09 May 2016 Leave a comment
This is wonderful. My friend Ned Hickson wrote it and I stole it to share with you.
A mentor every writer should’ve been lucky enough to have.
Anyone who follows my weekly Nickel’s Worth on Writing knows Publisher’s Digest and The Master of Horror® Stephen King are frequently among those offering accolades touting the value an…
Source: Remembering a writing mentor who probably never knew it
18 Apr 2016 Leave a comment
DISCLAIMER: Girl is in a rainy-day mood – what does that even mean? Rain fills her with a happy melancholy that may or may not occasionally veer off into the blues, but it’s all good – and useful. Sometimes drippy sunless weeks make her dig through the laundry basket for her freak flag, and then things get fun. Hang with her if you want – she’ll be gentle – please keep your hands and feet inside the roll-cage at all times until the ride comes to a complete stop.
Roaming around her usual haunts this gray morning she’s laughing at all the prime new humor – the day-making kind because so.spot.on.
If it rains long enough, a bit of introspection sets in. After intense moments of spiritually-guided meditation over at least a five minute period today, all of her senses are telling her that she is salt in her community, with a well-honed bent toward rebellion. Cool. She has been seen and known.
Here’s a creative thing she does when she finds herself on the verge of punching bunnies in the face ’til they cry little bunny tears: She ponders the statistical probability that there are Others who are occasionally visited by weirdly unhinged storylines and who willingly entertain thoughts of same. This insight simultaneously encourages, appalls, and confuses her – and brings up a fun question: Who here is willing to admit that they, too, are Desktop OCD? If you write, how much power do your computer screen, your actual desktop, your direct surroundings add to that experience? Can you fully relax if not all of those things are in sync? Oh. Well, yeah, she can too (we assume), it’s just that she prefers it this other way.
When all her little proggies play nicely together, the soothing yet stimulating colors and designs cause her brain to overflow with copious, astonishing story ideas, hahahaha, yeah, no. But she’s happy, god knows, and nobody gets hurt. Are you out there, Dear Reader, kindred spirit? Don’t leave our girl alone in the universe. Say you do this, too, or something equally obsessive. Please show your work.
11 Apr 2016 4 Comments
Happy day – unless tomorrow morning’s x-rays reveal a problem, which is hard to imagine, I’ve graduated from PT! After being around the cool people at the rehab facility for the past couple of months, I’m going to miss them. I’ll also miss 10-minute heat and ice packs, shoulder massage, and people who know how to shame me into working harder. Self-discipline will be called for if I don’t want a flaccid rotator cuff for life – so embarrassing and inconvenient. On to bigger and better things, then!
04 Apr 2016 2 Comments
*Cervantes
Last month a friend added me to a Facebook group, an action that would ordinarily raise the hair on my neck except for who connected me and to which group. I like to be asked first, but if you actually know me you can probably slip that cheese past me without an implosion. Oh, but hoo-boy, the misguided adds I’ve quietly tiptoed out of! What was it about my posts over the past eight years that revealed a secret affinity for Home Canning groups, Fundie Prayer-Chains, or a support page for Nursing Mothers? {Hypothetical examples to spare the guilty, who clearly did not know me.}
This new page, though, is serendipity – all about women and faces and selfies. One of those things is not like the others. Women and faces = good. Selfies = I suck, both at taking them and accepting the results. But happily, this is all ABOUT acceptance – for ourselves and other women. Without camouflage, before coffee, after a run, in sadness, elation, frustration (!!), other women’s faces are endlessly beautiful to me and seeing them every day is showing me more about genuine acceptance of my own features than anything I’ve encountered until now. If they can all be real, why would I think I couldn’t? When someone shares a shot that’s possibly less than bare-faced, I think “No, please, show us your genuine, natural, beautiful self, the one who can trust her sisters.” So maybe I could dare hope my sisters would think the same on seeing photos of me.
Over the past decade or so my body has been in the process of betraying me, but even at that we’re better friends than back when my pudding-stage brain thought I was such an irresistible speck of humanity. I’m getting pretty comfortable in this body with this face on it, but my selfies still shock me every time. “Hello, Me, this is what we really look like now from the outside, can you believe this shit?” I choose to blame it on Bad Inanimate Face because Resting Bitch Face sounds so ugly and judgy. Pretty sure two things are at work here to make me uncomfortable with my own shots:
But…sigh…the suggestion is that we each post a selfie every week for a year and write something positive about every photo we share, which I think is delightful advice, in theory. I’ve managed one so far – right now I’m busy drawing from other women the inspiration to be as naked as they are. Faces, guys, naked faces. As you were.
And being real at every stage of life is all that matters.
“If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” – Abraham Lincoln
21 Mar 2016 8 Comments
Queen of Overthinking here, hand in the air, self-admitting for rehab this morning because see, the problem is, I have the uncanny ability to sniff out a plot, a mad-on, a what-did-they-mean-by-that comment; become righteously offended enough for all of us put together; and take myself to the brink of various irreversible reactions quicker than you can whisper “This isn’t about you, cupcake.” It’s like my brain has a life of its own and gets off on working overtime and then I need an intervention.
When one has spent (long, you wouldn’t believe, bubbie) years UN-becoming a pleaser, one oh so does want to believe that perceived slights, digs, and omissions mean nothing. Nothing at all. Why, then, does one’s tiny “I remember potty training with its attendant shame and failure” brain still have the power to do such a number on one’s heart and psyche? Well, never mind, I guess — that’s one for Freud and Co.
Fear of rejection! It’s why we don’t just say what we feel, and mean what we say — give it a rest, Sigmund, I’ve got this. My years of diligent Facebook application have brought me to this bold moment wherein I ask: Why don’t we just say what we feel and mean what we say? Did I not just say that? And the answer is right here in bold, jeez, are you not paying attention?
Fear of rejection almost tricked me into jeopardizing some irreplaceable friendships just recently. Tiny Brain told me “You’re in the way, back off, give space.” Turns out space was the last thing my friends needed so it was pretty much looking to them like nobody cared. Just saying how I felt would have been a smart thing to do. Note to self: Tiny Brain is not to be put in charge of anything whatsoever at any time, in any place, as pain will ensue.
I overthink most things, though, not just what I think other people are thinking. There’s a card here on my desk that we received three weeks ago from Maddie’s veterinary office, not only signed by everyone there, including Seth the pharmacist, but with a personal note from each doctor and staff member that let us know they genuinely saw our little fur-girl and recognized her spirit. It made both of us cry big tears all over again and I was absolutely going to write a heartfelt reply that evening except that other things intervened and it all cooled down just a bit while I was thinking, but I still want to say exactly the right things because their caring touched us so much, and I’m still looking at the card … here on my desk … unanswered. An imperfectly worded but genuine response will be written and mailed today, somebody hold me accountable, please and thank you. Okay, too busy justifying today, so tomorrow for sure. I’ve started a rough draft …
I read a great article the other day about why we procrastinate, but I immediately forgot what the hook was and I’ve inexplicably been putting off going back to look for it, ha. Queen of Overthinking / Queen of Procrastination / World Domination.
And life is too short and relationships too valuable not to say what you feel and mean what you say.
14 Mar 2016 Leave a comment
Playing with a headline checker this morning and finding that a passing grade is hard to earn — my words don’t meet the parameters for drama, bite, and maximum grabbiness. However, since I’m not selling anything I find that level of failure acceptable. Happy Spring to you, whether it’s early or late in your world!
07 Mar 2016 Leave a comment
As promised yesterday, a brief reading list from Playing for Time’s archives. Bets are now open as to how many I can repost without editing …
NOTE: Each link should open in a new window.
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2013/01/30/behind-every-good-woman-is-a-good-man/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2015/10/31/everyday-garden-variety-bleeding-hearts/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/12/08/what-scares-you/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2013/03/12/why-yes-as-a-matter-of-fact-i-was-raised-in-a-barn/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2013/05/22/memorial-day-reflections/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/09/30/well-this-sucks/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/09/23/queer-eye-for-the-straight-girl/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/10/28/a-tuesday-full-of-thankfulness/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/10/24/my-brothers-keeper/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/12/22/not-going-down-without-a-rant/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/12/04/a-fairytale-for-throwback-thursday/
https://playingfortimeblog.com/2014/10/25/its-saturyay-try-something-new/
There you go, and I was generous — these are favorites from the past three years and I hope you’ll enjoy one or more. Actually, I hope you’ll adore every single one of them, but how needy would it sound to say that out loud, jeez. I reposted them as I found them, and they’re a semi-cross-section of my blog, including humor and tears, longer posts and shorter posts, nostalgia and brashness, and maybe a window or two for peering at the writer in her cage.
If you like poetry there’s some of that sprinkled around, and a few of the creations are my own. It’s a genre I want to spend more time working with because of the way it pulls words and feels out of me.
The last link is one recipe that is tried & true, in case you read yesterday’s post — Kim has made dozens of these, inspiring awe and reverence each time, so you can trust it as well as many other recipes we’ve enjoyed since I posted them. If you have concerns, of course, just ask. I recommend asking someone who writes a food blog.
15 Feb 2016 Leave a comment
Conditions in the broken-bone sector have improved enough that spa-tub soaks are again in the picture and after several weeks’ worth of spit baths, sink baths, and whimper-laden assisted showers, basking in hot water and bubbles up to my armpits is the height of ecstasy. It’s the shiznit for sore muscles but beyond that it feels wonderful to be clean all over again.
Luxuriating in all that therapeutic goodness makes me acutely conscious of my fellow travelers who lack access to basics like showering, washing hair, brushing teeth, stepping into a clean set of clothes. Inevitably, after days, weeks, and months on the street they’re cringing inside a filthy threadbare meat suit that reeks of underbelly and in no way represents their spirit, but it’s what everybody sees. After just a month of enforced immobility and minimal hygiene I’ve been dismayed to find my skin taking on a slightly gritty texture and rejecting its host, namely me. The nails on my usable hand are constantly grubby simply because I can’t do this right now …
But because I ordinarily have access to all the soap and water I’m big enough to handle, I can start every new day clean, lotioned from head to toe, wrapped in clothes that smell like fabric softener and fresh air, and that alone means I don’t have to justify my needs to everyone I meet, or fight for my right to exist. I have the luxury of owning words and concepts like these:
… and it makes all the difference. Healing happens easier, quicker, better, and it’s a fact that as I roll through life the advantages I enjoy and the possibilities that are open to me are fairly limitless. It seems apropos to acknowledge that once in a while …
… because none of it comes with a lifetime guarantee.
09 Feb 2016 2 Comments
There was no doubt a time when you thought that just by becoming a grown-up you’d know shit, right? Yeah, me too, and when you’re pocket-size there’s a lot to sort. Turns out Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and adulthood are all fantasies spun to deer-in-the-headlights kiddos, thereby infusing every experience of childhood with a healthy layer of skepticism. And hello, Home Skillet, the more life swoops in and slaps that grin off your face, the deeper the trust issues get. Trust me.
Santa and the big magic bunny didn’t hurt much when I found out the truth about them, especially the rabbit, I mean really. Adulthood, on the other hand, smacks the crap out of us and the only way we make it through for real is knowing somebody has our back. Sitting here this morning trussed up like a Christmas goose I’m asking myself the hard questions, such as … what’s my trustworthiness quotient? How closely do my actions match my words? When people get to know me are they sick with disappointment over the contradictions that begin to show through? All of that matters for every reason in the world.
I adore living, but it’s fairly cold and heartless out there for most of the human race, as you may have noticed, so it feels amazing every time we can change that even a little bit for someone, am I right? Writing what I know and measuring it against what I do, because it would suck to be weighed in the balance and found wanting.
Oh, HEY, how ‘BOUT those Broncos?!
30 Nov 2015 Leave a comment
Wow, the long dark afternoons — has it always been like this? Why does this year seem different? And will it never end … it’s been winter now for … never mind, Google says first day is Dec. 22nd, which is irrelevant because it’s gray and wet and sometimes icy, and we could use a smile and a ray of sunshine. Right?
30 Nov 2015 6 Comments
Here’s a rustic dish, full of flavor, that will lead to wonderful leftovers all week. Once you try this smooth sauce you’ll want it on just about everything.
CHICKEN CHASSEUR
Serves 6-8
Ingredients
From the Kitchens of Twelve Tomatoes
23 Nov 2015 4 Comments
I lost a valuable friendship this week and have been blocked for good measure, so finding out what happened might not … happen. And that’s regrettable because I could have learned something important from the experience.
So, then, here’s how this works (after we slide into our big-ass panties):
“Cry it out if you must
Bleed a little if you must
But once you’re done, suck it
all up and move on and
never, ever look back.”
–Ali B. Moe
13 Apr 2015 4 Comments
in Manic Mondays, Recipes Tags: appetizers, snacks
Not guilt-free, but hey, VEGGIES!
From Damn Delicious: http://damndelicious.net/2014/04/04/parmesan-cauliflower-bites/
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