tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23544772720601998502024-03-14T01:03:39.759-05:00Tracy Million SimmonsTracy Million SimmonsTracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-48615611056877129572020-07-01T23:48:00.001-05:002020-07-01T23:49:22.144-05:00March turned into April turned into May... <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3aBB1HSH0pI/Xv1myZ-6Z5I/AAAAAAAAp6Y/vPU4caZHAFMl8WebCqpA1RSbZZUXfRuLwCK4BGAsYHg/s2592/20200409_104235.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="1944" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3aBB1HSH0pI/Xv1myZ-6Z5I/AAAAAAAAp6Y/vPU4caZHAFMl8WebCqpA1RSbZZUXfRuLwCK4BGAsYHg/s320/20200409_104235.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's hard to imagine we were still <br />wearing coats when all of this <br />started... </td></tr></tbody></table>... and somehow we have arrived here, July 1. The year 2020 is half over, and it's like it's almost like it never really began. I find myself simultaneously saddened and relieved that I have not felt compelled to continue to document these days, COVID numbers, and deaths. <div><br /></div><div>I've done my darnedest to turn inward, to channel the obsessive energy and feelings toward something more productive. Reading books. <a href="https://www.meadowlark-books.com/" target="_blank">Creating books.</a> So many beautiful, wonderful books. And yes, even writing (more editing, rewriting) books. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Miscellaneous Notes from a Pandemic Year:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>April 13: "<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Writing
about the character 'who done it' made me like the guy quite a bit; now I have
mixed feelings about pinning the deed on him."</span></div><div><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">April 15: "Man, I've missed pizza."</span></div><div><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;"><br /></span></div><div>April 20: It's time to think about what will we be. Not, "How do we preserve what we were?"</div><div><br /></div><div><div><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Notable in May: Started using InstaCart for grocery deliveries. Do not miss shopping.</span></div><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 0.8in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p></div><div>May 24: <i>Reading my own cards.</i> Ace of Wands - An opportunity to take a fresh, new, exciting action; 10 of Swords - Surrender to unpleasant or unfortunate circumstances; The Empress - This is a time of great abundance and wonderful creativity, good energy abounds and is available for you to use and enjoy; 21 The World - the successful achievement of a goal, doing what you set out to do. Feeling pride and enjoying rewards. Feeling that all is right with the world; 5 of Wands - Trying to work together with mixed results. (Tarot of Pagan Cats, by Lo Scarabeo)</div><div><br /></div><div>From a note to a friend: "I keep writing and making books because I can't think of anything else that would continue to motivate me to get out of bed each morning."</div><div><br /></div><div>May 28: "<span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">I
want to send the governor of Kansas, Laura Kelly, a thank you note for being
such a good role model and leader during this time of COVID."</span></div><p class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: 0.8in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div><br /></div><div>May 31: "I have managed to celebrate [my birthday] through COVID stay-at-home, controversial re-opening, protests over our society's treatment of people of color. The world really does seem to be on fire. </div><div>George Floyd. </div><div>Ahmaud Arbery. </div><div>Breonna Taylor. </div><div>James Scurlock. </div><div>Christian Cooper." </div><div><br /></div><div>Note: I also had four different kinds of birthday cake (spread out over a couple of weeks). </div><div><br /></div><div>"I must learn to speak out. I will not let people think I am complicit by my silence."</div><div><br /></div><div>June 5: "I went to my first protest today."</div><div><br /></div><div>June 8: "Outside me is all š while inside me is all š§AHHHHHHH!"</div><div><br /></div><div>June 10: "... so productive. But I feel like I am in some alternate universe and I want to live in mine again."</div><div><font face="times"><br /></font></div><div><font face="times">June 20: "<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There is a part of me that just wants to take care of people and feed them good and healthy food and talk them into going on nature walks every day. But the other part of me wants to retreat to my cave and make art and be joyful and stop listening to all the noise in the world."</span></font></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div>June 24: "... excited by all of the possibilities..."</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHD1obDVZU8/Xv1mQFm4eMI/AAAAAAAAp6M/T7UogJetaUo43zXu8VDpCrQ48MVhLGoMACK4BGAsYHg/s4032/20200531_135217.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BHD1obDVZU8/Xv1mQFm4eMI/AAAAAAAAp6M/T7UogJetaUo43zXu8VDpCrQ48MVhLGoMACK4BGAsYHg/s320/20200531_135217.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">German Chocolate 50th Birthday Cake<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-89355124427408482822020-05-31T22:25:00.001-05:002020-07-01T22:45:17.519-05:00Contemplations 50 x 50My 50th birthday was on May 31. I have carried an image in my mind of what it was going to be like to turn 50 for a while. I was looking forward to celebrating with the Emporia and the DK gravel riders. My niece and her family would have been in town, and probably my sister. Maybe other family too. I figured the writers would join me at Mulready's Pub and I'd throw out an invite to farmers market folks. Plans were changed. I did put out a request on FB for cards in the mailbox, and boy oh boy did people come through. It was fun. And all who sent me a card got a chapbook of my 50 x 50 Contemplations project in the mail in return. (This post was added on July 1 for archival purposes and dated to match my birth date.)<div style="text-align: center;">____________________________________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HELlgHGz5R8/Xv1XanGAtvI/AAAAAAAAp5Y/4pu6n5XC2t4MzP2ZA7euzKeW9Dc1pD40wCK4BGAsYHg/s1440/sunshineoilpaint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sunshine collage paper mache face" border="0" data-original-height="964" data-original-width="1440" height="268" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HELlgHGz5R8/Xv1XanGAtvI/AAAAAAAAp5Y/4pu6n5XC2t4MzP2ZA7euzKeW9Dc1pD40wCK4BGAsYHg/w400-h268/sunshineoilpaint.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-style: italic; language: en-US; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Cover Art:</span><span lang="en-US"> Sun for a COVID-19 Day, art from our time of stay-at-home, </span>by TRMS</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">Tracy Racene Million Simmons ā May 31, 2020</span></div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">My mother said she sent me to preschool to learn to assert myself, to play well with others. She worried <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">bold </span>wasnāt in my repertoire. Itās okay, Mom. It took me a few years to recognize it in myself. I see it now, a streak of do-it-my-way fifty years long.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I can entertain myself for hours with the stories written inside my head, as well as spook myself into sleeping many nights in a row with the lights on. A mind that could readily conjure images, <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">phantasmagorical </span>and otherwise, was the key to a childhood Iāve never really tucked away.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Too much<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> silence</span> is best filled with sounds birds make when spring arrives, rumble of catās purr, chime of nieceās laugh when she calls by video to show me baby doves in her tree. Tapping of fingers on keyboard is also a good sound, captures these moments as they come.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">My lifelong struggle with keeping up on current political affairs is the disruption to my sense of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">peace</span>. I still believe that we could all get along okay if we dropped the labels and met each other for talks at the coffee shop and long walks through the local park.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Words develop a <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">lyrical </span>quality when enough time is spent playing with order. To make a sentence sing, add them and subtract them until I reach just the right note. I may never write a tune for my creations, but I dance to the beat of them just the same.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I no longer apologize for choosing to see my Mondays as <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">magnificent</span>, Tuesdays as terrific, Wednesdays as wonder-filled. The world is a kinder place when one chooses to focus on its marvels. This does not mean I am naĆÆve to hardships; only that I have decided I wonāt dwell there.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I used to confuse <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">kindness </span>with other traits, letting people take advantage of my ability to give, invade and reshape my boundaries, use my lack of push-back skills to their advantage. Sometimes the nicest thing one can do for oneself is to be a little selfish and draw hard lines.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Forever is a long time, but some things are<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> everlasting</span>; the<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> </span>swell of my heart where my children are concerned, the ping of regret I get when missing my mother, the thrill of making plans with my love Rand, the deep feeling of content when I hold a purring cat.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I used to long for the ability to speak quickly, envying those who could make a crowd laugh, pull off a quick and witty retort. Yet I have never regretted a decision to be <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">deliberate </span>with my words, to pause and take a breath, to edit myself prior to expression.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I prefer my summer <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">sunshine </span>with a dash of cloud cover, and often we agree to meet in early morn before it gets its passion on and really heats things up. In the wintertime I like it full on, irradiating ice crystals, reflecting bright but cool against a white-blue sky.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Excuse me while I <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">reminisce</span>: I want to tell you about my grandmother who went to college and became a nurse at the age of 56. She traveled far and wide, sent handwritten postcards to the grandkids, let me use her electric typewriter at the kitchen table. It was blue.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Everything</span> I know comes from only 50 yearsā experience. It wasnāt so long ago that 50 years sounded like forever away. Some women donāt believe that Iāve actually longed to get here. It wasnāt so long ago, and yet . . . here I am, 50 years of experience achieved.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">There is probably not much about my curriculum vitae that would leave you <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">flabbergasted</span>, unless you are one of those doubters<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> </span>who is surprised that I have one, one of those who thinks that a woman who opted to stay at home and raise children perhaps lacked ambition or ability.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Have I come to the conclusion that the world is absolutely, totally <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">screwed</span>? Irrevocably broken? Gone to hell in a handbasket, as my momma would have said? Nope. Come on, now. You know me better than that. I will look for and magnify every silver lining until my last breath.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I have begun to look at my relationships in terms of not only how they impact my levels of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">energy</span>, but my tone. When interaction with a person consistently brings out the dark in me, itās time to rethink that relationship. I am better at creating healthy boundaries these days.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I donāt believe <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">histrionic </span>behavior is in my DNA. I am generally motivated to avoid the spotlight, donāt want people looking in my direction, though Iād be pleased if they were all carrying around a book of my words in their pockets, telling all their friends to read me too.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Caring</span> is such an enormous word. It encompasses the feeding and sheltering and clothing of the self, of family, of children; it encompasses a sense of moralityāI can act with or without caring what you think of me. Caring can be an act of duty, of art, of love.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Multi-pocketed menās athletic pants (short and long), t-shirts (short and long-sleeved), tennis shoes with roll-bar technology, and magic socks (for bowling days): this summarizes the attire of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">authentic </span>me. Though in my mindās eye, I still wear floral patterned skirts, hoop earrings, and gypsy bangles that chime when I walk.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Tis the season of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">agoraphobia</span>, it seems. Who knew that we would experience a heyday? That we would become quite usual, in fact. I once flirted with stay-at-home by necessity. Remaining home for your safety (and mine) does not faze me. Though I now long for a wandering road trip.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Ah, the <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">junebug</span>. Innocent of intention; abhorred by little girls with long pigtails. How easily one small critter can disrupt a peaceful evening of playing outdoors. Entering the house beneath porch lights, the rattle before the attack (surely accidental), hard shelled little brown beetle causes many to shiver for life.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Childhood BFF Mandy might suggest that I move my genre to horror with the inclusion of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">schistosomos reflexus </span>on my contemplations list. She laughs as I consult veterinary pages, my mind now distracted by the idea of writing a short story, featuring Dr. Mandy, where the fetal monster remains alive.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">It seems that I have a deep-seated resistance to creating a list of things it would <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">behoove</span> me to do. However, it would behoove you to: Fill your plate with veggies first. Never let your expenses match your whole paycheck. Take a long walk every day. Read purely for pleasure.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">That pandemic was </span><span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">shitastic!</span><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> </span>Perhaps this is how I will describe this time one day. Because as terrible as it is on so many levels, I have found a surprising amount of pleasure. For instance, my endurance for reading many pages of a book in a row is gradually returning.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I may have a more sophisticated view of magic these days, but I absolutely, whole-heartedly believe in my <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">magical </span>bowling socks. They increase my power to roll the ball in straight lines. They make my skinny ankles look more attractive. They occasionally empower me to throw a strike or spare.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I collect<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> brave </span>role models, tuck them in and around my heart, all the while hoping I never need to put in practice what I learn from them. My nephew, John. My friends Sue, Ellen, Gretchen, and Olive. Mom. I fear I wonāt measure up if my time gets here.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Love</span> is an action word. It may seem easy at first glance, but for the long-haul it takes work and dedication, frequent reassessment of needs and technique, bettering of application, and sweat equity for all involved. Even when you understand this--give it your everything--love may not be enough.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I claimed <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">spring</span> as my favorite season through most of my adulthood. I think at half a century, it is time to change my stance. As of this moment I declare autumn, a season of change, but with an appreciation for lifeās passing that I didnāt see as well before.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Schadenfreude</span>, a fun word to say, is one of the most chilling concepts I can think of. If we all rise and fall on the same wave, as I truly believe we do, to find pleasure in someone elseās pain is also detrimental to those I would choose to protect.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">What if the <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">extraordinary </span>is not something big or earth-shaking, but a multitude of everyday, ordinary things? The pause taken when observing loved ones from a distance. That moment you inhale and recognize the scent of coming rain. The quiet times experienced between doing things, appreciating nothing above all else.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I have <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">memories</span> of watching lights circle the room from my crib, of picking up new kittens as large as my two hands, of raising my leg high to straddle a rocking horse with a bell on its nose, and of Granddaddyās orange chair. He was always telling us stories.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">If I had a mix-and-match time machine, Iād start in 1986 where Iād pick up my <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">jubilant</span> mother. Iād proceed to make sure she had a moment to spend with each of her eight grandchildren, only four of whom she ever met, concluding our trip at my nieceās 2013 wedding.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I get so tired of listening to people lament the youth of today. Does it really matter that they donāt write in cursive? Etcetera? If you canāt find a person under the age of 30 who fills you with <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">hope</span>, you are not looking beyond your own regrets hard enough.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Me in<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> 1994</span>, not quite halfway to where I am now, perhaps wide-eyed and opportunistic in approach to potential course-changing life decisions--I would be lying if I did not admit to curiosity about paths not taken, but from here, I can see that the choices I made worked well.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">To be brutally honest without filter or ultimately kind with selected truths; that is the <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">conundrum</span>. While I have dabbled with unbridled honesty and found it occasionally cathartic, there is less potential for long-term regret when some words remain unspoken. In the end, why create more regrets than are necessary?</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Once upon a time my dream house had a <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">fountain</span> in the middle of a living area that extended into a large greenhouse. Modern me appreciates the simpler floorplan, knows I would only let all those plants die anyway, and may still buy a birdbath for the back yard instead.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">If I wrote <span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">A Journal of a </span><span class="_4yxo _4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic; font-weight: 600;">Coronavirus </span><span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">Year*</span>, a reader might pick it up three hundred years from now, marvel at the familiar scenes. We behave as if everything that happens to us is new and unusual. Weāve worn masks before. Yes, government has told us to do so.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">When I was a child, <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Wichita </span>was the ābig cityā we drove to, perhaps once a year, a whole three hours away (felt like more). I now make day trips to Wichita and breathe a sigh of relief. After living in Houston, traversing Kansas City, Wichita feels small and home-like.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">Quotidian</span> details of my life at half-century; there is ritual to selecting veggies for my morning scrambled egg, the walk with the dogs (really, itās for me), and the boxes drawn on the schedule must be checkable, preferably in a variety of colors, for aesthetics, not necessarily classification of tasks.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Because I write and edit, people assume I am a stickler for grammer and punctuatoin, yet āgrammar policeā is a label I find <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">bothersome</span>. At least in correspondence, Iāll take heartfelt sentiment with a dozen typos over shaming someone who struggles to remember rules or express themselves through written communication.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Were my <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">halcyon</span> days those years growing up on the farm, or when my children were little and I was rediscovering my own compass and passions? Or perhaps they were later, traveling abroad with my near-grown children, my dream-team companions for adventure. So many options. Itās the problem to have.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I think a happy career alternativeāperhaps book worthyāwould be one of serial apprenticing, only not so much as to learn a trade (though a bit of familiarization would be inevitable), but to be a dedicated, personal <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">helper</span> and learn the stories of each individualās goals, motivations, and processes.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">A piece of advice I once got from an author friend pretty much sums up the philosophy behind my <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">actions </span>in all arenas<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> </span>these days; when in doubt, simply do what the writer / mother / friend / citizen / entrepreneur you imagine you are inside your head would do.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">If I said I was <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">thirsty</span> for a reckless and wild adventure, just the clothes on my back and a ticket for the next plane out of here, would you ask to come with? Request I snail mail postcards? Would you tell me to have fun or to be safe?</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">There are times when I would describe myself as a <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">voracious</span> reader, and times when I would simply admit that the world between two pages is the easiest escape, a route to adventure whilst lying safe in my own bed, avoiding a reality I am not yet ready to face.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I would choose the ability to time travel over becoming <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">immortal</span>, primarily because I want to go backward as well as forward in time, visiting places I have only read about in books and futures yet imagined. Though to reinvent oneself, lifetime after lifetime, does sound like an intriguing exercise.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">The contrast in tone sparked by one word versus the next is <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">striking </span>when working on this 50 contemplations project.<span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;"> </span>It is a lesson in the power of words, I suppose. Harmless alphabet letters combine to invoke memory or musing, take me down roads of melancholy as well as joy.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">If I am considered nothing more than <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">trustworthy</span> at the end, I will be content. I continue to aim for more, but if people simply remember me as someone who was true to their word, whose actions were consistent with my values, and recognized as such, that will be enough.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">If I were a philosopher (I had a falling out with that TA in college, never recovered) I suppose I might be of the school of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">transcendental</span> thinking. I live my own life, but believe our strands are tightly interwoven. I am as much my community as they are me.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I am only <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">fluent</span>, so far, in one language, which is one of my regrets. But there is still plenty of time for immersing myself elsewhere for mastery of tongue, at least of sorts. Iāve not crossed this one off the bucket list, nor given it up as future possibility.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">I sometimes examine the plight of others and wonder if my own <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">resilience</span> has never really been tested. More likely, my continuous quest to overcome, to take lessons from the bad, to rise above what pulls me down ā¦ leads even me to believe my life has been thus charmed.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">BONUS WORDS:</span></div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">Am I <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">obtuse</span> in my comprehension of <span class="_4yxo" style="font-family: inherit; font-weight: 600;">phosphorescent </span>properties? True, I am not particularly interested in the facts of quantum physics that make glow-in-the dark possible, just relieved that safer techniques than the radium paint, which took too many lives for too many years thanks to greedy companies, now exist.</div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">*<span class="_4yxp" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: italic;">Journal of a Plague Year</span>, by Daniel Defoe, was published in 1722. It is a novel which takes place during the 1660s Bubonic Plague in London. The story is reportedly based on the actual journals of Defoeās uncle.</div></div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;"><br /></div><div class="_2cuy _3dgx _2vxa" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #1c1e21; direction: ltr; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; margin: 0px auto 28px; overflow-wrap: break-word; white-space: pre-wrap; width: 700px;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; font-style: italic; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Dedicated to Everyone I Know, Have Known, Have Yet to Know<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">with a significant warm fuzzy going out to each who donated a word to this project: Lindsey Bartlett, Kimberlee Augusto, Onalee Nicklin, Stephanie Schraeder, Roy Beckemeyer, Curtis Becker, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Nancy Julien Kopp, Yvette Ediger, Derek Simmons, Doug Brauer, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Reaona Hemmingway, Crystal Gehrt, Bruce Miller, John Askew, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Kathy Stamatson, Tim Nicklin, Beverly Burney, Stephanie Pinky Juarez, Nettie Million, Dennis Etzel Jr., Amanda Neece, Lois Misegadis, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Sara Robb Nelson, April Neuman, Alma Robison, Lynetta Bauer Skaggs, Louise Pelzl, Charley Osman, Sue Griffith Claridge, Cindi Kerr, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Laura York Guy, Jeani Baker, Adina Sanchez, Simon Old, Elizabeth Yost, Erin Woods, Sandie OāNeal, April Pameticky, Mike Graves, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Tony Sanchez, Sherry Askew, Ann Vignola Anderson, Judy Blackburn, Jerilynn Jones Henrikson, Nancy Hamilton Sturm, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Candace Clover Carver, Brandy Nance, Deb Irsik, Jeremy Dorsey, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Cathie Germes Munsch, Lana Amawi Hanane, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Jan Schroeder, and Brenda White <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cpui9Lua-kI/Xv1X5MGQ-qI/AAAAAAAAp5s/NfDNlnQlOd41m_ZcbKPQe9UG05toBFx0gCK4BGAsYHg/s840/moonoilpaint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="moon face collage" border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="686" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Cpui9Lua-kI/Xv1X5MGQ-qI/AAAAAAAAp5s/NfDNlnQlOd41m_ZcbKPQe9UG05toBFx0gCK4BGAsYHg/w261-h320/moonoilpaint.jpg" width="261" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US">Moon for a COVID-19 Night, art from our time of stay-at-home, <o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt;"><span lang="en-US">by TRMS</span><span lang="en-US"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-align: center;"><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="en-US"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-70954208442614530252020-04-11T16:10:00.000-05:002020-04-11T16:10:08.862-05:00The Great PauseA friend (eventually several friends) shared <a href="https://forge.medium.com/prepare-for-the-ultimate-gaslighting-6a8ce3f0a0e0" target="_blank">this article</a> today that I absolutely loved. Read the whole article. Read it twice. There are so many gems here. Kernels of truth I have been seeking for much of the week. And now I have the words to write on sticky notes, to paste upon my wall of wisdom, to write in the margins of my paper journal, to inspire my own writing and moving forward.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">"...The Great Pause...the curtain is wide open...</span><span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">what would happen if the world simply stopped. Here it is. Weāre in it." </span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a class="fy fz bg bh bi bj bk bl bm bn ga bq br gb gc" href="https://forge.medium.com/@juliovincent?source=post_page-----6a8ce3f0a0e0----------------------" rel="noopener" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: inherit; box-sizing: inherit; fill: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Julio Vincent Gambuto</a></div>
<br />
The hubby and I walked the nearby river trail this morning. The birds were singing. The dogs were beyond-silly-excited to be out in the wilderness with so many smells to smell. It was a good start to a brilliant day. The sun is shining. The breeze is blowing. I love coming home to a spring-chilled house and feeling no need to grab a sweater. The blood is already warm and coursing through my veins. My brain feels alive from the activity. I had a leftover pork chop and mashed potatoes and cauliflower for breakfast. It was a perfect morning, pandemic not included.<br />
<br />
This, the third (more or less) week of our confinement, I feel as if I've made some progress. A new routine, of sorts, seems to be guiding my days. And I must admit that we are fortunate in so many ways. I know that so-called isolation must be easier in a house full of people. I know that our second isolation pod (the office) is a luxury not everyone has.<br />
<br />
I've been working on the novel daily (yes, daily! It has been a while). I've been working on Meadowlark publishing projects most afternoons. Bookkeeping for the law office remains a feature of my days, though the pace has certainly changed. No in-court time for hubby. No in-office appointments. The phone still rings, but everything is different.<br />
<br />
That said, I've also continued to experience moments of what I can only describe as intense grief, though they aren't as frequent as they were in previous weeks. As a family we are beginning to have more conversations about this. Everyone is working through their own disappointments. Today was supposed to have been the second day of our trip to Oregon. I subscribed to <a href="https://www.geoguessr.com/" target="_blank">GeoGuessr</a> last evening and worked a few "road trip" blues out of my system.<br />
<br />
I wish my sister lived next door. I heard from my sister-in-law last evening and found myself longing for the long, quiet days of my youth on the farm. Grandma Skaggs and Aunt Gerry living right next door. Cousins just down the road. But mostly, I was struck by how easy it was to have a phone conversation with someone I love. It's not something I do much of these days. We have so many modes of communication, but that voice on the other end of the line--that was a good, good voice to hear.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.84); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: 21px; letter-spacing: -0.084px;">"...take a deep breath, ignore the deafening noise, and think deeply about what you want to put back into your life. This is our chance to define a new version of normal, a rare and truly sacred (yes, sacred) opportunity to get rid of the bullshit and to only bring back what works for us, what makes our lives richer, what makes our kids happier, what makes us truly proud." </span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a class="fy fz bg bh bi bj bk bl bm bn ga bq br gb gc" href="https://forge.medium.com/@juliovincent?source=post_page-----6a8ce3f0a0e0----------------------" rel="noopener" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; border: inherit; box-sizing: inherit; fill: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Julio Vincent Gambuto</a></div>
<br />
So many gems. What if this is us--whole communities of people--defining our new normal. A better normal. A sweeter, softer, slower normal. There are some hugs I'm looking forward to giving and getting. But I'm also collecting some gems from this. Some of them are going to stick.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HIM9iHq2xaY/XpIsCDHMVAI/AAAAAAAAok4/BrmS_HVblQoJGUgSVDYeoYn4eU3UmRxeACKgBGAsYHg/s1600/20200411_080333.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HIM9iHq2xaY/XpIsCDHMVAI/AAAAAAAAok4/BrmS_HVblQoJGUgSVDYeoYn4eU3UmRxeACKgBGAsYHg/s400/20200411_080333.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dogs took us for a walk on the Cottonwood River Trail.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">_________________________</span><br />
<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" style="background-color: white; color: #7c93a1; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NYTimes</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> has us at 1,271 with 51 deaths</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">, 4/11/2020. Lyon County has 26 cases. </span>Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-20373268482706030932020-04-06T15:38:00.001-05:002020-04-06T15:38:35.206-05:00Stopped CountingLast week was both better and worse. I had large chunks of productivity interspersed with great periods of feelings of doom. The sun came out, but then the skies grew cloudy again. It was almost shorts weather for a day, and the next morning icy pellets fell from the sky.<br />
<br />
My friend Cheryl shared a <a href="https://flashfictionretreats.com/2018/04/05/50-random-sentences-or-how-to-face-the-blank-page/" target="_blank">50 random sentences</a> writing exercise with me toward the end of last week, and it has become my daily therapy. Though I'm not following the exercise to the letter, the idea of it has given me a useful method of processing. I get to create a personal record of this time, and having a 50 sentence target gives me space to expound on it, yet the hurry to get the sentences written quickly helps me to get the thoughts out and move on rather than dwelling for hours and writing myself in circles. I blame <a href="https://cherylunruh.com/" target="_blank">Cheryl</a> (this is what we have writing buddies) for getting my words flowing again.<br />
<br />
I am dwelling on the novel-in-progress again. That, and doing jigsaw puzzles with my husband.<br />
<br />
Life is good.<br />
<br />
Stay home; stay healthy<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2uZWsXSh4Iw/XouS93-wOKI/AAAAAAAAofU/DHcfiH8wvBg_zfgxWFny8gCBgdeRErXfACKgBGAsYHg/s1600/20200405_213225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="man with desert scene jigsaw puzzle" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2uZWsXSh4Iw/XouS93-wOKI/AAAAAAAAofU/DHcfiH8wvBg_zfgxWFny8gCBgdeRErXfACKgBGAsYHg/s320/20200405_213225.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle in one week!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
!<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">__________________________</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" style="background-color: white; color: #7c93a1; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NYTimes</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> has us at 853 with 25 deaths</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">, 4/6/2020. Lyon County has 23 cases. </span>Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-69903952872984917862020-03-29T23:25:00.000-05:002020-04-06T15:08:42.237-05:00Almost. Almost. Almost. This almost feels like one of those wishes I should have thought a little harder about before I wished it. I know I'm not the only one who has daydreamed of a pause button, fantasized about stepping off the hurried, worried world into a place of stillness, have no reason to hurry, nothing that needs to be done for a while. Almost. Almost. Filing big chunks of time with the moment. I'd forgotten how long a day can be, how many pages of a book can be read, how many dishes a family of five can get dirty! In the spaces where I'm not thinking about why we are here, why we are doing this, I can almost love the pace of this life. This isn't how I wanted it to come about, but there are pieces of this I am going to save. Pieces of connection/disconnection, that I am not going to give away again.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yvWZtI5PfqY/XoF0FcUuy5I/AAAAAAAAoUk/ErriXtr4iocCKu_AIQXeTDXevEZFIQwAQCKgBGAsYHg/s1600/20200324_142105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yvWZtI5PfqY/XoF0FcUuy5I/AAAAAAAAoUk/ErriXtr4iocCKu_AIQXeTDXevEZFIQwAQCKgBGAsYHg/s320/20200324_142105.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happiness sometimes comes on a sticky note.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-72001699256022823442020-03-26T20:25:00.001-05:002020-03-26T20:25:49.821-05:00Closed Because We Care<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div>
Activities:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Morning walks with the dogs. Afternoon walks, too. The frequent rains have messed with our walking schedule. And this morning I slowed us down because I felt compelled to read and take pictures of all the signs along the way.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>The girls and I have been re-reading Harry Potter together. I'm reading quite a bit these days, though probably not more than usual. I am drawn to anything that isn't current events.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Making plans for <a href="https://www.meadowlark-books.com/" target="_blank">Meadowlark Books</a>. Feeling like I've taken a bit of a stumble here. March and April were supposed to be months of book releases and poetry events. </li>
</ul>
</div>
<ul>
<li>Preparing for the first board meeting via ZOOM of the <a href="https://kansasauthorsclub.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Kansas Authors Club</a>. We've talked about holding virtual meetings for years. I guess we needed the prod to figure out how to make it happen. I, for one, am going to miss the road trip and visiting with so many of my writing friends over lunch.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Yoga. Stretching. Core Strength.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Watching Star Trek - Picard, one episode per night. I love him. </li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Book keeping, bill paying ... a lot of the usual going on at the law office, but more relaxed with the doors locked. All clients are now scheduled for phone consults only. And our days are shorter. I didn't go in at all today, and I may or may not go tomorrow. I haven't decided yet. Sometimes we play ping pong at lunch, which is also usual.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Texting. More texting than usual, with a wider variety of people than is usual for me. Been getting some nice notes by email, too. Not much by phone. I've never liked talking on the phone much. But I have talked to my dad and my sister this week, which is a lot for us.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Whole family eating evening meal together, and everyone is taking turns cooking, so only have to prepare a real meal one out of every five days.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Board games. Maybe every third evening or so. Love playing board games with the kids.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6x3kLVLqdxM/Xn1QnB41luI/AAAAAAAAoOs/PbC-JH1xnNkN6U9Dr25bQ-g-ftxbZ_uTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/closed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="collection of "closed do to COVID-19" signs" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6x3kLVLqdxM/Xn1QnB41luI/AAAAAAAAoOs/PbC-JH1xnNkN6U9Dr25bQ-g-ftxbZ_uTgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/closed.jpg" title="Closed" width="492" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">__________________________</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" style="background-color: white; color: #7c93a1; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NYTimes</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;"> has us at 171 cases as of </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">9:07pm, 3/26/2020. Lyon County has 3. </span></div>
Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-88278851438560189962020-03-25T06:11:00.000-05:002020-03-25T06:16:29.937-05:00Rhythms and Routines, or ā Is My āExact Change Geneā Showing?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life has certain rhythms, and I have long been a person who enjoys
embracing my routine, tweaking my routine, inserting personal bits and
challenges to change-up my routine, occasionally upending it altogether and
starting over fresh. It can be fantastic (though also sometimes scary) when
changes to lifeās rhythms are personally driven. For instance, I took on a
Jen-Sincero-Bad-Ass approach to publishing last year and the results were/are exhilarating.
When I decided at the age of twenty-seven to leave my job and try on full-time
parenting as a gig, it was a bit terrifying, but resulted in one of the most
satisfying and personally growth-filled periods of my life (never mind the
growing of kids, which was also rewarding).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But sometimes we donāt get to make those choices about the
changes to our rhythms and routines. Occasionally one falls down the stairs, as
I did quite literally in 2006, and everything you believe about yourself
changes. Or a plague comes along, just as an example, and you find your routines
spiraling out of control. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When R and I moved to Houston, I almost immediately began
having difficulty sleeping. I would lie down in bed and begin to immediately
wonder if I had locked the door to the apartment. I would get up to check the
door, find that it was locked, and go back to bed. I would lie there for a bit
and begin to wonder, had I already checked that the door was locked? Was it
possible that I was remembering checking the door the night before and that I
had, in fact, failed to check that the door was locked? And so I would get up
to check that the door was locked again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oQ8974WIqCc/Xns72xGxLyI/AAAAAAAAn_I/qgc_Hhv0PgYmhmnPI9gMXJntE3kVrqszACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200324_062453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="three dogs" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oQ8974WIqCc/Xns72xGxLyI/AAAAAAAAn_I/qgc_Hhv0PgYmhmnPI9gMXJntE3kVrqszACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200324_062453.jpg" title="Dog image" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous cute pup photo to <br />
help spread the smiles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my favorite psychology course in college (abnormal ā isnāt
that everyoneās favorite?) I remember getting the giggles one day as I began
plotting the extremes of the personalities of my friends and family to their
most dysfunctional extremes. Because thatās both the beauty and curse of psychology,
right? Things that we all experience and feel, become personality markers, and
conditions or tendencies that may come and go, and for a few, full-blown
extremes of debilitating proportions.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Psychology student that I was (or perhaps it was just my
farm girl roots that taught me the solution to most problems was within me), I
began to examine my ādid I lock the doorā behavior and ask myself, 1) when does
this become a problem, and 2) what is triggering this behavior?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My solution was eventually two-fold. First, I began keeping
a stack of hairbands at the door to the apartment. When I locked the door, I
would slip a hairband onto my wrist, and when I was in bed and begin wondering
if I had locked the door, Iād snap the hairband to remember that it was real
and I had, indeed, locked the door. The second thing I eventually did was to
stop watching the nightly news, a habit I had from my father, something that
seemed to me to be necessary as an adult living in the world. I began to
realize that the nightly news in Houston stressed the *lucky duck* out of me. Living
in a metropolitan area that was larger than my entire home state of Kansas meant
that the picture painted nightly on the evening news was very, very different
than the one I had grown up with. I still vividly remember stories from our first
few months in Houston, including a child that was abducted from a home and murdered
on āour sideā of town (it was miles and miles away, in a different city-entityā¦
but in my mind northwest meant too-near me). One night, I remember the news anchor
declaring that it had been a good day in Houston with not one stabbing, shooting,
car wreck mangling, or death. That was my eye-opening moment. I turned off the television
and began reading the newspaper, where I could skip over the headlines that
triggered my āis the door lockedā behavior, yet still feel informed. Eventually,
the stack of hairbands became a simple convenience that I could grab to tie my
hair up as I was headed out the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through my late teens and early twenties, I had a developing
hyper-thyroid condition, which I now believe also contributed greatly to my hairband
on the wrist episode. When the body is in a constant state of fight or flight, the
mind tends to look for reasons to support the accelerated heartbeat. The nightly
news was feeding me an ample supply of evidence that I should be concerned
about locking my door. I had half of my thyroid surgically removed at the age
of twenty-four and immediately gained a whole new calm and perspective.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than a decade
later, a time of blissfully embracing the rhythms of life and glorifying in my
routines, I had an event (the above-mentioned stair fall) that put me on a path
that eventually led to a number of less-than-healthy routines. Unfortunately,
this round it took me much longer to identify and take action against the
behaviors that were beginning to control me more than I was controlling them. I
did not become agoraphobic, but I could certainly see it from where I stood. And
I began to understand OCD on a level far deeper than my college textbooks ever
showed me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of my friends and family will be surprised if they are
reading this. Or maybe they are nodding their heads, seeing it now--the must-be-the-last-to-use-the-bathroom
Tracy, the sheās-never-going-to-let-you-drive Tracy, the must-pay-using-exact-change
Tracy. Iāve never had the ability to share the things that make me feel weak as
they are happening, only later, and often then only through writing or in
intimate conversations with people I really trust. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasnāt until the rolling panic attacks began hitting that
I forced myself to stop and reassess the way I was living and take action to
change it. They were terrifying. I would feel them coming on and had only
minutes to prepare myself. It was like being consumed by an ocean wave. My body
would break out in sweat, begin violently shaking, and then the tears would
come. I had never experienced sobbing like that, not even when my mom was dying.
I used all the breathing and meditation techniques I had picked up in my youth while
dealing with a hyper-thyroid, but they wouldnāt stop.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I eventually figured out that lack of sleep was at the heart
of my issue, and I wasnāt sleeping because of damage that had been done to my upper
back and shoulder in the fall. The bruises on my butt had been so extreme, I
hadnāt stopped to consider how the rest of my body had been affected.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
This isnāt to dwell on my history of behavioral extremes,
but to say (yes, as it is happening) that I feel my āexact changeā gene
showing. As I imagine do many of you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paying for groceries with exact change hasāoff and on
through the yearsābeen one of my challenges. For the positive, itās great for budgeting,
making me feel in control of money when I am attempting to hit financial goals.
There have been moments in my life, however, when Iāve found myself fishing
through my coin purse, my pockets, the bag on my shoulder, determined <i>not</i>
to break a dollar bill when I look up and recognize the look of exasperation on
the face of the clerk. Thatās when I know Iām crossing the line. My quest for
exact change has become a hindrance rather than a help. I did it at the grocery
store, my one trip last week. My heart began to race as I searched for exactly seventy-three
cents, while my fist was full of dollar bills. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These are stressful times we are living in. These are
trigger-inducing times for the psyche, and I would expect that even those of
you who have rarely ventured on this path of behavioral extremes (at least those
you dare to recognize) are seeking coping mechanisms at the moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is my 14,000 word way of sayingāitās okay. You are
going to be okay. You may have to resort to snapping yourself with a hairband at
night or disinfecting your doorknobs routinely with aplomb. Yes, your
hand-washing routine may be feel like itās becoming a major operatic production.
You may be longing (like me) to tackle-hug friends and acquaintances with whom youāve
barely shared a handshake until now. (Oh, the horror, what <i>is</i> this world
coming to?)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I leaked tears on at least four separate occasions
yesterday, and my centered-self couldnāt come up with a reasonable explanation
for any of it. Wellā¦ except for the plague and all. But you know, whatās a
little social distancing for a solitary-loving girl like me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Itās appropriate to have messy feelings right now. And itās
appropriate to come up with some creative behavioral modification techniques if
thatās what it takes to get you through. Just donāt delay my grocery checkout
by digging for exact change. Thatās all Iām asking. Pay your bill and get a
move on. Iāve got a decontamination routine to accomplish once I am through
here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No really, weāll get through this. (Write it again, make it
true.) We will get through this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And maybe we will pick up some beneficial coping mechanisms
along the way, and may those that are not beneficial for long-term use fall away
naturally and gracefully as our ānew normalā begins to evolve.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sending love and light.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-70460058273541389022020-03-23T20:29:00.001-05:002020-03-23T20:29:23.675-05:00A Birthday PieWhen we celebrated E's birthday early two weeks ago, we did so because her little brother was in town and we figured we wouldn't see him again until M's graduation in May. And here we are with K at home and no parties for birthdays or graduation on the agenda. No parties, at least, with guests beyond our little clan. Two weeks ago, I might have come up with a dozen accounts of how we were planning to spend E's actual birthday and none of them would have ended like this.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ocYjUkDzaQ/XnlbP1ZzcHI/AAAAAAAAn-o/9Ug3pQTAI54892sqom_bnULqBLrG82FEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200323_163518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="lattice top apple pie with 24 on it" border="0" data-original-height="1473" data-original-width="1600" height="294" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ocYjUkDzaQ/XnlbP1ZzcHI/AAAAAAAAn-o/9Ug3pQTAI54892sqom_bnULqBLrG82FEwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200323_163518.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy 24th Birthday to E.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
M and I made an apple pie today since we had already had cake. Not that two cakes would have been a bad thing. But we did have plenty of apples and E is a fan, so that is what we did. We were missing ice cream, but it was still delicious. The birthday meal was make-your-own-nachos bar. Mine ended up looking more like a taco salad.<br />
<br />
It feels like our family members are starting to get into a rhythm - doing their thing for most of the day. For M & K today that included the start of online college classes. Each evening we've been coming together to eat, taking turns being the person in charge of preparing the meal. Perhaps it is our unschool roots showing. This part is feeling a lot like home to me. I'm treasuring this evening coming-together time at the kitchen table, listening to my children laugh and talk and tease each other. I remember my mother sitting like this, quietly at the kitchen table when all of her grown children were home. She'd have such a big smile on her face. I understand now what she was thinking, and I wonder what she'd make of the state of our world today. But especially, I wonder what she'd make of me, her baby, having a 24-year-old. E was the only one of my babies that my mother ever knew.<br />
<br />
Some members of our writing group tried a Skype meeting tonight as Monday evenings are the usual gathering time for us (and we missed last Monday's formal meeting, one of the early casualties of the calendar when we were all attempting to make adjustments and deciding how many were too many and if we should get together at all). It's funny that I am one who often misses meetings for need of some alone time, yet I was really looking forward to seeing their faces. And though we had some technical difficulties, see most of their faces I did. I expect it will happen again. And perhaps we will even all get good at it before this is all over.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">__________________________</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;" /><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" style="background-color: white; color: #7c93a1; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NYTimes</a> has us at 82 cases as of <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">8:11pm, 3/23/2020. Lyon County remains at 2. </span><br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-32831596689410069452020-03-22T23:41:00.000-05:002020-03-22T23:41:22.461-05:00Sunday, Sunday . . . COVID-19 has reached Lyon County<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSJBo7ueQ9k/Xng0jaIcymI/AAAAAAAAn9M/i9PNb7FOfB4KMJeSbrrKvocI7bnGP068ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200322_103228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="table with markers and paper, sketch of two blue eyes" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aSJBo7ueQ9k/Xng0jaIcymI/AAAAAAAAn9M/i9PNb7FOfB4KMJeSbrrKvocI7bnGP068ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200322_103228.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't all art start with the eyes?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Quiet weekend at home was almost enough for me to forget what is happening out in the world. Cleaning, reading, games with the family, a short walk, and making myself some sunshine today filled the time well.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6TBnM9oQX8/Xng0jnFhQmI/AAAAAAAAn9Q/qqleERzTVfAWb26w_BvihEq1FPg9soAUQCEwYBhgL/s1600/20200322_112304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sunshine collage art with face and crayons" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6TBnM9oQX8/Xng0jnFhQmI/AAAAAAAAn9Q/qqleERzTVfAWb26w_BvihEq1FPg9soAUQCEwYBhgL/s320/20200322_112304.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My early 1990 era neurology textbook felt like the<br />perfect medium for the base of my project. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For the most part, I have felt very peace-filled these last couple of days. Staying away from social media is definitely helpful, though I have to say that I am mostly impressed and pleased with the way my friends and family are responding to our current situation. My Facebook feed says to me that I have chosen my community well. When I come across those who are ... well, less than like-minded, at least about the actions we should be taking ... I remind myself of things I love about them and try to tell myself that maybe their fear is not allowing them to think things through. On some subjects, I'm willing to say that hey, maybe it's me who has things backwards. But the science and the data seems pretty clear on this one.<br />
<br />
Had a short chat on the phone with my dad this morning where I learned he has been through quarantine before. When he was six he had scarlet fever. He said they put a big red sign on the door and he and his little sister and mother could not leave the house. His dad slept away at work and he remembers Grandpa knocking on the door sometimes at night so that he could talk to Grandma. I knew my dad had scarlet fever when he was a kid. I guess I just never had considered that it was something they quarantined families for.<br />
<br />
Technically we continue to volunteer to isolate ourselves. As much as possible, anyway.<br />
<br />
Tonight's board game was iKnow, by Tactic USA. It's part trivia, part betting where you can get points for choosing correctly whether others will or will not get the answer right.<br />
<br />
I've been long admiring the work of some local collage/multimedia artists and today I decided to tackle a project of my own. In the cleaning of the bedroom yesterday I unearthed a couple of college textbooks that I had set aside specifically with the idea of some recycled book art in mind. I thought we needed a little sunshine in our lives. I was pleased with the result.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NF-t_47M_ys/Xng0jlYT0RI/AAAAAAAAn9g/NrVUpXT9Hvg9OJJ3xZLlIgKENsFB3hAnACEwYBhgL/s1600/20200322_125212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="collage sunshine art hanging above door" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NF-t_47M_ys/Xng0jlYT0RI/AAAAAAAAn9g/NrVUpXT9Hvg9OJJ3xZLlIgKENsFB3hAnACEwYBhgL/s640/20200322_125212.jpg" title="" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It makes a fine addition to my door of inspiration and<br />helps to brighten the whole room.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">__________________________</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">Kansas is at 66 confirmed cases of COVID-19 (2 of them in Lyon County) and 2 deaths. (per my preferred website for keeping tabs, </span><a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" style="background-color: white; color: #7c93a1; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank">NYTimes</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13.2px;">, 8:25pm, 3/22/2020)</span>Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-38275203196282946242020-03-21T21:36:00.001-05:002020-03-21T21:36:30.607-05:00Let's Live Like Every Day is SaturdayEveryone slept in today. Even R, the dedicated early riser. I am an early bird by training, but he's an early bird by nature... or at least such early training (paper routes) that he doesn't recall if it's second nature.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_xEMzLz63Lo/XnbMAY3_fcI/AAAAAAAAn7c/JGjyu9eQQis3cRPI_onRVZrXgBKlIyydQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200321_210055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="tablet with handwriting on it, pen, and stack of game cards" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_xEMzLz63Lo/XnbMAY3_fcI/AAAAAAAAn7c/JGjyu9eQQis3cRPI_onRVZrXgBKlIyydQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200321_210055.jpg" title="Six-Word Memoirs, by University Games" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Six-Word Memoirs, by University Games<br />is a current favorite of my family. Today is<br />the first time we have played that I was not<br />the winner! I came in third š</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today has felt almost like a normal. The frightening part of that statement is to think we have adapted so quickly. But I think the fact that I've spent very little time online today has a lot to do with it. I made a reasonable plan for the day, and I followed it. R and I tackled the bedroom for a deep clean this morning. We pulled out everything that was pull-out-able, cleaned from floor to ceiling, and put only the stuff back that really needed to be there. We sent quite a few items to the shed, and made stashes for future library and Goodwill donations. We even washed the curtains.<br />
<br />
I spent the afternoon catching up on a little work for <a href="https://kansasauthorsclub.weebly.com/" target="_blank">Kansas Authors Club</a>. The spring board meeting for KAC is being moved to ZOOM so that we can all attend from home. Online meetings is something the group has talked about for quite some time now. I guess we just needed a little prodding to make it happen. Personally, I am always a fan of the Kansas road trip and I enjoy visiting with my fellow board members in person. But conducting a meeting online makes so much sense. Saves time, saves gas, and in this case, it's simply safer.<br />
<br />
Our local writing group is talking about meeting virtually next week, as well. I guess I will just have to get over being video shy.<br />
<br />
The family gathered for an evening meal (twice-baked potatoes by K, who says he's been watching a lot of Bon AppƩtit--Delicious!). Then we played Six-Word Memoirs and watched a movie, "The Farewell."<br />
<br />
__________________________<br />
Kansas is at 55 confirmed cases of COVID-19 and 2 deaths. (per my preferred website for keeping tabs, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/us/coronavirus-us-cases.html" target="_blank">NYTimes</a>, 9:04pm, 3/21/2020)Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-57813587100570991212020-03-20T19:09:00.001-05:002020-03-20T19:13:31.642-05:00"...everything is coming together and unraveling at the same time." <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(from an email exchange with a friend, W.D.)</span></i><br />
<br />
I woke from a dream this morning where I was shopping at Walmart and an enormous grizzly bear came charging in through the doors, running directly toward me. As I opened my eyes, I was thinking, "As if the plague is not enough. Now I have to worry about bears!"<br />
<br />
My sister suggested (via text) that the bear was not a sign of me stressing about going to the store, but a symbol of me as the bear. "Go get 'em," she wrote, and I liked that interpretation better than my own.<br />
<br />
Reminders I have had to give myself today:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There is nothing new to feeling anxious about grocery shopping. I've never liked to shop. Except for books. Books are the one exception.</li>
<li>Going shopping usually wears me out. The fact that I was feeling fatigued post grocery trip does not mean that I was showing signs of any virus. I was just darned happy to have the task of shopping over and done with and I needed a rest.</li>
<li>I may gasp at the emptiness of the shelves, but let's be honest. This is still a place of abundance. There are people all over the world who would have been shocked to see all the food that was available on the shelves today. And people in my own community for whom all the abundance on the shelves doesn't really matter because they can't afford it.</li>
<li>Strategizing for the shopping trip was kind of a kick. List making via store layout is my groove! M came along to make things go more quickly. We knocked out lists for two families (us and the Oparents) in only slightly more time than we usually do for one. </li>
</ul>
<div>
But let me take off my rose colored glasses for a minute (a blessing--thanks, Mom--and a curse). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Life. Is. Different.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am scared. And I keep having to remind myself to breath. And to stop gritting my teeth. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am heartbroken for my daughter, who had her last days of college classes without even knowing they were her last days. Who won't get to experience the big hoopla of walking across the stage for her college graduation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am angry on behalf of all three of my kids, whose plans for the immediate future have been thrown into all kinds of topsy-turvy unknowns. Though they are survivors, and I know none of this is going to break them. It doesn't stop me from mourning for all that will be changed for them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am afraid for the people who are close to me who might get sick, those for whom this might hit the hardest.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I ache for the families my husband works with, the calls we've been getting this week, the couples who were already struggling to successfully co-parent, and now have this wrench of (sometimes further) job instability thrown in, and additional worries about the fates of their children when they can not be with them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And though there's plenty more stored up inside my brain, that's as much as I can allow myself to express right now. Because I have never found much comfort in focusing on my fears and my afraids, my angers and my aches. Drawing attention to them simply makes them too, too big.<br />
<br />
And so I say, <i>enough for now</i>, and I look again at all the good I see in the world.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My community is an amazing, special place. And it will surprise me in the levels of amazing and special it reaches. I will continue to contribute to it, to lend my strengths, and try not to to detract too much by my weaknesses.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GLv8PzwP5Uo/XnVamPOzyUI/AAAAAAAAn7E/zbStNnojtSYN4_nom3mYIsCLHyIWuXE1ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200320_190440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sketches on a wall of flowers and a butterfly" border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="1600" height="367" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GLv8PzwP5Uo/XnVamPOzyUI/AAAAAAAAn7E/zbStNnojtSYN4_nom3mYIsCLHyIWuXE1ACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200320_190440.jpg" title="M's mural - March 20, 2020" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">M's mural continues to grow. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-19567152180354578542020-03-19T21:28:00.000-05:002020-03-19T21:28:03.328-05:00The Son Came Home Today, The Sun Came Out Today<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-UlEk205Aw/XnQnnKAyeRI/AAAAAAAAn6s/weAS0VKzf3QT5Ty_40EXqxCq11RbXZh3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200319_211430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="668" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y-UlEk205Aw/XnQnnKAyeRI/AAAAAAAAn6s/weAS0VKzf3QT5Ty_40EXqxCq11RbXZh3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/20200319_211430.jpg" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">M began an art project on our<br />hallway wall. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Some of you may remember that we used to have a German Shepard named <a href="https://goobmom23.blogspot.com/search/label/love%20my%204-legged%20kiddos" target="_blank">Nancy</a>. One of Nancy's many little quirks was the way she would count our family members. She'd circle the room giving each member of the family a nudge with her nose. If everyone was present, she'd settle down and become a really sweet dog. But if someone was missing, she'd count again and again and come to me with worry. She simply could not relax if one of the kids was missing. And she was pretty sure I was entirely incompetent as a mother. Why could I not keep my children accounted for?<br />
<br />
I've found myself thinking of Nancy quite often in recent days...and empathizing.<br />
<br />
The kids are grown now, but I have to admit that I felt some tension drain away when we got the phone call this morning that K was on his way home. And then I looked outside. The rain stopped, and the sun came out to play.<br />
<br />
That's a romanticized version of the story, of course. We really did need a day of sunshine. The dreary skies have not helped the processing and adjustments to this new and constantly evolving normal. Kansas not only doubled its number of COVID-19 cases, there have been confirmations a bit closer to home, in nearby Council Grove.<br />
<br />
And now we will adjust to living in a house full of five again. It's strange for all of us. Kids who were on their way out the door, on their way to leaving, gone ... wondering what the future will bring now.<br />
<br />
But I feel a bit like our old dog Nancy. Now that everyone is home and accounted for, I can relax.<br />
<br />
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-43934106596641928152020-03-18T21:31:00.001-05:002020-03-18T21:31:53.845-05:00I am tempted to call this entry: Quarantine, Day 3<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xV8xm4PIO0M/XnLKs6aIstI/AAAAAAAAn5w/vdVqRfz6eEooTM2wQOf6PkPHHZ1YKjWlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/20200318_111021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="foggy view of river outlined by bridge" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xV8xm4PIO0M/XnLKs6aIstI/AAAAAAAAn5w/vdVqRfz6eEooTM2wQOf6PkPHHZ1YKjWlgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/20200318_111021.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wednesday Morning Walk - Bridge over the Cottonwood River<br />Gloomy morning, but the company was good!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When R and I lived in Houston, we had the pleasure of living there through one significant hurricane watch. It was fascinating to me. They gave away hurricane tracking sheets at the grocery store checkouts, and we watched the grocery store shelves empty in the week leading up to landfall. In the end, the hurricane resulted in a lot of rain for us, some flooding in the downtown area, and things returned to normal fairly quickly.<br />
<br />
The whole experience was so bizarre to me. This sitting and waiting and worrying for something that was on the way, and might or might not hit us hard. I told my co-workers, who were terrified at the thought of a tornado, that I'd take a tornado over a hurricane any day of the week. In the days leading up to a tornado, life goes on as usual. Sure, the storm itself can be spooky. Terrifying, even, depending on how close it gets. But we didn't worry ourselves into a frenzy over it. Fast-forward 24 years and social media makes a lot of storms feel more like that hurricane watch in Houston than the tornadoes of my youth in Kansas. And this... pandemic, which still sounds like such a storybook word, though my goodness how our language has changed in the last 24, 48, 72 hours... this is like that hurricane watch, but on the big screen.<br />
<br />
Stay at home-social distancing guidelines, in theory, shouldn't impact my day-to-day life all that much. The office is just us, the same people who live at home, so going to work doesn't generally involve hanging around with others. On a full day, I might visit the post office and the bank, hit the grocery store on the way home. I did all of those things on Monday and Tuesday looked somewhat similar. Today I ventured off to Lawrence to bring the big furniture back from K's dorm room. The entire drive, I kept thinking about how normal everything looked. The grass is getting green, the days are getting warmer. But when I got out of the car--to get gas, to help my son carry his stuff to the car, to grab a drink for the ride back from the grocery store--it was so clear how much has changed in such little time. It's mostly an internal shift, a state of mind (though there were far fewer people out and about than I would usually see in Lawrence on a typical Wednesday afternoon). <br />
<br />
I am so rusty--or maybe it is that the distractions are coming fast and from so many directions--that these few paragraphs have taken me most of the day to construct. I'm not seriously calling this a quarantine journal, but when I made a list of self-care possibilities, the daily, or near daily blog post kept returning to me as something that I once found very satisfying. It was also very satisfying to spend some time on my long-neglected website, tidying things up for a few hours.<br />
<br />
No promises. I am here today. We will see what becomes of it tomorrow.<br />
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-22288563172349122232020-03-17T20:26:00.000-05:002020-03-18T21:32:03.582-05:00Because if the world is going to change, there ought to be a record of it, no?March 16, 2020 (an actual journal entry, written in the morning - entered here with minor revisions on 3/17/2020)<br />
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Beginning last Wednesday, the day my son left for spring break, COVID-19 came to the top of the Kansas news feed as the outbreaks in NY, Washington, and California were really warming up. We here in the center of the country were coming late to the realization that the timing for sending our young people off for spring break might not have been ideal. As they returned, what would they bring with them?<br />
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The colleges reacted first, with KU and ESU announcing extensions of Spring Break by one week with plans to then move to online class formats. At ESU, the initial date was "until April 10" when things would be re-evaluated. Pretty quickly, we started hearing that it would likely be through the end of the semester. Through about Friday, I was feeling rather thankful to live in a small community, thinking that the cities would feel the worst of this and that we would be somehow sheltered. But I was also looking at the calendar and beginning to, at least mentally, cancel upcoming travel and event dates. There was much upcoming on the family agenda. In April our family of five (four living at home) had three destinations -- M was to attend a conference in Houston, E has plans to visit England and Wales with a friend, and R and I were looking forward to a trip to Oregon. March and April were filled with book events, as well.<br />
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I did travel to Iola, Kansas, on Thursday for the debut of Meadowlark's newest book, <i><a href="https://www.meadowlark-books.com/p/all-hallows-shadows.html" target="_blank">All Hallows' Shadows</a></i>, Book 3 of the Pete Stone Series, by Mike Graves. Iola had selected Mike's first book, <i>To Leave a Shadow</i>, as the winter community read book. In Iola, we were already fumbling with handshakes versus bumping elbows. Social Distancing was not quite to the center my radar, but I was thinking quite a bit about for how long and how often I was washing my hands and reminding myself not to touch my face and doing my best not to touch any unnecessary surfaces when I was out and about!<br />
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I spent too much of Friday and Saturday reading articles about the virus online and attempting to stay off Facebook as the energy there was making me feel quite ill. I spent a lot of time contemplating my "nobody tells me what I can and can not do" contrarian roots. I wrote the following note in my daily to-do log: "Hospital capacity is the real chiller with this virus, and this means our small community will stand no benefit over larger cities. Our only hope is to lie-low and hope that we can slow the spread of the virus so that its pace never fills our hospitals to capacity, so that our doctors never have to choose who gets the lifesaving equipment, the beds, the medications, all of which may quickly run in short supply."<br />
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This sounds like hysteria to a calm Kansan's ears. We are the people who stand on the porch so that we can see exactly where in the sky the tornado is dangling. We are accustomed to taking responsibility for our own well-being and nursing our own family members through cancer till death-do-us-part. We know we are capable of long days of backbreaking work, and that we are capable of doing with less if we need to. It's hard to imagine a future where our grocery shelves aren't always lined with an abundance of food--or toilet paper--and where we can't just pop in to the quick clinic or make an appointment with our doctor when we feel a little under the weather.<br />
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Even though we have neighbors for whom these things have been a going concern, we live lives of such abundance that it is hard to really see, to take seriously the plight of our poorer community members when we are working class ourselves. We know what it is like to struggle to get the bills paid, yet we have managed to take care of ourselves just fine--thank you very much--so far. Why should any of that change?<br />
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In the coming weeks, one of two things will happen. People will stay home, possibly hoard toilet paper, and we'll see the needed break in the cycle of spread of this virus. It will still get here, but hopefully slowly and with little loss of life because our hospitals will be able to take care of those who are most affected and most of them will recover. If this virus does not hit us hard, we will have succeeded. Fingers crossed.<br />
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The other possibility is that we are going to learn that our efforts were too little, too late. As surreal as the events of the last 3 to 6 days have been, the feeling that our world has been turned on end--our cancelled concerts and potlucks and book signings--are going to seem mild in comparison to what's ahead.<br />
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I don't like to imagine what it might be like, but I know that we will adapt and learn to cope. In the meantime, I am making a list of "take care of me" items. I can still take walks and do yoga. I can still turn up the music and dance like nobody's watching! I can check in with my sister and my son and the rest of my family and friends through this marvelous technology I call a phone. (Hey--it does more than take pictures!)<br />
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I can use this time to write and publish books (or at least get books ready to be published). I can catch up on the family photo albums. I can pretend it is spring and deep clean my house (wait, it almost really <i>is</i> spring!)<br />
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Here are some images I came across on Facebook that I thought were beautiful for this time and all times.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rlmartstudio.com/wp-content/uploads/Pandemic-Animalitos-full-poster-web.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="What To Do In a Pandemic (Animals) ā Full Poster by Ricardo Levins Morales" border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="517" src="https://www.rlmartstudio.com/wp-content/uploads/Pandemic-Animalitos-full-poster-web.png" title="https://www.rlmartstudio.com/product/what-to-do-in-a-pandemic/" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What To Do In a Pandemic (Animals) ā by Ricardo Levins Morales<br />
Please <a href="https://www.rlmartstudio.com/product/what-to-do-in-a-pandemic/" target="_blank">visit his website</a> and like his <a href="https://www.facebook.com/rlmartstudio/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> page.<br />
<i>IMAGE via URL to artist studio page - shared with attribution as requested by artist.</i><br />
**Attribution is important, as is permission!**</td></tr>
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-89954702181559870632019-01-09T21:09:00.000-06:002019-01-09T21:09:12.127-06:00Tips for Taking Your Writing to the Next Level<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold;">by Tracy Million Simmons</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 16px; text-indent: -24px;">My local writing group has so many members now it is sometimes a bit difficult to find a seat at the table! I think part of our success is that the group is filled with people who have "can do" attitudes. It's contagious! I've long been a believer in the sentiment that we all rise and fall on the same wave. I think part of the success of our local group is that we are constantly looking for ways to support each other and challenge each other in our creative pursuits. The following "tip list" is largely inspired by what has taken place in my local writing group. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Attend workshops and readings whenever possible. Online courses can be awesome, but nothing beats meeting other writers face to face. (Watch the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pg/KansasAuthorsClub/events/" target="_blank">Kansas Authors Club calendar</a> or check on the offerings at your nearest university or community college, local library, or independent bookstore.)</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Invite another writer (or 2 or 3) to meet you at the coffee shop for writing talk and āwrite-insā where you sit together but work on individual projects for a set period of time.</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Build yourself a better writing communityāyour friends and family may or may not understand why you want to write. Spending time with writing friends will help keep you focused. Other writers will provide great advice and feedback to get you over hurdles as you meet them. If the types of opportunities you are looking for donāt exist in your area, create them!</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Publishing your work can be fun at any stage of the game, but starting with a focus on fun takes the pressure off. Print a chapbook of your favorite pieces for sharing with friends. Individualized chapbooks make great birthday gifts, holiday cards, or simply something fun and unique to share with those you love.</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Find another writer to share critiques and exchanges of proofreading/editing. Look for someone whose work you admire. </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Tip for those new to critiquing: Be specific about what kind of feedback you are looking for! Itās okay to start slowly! And itās okay to start with the positives as you get to know and trust each other!</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Organize readings for your writing group so that members can practice performing their work in front of others. Reading work out loud not only helps to improve it, the immediate feedback from a supportive audience helps you gain confidence. Once youāve had some practice, organize a reading for the public!</span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Enter contests, submit for publication, write and share, write and share, write and share. </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; direction: ltr; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 10.0pt; language: x-none; unicode-bidi: embed;">ĀØ</span><span style="width: 11.25pt;"> </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ansi-language: en-US; mso-ligatures: none;">Oh, and read, read, read! A writer always reads. </span><span lang="en-US" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12.0pt; language: en-US; line-height: 119%; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-73150430626749439222018-12-30T20:33:00.000-06:002018-12-30T20:33:45.427-06:00Found: Note from Mom<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I wanted to make veggie and wild rice soup with the duck that was left from our anniversary dinner. I pulled out mom's old food chopper (because I probably didn't do the best job cooking the duck -- it was a bit tough and I was trying to think of an easy way to chop it up small) and was telling my son about how my mom used this handy kitchen tool all the time. I used think it was just her way of p</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">rocessing leftovers. We often had a "sandwich spread" of some kind after a roast, a chicken, a turkey, etc., but today I wondered if maybe she used it often because it was a good way to soften up those tough old birds (either as a result of poor cooking or the fact that they were literally old birds that had gone from egg producers to food on the table stage of life). Anyway, Kaman expressed surprise that the chopper belonged to my mom, and then as I was cleaning and putting it away, I found this in the bottom of the box. </span><br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JO9gK48DKRg/XCl_DlL7h0I/AAAAAAAAQ-U/ZtXsi1v2hYcmyAv7ldGHSWy6w-SC5wDYACLcBGAs/s1600/20181230_103033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JO9gK48DKRg/XCl_DlL7h0I/AAAAAAAAQ-U/ZtXsi1v2hYcmyAv7ldGHSWy6w-SC5wDYACLcBGAs/s400/20181230_103033.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /><br />Mom was always labeling and dating every gift she ever got. I used to think it was a strange practice when I was a kid, but one I grew to appreciate. Today, it was as if she joined our conversation. Not only was it my mom's meat chopper, she got it for Christmas in 1962 from my grandparents (dad's parents). I love that she tucked the gift card inside the box. Maybe I have seen it before, but it didn't strike me as familiar. Her handwriting though, that I knew. And that 56 year old meat chopper still works like a charm!</span><br />
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-9742845263784416122018-11-01T13:46:00.000-05:002018-11-01T13:46:18.540-05:00Often I visit my childhood home<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVTACjOaAjA/W9tJi-HrDuI/AAAAAAAAQ44/ZNxTkO0cz2IuZB4VRFCkPmDAtTQ5rAWcQCLcBGAs/s1600/mom7377book0085copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="606" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CVTACjOaAjA/W9tJi-HrDuI/AAAAAAAAQ44/ZNxTkO0cz2IuZB4VRFCkPmDAtTQ5rAWcQCLcBGAs/s320/mom7377book0085copy.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Age 7 - with my pig Molly</td></tr>
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in my dreams. I lived there
for the first 18 years of my life; have lived elsewhere for 30 years more. Yet
in dreams I find myself climbing the stairs of the old farmhouse, looking out
my bedroom window toward the barn (which remains standing when I sleep, even
when my consciousness intrudes, reminding me of the fire), or exploring the secret
attic passageways which are always bigger and more elaborate than they were in
real life (also stuffed with treasure I always dreamed of finding).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last night I was there with my son. He was still a small boy,
and I was younger too. We were pulling long, thin boards from the biggest attic
and talking about all the things he might build with them. I kept thinking the
scene felt familiar. I told him about building a helicopter when the room was
being remodeled for my brother. In real, waking life, the construction must
have taken place when I was three or four. I did build a helicopter in that
room. I nailed two boards together to form a letter X. I attached them to a
larger board and added a small piece crosswise for the tail. I could spin the
propeller with my hand and felt tremendous satisfaction with my creation.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I also visited a memory of jumping, years later, from a stack
of bricks built with my cousins. We were flying then too. I donāt remember if
we had propellers or wings (perhaps we were testing both) but the important
part was the moment between jumping and landing, the brief span of time where I
believed that anything--even flight--was possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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As I woke, I told myself to hold on to the lesson, to
remember that I built a helicopter when I was only four, and to hang on to even
the littlest moments, those times when anything feels possible. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-73765113308255616962018-10-15T20:57:00.002-05:002018-10-15T20:57:55.748-05:002018 Kansas Authors Club ConventionIt's starting to feel like a belated recap of the festivities. Has it only been one week?<br />
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On October 5-6-7, I had the pleasure of meeting up with my writing family in Salina for the Kansas Authors Club annual convention and writers conference. I ran the book room this year (shout out to <a href="http://www.grizzlysbooks.com/" target="_blank">Ray "Grizzly" Racobs</a>, my helper!), and so it was a different view that I often get, but I had a fabulous time, none-the-less.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cover (front & back) of the 2018 Youth Writing Contest<br />Awards Book - Cover Photo by Evie Simmons</td></tr>
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Ninety-eight kids from across the state of Kansas completed 200 entries in the annual <a href="https://kansasauthorsclub.weebly.com/contests.html" target="_blank">Youth Writing Contest</a> (categories in poetry, fiction, and non-fiction). It has been a pleasure to work with our youth contest manager each year (shout out to Sheree Downs, 2018!) and to compile the book of winning entries. I love watching the kids get copies of these books. For this highlight alone, I would return to Kansas Authors Club conventions again and again. Thanks goes to many who have encouraged and contributed to the growth of this program.</div>
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Instead of attending workshops this year, I visited with authors one-on-one in the book room. The creative energy seemed to flow beyond the walls of the conference rooms. I enjoyed reports from attendees, as well as conversations about works-in-progress and books read. I don't know how the numbers compare to previous years, but we had 35 authors in attendance with more than 100 titles for sale. And it was extremely satisfying to watch shoppers select their books. ("Here! This is it! That book by the woman we were talking to.")</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Convention Attendees from Emporia: Jolene Haas, Curtis Becker, Monica <br />Graves, Michael Graves, Kevin Rabas, Cheryl Unruh, Tracy Million <br />Simmons, Hazel Hart, and Wendy Devilbiss - 2018 Salina</td></tr>
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Possibly one of the best things about the convention this year was the number of attendees from my local area. Emporia Writers group continues to grow each year and we had representation enough to fill a table at the convention this year. This is only a fraction of our regular attendees locally, but it certainly feels good to be part of a vibrant and growing group of productive writers.<br />
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It didn't hurt that Kevin Rabas, Emporia's professor poet in residence (aka Kansas Poet Laureate) was the keynote speaker at the convention. Kevin has such skill at bringing his enthusiasm and creative drive to the workshops. He has a way of emboldening and empowering writers. I heard long-time Kansas Authors Club member, William Karnowski (poet, current state archivist, former state vice president, former district president) saying, "Kevin really gets it. He knows how to connect with people. It's not just academic," as he was leaving Kevin's workshop.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin Rabas was presented with <br />the Merit Award for Achievement <br />in Writing at the 2018 Kansas <br />Authors Club Convention</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wendy Devilbiss (here with Diane<br />Wahto, state awards chair) was <br />presented with the Merit Award<br />Service to the Club, as was<br />Reaona Hemmingway (who was<br />unable to attend).</td></tr>
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A highlight of the convention each year is the book awards, and the total given this year was five. Award winners were as follows:</div>
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J. Donald & Bertha Coffin Memorial Book Award, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Flight-Novel-Beirut-French-Countryside-ebook/dp/B071HH9793/" target="_blank">Flight, a novel of Beirut and the French Countryside, by Jean Grant</a></div>
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Nelson Poetry Book Award, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Acacia-Road-Gerald-Cable-Awards/dp/1878851691/" target="_blank">Acacia Road, by Aaron Brown</a></div>
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Martin Kansas History Book Award (year one under the Martin name, in memory of Gail Martin, former archivist for the Club), <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cow-College-Other-Stories-1950s-ebook/dp/B076FMQKDF/" target="_blank">A Cow for College and Other Stories of 1950s Farm Life, by James Kenyon</a></div>
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"It Looks Like a Million" Book Design Award, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Modern-Bachateros-27-Interviews/dp/078649882X/" target="_blank">The Modern Bachateros: 27 Interviews, by Julie Sellers</a></div>
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Kansas Authors Club Children's Book Award (new in 2018, sponsored by state president, Ronda Miller), Bird, by Glendyn Buckley (Illustrated by Barbara Waterman-Peters)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literary Contest Winners in the Memoir/Inspiration Category:<br />Julie Sellers (Honorable Mention), Jack Kline (Honorable <br />Mention), Micheal D. Graves (2nd Place), Tracy Million<br />Simmons (1st Place).</td></tr>
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After a great weekend of workshops and inspiration, the convention was capped, as usual, with the adult literary contest awards in prose and poetry. I had five entries this year and was thrilled to take home awards in two!</div>
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I plan to share more about the award in Spoken Word Poetry soon!</div>
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Kansas Authors Club membership is open to anyone who has an interest in writing. Meetings are held in several locations across the state. Learn more about Kansas Authors Club at <a href="https://kansasauthorsclub.weebly.com/membership--benefits.html" target="_blank">www.kansasauthors.org</a>.<br /><br /><br /></div>
Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-92104918236440440202018-04-29T20:03:00.001-05:002018-07-31T19:18:31.916-05:00For the Love of Cousins<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rd0-okIUoCM/WuZrC4-N-kI/AAAAAAAAP7c/9pOPK5s-Ug0qF4_op2-S7SlOjuq0wfvYwCLcBGAs/s1600/facebook%2Bimages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rd0-okIUoCM/WuZrC4-N-kI/AAAAAAAAP7c/9pOPK5s-Ug0qF4_op2-S7SlOjuq0wfvYwCLcBGAs/s320/facebook%2Bimages.jpg" width="320" /></a>This weekend, one of my cousins said, "It's really too bad that it takes a funeral to get us to get together.<br />
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I agreed, but had to point out that at least we make the time for funerals. Sometimes it is hard to make time... except when you are being reminded that time isn't a guaranteed luxury. In memory of a cousin by marriage -- my Aunt Bonnie's son, Richard Powell -- I spent the weekend with some of my extended family. Cousins arrived from Alabama, Colorado, Texas, Indiana, and Kansas, of course. I had a rather short commute compared to most of them.<br />
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For about thirty-six hours, it was like diving headlong into the best best parts of childhood. I just circled and listened, circled and talked. Catching up on kids and partners, lives and jobs. Reminiscing and listening to others reminisce. Remembering those gone by interacting with those still with us.<br />
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I feel as if I owe a debt of thanks to Richard for the gift of time well-spent with family. I definitely owe a debt of thanks to Richard's wife, Deb, who opened her home and her heart to so many.<br />
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We're already planning an intentional reunion for next summer. Yay!<br />
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-86099794487308841502018-04-20T12:54:00.000-05:002018-04-20T12:57:53.264-05:00Reading with Emporia Writers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The local writing group had a reading this week as part of the celebration of The Literary World of William Allen White, hosted by ESU's WAW Memorial Library and Archives.<br />
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One of the benefits of getting together regularly with a group of writers is to remind yourself, though you often write alone, you are not alone. Other writers make good cheerleaders. They tend to offer good advice when you are in a writing hard place, or simply cheer you along, unafraid (and sincerely interested) to hear how your current project(s) is coming along.<br />
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Sometimes, having writer friends helps you step outside your box. While I've come to enjoy public presentations much more in recent years than I did when I was young, my tendency is often still to avoid them. Yet, when our group got this invitation to participate in this event, I jumped on it. It was fun to round up our writing meeting regulars and focus on a project together. We ended up with a few who were new to sharing their work and a some who were seasoned regulars. I think everyone had a good time, and though the event was small, we pretty much filled all the seats!<br />
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-20743451855268697712018-02-20T10:04:00.003-06:002018-02-20T10:44:20.773-06:00Reaching out , though it may disrupt our comfort...<i>Mostly written 2/15/2018</i><br />
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I lost a friend to suicide last year. Not a day has gone by since that I haven't thought about her, thought about our relationship, thought about all that I did and did not do. Though I called her friend, the truth was she could be a difficult person to be around. I struggled between the feeling that she needed me and feeling like I needed to protect myself/distance myself from her. In the end, I'm sad to say, distancing myself won out. In my mind, I told myself that I remained there for her, that I would not turn her away if she needed me, but I stopped reaching out. It was a hard thing to do. I am a person who naturally reaches out. I am a person who delights at getting together to visit with others, old friends and new. I'm not your go-to person for daily phone calls or lots of face time (generally), but I do value my friendships and I love getting to know my fellow humans, story by story.<br />
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I stopped reaching out to my friend, and though it took a bit of time, she stopped reaching out to me, as well. Our coffee dates dwindled to none. Our email exchanges grew less frequent and finally stopped altogether. The night before she killed herself, we were commenting on the same post on Facebook and I almost send her a private message. I knew life had been difficult for her. I knew some of her past issues were even more and bigger issues in that moment, yet I stopped myself. I chose to maintain the distance between us, perhaps thinking I just didn't have the time to welcome her back into my life right at that moment. I honestly can't be sure of exactly what I was thinking. Time has a way of of distorting the reality as we grieve. I only know that I did not reach out. And now I will never have that chance again.<br />
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These words come out today (heaven knows, I have started and stopped writing so many stories about my friend in the last six months) as I think about a young man who took a gun into a school in Florida yesterday and turned his pain, not against himself as my friend did, but against so many others. And as I am wired, as a person who spends time collecting people, story by story, I find myself thinking about how difficult he must have been. He likely had friends, at least once upon a time. People who cared about him deeply. And I wonder how many people from his life are sitting there today, wondering if there was something they could have done that would have changed things.<br />
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There are so many conversations that need to be had here...<br />
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But I keep coming back to another moment, just before I entered the fifth grade. I was on a family road trip that summer, reading <i>Blubber</i>, by Judy Blume, from the back of the station wagon. I was so moved by that story that I wrote a letter to a girl I went to school with. You know the girl. I'm sure you went to school with her too. Maybe she dressed funny. Her clothes weren't always clean, or her hair was a little greasy, like she was always a day past needing a shampoo. Or maybe it was something less obvious, like she had red hair, or she laughed a little too loudly, or her allergies meant she was constantly carrying a tissue. I think most of us have had experiences with this person. I think most of us have BEEN that girl/that boy for at least one moment in our lives.<br />
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For whatever reason, real or make believe, sometimes we encounter people who are difficult to reach out to, either something about them physically or something that stretches us mentally and emotionally. We pull away. We put distance between us when maybe what would truly be helpful--what would make a difference--would be to reach out.<br />
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In my grade school experience, the explanation (on the part of those of us who were not friends with the girl) was simple childhood immaturity. Some of us were trying on bullying behavior. Some of us may have actually been bullies. I don't know. Some of us were just <i>desperately</i> trying to fit in and would do anything, even if it meant shoving someone else out. Some of us had true issues to be angry about and did not yet understand that things were not improved by targeting an innocent victim.<br />
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That girl that I got to know was quick with a smile and incredibly bright. She didn't even hold a grudge, as far as I could tell. She and I became friends, at least through our junior high school years. I saw less of her in high school, and as adults we've seen each other a few times and have had our quick catch-ups and conversations as people who knew each other once-upon-a-time do. I don't know much about her life, but I spent enough time with her to learn some of the difficulties of her childhood, and to know that her smile grew even bigger as we left our grade school years behind.<br />
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I'm not excusing the horrible behavior of children or claiming that I made a significant difference in one girl's life. I'm simply remembering a moment that was hard, a decision I made that may have made <i>my own life</i> a little uncomfortable at that moment, but now that I am looking back I have no regrets about it. I reached out when I was ten, and it was totally worth it.<br />
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Yet as an adult, I didn't reach out... and I have been sorry every day for six months.<br />
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Since my friend took her own life last year, I've developed kind of a running dialogue with myself. Not that I had a clue just how bad it was for her. Even when our friendship was the real deal, even when I knew more about the ups and downs of her life, it honestly had never occurred to me that suicide might be one of her options. Call me naive. It feels arrogant to think that my presence would have made any difference at all to her, but it certainly would not have hurt <i>me</i> to reach out to her, to show some kindness.<br />
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I hear my inner voice quite loudly these days, saying things like, "Stop. Take a moment. Just say hello. Listen for a few minutes. Reach out. Give a little."<br />
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I don't know how to save the world, but I know how good it feels when people notice, when someone takes the time to say hello, and ask how my day is going. And there is no reason to avoid being that person who notices, who takes the time, who asks...<br />
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It's so easy to build a bubble and exist only on the inside. I think it is almost dangerously easy to do so even more these days, with communications like those on Facebook taking place of real life interactions.<br />
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The night before my friend took her own life, I almost sent her a private message. Instead, I pulled back. I was more comfortable with the distance between us. I told myself that she looked like she was doing well. Judging by the things she was sharing on FB (and we all understand how truth is reflected through FB) I thought she might even be finding some happiness. I reasoned with myself that my presence might actually disrupt her current life, that my reaching out might just bring up old hurts and make everything harder for her again.<br />
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I'm not a fragile person. I've long recognized that I have a stamina of optimism that has always carried me through the hard times. Sometimes, in fact, it has taken me years of distance to see how truly low some of the most difficult parts of my life have taken me. At the same time, my empathy for others who are struggling, especially while they are struggling, has too often sent me running the other way. When my mom died, I promised myself I would never walk away from friendship because of cancer. When a friend got divorced, I promised myself I would not walk away just because I could sometimes recognize her struggles in those my own marriage had seen. When my friend took her own life, it became very clear to me that I had walked away for the excuse of maintaining my own comfort, my own happiness.<br />
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And what does this have to do with dead children in Florida? I am reading the gun debates and the mental health debates and... while I think there is merit (on both sides) in so many of these arguments, I wonder if the answer isn't a bit simpler, a bit more personal.<br />
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Maybe we make a difference when we stop putting ourselves first. Just reach out when you see someone in pain. Endure a moment of personal discomfort and ask the next person you see about their own discomfort. Maybe replace every ranting FB post you write with a genuine conversation with the next person you meet on the street.<br />
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I don't know where to end this rambling post.<br />
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I don't know when I will stop feeling guilty about the friend I didn't reach out to.<br />
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And I know, know, know it wasn't my fault. It wasn't my responsibility to fix things for her. I don't need to be comforted about this fact.<br />
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I just need to decide that I will stop focusing so hard on my own comfort... I need to recognize my strengths and utilize them. I need to think more about the influence I might have on someone else's bubble, rather than fear a disruptive presence in my own.<br />
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<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-4598053870830139202018-01-29T07:06:00.001-06:002018-01-29T07:07:25.750-06:00Reality Doesn't Much Matter When We Believe OtherwiseI was thrilled when I got up this morning and saw on my phone that it was 35 degrees out. I've not been walking outside much in the mornings. There was that long stretch of single digit morning temps, followed by a long stretch of morning temps in the teens and twenties. Too cold. I bought a gym membership for the month of January (my hopes set on an early spring).<br />
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But this morning, it was above freezing by three degrees! I couldn't make excuses. I got dressed, layered myself appropriately, and then grabbed my coat (the one I use as a top layer on the coldest of days) just in case...<br />
<br />
The dogs were thrilled, of course. I think they've missed the walks even more than I have. We took off in the pitch black of morning and I was looking forward to seeing the sun rise, thinking it would come quite a bit earlier than the last time I took a morning walk.<br />
<br />
I was sure glad I'd grabbed that top layer, though. There was a pretty stiff breeze. It felt colder than I felt like thirty-five degrees should feel. But it had been a while. And the answer to feeling cold is just to move faster. So I did. And the dogs were eager and pulling me, so that helped!<br />
<br />
When I turned north on Commercial, that stiff breeze took my breath away. And within a block I was getting that intense headache I usually get when it's freezing out and the nose pieces on my glasses carry the cold directly into my brain. <i>What a cold thirty-five degrees</i>, I told myself and pulled my scarf up (luckily, I had grabbed that too). I had to pull my fingers up inside my coat sleeves, the gloves I'd put on were my above the thirty-two mark gloves. With that morning breeze, it sure was feeling more like ski glove weather. None-the-less, I was happy to be outside and my core was really starting to warm up.<br />
<br />
I was steps away when I looked up to see what the sign on the building at the corner of Commercial and 6th had to say about the temperature. 16 degrees!<br />
<br />
Clearly, I had not given my phone time to update when I flipped it over this morning to look at how cold it was outside.<br />
<br />
I was warmed up and tempted to keep going, but waiting for the light to turn, I saw my little dogs (still eager, still happy to be out) shivering. We turned left and made our way quickly back home. <br />
<br />
There have been winters when I have managed to walk every morning, regardless of the weather. This has not been one of those seasons. It's funny, how warm that sixteen degrees felt, when I believed it to be thirty-five.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CaTvw0X18J0/Wm8cIfsvPxI/AAAAAAAAPnk/kkeev6i9W70WnsjB8pxJzY2NaIfEwGzagCLcBGAs/s1600/20180129_064452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CaTvw0X18J0/Wm8cIfsvPxI/AAAAAAAAPnk/kkeev6i9W70WnsjB8pxJzY2NaIfEwGzagCLcBGAs/s320/20180129_064452.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rory and Sherlock, happy to be home after a cold morning walk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-20645173309481906292018-01-22T11:51:00.001-06:002018-01-22T11:53:12.783-06:00Easy-Peasy Blog Post (not that I'm trying to post weekly or anything...)I woke up this morning with a blog post neatly formed in my head. I had a plan by the time my feet hit the floor. I'd go to the gym, come home to clear the sink of dishes, enjoy a cup of hot tea with my breakfast, and quickly write my blog post before heading into the office. It was 8:45 when I sat down at the computer. I did give myself a small window of time on Facebook, but then I got <strike>write</strike> right to work . . . writing!<br />
<br />
When I looked up, it was a few minutes past 11 o'clock and there was snow falling from the sky. (Surprise!) And my easy-peasy blog post was nowhere near ready. And it's clearly much, much bigger than a blog post. It will likely be days or years before you read it here.<br />
<br />
This is how it happens sometimes. You write yourself into the flow, thinking you are just going to float a little ways down the stream and jump out. But it turns out the stream is actually a river, and perhaps that river is about to dump you out into the big, wide ocean. It's time to don the life jacket. It's time to get serious and swim.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, feel free to enjoy this photo that I was planning to post with today's blog entry.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n4AhCECLSRM/WmYkDoyzbAI/AAAAAAAAPlc/cNGzNIRzOT4XwLLB9YGgUwPGGosgoj2uwCLcBGAs/s1600/2017-12-31%2B16.31.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n4AhCECLSRM/WmYkDoyzbAI/AAAAAAAAPlc/cNGzNIRzOT4XwLLB9YGgUwPGGosgoj2uwCLcBGAs/s400/2017-12-31%2B16.31.04.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Dobby Grace.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-65010571873580260042018-01-15T09:50:00.001-06:002018-01-16T21:48:26.898-06:00Wherein I Finally Determine What My Tattoo Should Be<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IKH8UCdcJxA/Wl7HZJzX0NI/AAAAAAAAPgY/-f5Hd3MVlBAjyiF8gvZWoZbw--PDA8OHACLcBGAs/s1600/2018-01-16%2B21.45.59-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="1600" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IKH8UCdcJxA/Wl7HZJzX0NI/AAAAAAAAPgY/-f5Hd3MVlBAjyiF8gvZWoZbw--PDA8OHACLcBGAs/s320/2018-01-16%2B21.45.59-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my Tattoo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In conversation with a new friend yesterday, I admitted that
I had spent the last twenty years planning my first tattoo. Iāve come up with
several possibilities, but I always end up dwelling on whether each design is
something I really want to define me for the rest of my life. As well, getting
a tattoo feels like it would be the ultimate act of rebellion, and though my
mom has been gone for twenty years now and, letās be honest, it would be pretty
easy to hide one from my dad (especially if I did not blog about it in a public
place or, say, post photos of it on Facebook once it actually happened) it seems
funny that I would feel that way about a tattoo, when I think of much of the
rest of my life as a gradual act of rebelling against what I was taught I
should do/be/become.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I am, approaching my 50s, many years-clear of any of the
traditional institutions of my youth that would have considered a permanent
marking of the body unacceptable (though happily, not the people) and a tattoo
still feels . . . well . . . Taboo.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I honestly donāt know that Iāll ever commit, but in my head,
I am someone with a tattoo. I am also someone who wears long, flowy, colorful
skirts and big dangly earrings that catch and reflect the light and chime softly
when I move. (And I move like a dancer, by the way, rather than a person who
relies on roll-bar technology in her shoes to keep her upright.) In my head, I
am a person who can tell you what phase the moon is in, I know the Sanskrit
names for all the yoga poses, and when my life comes to a halt at random moments
to leave myself post-it notes of inspiration, I do so in the most beautiful
calligraphy.</div>
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The vanilla truth of me is that my standard apparel is blue
jeans and a t-shirt, and I can go days and days without putting on earrings or bothering
to look outside once it is dark out. For yoga, I do downward dog and variations
of what comes before or after dog . . . and table and tree pose . . . shark,
bent flipper shark, and lately Iāve added squirrel (not a typo ā squirrel). I
do spend an extraordinary amount of time with pen in hand (or keyboard at the
finger tips), but most of what I scribble is illegible, or at least probably
ought to have been left uncaptured.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But aside from the tattoo, and the definite lack of flowy in
the apparel department, I find I am more or less living up to the person I
envision in my mindās eye these days, even if I have not managed to design that
iconic tattoo that entirely encompasses who I am. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a writer; I have written; I continue to write. I am a
foodie; I can both impress and please in the kitchen. I am a happy and
fulfilled wife and mother; my kids are the best roommates Iāve ever had (next
to their dad), as well as my favorite people to hang out with (also competing mainly
with their dad). I am building a business from a model in my heart. It has to do
with books and people who commit words to paper and, though I have no idea if I
will ever achieve success according to anyone elseās standards, I know that I
am both content with my life and also motivated in a way that I have always
dreamed I would be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, my new friend shared her perspective on tattoos,
that they are reminders of who she was at a point in time, not commitments to
define the rest of her life. I really like that point of view. It suits me, and
I am surprised I did not come up with it myself. Iāve spent 20 years looking
for a symbol that encompasses everything I am, but should I ever get a tattoo,
it will likely be something that only defines a snippet. It will serve as a
reminder, not a sentence. And until I reach that moment in time when I raise my
arm, my flowing apparel parting to reveal indelible calligraphy, likely in Sanskrit
. . .<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hold on . . . I have to
go look up ābecomingā in Sanskrit . . . or maybe I should look up squirrel. <o:p></o:p></div>
Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2354477272060199850.post-57011936704984018752018-01-07T09:22:00.004-06:002018-01-08T16:19:34.396-06:00Living Timelessly in 2018<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPWKTVIuLQg/WlIlrjv2DsI/AAAAAAAAPec/-c5fFozx-HgmpY_pTt9k77sc47X_RXA8gCLcBGAs/s1600/2017-12-04%2B20.17.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lPWKTVIuLQg/WlIlrjv2DsI/AAAAAAAAPec/-c5fFozx-HgmpY_pTt9k77sc47X_RXA8gCLcBGAs/s320/2017-12-04%2B20.17.23.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gratuitous Bookstore Cat Photo: <br />
The Raven Bookstore in Lawrence, Kansas<br />
I have always wanted to start a collection<br />
of bookstore cat photos. Maybe this will be<br />
the year I actually do so.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's a new year and I have not made a single mistake in writing the number 2018 yet. A good sign, as it seemed as often as not in 2017, I would pause before writing the date to contemplate the year. 2010? 2013? Where exactly in time was I?<br />
<br />
I did make resolutions this year, and no, I'm not going to talk about them here. You will see the results of them if I succeed. You won't if I don't. Enough said. Once upon a time I called myself the Queen of New Year's resolutions. Then I spent several years saying that last year's plan worked well enough, I'd simply keep on doing the same ole' same ole'. This year I'm somewhere between the two, and I've committed to checking in with my family on working toward some long term goals.<br />
<br />
I am trying something different this year, and seven days in, I'm fairly pleased with the results. For many years now I have been a diligent tracker of time. Perhaps a bit of a side-effect of a freelance lifestyle, or simply a need to document how I spend my time to give myself a record of progress made, I can go back many years and tell you how much time I've spent on "job" related tasks, such as working for/in my husband's law office, and working for the farmers market (a job where, though I was technically an employee, I was the only employee and pretty much the boss of me and how I managed my time). I can tell you how much time I spent on freelance work, most years broken down by the type of work I was doing (writing for pay, writing for fun, ghostwriting, editing, and other). In recent years, I've even tracked time spent on some of my volunteer commitments, not because I felt like I owed the communities I volunteered with any certain amount of time, but because I felt I owed it to myself to make sure that I was spending at least as many hours on me as I was on other people. I have a tendency to put myself last in line of importance, and by tracking these hours, I got better at making sure I was putting in time for myself, as well.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Last year, 2017, I found myself almost evenly divided between two jobs (for lack of a better word -- two things I was committing my time to in order to put food on the table and feed my soul). I was working as the hubby's office manager, and publishing via Meadowlark Books (which seems to be the answer to my me time vs. other people quandary -- Meadowlark is for me, but working <i>with</i> other people and for them, too). Both are jobs I expect to continue for the foreseeable future.<br />
<br />
But one of the struggles I developed was this idea of getting to work on time. And if you are your own boss, and you are giving yourself anxiety over getting to work on time, well... that seems kind of the opposite of the point of being your own boss, correct?<br />
<br />
So in 2018 (so far), I entirely stopped tracking my time. I don't even have a clock/phone on my bedside table. (I've actually been experimenting with this part for a few months now.) I get up when I wake up. I get around and do the important things for me first. (Ideally, this is a long walk and likely some yoga, but the frigid temps this week have sent me to the gym, which I don't like nearly as much as walking outside with the dogs, but it's still close to home and certainly preferable to frost bite when the morning temps are in the single digits.)<br />
<br />
I get into work when I get into work, and my days have been pulled along by some sort of balance between what needs to be done and what I most want to work on next. It's been very relaxing. I feel like I've experience days of complete flow, just going from task to task, not worrying about whether I should be on one clock or another, or even paying attention to what time of day it is. Two days I ended up staying at the office rather late. One day I left rather early. The other I stayed through the typical time of 5 o'clock.<br />
<br />
I don't know yet if this is related, but I've read two entire books since the first of the year (<i>The Rules of Magic</i>, by Alice Hoffman = good enough I read all the way to the end, and <i>Turtles All the Way Down</i>, by John Green = FABULOUS and deserving of a written review which I hope to get to). I think the fact that I'm not feeling compelled to get up at a certain time has allowed me to read a bit longer into the evenings than is typical. And if I'm being honest, though the days have been pretty great, my sleep has been less than ideal. I mostly attribute this to the lack of long walks outside. I think my body misses the fresh air. Or maybe all the reading accomplishment is because I'm still on a roll from vacation, which looked something like this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Plan to go into the office the week prior to Christmas, but mostly find excuses to do other things, to go home early, to hang out with my kids and in-laws.</li>
<li>Read <i>Artemis</i>, by Andy Weir (totally enjoyable -- not as fantastic as <i>The Martian</i>, but a fun read and worth my time)</li>
<li>Read <i>Traveling While Married</i>, by Mary-Lou Weisman (quick read -- enjoyable -- she's not my kind of traveler, nor my kind of married, to be honest, but I enjoyed the essays)</li>
<li>Spend an incredibly joyful day unwrapping gifts with the hubby and kids. (We haven't done traditional gift giving in our family for several years, but went with the full surprise stuff in a package this year.) We played a game, watched a movie, ate some of our favorite foods.</li>
<li>Had an Christmas Day family brunch with the in-laws at our house--buckwheat pancakes, real maple syrup, and berries. Yum!</li>
<li>Read <i>Where the Past Begins: A Writer's Memoir</i>, by Amy Tan. (brilliant -- Amy is always brilliant -- I love her, I love her writing, I took notes -- will more than likely read this one again this year, or maybe next)</li>
<li>Finished the annual Holiday Letter. It took many days of writing and rewriting. Finally had to turn it over to the hubby to edit as my morose was showing a little too darkly. 2017 was far too filled with sad, sad things.</li>
<li>Cancelled our anniversary trip to Omaha (it was expected to be about 10 to 15 degrees colder there than here, and we were looking at single digits)</li>
<li>Made a trip to the bookstore in Wichita, instead. That's how we roll in our house. A celebration--even 27 years of marriage--is not complete until you've spent two to three hours in a bookstore. We took the kids. It was an amazing time.</li>
<li>Ate at Red Lobster for our anniversary and told the kids the story of why the Red Lobster in Wichita is our go-to anniversary celebrating place. (Short version: It was super cold on December 29 in 1990, as well. We had planned to drive all the way home to Lawrence on the day we got married, but my sister gave us a cash gift as we were taking off and between the cold and the Oreo cookies frozen to our windshield, we decided to stop in Wichita, thinking we'd get a fancy hotel room for the night. No such luck. But we did end up enjoying a decent meal at Red Lobster.)</li>
<li>Read and took notes on most of two magazines picked up at the bookstore, <i>Forward Reviews</i> and <i>The Writer's Chronicle</i>.</li>
<li>Got to see Illuminations at Botanica in Wichita. Awesome. Well worth the time spent out and about in the cold. </li>
<li>Starting reading two other books and a literary journal that I will perhaps report on later should I finish them.</li>
<li>Worked on some contracts and contacts for Meadowlark Books.</li>
<li>Went out to eat with the in-laws at our local favorite Mexican restaurant, Casa Ramos.</li>
<li>Fixed the water leak under the kitchen sink. (on New Year's Eve, no less -- only three trips to the hardware store, not counting the trip I made six months ago for the initial supplies which have been sitting in a bag in the corner while the sink drain continued to leak, leak, leak away and I periodically remembered to empty the catch bucket I had placed beneath the drip--who am I kidding, hubby mostly emptied the bucket... and the sink has been leaking since we moved into this house--it simply used to be a little leak that a shallow tray would catch and I realized about six months ago--why is the cabinet/floor all wet?--that our leak was now sizable enough for a small bucket--a bigger bucket would have been better, but there was only room for a small one)</li>
<li> Filled the New Year with games and a puzzle and the above-noted New Year's Resolutions sharing with the family.</li>
</ul>
<div>
It was a good end to a hard year, starting with the death of my aunt and my sister-in-law. We lost too many friends along the way this year. We lost our dog, Naisey. But it was a good year, also, in spite of the hard parts. I got a <a href="http://www.meadowlark-books.com/2017/12/a-life-in-progress-about-cover.html" target="_blank">book of my own published</a>, though I've barely taken the time to talk about it or <a href="https://squareup.com/market/meadowlark-books/item/a-life-in-progress-and-other-short-stories" target="_blank">sell any copies</a>! I got my Munchkin #1 back from Ireland (she did study abroad fall of 2016/spring of 2017). My Munchkin Boy took me to Germany (which has a nearly 24,000 word travel journal, but I've managed to write nothing about...anywhere!). Two new dogs and a cat joined our household. I'd almost forgotten how much joy dogs can be. Having slid into the geriatric years with our Naisey was kind of clouding my outlook.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so that's perhaps a summary of some of the many things I could have blogged about last year, but didn't. Perhaps I'll do better this year. I'd like to commit, but I'm still not keen on making another New Year's resolution, so we'll just have to see how things go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Meanwhile, I've been up for about four hours and the sky is finally light, though filled with grey. It's a Sunday, which has often been without time constraints anyway, but I'm listening to my soul tell me it's time to fix another cup of coffee. So, off to grind some beans and boil some water.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you've made it this far, please know that I appreciate the fact that you check in here, now and then. I appreciate you, and I hope that your first seven days of 2018 have been promising, as well. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's to an attempt at living timelessly in 2018. </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Tracy Million Simmonshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07566716982333768811noreply@blogger.com0