Monthly Archives: November 2015

Celebrating the day . . . on a different day

I’m trying to distract myself from the fact that I think I’m coming down with a cold. And also from the memory of what I was doing one year ago today (rest in peace, Mitty).

I’m feeling thankful for so many things, but today I’m especially thankful that I’m not the one in charge of making a huge Thanksgiving Day feast. After a couple decades of doing that, it’s been a relief these past few years to have an extended break from it. And it’s highly entertaining to “watch” as my daughter in Boston does it instead.

Here’s a series of text messages she sent me last night:



I’m exhausted just reading it. She told me today that she’s planning to not only make turkey soup with leftovers, but also turkey and Andouille sausage gumbo, which is what her in-laws in New Orleans do with their leftovers. “They eat maybe two turkey sandwiches and then use the rest to make gumbo.”

All of this is truly hilarious given that this is the child who would eat only six things when she was young, while her brother ate everything. Really, she was impossible.

Her husband the MD and a couple of his also-MD friends are working a series of night shifts at the moment, so they all are having their feast bright and early on Friday morning (hence the inclusion of breakfast food on her menu). My son and his wife are spending today with her family and we’ll have our “Thanksgiving” dinner Friday as well, though not in the morning. We’ve all adjusted our concept of holiday to fit the circumstances. You figure out pretty quickly that celebrations are more about the spirit of the thing and happiness is not constrained by a date on the calendar.

But I won’t be making turkey, thankyouverymuch. I’m planning slow-cooked BBQ pork tenderloin and scalloped potatoes and asparagus and . . . whatever else comes to mind. Maybe that marinated tomato/cucumber thing I haven’t made for a while. Maybe even some Brussels sprouts (my daughter sent me a great recipe) (who knew they could be delicious?).

I think I have some ice cream, if anyone has room for dessert. Highly unlikely, in my experience. But I suppose it’s not really Thanksgiving without some kind of pie, so here, enjoy the apple pie my daughter made. Doesn’t it smell good?



I hope you all are finding things for which to give thanks, whether you celebrate this particular holiday or not. If you’re reading this, please know that I’m thankful for your presence in my life. On all the days.



Filed under holidays

Stepping back to move forward

I’ve heard people say that when you have a big job to do, it helps to break it down into smaller parts or steps. This makes it feel less overwhelming and also gives you a more immediate sense of accomplishment as you complete each step. It’s good advice. I’ve utilized this reasoning myself, more than once.

But sometimes it backfires. Or maybe that’s just me. Probably just me.

I read a post the other day over on Bob Mayer’s blog that talked about wanting things. As I was reading along I thought, Yeah, I want to finish this damn book already. And then I read this part and it made me stop and really think:

“Studies have shown that wanting something produces one set of chemical reactions in the brain, while actually getting it, produces a different one. In fact, once you get it, you can’t want it any more. That takes a second for me to wrap my brain around. That means you actually feel differently between the wanting and the having. It’s chemical. I think we often forget that chemistry is science and it does rule, affecting how we literally feel and think.”

Took me more than a second. This was daunting when I applied it to myself. Once I get what I want — to finish writing this book — then what? I’ll have a finished book and no more desire? My motivation will just . . . disappear? There was a brief moment of something that felt like panic until I realized, no, silly, of course not. Because what I want is more than just that one thing.

Pretty sure this wasn’t the intention of the post, but credit where it’s due. It made me realize I was so focused on one part, one small frustrating step, I’d lost track of the big picture. Since I couldn’t see past the current roadblock, everything seemed impossible. It was as if I’d gotten stuck on Hayakawa’s Ladder of Abstraction, clinging myopically to a lower rung, right alongside good ol’ Bessie the cow.


I still think that ladder is missing a step and should’ve included something smaller than a cow. Like maybe a meatball or veal chop or something.


A comparison that seems more apt for my situation is that of creating a mosaic. I’ve been so focused recently on one little tile, trying to make sure all the edges were beveled and the surface was polished, positioning it just so, worrying that the colour perhaps wasn’t quite the same exact hue as the others. No longer seeing it as just a small piece of the whole.

More important, I’d forgotten that not only are imperfections inevitable, they are what give character to a piece of art and make the whole more interesting.

And I had to ask myself– am I really going to let this one small piece stop me from achieving the whole? Seriously? This tiny little piece that isn’t even the hard part of what I want?

Hell no, I’m not.

So I took a step back. A big step back. Yes, I want to finish this damn book. After that I want to finish the third book in this series. And then I want to write more books, more series, under this pen name and another. Books I’ve already started and some I haven’t, books in different genres, with possibly different audiences. My head is full of stories, waiting to escape.

The whole of what I want is a career as a writer.

It’s the kind of “wanting” that will never quite be realized, as defined in the quote above. That motivating chemical reaction will always be there, never fully satisfied, because a writing career lasts as long as the writer is willing and able to write. And can avoid getting bogged down in minutiae.

Slowly, reluctantly, I’ve come to realize that in order to accomplish the whole, I need to accept that some of the individual pieces will be imperfect. I don’t like that feeling. It’s so . . . vulnerable. But it’s true. There will be flawed tiles, whether those are not-quite-right words, awkward sentences, clumsy scenes, or books that don’t quite fit a series. At first, up close, some of those pieces might look a little weird or scrawny or pitiful.


But eventually they’ll all fit, in their own way, and be pieces of the whole. Some people won’t notice the flaws. Other people won’t be able to see anything but, and will be dismayed (sometimes — okay, a lot of the time — that will be me). With any luck, there will also be a few people who not only see the flaws but decide those are what make the whole interesting and unique and give it character.


So I’ve expanded my focus, renewed my perspective and determination– for what seems like the millionth time. But I guess that’s my struggle, balancing self-doubt and confidence. Probably always will be. Oh, and that pesky little tile, er, scene that was giving me so much trouble? I deleted it. And wrote something else, something better. Sometimes I forget I can do that, can magically make things NOT happen. Another symptom of getting too close.

I’m back at work, quietly making my own mistakes, polishing my flaws as best I can and then letting go, setting pieces in place, moving on to the next. Envisioning a larger composite only I can see, that only I can create. Wanting what I want.


Filed under deep thoughts, writing