Five Things

"Are you taking your vitamins?" asked my naturopath.

Why did I suddenly feel like I was going to confession? "Bless me father, for I have sinned, it's been three days since I've taken my vitamins." Even the giant pill container labeled Monday through Friday sitting right in front of the coffee pot--which I worship daily--has not inspired me.

The story goes like this...several years ago, my neighbor Marty told me she aspires to do five creative things a day. It was that comment that inspired me to try to add a little creativity into my own life--with pretty good results. Better results than the giant pill container, that's for sure.

I was thinking about the "five things" this morning, as I'm beating myself up for not taking my vitamins, not walking more, not eating better...not...and not...and not...all, of course, prompted by my naturopath's simple, gentle question.

My response to her question was this, "You know, in my ideal life, I would remember to take my vitamins, and walk more...."

In my IDEAL life? Who am I kidding? The only difference between my "life" and my "ideal life" is me! Right? There's not really much getting in the way of the ideal besides me.

And so I got to thinking...how hard would it be to remember to do five things a day? Five simple, don't take a lot of time, fill up those idyll moment in between work and dinner and dinner and sleep? Five things? How hard could that be?

The Five Things:

1. Take Vitamins
2. Move (walk, exercise, just move)
3. Drink Water
4. Put lotion on
5. Read or Write or Do Artwork

That's it. Those are my five things. It doesn't sound too hard, does it? Certainly manageable.

I figure if I post a few little reminder notes around the house, I may just be able to do this! Ideally, anyhow.

Will you join me? Can YOU do five things a day that you want to but don't seem to get to? And if so, what are YOUR five things?

Wise Reminder

Avocado Tuna Salad

A Good Book

What is a good book? For me, it's the one that grabs you, right on that first page, and makes you want to stay a while. "Nevermind the dishes, the laundry, the list of things to do—stay here and read some more," it says.

In a basket next to my sofa is a stack of good books. Or so I like to think. I haven't read them yet. To be honest, I haven't been much for reading lately. I'm too antsy. I can't sit still that long, right now. It's a phase.

I'm not sure what made me even think about reaching for a book yesterday, but I did. A well-worn John Steinbeck hardcover from 1961. I've never read Steinbeck, but I found it at the annual library book sale on the Green and it looked kind of fun. It's called "Travels with Charley" and is the telling of his travels cross country with his French poodle Charley in a pickup truck camper called Rocinante.

I wasn't sure what to expect. But, a dozen or so pages in, I was laughing so hard my cats looked at me with some concern.

"I thought I might do some writing along the way," writes Steinbeck. "perhaps essays, surely notes, certainly letters. I took paper, carbon, typewriter, a compact encyclopedia, and a dozen other reference books, heavy ones. I suppose our capacity for self-delusion is boundless. I knew very well that I rarely make notes, and if I do I either lose them or can't read them. I also knew from thirty years of my profession that I cannot write hot on an event. It has to ferment. I must do what a friend called 'mule it over' for a time before it goes down. And in spite of this self-knowledge, I equipped Rocinante with enough writing materials to take care of ten volumes. Also I laid in a hundred and fifty pounds of those books one hasn't gotten around to reading—and of course those are the books one isn't ever going to get around to reading. Canned goods, shotgun shells, rifle cartridges, tool boxes and far too many clothes, blankets and pillows, and many too many shoes and boots, padded nylon sub-zero underwear, plastic dishes and cups and a plastic dishpan, a spare tank of bottled gas. The overload springs sighed and settled lower and lower. I judge now that I carried about four time too much of everything."

I couldn't help but think of the giant red suitcase I carted with me to France last year, packed to the brim with all of the useful things I would need (and of course did not exist in a place like Paris)—enough socks, paper, pens, t-shirts, Q-tips and Zantac to last six months I think!

And then, while I was laughing and remembering that whirlwind vacation and being glared at by my cats, something very interesting happened. I sat still. Sat still for two hours, as a matter of fact!

A good book indeed.

The Walter Cornell Theory of Observation as It Applies to Pablo Neruda

I have a story for everything. Just ask anyone who knows me. I've been telling stories since I was little...perhaps that's why I've been a writer most of my life.

The tricky part about stories is that you have to remember them in order to tell them. I do that by naming the small moments and minutia after people. For example, Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" will always be known as the "Norman Kraft Song." Norman was the first boy who ever asked me to dance...to "Stairway to Heaven," of course. When I write, I often use the "JKL Method of Writing," named after my high school English teacher, who impressed upon his students the importance of good and well-organized writing. (My sister, as a matter of fact, now teaches the "JKL Method of Writing" to her students!)

These names help me capture the essence of the story, filing them away neatly for use sometime later. Like "The Walter Cornell Theory of Observation."

There are two parts to the "The Walter Cornell Theory of Observation" story. The first often gets included in the "How I Started My Own Business" story, in the Assistance Usually Comes with a Price Tag chapter. The second, and by far the more interesting part, is the "Theory of Observation" story.

"The Walter Cornell Theory of Observation" story goes like this. Walter was talking about the importance of paying attention to things. "Look around the room," he said, "and count all of the things that are blue." And so I did. "Now, he asked, "how many are brown?" I had no idea how many were brown, because I'd been paying attention to blue.

I often think about "The Walter Cornell Theory of Observation" when something begins to appear in my observations with alarming regularity. You know what I'm talking about, right? You overhear someone talking about puffins, and the next thing you know, they're all over the place--an Animal Planet special, the cover of the magazine you happened to pick up, the bumper sticker on the car in front of you. An invasion of puffins!

The funny thing is, the puffins were probably there all along. You've just been paying attention to them more because they're right there, at the front of your brain, center stage in your consciousness. You see them because, like blue, you were paying attention to them.

Paying attention to...Pablo Neruda. A while ago, I read Sue Monk Kidd's book The Mermaid Chair. In the opening pages appeared a quote by Pablo Neruda:

I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire;
I love you as one loves certain dark thing,
Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

His words were so beautiful, I used them in a collage I was working on at the time. "I love you...secretly, between the shadow and the soul." Who was this Pablo Neruda?

Turns out, Pablo Neruda is a Nobel Prize winning poet from Chile. "You know, I've always wanted to learn Spanish," offered a friend of mine without prompting, "so I can read Pablo Neruda's original poems." There he was again.

"Movies You'll Love," read the Netflix button. At the top of the list? Il Postino, in which "Mario Ruoppolo (Massimo Troisi), the mailman on an Italian island, pines from afar for a beautiful waitress. When exiled Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (Philippe Noiret) comes to live on the island...."

And then, last week...I was wandering around the library, looking for inspiration. I stepped aside for a woman to pass me, turned around, and there--at eye level: Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda.

Like Walter's request, I had taken the time to pay attention. I allowed space for the suggestion to roam around in my brain for a while. And in return? Perfect words for a collage, an interesting conversation with a friend, a good movie, and a book of poetry I can't put down.

Paying attention is critical for a writer. You never know where those small moments will lead you, what you'll discover along the way, and where the story might go from there.

Finding Emily

A long time ago, a friend of mine gave me a book called "The Book of If." Subtitled "Questions for the Games of Life and Love," it's a collection of hypothetical questions like "If you found out for certain there was a Heaven and Hell, would you change your life?" and "If you were to perform in the circus, what would you do?" The questions are sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, and always good conversation starters. It's a fun little book to have around for parties or road trips or idyl nothing-to-do moments.

It was during one of those rare, idyl nothing-to-do moments that I flipped to page 300 something and read, "If you could recite a poem to your lover, which would you choose?"

“Hypothetical indeed,” I thought to myself. The only poem I can confidently recite is Lewis Carroll's "Jabberwocky"--not exactly lover material, but an impressive party trick!

And then, slowly, I remembered. I remembered Emily.

It's been years since I read Emily Dickinson's work, a constant companion in college. And so, I ran upstairs and dusted off a small, well-worn hardcover collection of her poems and found...

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port--
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!

Home = Mom and Pop

As I write, my favorite local “department store” is having a Going Out of Business sale. It was the kind of store where you could find just what you were looking for. Special event? Big date? Vacation? You’d find the perfect blouse or skirt or pair of shoes, with accessories to match. Not only that, but you’d recognize the materials they were made out of--good quality materials, made to for last years, not just this season.

A friend of mine says it was the place folks used to go for Girl Scout and Boy Scout uniforms. We had one in the town where I grew up--it’s where we bought our gymsuits (does anyone remember gymsuits?) It was the kind of place where they took the time to say hello, to ask how you were and mean it. The kind of place where they’d ask if you needed help not because they were afraid you were shoplifting, but because they really could offer assistance if you asked. And all you had to do was ask.

But, despite the crowds of people pouring in for the department store’s big sale, despite the lines in the three small dressing rooms and the “record sales” reported by the owner, the store will be gone by mid-August. In its place? A cookie-cutter Coldwater Creek, I hear. Good cheap clothes that everyone within driving distance of their 300 stores across the country is wearing.

Soon to follow, no doubt, that tsunami of chain stores apparently necessary in any growing community. A Starbucks for $10 coffees. A benign Barnes & Noble. An Applebee’s for “homecooked” processed foods. A Payless Shoes and a payless hardware store and a payless gift shop.

In a time when “shopping” has become a pastime, I suppose “payless” is the key. Those colorful flyers that come in the mail each week have become the “calendar of events” for many. “Did you hear they’re having a huge sale on giant glow-in-the-dark Buddha statues this weekend? I have to get some of those!”

Who cares if the giant glow-in-the-dark Buddha statues were made in China? Who cares if they’re made of materials that will congest our landfills when we throw them out--and we WILL throw them out, next year, when giant glow-in-the-dark giraffes are all the rage. Who cares if the store pays their workers minimum wage without healthcare? Who cares if the store does nothing to support the community in which it does business? Who cares?

YOU should. Because downtown, next to the Starbucks and the Barnes & Noble and the Applebee’s are a host of small, locally owned “mom and pop” businesses maintained by members of your community, your neighbors. Businesses that support local events, local organizations, local charities, and local school programs. Businesses who have done so for years, if not generations.

They are businesses that are part of the fabric of your community, part of its unique character. Afterall, you don’t see your town’s tourism brochure promoting the great dining experiences of the local Olive Garden and Taco Bell. The “Where to Shop” section of the local website rarely touts the charm of the town’s Wal-Mart or BJ’s.

Who cares? We must. Because, in our enthusiasm for dirt cheap, ON SALE, glow-in-the-dark whatchamacallits that we have to, got to, need to have NOW...we’re losing the very essence of what makes your town and my town HOME-towns.

Perhaps we don’t need a place where you can purchase the latest in gymsuit fashions, but we certainly need the people and places that support our communities, that speak to the character and tradition of our towns, that make our towns the places we want to call home.

A Random Act

They have told me, for years it seems, that I need to have a cell phone. That I need to have caller ID. No one ever said I needed to have a Blog, but in a concerted effort to get myself up to 21st century speed, I now have all three.

Many (many) years ago, I published a zine called "The Latest News." It was a hodgepodge of writings about this and that. In its heyday--before the internet and blogs--"The Latest News" had more than 300 subscribers and was featured in several publications and zine exhibits. And then I got busy.

Busy for 14 years, while I acted like a grown-up and worked really, really hard.

And then one day I woke up and realized there was a part of me that had been neglected. The part of me that could do something like "The Latest News." That could find the time to be creative, to spend time thinking and writing about things besides work.

How I got from that day to this blog is a really long story. Suffice to say, I feel like I am coming home. And I'm excited by that!

So, welcome! I look forward to sharing more "Random Acts of Writing" with you soon.