Managing?

My Sweet helpful Mother purchased a subscription to a writer’s magazine. "Just for you" she said.  It’s full of helpful hints:  how to handle rejection, tips to writing fiction, and my favorite topic so far… making the most of your writing time.  For me, this is pure fiction.

I started this blog while my 3^rd grader was pleading loudly for me to sign her planner “Please do it NOW!” as she plopped a pile of school work on my desk.  I suppose the Earth was going to come to a complete stand still if I didn’t sign her planner at that very moment.   My high school age son announced at the same time he needed cash for the morning; I have none.  Wonderful, I will have to make a trip out for cash or rob my 3^rd graders piggy bank while she sleeps. Eek, Ben Bernanke should take lessons from her economic system.

I have been trying for 5 days,  yes 5 days to read  the article on how to manage my writing time.  I need the advice, the tips on planning; but holy cow, what good is an article on planning if you can’t find the time to read the article?  Something is always getting in the way, interrupting me. 

Of course I do need creative spirit to write; often these creative spirits visit me while I am sitting in line somewhere, watching a game from the side lines, in the office or simply in an awkward place.  I can’t get the ideas written down fast enough.

My life isn’t really that busy, it is just that interrupted. I long for the spirits of writing past, those days of endless time:  All time and no ideas.  Then there is today’s spirit of the present.  I spend 10 – 12 hours away from home for work.  Weeknights are filled with the usual drivel of the working woman with children and a social life. And then there is my SIO, I make sure to reserve time just for us.  It keeps the two of us sane.  Our discussions give me writing material and keep my sanity on track.  Maybe those of you who read this blog don’t think me that sane.  Imagine if he wasn’t a guiding force in my world!

And the writing spirit of the future?  The spirit of the future will be the one  that  motivates to finish my projects of past three years, get over my fears and get published.  I hope Mom’s brilliant idea of giving me this subscription will help inspire and guide me.

 For now I have to wind this up and read about the new math they are teaching in 3^rd grade.  Will I ever get the chance to read that article about managing my writing time?

Peace.

NEPB

What's in a Name?

What’s in a name?

One day last week as I was ordering my afternoon pick me up from my local coffee shop, the clerk said she loved  my name:  Nancy.  “That’s funny” replied. “I always found it hard to live with.” “Why?” She asked.   “People always hear it wrong, I pronounce it strangely and they hear Tracy or Angie.  It’s uncommon, strange. It’s different.” I replied. 

“You are.” was the reply. It was meant as  compliment.  I smirked.

Two other employees joined the conversation and we went on to discuss how it was a famous literary name:  Nancy Drew the infamous solver of mysteries. Nancy, protector of Oliver in Oliver Twist and in recent literature: Fancy Nancy, an extravagantly dressing youngster.(I don't dress fancy)  It is a famous name in other ways:  Nancy Reagan, Nancy Pelosi and Nancy Astor.  That’s a lot of pressure if you ask me. 

I drove back to the office thinking about my name: how and why I am Nancy.   And do I share anything with the other Nancys?

My parents had 3 boys and then I came along.  I was a big surprise. Girl’s names were the farthest from their minds.  They had started with “D”s and that became confusing so the next boy’s name began with a “J”.  This next baby (me), supposedly another boy, (the odds were running high) would probably have been another “J”.   There had to be a rhythm to the calling of the names if you were going to get all those children to dinner on time. Right? 

I started to consider the other Nancys whose name I shared.  Nancy Drew:  In my professional life I can live up to this. I solve many mysteries on the job.  Nancy Reagan:  I was never a actress, or a famous first lady, I can claim none of this. Nancy Pelosi:  a well known speaker of the house. What exactly do they do?  We won’t go there.  Nancy Astor: The first woman to win a seat in the House of Commons: A witty, saucy woman. This I could do, this I could share, saucy, mouthy, yes!

In reality though my mother was simply out witted by the hand dealt her, an unexpected girl.  She gave me the names of her best friends.  Names she would scream up and down the street, repeat until she was blue in the face. Names hopefully she would sweetly whisper on her lips before she closed her eyes every night.

And that, hopefully is what's in a name... sweet memories of loved ones.

Thanks Mom.

Peace.

Nancy Eleanor PB     

"Waspy" Adventures

Typically I am not afraid of any insects, flying or crawling.  I simply crush, swat, spray or get out of their way.  Yesterday evening was the exception.

Getting out of the shower, a black waspy looking insect dove at me suddenly.  Grabbing a towel I quickly exited my small bathroom, scurried through the bedroom and into the hallway. Shoot!  I had 45 minutes to get ready for my dinner date. Everything I needed was in the  now occupied bathroom. 

Returning to the bedroom, the calico cat glanced at me and then back toward the entrance to the bathroom. “Do you see it Mocha?” I asked, hoping she would for once answer me with human words and not meows.  She looked back at me, gold eyes shinning but she said nothing.  I took a step inside the bathroom and the black flying demon dove toward me again.  I let out a scream, ran from the bathroom and into the hallway.  Mocha Kitty, hearing my screams took off under my bed.

I had to get back in the bathroom. Everything I needed to get ready for the evening was in that bathroom.  At the very least I needed my hair dryer!  Again I crept to the edge of the bathroom door.  Something brushed my ankle.  I jumped!  That silly cat had followed me.  I stood for several seconds in the doorway looking in and deciding what I needed.  I grabbed quickly, finally reaching for my hair dryer in a basket on the top shelve.  Bingo!  The black demon came flying out and again I was screaming and running.  The cat was close on my heels, this time passing me. 

I was again standing in the hallway wondering what to do. I had to go in that bathroom later tonight. I realized I needed reinforcements: Spray of some sort, a weapon and Wine.  Then I looked at my lack of clothing.  If I was going into battle I was going to need more than a towel.  I snuck back into my bedroom, leery that the black demon could be there lurking, ready to get me. I grabbed my pool dress and pulled it on. 

Downstairs, priorities first: I poured a glass of wine and drank quickly. I found a can of crawling bug spray. This would have to have to do. I headed for the stairs but still I needed a weapon in case my aim was bad; I spotted a flip-flop.  I would smash the black demon if the bug spray didn't kill it instantly.

Bug Spray, flip-flop and wine in hand I firmly walked upstairs.  I stopped at the top to finish the wine.  Inside my bedroom, I slowly walked to the bathroom thinking I could surprise the unsuspecting black demon. (Rumor has it they have poor hearing)

I found nothing.  This worried me more.  It could be loose in my bedroom now. Ugh!  I  turned on the exhaust fan and shut the door firmly. Maybe the fan would suck it out of there?  I was desperate.   I got dressed, dried my hair, put on my date face and went out for dinner with my SIO.  It made great dinner conversation.

I have no idea what happen to that black waspy flying demon.  SIO is trying to convince me that it is dead by now.  I’m not totally convinced.  I’m going to buy a can of wasp spray and keep my flip-flops by the bathroom door for the rest of the weekend.

  Peace.  NEPB

Not as I planned....

 On Thursday nights, my SIO and I meet for drinks, plan our weekend and talk about the week. Last night I was lamenting the fact that mine had not gone as I had planned.  I had visions of grandeur, great accomplishments; most had not happened.

My teenage son had been gone all week, leaving alone with my youngest daughter. I thought would have uninterrupted time in the evenings to write, catch up on little chores and just do whatever I wanted.  I would start version 4 of a project that has been nagging me for some time.  I wouldn’t have to worry about where he was, when he was coming home, if he needed a ride and so forth.  Free time woo-hoo.

I had a few commitments, easy enough.  I could work around those; maybe even glean some material from these experiences.  One involving my car left me so dumbfounded I had to go pound on the piano at church. I call it music therapy; uninterrupted time playing away in the silent sanctuary.  After an hour of playing, I felt a little better but still pouted my way across town and picked up my daughter. Driving home, I wished that I could hide somewhere longer.  I wasn’t ready to get over my pout and yet my daughter needed me, someone had to take her to the pool.  She has her priorities too you know.

The next day, an evening commitment kept me so busy, by the time I returned home I was so exhausted I couldn’t remember how to turn the computer on; forget writing that night.  My youngest daughter ended up needing my attention more and more as the week wore on.  A weeks of accomplishments was a total bomb.

Work had been pretty hectic as it always is this time of year, demanding and relentless phone calls, paper work and the usual day to day banter.  I had laid my head on my keyboard exasperated so many times during the week, my co-worker warned me of permanent imprinting (Not exactly the look I was hoping for).  At one point during the week, finishing a long email explanation I looked up to find my SIO standing in the hall way smiling at me.  It’s always a pleasant surprise when he stops by on his way across campus; however I think he was more surprised to find me in such a state of bewilderment.  He knows what I go through in my professional life, some of it, I hide it well.  This time he was really seeing it firsthand.  He said later he didn’t realize it was this difficult for me.

This morning at breakfast with my two daughters, a rare treat indeed, my youngest (just shy of  9 years old) was being her usual demanding self.  The oldest 29, remarked at how whinny she was around me.  “She never does when she is  with me!”  The younger daughter ignored her big sister and continued to rant about the steaming pancakes, while I attempted to fix the situation, giving her older  sister a nasty look.  I’m an expert at giving the older children nasty looks when they are not helping.

It’s true though; the youngest is a different child around her siblings.  She is much more demanding, tests me and keeps me on my toes at every turn.  I took this job on when I divorced and became a single parent.  I wouldn’t change a thing looking back. Sleepless nights worrying over bills, my medical issues, having to deal with discipline alone and the countless things that occur raising children on your own.  It’s enough to drive two parents insane much less one parent. It’s amazing when you think about it what you have to go through. I have to admit that I put some of these demands on myself. I have things I insist on doing, my volunteer work, choir, writing; I need these for me.  There has to be me time.   

After my Cancer diagnosis 5 years ago, I decided I had to have me time: had to be!  If I was going to be a whole person again, regain what Cancer took from me, I was going to have to reach out and get it back.

When the kids demand it, when Society demands it, I sometimes have to say  no. Instead I go to that piano, play for an hour or whatever amount of time I can manage.  I go volunteer my time with the new organization I have found, meeting a new group of individuals supporting a good cause.  I go sing in the choir and challenge the director on his choice of music. (I compliment him also!)

In the end my week didn’t turn out as planned; some things never do.  All I can ever hope for out of this life is to make good memories with my family, friends and to meet a few personal goals.  I’m working on these continually.

Rest assured the children have all their needs met.  As for myself, I am mostly sane, tired, happy and depending on the day of the week…. Mostly sane

Peace.

NEPB

Flexing your Music Ear

Last night on our Saturday dinner date, my SIO and I were half way through our Margaritas, when Ben Harper’s “Steal My kisses” started playing overhead.   I began swinging in my seat and singing along when suddenly I decided to change the lyrics.  I do this often.  Something SIO finds extremely funny.  It was my kind of music and I intended to enjoy fully.  Changing the lyrics just adds to the fun.

“You know, we are going to have to start hanging out in more bars that have live music.”  I grinned.  He laughed and told me he knew he was a bad influence. “Why?” he asked.  “It’s for this new project I have started.”  He went on to tell me how picky I was about my music taste, it’s one of the reasons I  change the lyrics to songs.

Picky?  Me? 

Every Thursday we go to a particular bar that has karaoke and we sit there and judge the performances, judge mind you, never perform.  He has some training and so do I.  He always threatens to get up and sing but hasn’t yet.  I won’t. I refuse. I’m a chicken. <Cluck Cluck>   I am very vocal about what I don’t like: most country (There is a ton of karaoke country…why?), bluegrass, heavy metal, not a huge Janis Joplin fan (he wants to call off the relationship over this statement), the list goes on. 

He asked how I could possibly make an unbiased decision about music that I dislike?  I went on to explain that he knew my musical background ground:  piano, organ, voice and choir.  I know my music.  I know talent when I hear it. I still know what it means to be musically talented. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.  Cut me some slack here. 

His area of expertise is much farther into the  general talent area than mine.  He sees it on a daily basis, on a broader spectrum too.  He is the perfect partner to accompany me on the journeys into the musical night live of our town and beyond.

So were going to flex our musical ears together.  Hopefully I am going to be swinging in my seat, and if he gets bored he can start up the Soundhound app on his iPhone to see just how good the band is really playing.  I think we are in for some serious  Ear Flexing of the Musical kind.

  Peace. NEPB

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beQdeKWDjNQ    ( Ben Harper- Steal My Kisses )  be prepared to Dance!!!

No Regrets - Dear Friend

After posting yesterday’s blog,on my need to make Manwich, I received a personal note from an old friend, a comment regarding unrequited love. He had attached a very sad song.

 I sat this morning, organizing my desk, sorting through papers, tid-bits of notes that I jot down when I get ideas for writing, looking at old photographs. I had Sting playing my favorite album, a song played, the words were similar to that sad song he had sent.  I thought back to my freshman year.  I never knew how my friend felt.

I was young  and foolishly head over heals in love with his friend.  It was the reason I was so far from home at a college I had no business attending. When I was dumped, he stuck by me, taught me to play the guitar and was a big brother to me until I made my way back home to Virginia and another University.  We lost touch and somehow reconnected through Social Media, you know the story.

I didn’t always see the easy path and certainly didn’t see what was right in front of me back in the early 80’s.  Too blinded by being dumped, I never would have believed that this young man had feelings for me. 

We are cautioned constantly to plan for everything: look before you leap, buy life insurance, plan for your financial future.  We tell our children not to fall for the first girl/boy that comes along “they will break your heart.”  We cautiously tell them, remembering our own heartbreak.

Well what’s the fun in that?  We need these experiences to grow, to learn, to live.  I certainly did.  I learned several times.  Looking back I have a few regrets, the good out shines the bad by far.  I have 5 beautiful children and I would not have them had I not made some of those bad choices and then tougher choices.

I have chosen a much different path than that of my friend.  I am a different person now.  I have to keep moving forward, no looking back in regret.

You are right old friend, “it ended long before it could begin”.   No regrets.

Peace.  NEPB

The Manwich of my Relationship

It had been a stressful 3 days; the diagnosis was in, not the greatest news. It was not totally unexpected, sprung on me yes, but I was beginning to get used to this.  It was how this relationship worked:  my significant other (SIO) and I.

We are fiercely independent. Never wanting to worry the other with trivial things, but yet we seek each others opinion often, even on trivial matters.  As for the major issues of this week, I wanted, correction: I expected a little more. Yet neither of us is willing to give in to this war of independence.

I was explaining this to my friend.  I had been in touch with her daily, updating her throughout, explaining my frustration, with the lack of information. This morning I called again to update her.  The stress finally getting me to me, I gave in and the tears began to flow. “ Why couldn’t he let me do the littlest thing?”  I sobbed and laid my head on the steering wheel.  It was unlike me.

Explaining further to my friend, I recalled how her husband returning home one weekend, complained of illness.  He was “dying” and needed his favorite food… Manwich.  We scurried off to the grocery store to purchase the ingredients. I was completely shocked. My friend is an excellent cook and she was being asked to prepare Manwich?  I remember her shaking her head in disbelief but she prepared Manwich for her “dying” husband (He recovered fully from his sinus infection).

I sat this morning, crying in my car asking why my SIO wouldn’t let help him.   “I want to do this tiny little thing for him. I just want to fix his “Manwich!” almost shouting into the phone.  Realizing what I had said I started to laugh hysterically, tears streaming down my face.  I dug around in my car for a napkin, anything to wipe away the tears.  My friend laughed loudly at my absurd statement.    

She’s heard me say it time and time again.  “I want my independence and boundaries”.  I want to pick up and go as I please, answer to no one.  My SIO wants the same.  We both roll our eyes when friends ask when we are getting married. We are not, don’t ask again.  Having been down that road once before, neither of us has a mind to go there again. 

So why can’t I fix “Manwich”?  It’s his boundary and I’m not suppose to cross it, like my own that I protect as I do my children, fiercely!  Last night, checking in on him, I asked what he needed:  cleaning? laundry? food? I was gently reprimanded for even suggesting such things.  Boundaries.  I left him to rest in his boundaries, no “Manwich” prepared.  He was safe and sound for the time being. I had done all I could for him that day.

There will more of his boundaries I will have to cross in the next few months and he knows it. We will deal with this as he allows.  I will try not to be so fierce; try to put myself in his shoes.  Try.

I hope he likes “Manwich”

Peace.  NEPB