happiness that makes you want to shake it.

holding hands in the backseat

On Sunday night, I rode home from dinner in the backseat. Abby, the 20-month-old of the couple I live with, sat next to me, her carseat facing the back window. I remember when she was just a baby, she would scream during these car rides, and any attempts on my part to soothe her or distract her with play only made her cry louder. So I let her have her space. She probably didn’t need my crazy baby faces so close to hers, or my hands trying to find a sweet spot on her tiny body.

Now she’s a chatty toddler, eagerly pointing out everything new with the two syllables “na –na.” Everything is two syllables. Cracker is “ga-ga.” My name is “Bat-ta.” She says words all the time — to sing to herself, to express what she wants, to make sure she keeps the attention of everyone around her. She says the same words over and over, like she doesn’t care if she sounds like a broken record to everyone around her. During the drive, we saw Christmas lights and she said, “pree ites” (pretty lights) again and again. Then she wanted to dance, and started moving her arms and twisting her tiny body inside of her car seat. In the front seat, her mom put on Christmas music, and I took her hand. We danced with each other for a few measures, and then I let her hand go and looked out the window again at the houses and lights, lost in my own thoughts. “Bat-ta, Bat-ta!” She said my name until I looked at her again, then “more!” She held her hand out, and I took it again. It was tiny and warm, and her palm fit into mine like a head resting on a pillow. Abby put her other thumb in her mouth and looked out the window calmly as we sat holding hands.

These days, children are teaching me so much about relationships. Having lived more than thirty years, I know now that loneliness isn’t easy to escape, and sometimes I figure it’s what we’re all eventually destined for. But children are just learning to connect, and they are so much more fearless about it than I am. There’s no second-guessing whether I want to hold their hand, carry them around the house, feel their wriggling in my lap. A few months ago, some friends came to dinner, and when they were getting ready to leave, they prompted their four-year-old son to say goodbye and thank you. He approached me and gave me a hug, and then he didn’t let go. I felt a bit awkward — not because I don’t love this kid or his hugs, but because it was so unexpected, and so out of the ordinary for me.  I know these kids are really reaching out for their own needs to be met, to feel loved and comforted and connected, but I have to wonder if they know how much love they are giving to adults, how many hearts their tiny bodies are healing, how they are showing us to connect again.

be open to where the story is going to take you

I have a thing for articulate, intellectual nerds. Find me a man who won't shut up about really interesting ideas, and I'm smitten. Usually these guys have a quirky sense of humor, too, which only seals the deal.

Which is why I basically want to marry Junot Diaz (except that he has a bit of a potty mouth, which I have to admit is a turn off for me). Currently I'm stalking him in lieu of dropping $20 on his new book, which I hope to get from the library once all the commotion over his genius dies down.

Here's a snippet from a talk he gave to journalism fellows at Harvard, emphasis mine. I like his connection between play, control, and what is human.

Most (failed writing) that I see, the reason the shit doesn’t work is because there is no play in it. There is nothing in it that we would call the human. There’s no play. There’s too much control. You’ve eliminated the story because instead of listening to what the story is, you put your own wishes and your own dreams on it... There is the story and you’ve kind of got to be open to where the story is going to take you.

Find more insights and cursing here.

let's lighten up

After reading my last post, one of you guys asked if I'm doing ok, and I thought, "uh oh, I've done it again." I know I tend towards melancholy, especially in my writing. Yes, life is hard, but life is also pretty sweet at times and I of all people need to remember to celebrate this.

So, in an attempt to lighten things up around here, I thought we could look at some cute cuddly animals. Let's do it.

Now, if you know me well, you know I don't do animals. Well, a little known secret is that I have a hidden affection for hamsters. I found this awesome costume for the critters, and if I had a hamster, the poor little guy would wear one.

Also, this is probably my favorite commercial ever. Like, ever.

I mean, seriously, who can resist?



Just writing this post gave me a good laugh. Thank you for indulging my incredibly off-center sense of humor. I'll try to keep it at bay from now on...

Photo credit via here.

now i can call it summer

My feet have felt hot sand and lapping water. My skin has been red and hot from just a little too much time in the sun. My hair has been blown to bits (that's what my mom would always say) from a car ride with the windows open.

Now I can call it summer.

summer 2012 reading list

As promised: Summer 2012 Reading List

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Knowing this is a literary must-read and a favorite of many, I bought this book (and even started it!) a few years ago. But it was just so… big. I got intimidated and shelved it. Determined, I put it on my to-do list for 2012. By starting it in June, I’m giving myself nearly six months to finish it. But hopefully I’ll wrap it up before the end of summer. Wish me luck.

Journaling as a Spiritual Practice by Helen Cepero

I plan to make my way through this one slowly, meditatively, intentionally. It includes exercises that I want to be sure to try. I’m hoping it will expand and ground my personal journaling to enhance my writing and connect to God in new ways.

Life on Mars by Tracy K. Smith

If you watch this reading by this Pulitzer-Prize winning poet, I think that is all the explanation you really need. Her poems contain some images that are really precise and imaginative. I would love to write like that. Summer is a time for dreaming, right?

The Color of Water by James McBride

I read this one after college and remember loving it. Time for a re-read, and to study how the author approached the form of memoir.

The Summer Before the Dark by Doris Lessing

Last year I read another of Lessing’s books (snagged at a used book sale for 25 cents!) and fell in love with her spare yet weighty style of writing and her dark stories. I’m going back for more. On a sidenote, I bought this book on impulse from a used bookstore (only slightly inferior to used book sales), and I’ve looked forward to reading it since the day I bought it.

The Atlantic Fiction Issue

I’m looking forward to buying this to get my fill of some contemporary short stories. Last year I bought it on my way to the beach and devoured it.(The link above takes you to the online version of the 2011 issue. Read these stories! I remember especially loving Scars and How to Win an Unwinnable War. And The Great Zero was disturbing, in a good way.)

I wish I could add more to the list, but I’m trying to be realistic, so there it is. Tell me what you plan to read! By yourself, to your kids, with your bookclub, even for class - I want to know!

PS I'm taking an online poetry class this summer, also on my 2012 list of must-do's. Eek, I'm so excited!

summer reading lists

Starting in first grade and for the next five year, at the end of the school year I would bring in a paper grocery bag to school. I think I decorated them, too, but I can't quite remember. What I do remember is the thrill of filling them. Standing with my classmates in a single file line, together we wormed through the halls, trying to whisper and contains bursts of laughter on our way to the library. There, we set loose to choose ten books to take with us for the summer. One of my most vivid memories from elementary school, and one that makes me the happier than most others, is loading books into my bag as a first-grader - new reader, proud of my skill and finally able to read chapter books ALL BY MYSELF. My favorites in those early days were the Betsy books by Carolyn Haywood. Because what 6-year-old girls doesn't love to share her name with an adventurous young book character?

Those bags held my early summer reading lists. In high school I read what was assigned (and sadly, I remember few of those books!), and in college I read books and articles on faith and justice as part of summer missions. Worthy reading, but not much fun. Now I have a constant reading list, but who doesn't love the idea of picking out books for pure enjoyment, reading that will likely be done lying on a beach towel with salty-wet hair blowing while waves call you back to play, or at the very least sitting in the backyard with a small glass of wine while the sun puts itself to sleep?

I'll be putting together a summer reading list over the next few days, and I'll share it soon. In the meantime, I'm curious: What all-time favorites would you put on an ultimate summer reading list? And what will you be reading this summer?

taking lessons

I wrote before about dabbling in CrossFit. This movement is hardcore — there are timed runs and sandbags and warm-ups that feel like workouts. I’m not gonna lie, there has been some swearing, some near-tears and maybe even a little pee. When I first went to the workouts, I put on a tough face, in part to mentally prepare, and also to convince others that I was Serious.

And then I started laughing.

A few weeks in, one of the workouts included the wheelbarrow and crabwalk. I hadn't done these since the relay races of elementary school. Trust me, it’s much harder as an adult! Later there were wall walks and forward rolls over someone holding a plank position. I literally thought I might break my neck. And though I had quite a bit of hesitation, I found that punctuating such high-intensity workouts with these movements helped me to lighten up. Eventually I learned to ease my tightly-held need for a certain kind of workout and a time that put me at the top of the pack and decided to just have fun.

This past year, for a time without knowing it and now more intentionally, I have been taking lessons in Not Taking Myself Too Seriously. Incorporating both humility and goofiness, these lessons include:

• Wearing brightly-colored knee-high socks when I run
• Playing a game and being ok with losing (over and over to the same people, at times)
• Engaging in pointless banter, especially with authority figures
• Not needing an excuse for every stupid thing I do
• Taking lessons from cheesy pop music videos (watch until the end!)
• Saying the crazy things that pop into my head — even if they’re slightly inappropriate and I need to be corrected
• Engaging in conversations with children. They are masters!

Any others you can suggest? This game is fun! And life is a lot more fun — and easy — without always having to be so darn Serious.

on courage, wishing and flirting

You must do the things you think you cannot do.

You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give.

It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.

You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'

What one has to do usually can be done.

-all Eleanor Roosevelt, via this post

I am going to be a bit more vulnerable with you than I’m in the habit of being. I feel ok doing this because I think I know my audience, and if I had all the time (and money for plane tickets) in the world, I’d probably sit down for coffee with each of you and spill about this anyway. So here goes.

Do you know what came to mind when I read each one of these quotes? I had some quick flashes about my dreams for my writing or challenges I’m facing in my professional development and habits, and about running a marathon. But the biggest challenge in front of me right now is this (don’t laugh): flirting. Ok, you can laugh now, because I did just now when I went back to read the quotes. Especially the one with the word “horror.”

Flirting comes easily to some people, but I am not one of those people. If we were together having that coffee, I could tell you some of the reasons for this, but writing them here is a little too self-indulgent, I think.

Instead, I will tell you about how I’ve been thinking about my openness to new things and new people, and how I want to be sure that as I age I stay flexible. Play will be important, I think, and yet doesn’t come naturally to my use-all-time-efficiently attitude toward life. Flirting is a kind of play that I’d like to learn.

Oh yeah, and there’s also this huge looming question of marriage, one that’s at times as heavy and tiresome as the June gloom we’re experiencing here in L.A. It makes me want to get back in bed and close the blinds until the sun starts to peak through and I can run outside and soak it all in — because I don’t know what the answer to the question is, and however hard I try I just cannot figure it out myself. Some trusted friends have suggested that flirting, while not the answer, could help my outlook. It could help me to bear with the gloom. The beach can still be fun even if the sun isn’t shining.*

The quote that stuck out the most is the one about energy to wish and plan. I’m such a planner (see the part about using time efficiently). Wishing, like flirting, seems frivolous; I’d rather pursue the possible, the concrete, the lasting. Are you making the connection with me? When it comes to my desire to be married, I just want to find the person and get it done. But it’s very possible that planning isn’t all there is to it, that I need some of that energy to wish and flirt and play and grow into it in some very intangible way.

Thank you for reading this very rough, journal like entry, and for having this virtual coffee date with me. And since we’re pretending to be curled up in oversized chairs (those are my favorite kinds of coffee shops) with steaming cups of coconut mochas or dirty chai lattes (I have a story about that to come), tell me what you think. What helps you to flirt and play? What do you think of when you read E.R.’s quotes about courage? What do you need courage for?

*Being single and desiring marriage isn’t all gloom. I enjoy my freedom, my friendships, and my work. But it’s still a very real question, an unfulfilled desire that has real weight in my life.