Gently:

When I was in the 10th grade I took a couple of college preparatory courses to become familiar with the ways of college and earn a few credits. One of the courses I took was Interpersonal Communications, a course in which one became familiar with herself, as well as learning to verbally communicate effectively with others, which was very popular in 1979.

One night the professor had an assignment in which we were to sit and talk with another class member for 15 minutes, get to know them, and then report to the class something about who that person was. The professor paired with a student and took her turn with the rest of us in giving a report. What she said that night changed my life in a way that still affects me today.

The professor said that the student had the most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen, and from that moment there were two things that became important to me. One was somehow getting a glimpse of what the “most beautiful handwriting” looked like, and the other was to make my goal in life achieving the lofty status of having the most beautiful handwriting ever!

I would spend the next year or two consciously working on handwriting styles, altering particular letters when I saw someone else write something in a way I found attractive, and changing from curls and loops to straight lines and back again, as the emotion or style of the times might dictate. I forced myself to go back, erase and rewrite a letter if I subconsciously slipped and put a loop where I intended to make a straight line. I learned how difficult it was to learn to write all over again, even if it was just remodeling my current methods. Going back through my books and letters I can see the difference in styles as they progressed and changed. Eventually I came to find a style of writing I felt comfortable enough with to call my own (some eclectic mix of loops and lines), but I never came close to achieving the most beautiful writing ever.

In addition to being a conscientious student of writing, I am the daughter of a woman whose is noted for its complexity of style and aesthetic beauty. My mother has naturally flowing and graceful writing. I can remember helping her address Christmas cards as a child and watching in awe as she created tiny masterpieces of writing in gold and silver ink. On occasion I tried to learn her technique, but for the most part I was aware that her talents were far out of my league. Even my goal of having the most attractive handwriting in class, I realized, would never take me to her level. She was a natural. If I could just obtain a style of writing that was both legible and attractive I would be pleased, but I still harbored a secret desire to be one day recognized for my penmanship.

Although I never learned to write like my mother and never obtained the status of most beautiful calligrapher in college, I learned a valuable lesson that night in my Interpersonal Communications class. I learned that writing is an art form in appearance, as well as content, and I learned that the physical process of writing is critically important, as it gives unique meaning and heightened sense of value to the words that are written. As a writer I understand the significance of words, but somehow any piece of work seems more noteworthy when displayed through the art of beautiful penmanship. The Declaration of Independence, for example, always feels more impressive when displayed as a reprint of the original document, as opposed to a typed version in a textbook.

When I was learning to write nearly 40 years ago, there were no computers around to deny me the opportunity to develop a beautiful style of writing. Although I am the first person to defend the increased opportunity provided by modern technology, even for writers, I worry today that my children will never learn the importance of good penmanship. It was, after all, the attractiveness of their father’s writing that appealed to me when he left that "secret admirer" note on my door 18 years ago. Now that they are writing, I plan to instill in them the value of occasionally taking a break from their computer keyboard to write a letter to Grandma with a pen and paper.

Cross-posted to http://www.indigoinkwell.blogspot.com/


We just returned from three days at Pamela’s lake house in Georgia. Pamela is my husband’s cousin, fondly referred to by my children as “Aunt Pammie.” We take a trip to Aunt Pammie’s every year, so we can catch up and she can see the kids. She recently became engaged to a man who owns a house on the lake, and she still has her home nearby, so whenever we visit she gives us the run of her place. It feels very much like our own private condo.

Aunt Pammie’s house is in one of the quietest neighborhoods imaginable. You’d be hard-pressed to find more than one soul to chat with, should you feel the need. Aunt Pammie also has the finest of fine things. Years of extremely hard work have put her in a position to afford the things she desires, and it is obvious that comfort is one of them. Aunt Pammie’s sheets have a thread count higher than I can count! Even her toilet paper has a richness uncommon to the masses. So here is how a typical day at Aunt Pammie’s goes:

My husband and I drag ourselves from her triple-cushion bed only when “just a little bit longer” becomes no longer acceptable to the kids. Then we put on the thirsty, white bathrobes she hangs on the back of the bathroom door for us, pick up a cup of gourmet coffee, and head out to Pammie’s spacious, Southern front-porch. After a leisurely discussion about how quiet the neighborhood is (among other things), we slowly drag ourselves in to shower and dress for a day on the lake. Then we drive a couple of miles over to the lake house and spend the day enjoying water sports. We alternately swim, bask in the sun, read, swim, lunch, boat, swim, jet-ski, socialize, dine, and socialize until late into the evening (or the kids fall asleep—whichever comes first), at which time we make our way back to her house and fall into the triple-cushion bed with zillion-count sheets with smiles on our faces. And with little variation, this is how the entire weekend goes.

So this weekend, as I was lounging near the lake, I began thinking about what this does to the writer’s perspective. Because every time I return from Aunt Pammie’s house, I feel extremely motivated and filled with ideas. The first thing you might be thinking is the same thing I thought—that it is a simple matter of rest and relaxation: A well-rested mind has creative energy. But upon careful examination, I think it’s more a matter of distance than rest. It is a shift of perspective that comes from being geographically far from your “real world.”

Time goes at a break-neck pace in our world. And even though Pammie goes about that same speed on any given day, her world is--quite simply--not ours. When we’re there, we’re on a mental vacation. The neighborhood seems quieter, the day seems calmer, the house seems cleaner, and the laundry is out of site. So are deadlines and commitments, by the way. And that shift of perspective, even for a few days, offers us the freedom to think and create and be artistic without any glaring reason why we should. That view is so lovely and peaceful--and welcome.

Liz Strauss, over at Successful Blog is asking for 25 words--words of wisdom on something you see too much or too little of.

Here are mine:

Making a difference,
we’ve all heard it said,
should be the goal of life.
Too often forgot, though:
Some differences are made without being known.

This is a picture of my favorite architect (he's the little one being held by his daddy on the left). I love this picture because it reminds me of the sweetness of a happy family. He is a happy person who spreads happiness, and he's my friend. So that is a good thing!

I have recently been introduced to one of the lovliest artists. She is a photographer and costume designer. I find her work stunning. Here is a sample:

In many ways this time of year is a time for reflection. It is the end of some things, and the beginning of others. It is the end of the school year. It is the end of the Spring (unofficially). It is the end of club semesters. It is the end of school board sessions. It is the beginning of summer and a whole new schedule of events--softball, summer babysitting routines, summer music schedules, vacations, etc. The recent Memorial Day holiday provided me with a rare opportunity to take some time to myself, sleep in a little bit, and reflect. I think that reflection is still happening into this short week of work.

I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately. I'm not talking about romances or even necessarily friendships, but just the relationships that we have with dozens of people each week: Colleagues and coworkers, comrades in clubs and committees, parents of our kids' friends. I'm talking about those people we "connect" with in some small or large way in order to accomplish tasks. In many ways I am reminded this week of how very complex these relationships really are. In general, I think human relationships are all quite complex. And as I write this, I wonder if perhaps the relationships we have that are the most important and meaningful aren't those that are the least complex--but that is just an aside meant for some other discussion at some other time.

I'm not 100 percent certain exactly where I'm going with this. I do know, though, that part of this discussion makes me feel bitter, and part of it makes me feel sweet. So that makes me think that the entire notion has something to do with gratitude and something to do with regret. I'm at a place right now where I can clearly see what has gone on this past year. I can see how hurtful some relationships have been (in the name of school uniform policy implementation or church music designation). On the other hand, that kind of atmosphere makes the sweet relationships seem so much sweeter. A number of relationships come to mind, some quite superficial and rare, which have been truly sweet at their core. I can look back on those now that the rat-race of daily routine has subsided for a moment and feel true gratitude. There are certain people who continually shine in the midst of darkness. Sometimes it is so difficult to see them when we're in the midst of the fog--but they never cease shining. There they are. I'm noticing those people right now.

More than anything else, though, this line of thinking makes me feel tired. Relationships are tiring. They are truly consuming--both in their bitterness and in their sweetness. Today I dealt with a colleague via email and phone who completely wore me down. I felt literally exhausted from dealing with our relationship today. And I have in my mind one of those shining lights. One of those people who has been a glowing beam of reason in the midst of tumultuous committee relationships. And thinking about the debt of gratitude that I owe him also makes me tired.

In a way, I suppose it is the looking back in general that makes one tired. For in that backward reflection it is so very apparent how much one has gone through. Relationships are difficult. In fact, they are exhausting at best. I think that is why it is so important to us, so significant for us when we find someone with whom we say we can feel "at ease." Sometimes we call it "comfortable." But what we really mean, I think, is at ease. It's one of the first things we say about certain relationships. I wonder if it isn't because after the exhaustion of so many relationships, day after day, when we suddenly become aware of the fact that we are in one in which we feel truly "at ease," it is so blatantly welcome we can scarcely believe it to be real.

I dreamed about my daddy last night. It is really emotional and difficult.

I don't dream about him too often, but when I do it is always that he has been away on a trip somewhere for a very long time and has finally come home. Sometimes he is home only temporarily and then he is leaving again. Sometimes there is an oddness surrounding the notion of why my mother didn't go with him or where she is. Sometimes there is a feeling that they are separated--which is so incredibly foreign to reality, because they were married for 40 years. Sometimes there is a feeling that she may be dead. Sometimes just that she is not there.

Last night he said he had been in Puerto Rico. Last night he was dying of some disease--had maybe days to live. I guess he had come home to die. But the most poignant thing about last night was when he walked up the front sidewalk and I saw him coming. I ran out to hug him. He had lost a lot of weight and was very slender (my daddy was a very large man). I commented on how slim he was, and he just smiled knowingly. Then I ran to get my children and told them he was there. They ran out to hug him. It meant so much to me that he got to see them. That was the most emotional part. One of my great sadnesses is that he isn't here to see his grandchildren and how they've grown. It was so important that he see them, in my dream. The rest was just my mom and me taking care of him as he slowly was dying. The dream ended before that happened.

I didn't wake up crying or anything, but I just felt this heavy sense of emotion shrouding my heart. I still do. On the one hand, I'm glad he didn't die a slow, painful death. On the other hand, having a chance to hug him once more and have my kids hug him once more in my dreams--that I can't seem to forget today.

So I've been talking for weeks with a friend about Masterpiece's presentation of The Complete Austen, and we were talking on Monday about A Room with a View. He asked me why I liked these stories so much about free-thinking women in repressive societies and if it was a reflection on what I thought to be a repressive modern society.

I think what he was ultimately asking is if my love for these stories is any indication of my perspective on modern society. The answer is yes, but not exactly as directly and literally as I think he was thinking. The answer is yes, but in a general sense.

The thing I really like is that in these stories you have this culture of opression/repression/suppresion, however you want to think about it. And then there is one girl who dares to speak out and be a free-thinker, and she feels alone. And she is scolded or mocked for it. Then she finds out that she is a part of a usually well-hidden, yet unquestionably admirable, lineage of women who have free thought and intelligence in common (by the way, I think those two are necessarily related). She doesn't even know these women exist until she happens to learn that someone she knows is actually a free thinker too. But that person has either had to repress the truth about herself to remain a part of polite society, or she is rich enough or old and venerable enough to not care one way or the other--in which case polite society shrugs it off as senility or fanaticism. So now she feels not quite so alone, though only barely less so. But h er character and fortitude require that she be true to herself.

Then she finds one man who lives in this culture. In fact, he is successful and respected in this culture. And he actually admires her unfashionable qualities. He finds her refreshing and sometimes exciting. And he usually champions her cause--he stands up for her when she remains true to herself. And that is the 19th century version of the white knight on the horse slaying the dragons that threaten to extinguish the princess' life, only in this case it is a cultural and societal death, an intellectual death, not a literal physical death that the knight prevents.

So the romance, the beauty, the poetry of the whole idea is this: Nothing ever changes. Chivalry is chivalry always. A hero is a hero always. Art, beauty and intelligence are always, in the end, superior to whatever ugly forces threaten to squelch them. A brave, kind, free-thinking, intelligent man championing a brave, kind, free-thinking, intelligent woman is always romantic. And it is always a story worth telling, whether it is medieval, Victorian, Edwardian, or Modern. It is the story I tell to my own daughter each day, whether we're specifically talking about being a woman, or merely practicing it by the things we do, the games we play, the way we interact. Being true to yourself. Being beautiful, inside and out. Being brave. Being lovely. Falling in love. Changing someone's world. All of this is what I have always wanted to be the story of my life--and now the story of hers. And that is why I love these stories. The reason classic tales are classic is because they always work. They always speak to the "current."

So to answer the question, yes, these things are what is of utmost importance to me. Not because of change, though. In fact, because of the opposite. The really important things are the things that never change. I don't believe we're any more or less free thinkers in today's society than we were in any other time. I don't think the dragons that we face today are any more or less treacherous. They simply have different faces. In the end, the story of humans is always that, human. The details change a little here and there. But the meat of the story is always the same. If you think of time in terms of grand scales, as opposed to little bits, things never really change. The pendulum swings this way and that, but it swings around the same truths today that it always has.

There is something purely magical and idyllic about spring. Even a winter girl like me is falling in love with life this time of year. It affects my mood, my outlook, my physical appearance, my appetite, my wardrobe. This place is so gorgeous right now. We've had the perfect amount of wonderful rain for weeks now. About two days a week is good. It's just what we need this time of year. And I feel myself bubbling over with hope for a true spring this time around.

Last year all of us felt our spirits crushed with the Easter freeze and subsequent drought. It was like every time we looked at the bushes and saw their brown burned leaves we were reminded of the fact that spring was snatched from our grasp before we even had a chance to open our hands completely. Then to top it all off, the drought and heat were absolutely oppressive last summer. This year, though, things are different. Things are going to be different. Things must be different. Well, they're different up to this point, anyway. Who even dares to say what the weather will do, in the end.

For now, I relish the lovely bunches of tulips blooming in my yard. Each morning I delight in the juxtaposition of the Red Buds and the green trees along the parkway. I turn my head to enjoy just a moment longer the Cherry Blossoms and Bradford Pears. I linger a moment longer when I'm outside coming in, and I find reasons, when inside, to go out. My dreams are sweeter, and my heart is lighter. Cleaning is even fun this time of year.

Baseball, light sweaters, and fireflies. What could be better?

Something beautiful or unusual.

An Opera Star

I'm not sure why I decided to post today after 4 months. I just felt like it. Anyway, it's all about Summer today. I have been lying out by the pool this afternoon looking at the incredibly blue sky and a few powderpuff clouds, and feeling the contrasting hot sun and cool pool. It has been wonderful. I call it my "spa moment." There is just the tiniest hint of a breeze, and the pool is the most beautiful marbled blue color. I feel wonderful today.

After a totally awesome day, I'm thoroughly exhaused. I just wanted to say, though, that breaks rule! I totally had a great week this week. I didn't get to sleep in late, because I still like to cuddle with my babies in the moring. I did play games, though. And generally lounge, and spend a lot of time chatting with my friend lillokiangel online. I made myself breakfast every morning, did a small amount of work around the house (I should have done much more), and I squeezed in lunch with my friend Dannie and coffee with my friend nightfly one evening. (Jack, talking with you Wednesday evening was a ton of fun. Thanks for your willingness to play with me out on the town whenever we have the time to get together. You're a great friend, and I miss seeing you more regularly. It's nice to know you're there, though.) I even had lunch at Panera Friday. Yes, breaks rule.

My church celebrated its 100th anniversary today. It was an absolutely perfect day seeing old friends and celebrating our Faith and the founding of this area (3 schools, a hospital, and a church) by our church forefathers. But due to all the activities and programs, it was incredibly long. We left the house at 8 am and only arrived home an hour ago. Now Tom and Josh went to a meeting at a friend's house, and Holly is at a birthday sleepover, so I'm trying to stay awake long enough to enjoy the moment of quiet and peace.

Other issues: My mom is leaving tomorrow for a 10-day mission trip to Peru. I'm having a hard time with this one. My mom is a world traveler. She has been all over Asia and Europe. This one is bothering me, though. I'm sure it has something to do with her being all that is left for me, in the way of parents. I didn't want her to go on this trip. I could tell it was important to her, though. It is her first real mission trip, and I think she just wants to do it once. I know she'll never do it again-she even said so. But I told her if she wants to do it, she should. My daddy wouldn't let her go when he was alive. It is a lesson in faith for me to trust that she is doing what she needs to be doing, and thus the outcome will be as it needs to be. In honesty, I am still having a hard time with it, though.

I went on a very interesting interview for a summer job yesterday. It is basically teaching an AT prep course to rising juniors and seniors in critical reading and writing. It is a program funded by some grant through Meharry Medical College in Nashville. It will be 6 weeks long, 5 days a week, 2 hours a day. I'm a bit excited about it, because it is an opportunity to teach an age group different from what I'm used to. I should find out about it Monday or Tuesday. It runs through June and 1/2 of July.

The weather today was 73 and balmy. I did find the time to put my outdoor patio together Friday (put out my cusions on my chairs, put my plants back outside for the spring, etc.). Needless to say, Emily (my cat) is loving having cusions on every chair out there. She can't sleep for deciding which chair to sleep in.

I'm so happy, and I"m so tired. I have that feeling you have when you've been through an enormous celebration that you've been planning for months and has gone off without a hitch. It's that exhausted happiness, with a grin that just doesn't seem to want to go away. Sadly, though, I'm so tired I'm sure there are typos in this entry. I hope it is at least readable.

PS: I want to mention that I had my first real byline. I was asked 9 months ago to write the article detailing the history of our church in this area and its 100th anniversary celebration. In the past two months it has been published in Southern Tidings (the SDA Union magazine), and the Madison and Hendersonville City papers. I publish articles each month in our local newsletter, but this was a real byline. It has been cool this week to have friends and people I don't even know very well come up to me and say, "Hey, I read your article on the cover of such and such this week. It was awesome!" So I'm sort of revelling in the glory of having a real byline for the first time in my life. Though I must add, I've also discovered what it is like to be truly edited for the first time, as a bit of my original article was cut.

If you're interested, the article can be found on page 29 of the January issue of Southern Tidings at this link http://www.southernunion.com/tidingspdf/Jan06Tidings.pdf

I just wanted to write about my wonderful date on V-day. Tom and I had one of the best dates we've had for as long as I can remember. It was just totally spontaneous, adventuresome, and fun! We started out by eating dinner at The Fire of Brazil, which is extremely exotic, unusual, and made us feel like we were back in the caribbean on our honeymoon. We had a little table for two next to a large window, and it was snowing big flakes all through dinner. It was so nice. Then we had no plans, because we weren't interested in seeing a movie. We wanted to spend time doing something we could do together, not sitting quietly in a theater, so we decided to go to the comedy club.

I called Zanies from the table and found out the next show started at 9, and it was a little after 7 when we finished dinner, so we decided to go to The Curb Cafe, which is a coffee house on Belmont University campus. When we left the restaurant, we spent some time discussing a mutual fantasy of ours in the car on the way to the coffee house, getting each other aroused and giggling like school kids. At the Curb, we had coffees, listened to a couple of bands, and saw a couple of my students. It was just casual, warm, fun, and nice. The band that was playing when we arrived was okay, but the next band that came on was quite good, actually. Then we went to the comedy club.

We both spent a lot of time enjoying the fact that we were having such a spontaneous evening and it was turning out so well. We waited in line for about 10 minutes at the comedy club, not even knowing who was playing there. In fact, we didn't even know who the comedians were that night until they came on stage. We had a nice balcony table, and we really enjoyed living the adventure of having no plans. When we left the comedy club, there was a huge fire we could see from the freeway, so we exited to try to find out what it was. We got as close as we could, and we knew it was something big, because there were about 20 various emergency vehicles at the location. Since it was dark, we couldn't quite see exactly what it was. We found out the next day that it was a warehouse fire at a facility that did chrome plating. There were hazardous and flammablel chemicals involved, so they were worried about explosions--hence all the vehicles. The building was a loss, but they prevented any major disasters.

We arrived home at about 11:30. Then we spent an evening maintaining the adventure by enjoying each other in new and creative ways. In fact, for two nights in a row we were able to incorporate something "new" into our lovemaking, which is not an easy feat when you've been together for 15 years. We were quite proud of ourselves, too. It was funny. Both of us kept commenting on it over the course of the weekend. We finally went to sleep at about 2 am. I would have to say that this was probably my most enjoyable V-day ever. I think Tom would agree.

Cross posted in nightfly's LJ

I need suggestions for a musical afterglow for my hot date tonight with my Latin Lover. We're going to The Fire of Brazil for dinner, but since there aren't any movies we want to see out right now, we need ideas for tunes. Anyone know of anyone who's any good playing anywhere in Nashville?

So today is Thursday, and I'm kinda tired. I get that way near the end of the week. This is really my Friday, because Friday is a good, light day for me--a day I always look forward to. I feel like writing about several random things, so I don't know if I should put them all in this post or write short separate posts, each topic specific. I think I'll subtitle and organize.

nightfly
I had the unique pleasure of speaking with Jackson today. I got a note from him earlier and was reminded how much I have missed him. I totally love my schedule this semester, which you would know nothing about since I haven't written in here for about 5 months, but I do. I love it. I have only one early morning class on MWF, which leaves me time for a lot of things I am thoroughly enjoying; however, they put me nowhere near downtown during the lunch hour. And on TR I am in class during the lunch hour. This means that I am never able to go to lunch with my cool buddies, like Jackson. I miss him. We need to go get a coffee or something some evening after work. I like Jackson because he knows parts of me that others don't know. He knows I am not always what I appear. It is nice to be known like that.

lillokiangel
I have been so thoroughly enjoying creating a new relationship with Stephanie. I'm getting very spoiled with the companionship, which is odd, given my philosophy on friendship. Anyway, I am just enjoying her so much right now.

V-Day
Tom and I are going to The Fire of Brazil for our V-day date. I'm very excited. I'm excited about the restaurant, because we have never been there and both like spicy flavors. I'm also excited about the restaurant because I think it might remind us of our tropical honeymoon, which is always cool. I'm excited about the possibility of getting him drunk on some fancy cocktail and then taking advantage of him. Mostly, though, I'm excited that I am leaving the house, and he is leaving the house, and the children are not coming. This is good. This is very good. True, relaxed dates are not that common when you're the parents of little people. I am excited about this. We are not thrilled about the movie choice right now, so we might go hang downtown. I'm not sure yet.

The Floor
I'm getting a new hardwood floor in my entryway and hallway this week. This is very exciting to me. When I do things around the house it makes me feel good. Home improvement and design is my therapy.

That's all the randomness I can muster right now. I have class in 2 hours. I'm glad it is Thursday. I love my students. I've really been delighted by some of them this week. Since I'm feeling slightly naughty (I said something really naughty to Tom earlier today in casual conversation), I think I'll use my naughty vampiress icon. Oh yeah--it's supposed to snow 4-6" tomorrow afternoon/evening. This would be our first significant snowfall this Winter. I hope it dumps!

This is for lillokiangel and sweetprince, who nudged me to write again. I'm not quite ready to truly write yet, but I did want to pop in. Oh yeah, and I wanted to make sure nightfly knew I wasn't dead. ;)