Happy Halloweeeeeen!

Just a quick wish that anyone reading this will enjoy a fun night of pretense and chocolate. (Because, really, what could be a better combination?)

For me, the evening's festivities will provide a much-needed break from the chaos that's been my life these past few weeks. Yes, in part because of the writing challenge (which I'm still in the midst of), but also because of other family-related factors that've kept me well occupied. Sometimes, though, just being able to stop and smell the Snickers miniatures is the way to go, and tonight I'll get to do that...alongside my little 8-year-old "Phantom."

Wishing you all as much fun as he'll have!

Balancing Act

I've been having difficulties with this lately--staying balanced. In attempting to allocate my time to everything and everybody requiring it, I've been (to use my mother's circa-1970s phrase) "spreading myself too thin."

It's not intentional. I'm not going out of my way to try to be a Super Achiever. (I would, in fact, prefer to be an Unambitious Slug this week.) But I think this is the state of most 21st century women's lives: Really, really busy...almost all of the time.

So, if I volunteer an hour in my son's classroom today, do I also have time to make something for the school bake sale tomorrow? If I'm working on a newspaper essay due this week, when will I get my required novel writing done for the 70 Day Challenge? If I go to the gym to workout tonight, when will I do the laundry? (Or--she asks hopefully--does that mean I get to skip the laundry?! :-)

Anyway, I know I'm not alone in this. Just about everyone I've talked to this week (month...year...) has said something similar. There are simply too few hours in the day for all the things we're expected to do, so we need to make choices. My choice tonight? To read a novel or to clean the kitchen... Any guesses which one I'll pick?

A Writing Challenge

Last night, I visited the website of author Elizabeth Gilbert, whose wonderful memoir Eat, Pray, Love has inspired so many. It is, in fact, a book I happen to be in the midst of reading this very week. On her site, Gilbert has a page up with "Some Thoughts on Writing," which, for anyone who's ever pursued a creative art, rings wise and true. Here's the link: http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/writing.htm .

Anyway, in relaying her feelings during the writing of her #1 New York Times bestseller, Gilbert tells us about one of those writing days, a day when she agonized over how terrible she thought her prose sounded. Then, as she explains, she realized this wasn't her problem. She says, "I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows."

I absolutely loved this. Because I think she's nailed it.

And so, with her wisdom in mind, I signed up to be part of a writing challenge that begins next Monday: 70 Days of Sweat (see link: http://70daysofsweat.com/wordpress/archives/71). It couldn't have been more aptly named, nor, for me, could it have come at a better time. Thanks to the sponsors of this event (and to "Sven," our hunky personal trainer :), and best of luck to all the participants!

Hold That Thought

It's October. A beautiful, fall, Midwestern day. The leaves outside are beginning to turn to flame. The sky is the gorgeous blue of a silk scarf, and the clouds dance around in it like cotton balls. I know this because I've been staring out my window for hours today. Why just stare? Why not go out into it and become "one" with the autumn?

Because I've been making those necessary but irritating phone calls--with the health insurance company, the credit card company, the car insurance company and the credit card company again--and they all put me on hold.

And on hold some more.

And on hold again, while some demonic person played a bizarre, jazzed-up, Musak version of the Titanic theme song "My Heart Will Go On." (No, I'm not kidding.)

My heart might go on but, let me tell you, my patience is limited.

If, according to to the writers of that fabulous new CW comedy Reaper, "hell on earth" is a place like the local DMV, then I say purgatory must be the state of being on hold while some insurance agent claims to need "just a minute" to check their files...

Timeless TV

It's funny what you remember from your childhood.

Thanks to our library's fabulous DVD collection, I've enjoyed watching some favorite old TV shows lately: MacGyver, Remington Steele, Northern Exposure and, yes, even Hart To Hart. (I'm hoping they'll order Moonlighting soon.) What's fun, of course, is getting to see with adult eyes the programs I used to look forward to as a kid or a teen...shows that helped form my notions of storytelling structure, character development and romantic comedy.

Some episodes hold up remarkably well to the scrutiny of time and maturity. Others, not so much.

The curious thing is that when an old program I'm watching now (some two or more decades after it first aired) strikes an emotional chord in me, I have to work much harder to think like a writer. The very timelessness of certain scenes pulls me into the show and makes me forget to analyze the pacing, the character arc, the dialogue exchange, the plot escalation or whatever. (I give writerly reasons like this for allowing myself the luxury of DVD procrastination. I'm working. Really.)

And, yes, just as often I'm thrown off by some woefully out-of-date pop-culture reference or by some really terrible hair or clothing style (i.e., Teri Hatcher guest-starred on MacGyver once and, oh, the huge, dreadful earrings!), but I'm still shocked by how many times the writers and directors of those now-old TV shows got the human drama just right. How they pinpointed the most universal social dynamics and the all-too-common fears men and women have about being in relationships with each other--be they work, family, friendship or love. How, even though I know about the inevitable demise of these characters, the aging of the real-life actors, the replacement of these programs with others several seasons over, I can still return immediately to their lives, and to a time when they lived out my earliest ideas of what constituted "funny, romantic, smart and interesting." And I'm so glad we have the DVD technology to bring them back...if only for a few hours.

Anyone out there have some favorites, too?

Persistence in Action

I recently celebrated a big birthday (and, no, I'm not publicly stating the number). As a result of the festivities, I'd dined out all week and consumed far more desserts than absolutely necessary (and, no, I'm not stating that number either). After several such days of overindulgence, however, I found myself at the nearby high school track, attempting to walk off a few of the pounds I'd gained.

That's where I saw my inspiration.

Male or female, I'm not sure (I don't really know my snapping turtles well), but I thought of him as a "he," and I studied him with unfailing fascination as I took my laps on the cushy blacktop surrounding the football field. The track is enclosed by a metal chainlinked fence and successfully keeps out most children and many adults. I happened to find one of the gates unlocked, so I slipped inside. Mr. Turtle was already in there, halfway around the track, up against the fence on the grass. He proved to be the only other living thing (besides a swarm of mosquitoes) that I encountered on my walk. Like me, he was getting his exercise. Unlike me, he clearly wanted to do it elsewhere.

Mr. Turtle kept trying to get out, but that fence created problem after problem for him. His shell was too large for him to slip beneath the chains. His body was too short to boost himself over. His legs were too stubby and lacking in dexterity to click open the gate. It seemed a hopeless business.

But, boy, did he keep at it. I watched him, continually amazed, as he plodded up and then down the linked boundary. After some 17 laps (mine), I could tell he'd inched to within striking distance of his goal (a large gap under one of the locked gates with enough space to allow him to pass beneath it, shell and all). And I could also tell that he didn't realize how near he was to succeeding. He didn't know to make a beeline for the magic spot. He didn't know his struggles would be over the moment he got another few yards down the path. Instead, he kept checking the fence every foot or so, sticking his neck through the chainlinked holes, stretching his chunky body to its fullest in an attempt to reach above his obstacle, taking additional steps forward when this didn't lead to freedom. Trying again, and again, and again.

God, I was so proud of him.

And, even though I didn't get to stay long enough to watch the glorious moment when he made his escape, I had utter faith that he would. Soon. And I appreciated his silent but powerful reminder.

Gelato is Coming to Town!

Is it wrong to get so excited by this?

Yesterday, I made a quick stop at our local Piggly Wiggly. (I love them for their soft bakery cookies, their thin-sliced Angus garlic roast beef and their "lite" chocolate soy milk, not so much for their questionable mushrooms or their inedible specimens of zucchini, though...) As I parked the car, I saw a sign on the building next door that nearly made my heart stop: A gelato shop! Coming soon!

Oh, YES!!!!!

Now, I love ice cream. I really love it. I also love frozen yogurt, frozen custard, sherbet, flavored Cool Whip and even Tofutti. I'm not that picky. If it's sweet and it's frozen, I'm a fan. But gelato--the ultra-smooth, Italian variety of flavor-infused ice-creaminess--is, without a doubt, my absolute favorite.

When I was in Italy, I was known to order up a large gelato cone three times per day (at bare minimum). The chocolate-orange cone I had in Florence one summer remains a highlight of that trip, on par with my first viewing of Michelangelo's "David." I took a ten-week Italian language class for the lone purpose of learning how to order gelati (the plural of gelato) while abroad. I was that dedicated.

So, is it too presumptuous of me to ask the manager of this new shop if they'll be carrying my favorite flavors? Or, to loiter around the entrance in hopes of snagging one of the newly hired workers and pressing him/her into telling me the exact date of the Grand Opening? Or, to whip all of my friends into a frenzy of anticipation over this delightful gastronomic addition to our little city?

Huh?

I think not...