Don't Leave Me This Way

This book was sitting in a cubical at an office where I've been freelancing:
I glanced through it and knew I had to read it. Well-written. Funny. Scary. The author had a stroke after taking over the counter cold medication. This just happened to the brother of a friend of mine (thankfully he’s okay). Cold season is pretty much over, but if you are feeling stuffy, drink lots of fluids, rest, and stay away from meds. And if you’re looking to be inspired – or seeking advice on how to navigate the world of doctors/hospitals/physical therapists – read the book.

Signs of Spring

Fun news today. Well, actually the news is about tomorrow – my first radio piece is running Friday as a commentary on NPR’s local affiliate WAMU (88.5 FM for any Washington DC locals). It’ll be on Metro Connection at the end of the hour (around 1:54pm). If you’re outside of the DC area, you can click here to listen to a live audio stream or you can listen to the segment at your convenience by visiting the site (archives are available about an hour after the show airs). My commentary is about spring . . . but with a twist.

Meanwhile, this week over at WASA, I’ll be bloggin’ about Toes, Napping Yoga, Blue Zones, and Addicting Appetizers. Come say hi.

Essay

March 31 issue of Newsweek (young Obama on the cover). My Turn essay, page 20, another woman shares her experience with miscarriage. There are so many of us.

Read it here.

Easter

Good Friday . . .

I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, upset. Thinking about how I hadn’t honored this day. I slide out bed and grab a bible and a blanket. In my office, I click on the light and settle into a chaise, trying to fix what is broken.

Matthew.
Mark.
Luke.
John.

I read all four accounts of the day Jesus was killed.

The passages are dark and sad and terrible: Jesus, alone in the garden, weeping (knowing what’s to come). The disciples, terrified for their lives, abandon their master and flee. Peter, engulfed in sorrow over his denial, also weeping. And Judas, watching his betrayal unfold, is suicidal. After the trial, the mob of people stripped Jesus. They clothed him in purple, except it was joke. The put a “crown” on his head and a reed in his hand and bowed down to “worship” him, calling him “king” while they spit on him and struck his face.

It’s the mocking that gets me, even more than the nails.

The Third Day . . .

In church this morning, it’s a full choir and all the people singing. Words of hope of joy and rebirth. And up in the front there is a wooden cross. A purple cloth draped around the cross’s arms and a crown of thorns placed at the top. Lilies planted at the foot.

It’s the cross that gets me, even more than the songs.

The one who was mocked is the one we honor. The one we celebrate. The king we serve.

The Lord is risen.
He is risen indeed.

Our Dailey Bread

I love it when a new blogger joins the blogosphere.

And I especially love it when that new blogger happens to be a friend from my old book club.

And I especially, especially love it when that new blogger comes up with a title for her blog which ties in her last name.

Head on over to Our Dailey Bread and give Danielle Dailey a warm welcome.

Waiting

Here is the 10-day extended forecast for LA:

Here today’s weather in DC:

I’m extra exhausted from working two full-time jobs these past six weeks (fact checking in an office by day, freelance writing at home by night), so please excuse my grumbly mood, but a little extended sunshine would be nice. Or, as they say in LA, abundant sunshine.

I know the warm days are close. So close. Yet every moment that ticks by and drags another raindrop with it, well, it keeps me stuck in the blues.

It’s a Two Year Experiment folks. Two years. And not a second more.

Memoir Heaven

The packages should start arriving in the mail soon.

One book from Massachusetts (All Seasons Pass).

Another from New Jersey (The Best Day the Worst Day).

More from California (The Disappearance), Nevada (The Education of Koko), and Boston (Heaven’s Coast).

Pretty soon I’ll be in memoir heaven.

It’s always great to come across a writer who has a list of recommended memoirs on their site (like Barbara over at Writing Time), or who mention them a lot (like Lisa).

I ordered the books online with a gift certificate someone gave me (well, technically the gift certificate was given to my husband, but he’s nice and let me have it after I kept drooling over it). Because they’re used books, I’m getting five for the price of two.

My husband doesn’t understand why I don’t do this more often – buy used books instead of agonizing over how much of my hard-earned freelance income I’m going to spend on new books.

But I want to support my industry, especially the writers themselves. So for the most part, I buy new books. I’m trying to be better at buying them from independent bookstores too, but those are harder and harder to come by these days (Dutton’s in Brentwood, CA, where Anne Lamott used to give readings, is closing). Another favorite place I frequent when I’m out west is Maria’s Bookshop in Colorado. Her selection is lovely.

Anyway, do you buy new or used books? From independent stores or big business? Or are you a library person?

3:09 A.M.

Spring ahead absolutely kills me. I mean it's been five days. And we're only talking about a one hour adjustment. But here it is, the middle of the night, and I'm awake. Too tired to do anything productive, but can't fall asleep. So I'm on the Internet and just decided I want to take a fly fishing lesson this summer in Montana. (It’s on my list of top 100 things to do before I croak.) My body clock must be of the cuckoo variety.

Quote

"Help heal society's brokenness by using your artistry. Living on the creative edge means daring every day to dream of a world beyond the socially constructed barriers that imprison and divide us."

-- Danny Glover, "A Million Ways to Save the World" O, The Oprah Magazine (April 2008 issue)

The Ark

The writer’s retreat officially has a name.

The Ark.

The other day I was thinking . . .

-how much faith it takes to believe in God;
-how much faith it takes to stand before your man and take wedding vows;
-how much faith it takes to be a mother (or wait to be a mother);
-how much faith it takes to be writer;
-and how much faith Noah had when he built the ark.

Yes, The Ark. It fits. A place to retreat. An enclave of safety. It’s on a mountain. There’s lots of wildlife.

Finally, it has a name.

Now all it needs a couch.

(And a lamp and wireless Internet connection, adds my mom.)

~~~

In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, on the seventeenth day of the second month – on that day all the springs of the deep burst forth, and the floodgates of the heavens were opened.
--Genesis 7:11

Bonding

I’m wrapping up week 4 of my 6 week commitment at the newspaper/magazine.

Yesterday, I felt a searing pain in my left shoulder – the exact spot that gave me grief when I practiced law. I think it is acting up again because I’m confining myself to a desk 8 hours straight. No “breaks” to take a yoga class or a long walk.

My husband tried to work the knot out of my shoulder last night.

“This is what chimpanzees do,” I said as he kneaded my back.

“Chimpanzees pick bugs off of each other, they don’t rub almond massage oil into each other,” he said.

Actually, they groom each other purely for bonding purposes too. They hug and kiss and hold hands a lot. After reading Jane Goodall’s memoirs in a massive book binge two years ago, I’ve totally been into chimpanzees. (My husband's into bugs -- the little critters amuse him to no end.)

Skipping Time

I like your Wasa blog, said Purdy(A)musings.

Me: Why, thank you.

I like your Wasa blog better then Roughly Speaking, said Snippets N Blurbs.

Me: Why, thank you (I think).

I’m guessing some people like the Wasa blog better because it has a niche. The bloggy gurus say blogs should focus on a topic, and the Wasa blog is about yoga and mindful eating. So if you haven’t checked it out yet, give it a try. I’ve been blogging about the National President’s Challenge (a great way to start exercising this spring), the food challenges I’ve been faced with as I go back to a full-time job after freelancing (well, sort of – the full-time gig is just a six-week commitment, but still!), and the fact that I’m a blockhead.

In other news, I’m dreading spring ahead this weekend. My body is not into skipping time. I guess I should focus on the positive. Like a Sunday afternoon nap.

Happy Chemicals

Michelle, over at Full-Soul Ahead, is a thoughtful person. And she's putting together a fundraiser for another bloggy friend of hers (a mom who has three little girls with autism). Read about it here. Michelle says doing good deeds will release happy chemicals in your body. So enjoy your high.

Sunday

I thought I’d talk a little bit about faith. After all, it's Sunday. And since this blog seems to have no direction or purpose whatsoever (it ranges from the writing life to married life to fertility challenges to my latest book binge), I figured what the heck? Why not throw in spirituality too?

We’re studying Habakkuk (pronounced Ha-bac-uc) in church and . . . oh, never mind.

I just wrote an entire draft blog on what I learned in the pew today, but I want to turn it into a full article, so I’m not going to post it. Sorry.

Well, go read Habakkuk. It’s a gem of a book and only 3 chapters.

In the meantime, how about a Proverb: She who guards her mouth and her tongue keeps herself from calamity. (Prov. 21:23).

A good verse for writers, especially me because I write two blogs, personal essays, and non-fiction articles.

love.