New Month's Resolutions: February

Last month I suggested an approach to resolutions that slices your time more narrowly than a year. Did you set a ping for February 1st? Did you reset and recommit with the new month? 

My January goals could be broken down into four categories: Write, Move, Knit, Balance. 

I did fairly well in most of those areas. Knitting went well (I finished the Watson Scarf and one Watson House Slipper), but I blew my intention of mending well-loved socks. Moving (as in exercise, baby) got off to a slow start, and some Writing time was taken up by Lingering Crud among the Sonars (we just need Pink Eye and a Broken Arm to get a Common-Childhood-Illness BINGO). I was most successful in my Balance category, primarily through a return to regular knitting (it’s almost like meditation, man). 

This is how I am going to adjust and recommit for February (what’s left of it anyway). 

Write. This should really be Read and Write. Read more, as in A Book A Week (did you hear that echo?). Write more, as in Blog with some regularity (and a more clearly programmed variety) and Plug Away at my Rewrite-in-progress. 

Move. Walk to nearby destinations. Get through a few weeks of an interval running program (I heart Podrunner). Add in some strength exercises of one flavor or another (who wants to do some push ups?). 

Knit. Finish the Shizuku (With Tendrils!) Scarf. Finish and felt my Watson House Slippers. Mend one pair of well-loved socks (they’re worth it!). 

Balance. I will make some quiet space and time to contemplate and reflect, so that I can make intentional choices and give my time and effort in ways that are healthy and satisfying. I need to make sure that my volunteering doesn’t derail the writing goals!

So how about it? Did you meet or exceed a January goal? Fall short? Need to readjust? You have a bonus day this month. What will you do with the rest of your February?

The State of this Union, 2011

A few years ago I mentioned that the U.S. State of the Union Address bears personal significance for Partner and I, marking that time, lo these many years ago, that we started our wanderings together. This week, President Obama’s third State of the Union Address had me counting on my fingers.

Seventeen.

Seventeen years of sharp right turns, overabundant grapefruit, and sleepless nights. 

In no particular order, here is a less-than-scientific accounting with which we might measure our seventeen years:

— 3 states (one of them twice)

— 4 cars (ok, two cars, one truck, and a Eurovan)

— 1 murder trial (neither of us) 

— 8 abodes (five apartments and three houses)

— 7 incisions (I lead by one, but do not hope for advancement on either side)

— 1 parachute jump (no, not me)

— 1 frog (may she rest in the compost pile)

— 4 hand-knit sweaters (three for me, one for him; he’s bigger)

— 1 nose ring (that one’s me)

— A handful of messy breakups (is there any other kind?)

— A bucketload of bagels (boiled, of course; chocolate-chip from time to time)

— 4 high schools (all him; three as teacher, one as oppressor)

— 3 institutions of higher education (four degrees and a certification)

— 3 Sonars (eeny, meeny, and miney)

— A mountain of books (and counting)

— 1 red and blue dye job (still not me)

— The infinite hope that we can put together at least another seventeen years (preferably with 100% less criminal justice system and 100% more intellectual engagement).

Love you, babe. 

New-Month's Resolutions Doesn't Have the Same Ring To It, But...

I know people usually make these resolutions closer to the beginning of the year, but statistically speaking, I’m still in the ballpark of the New Year, right?

We need temporal demarcations like the New Year because they offer us a bright spot in our memories with which to compare one year to another. The year is a good unit of measure for our larger goals and progress through life. We need to pause for self-reflection sometimes, and what better time than when we switch out our calendars for fresh pages and sweep out the detritus of the darkest days of winter and the long holiday season? What better time to resolve to make some changes in our lives than this New Year Marker, so that we can measure it against the years before and after?

A year is such a relative thing though. The year is not so BIG when taken as a slice of the typical life. But in the day-to-day living of that life, the relative BIGness of the year is precisely why most New-Year’s Resolutions fail.

Resolutions come in a lot of flavors. They might mean accomplishing something good, quitting something bad, changing an attitude or emotion. They might be about health, wellness, sanity, safety, creativity, bravery, idealism. They might be personal or communal, public or private, weird or noble. They might be HUGE (like quitting something massive) or small (like flossing every day).

You may have heard some people say that in order for a change or goal (especially the big ones) to succeed, they must be plausible, well-defined, and measurable. You might have heard that gradual changes or baby steps are better for permanent change. You might have heard that for a change to stick you have to repeat it every day for twenty-eight days (or weeks or months). For a resolution to succeed (especially a big one), we have to reign it in from its lofty disconnection from our everyday reality and pin that sucker down. That resolution might feel like a whale, and pinning it down might mean cutting it up into more manageable bites.

A year is BIG, relative to a day. A month is less BIG, relative to a day. A month fits a bit more precisely into the pocket of our memory, doesn’t seem quite so GIGANTIC and permanent. A month offers a demarcation with which we can compare one fourish-week period to another, likes beads on the Year-String. 

So, what if you could take that resolution, that thing however small or HUGE that you’d like to change about your life, and divided it into twelve pieces? Twelve steps along the way. Twelve wayside inns that are specific and measurable and smaller than the lofty resolution floating out there in the clouds. What if you drew a pretty frame around the first of each month on the wall calendar and a note about the Resolution’s benchmarks, or a reminder in your electronic organizer of choice that pings at you on the first day of each month? These smaller bits might be easier to chew through. You can compare how well you’ve done this month to last month. You can reflect on whether you are moving closer to that BIGger thing that you’d like to change. And if in one month you fall short? You recommit the first day of the next month. It’s not so far away. You have a chance to recommit twelve times this year alone.

If the month bite is still too big? Well, you know what to do. Weeks and days sit out there, waiting for you to lay out your hopes to CHANGE and DO and BE whatever it is you want to be. 

So what is your whale? And how are you going to carve it up? 

24 Days of Thanks, 2011-Style

I bring you Dani’s Second-Annual, November list of Thanks (Better Late Than Never). Chockablock with over-earnestness, a smidge of cheekiness, and an occasional disregard for paradigms (even while enthusiastically participating in larger hegemonic structures).

 Day 1: I am thankful for my muses, all of them and all of you, but most especially for Partner. Somehow when I bounce words and ideas off of him, they come back to me making sense, and sense is good.

‎Day 2: I am thankful for the opportunity to watch people learn to read. There is so much magic in watching a person figure out how to untangle the squiggles and have the power to decode the textual communication that surrounds us.

‎Day 3: Today I am thankful for cold wind, especially those cold fronts that blow in during the night, giving us a break from the hot hot hot.

‎Day 4: Today I am thankful for Body Armor. From the top of the head to the reinforced drawers, may it always protect our soldiers (including my brother) from harm.

‎Day 5: I am thankful for cake. And bakers.

Day 6: Today I am thankful for Legos and for our local library’s Great Lego Build Off. The Sonars have been spent MANY hours this month building amazing things, trying to figure out what their entries will be.

‎Day 7: Today I am thankful for proximity—living close enough to walk or ride bikes in most of our day-to-day activities.

‎Day 8: I’m thankful for the Nineteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution.

Day 9: I am thankful for our health insurance. With allergies, infections, asthma, eyeglasses, teeth, hernias, and regular old bodily maintenance and prevention, I don’t know what we’d do without it. I wish everyone had affordable access to adequate coverage.

‎‎Day 10: I am thankful for the agitators, the skeptics, the questioners, and the people who just wouldn’t shut up in the face of something wrong. Change, progress, and improvement only happen when people are willing to stand up and say something.

Day 11 (Veteran’s Day): I am thankful for those who have chosen to serve our country, who fulfill the promises that our government makes in our name.

Day 12: I am thankful for packed Saturdays. For the many enrichment opportunities for the kids, and for the teachers, coaches, and volunteers who make these opportunities possible.

Day 13: I’m thankful for my seventh-grade keyboarding teacher, Mrs. Horcasitas, who taught me to touch type like the wind. Zoom zoom.

Day 14: I’m thankful for eyeglasses. Four out of five occupants of this house are now eyeglass wearers. Sonar X6 should really watch out.

Day 15: I am thankful for our fabulous piano teacher. Our days are now filled with bits and pieces of music. Tanya is structured and patient, and has given The Sonars a gift that they can carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Day 16: I am thankful for Librarians! They know how to find almost any bit of information you could want. They organize and protect ideas. Fiercely. Some might poetically call them the Guardians of the Flame of Knowledge. That sounds so sexy.  Which is great, because librarians ARE sexy.

Day 17: I’m so thankful for small kindnesses. For holding open the door for someone, for smiling and exchanging a few words, for compliments that are small coming from the giver, but huge for the receiver, for simple, warm-hearted gestures that cost nothing, but feel priceless.

Day 18 (I told you I’d catch up): I’m thankful for all of you. Whether it’s something you’ve read, the music you’re listening to, your thoughts, observations, or actions, you challenge me, you break my heart, you make me laugh, you make me dance, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You people Rock My Socks Off!

Day 19: I am thankful for fruit loops. And friends to share them with.

Day 20: I am thankful for ICE. From the polar ice caps to the jingle in a drink to an ice pack for an injury (or sore typing wrists), I am so grateful for cold, solid, water.

Day 21: I’m thankful for internet access. Without it, I could not share this list with all of you quite as efficiently.

‎Day 21: I am thankful for antibiotics. We live in a world where they are often taken for granted and misapplied, but they quietly and unglamorously prevent serious illness and save lives every day.

Day 23: I am thankful for frustration. Weird, right? But when I get frustrated, I know I’ve reached a limit, I know I have a challenge to face, I know that I need to alter my course or bear down and push through to (hopefully) find the satisfaction of accomplishment on the other side.

Day 24: I’m thankful for holidays and vacations, chances to set aside the routine and be with people we love and do things we wouldn’t normally do, like make pie and marshmallows and roast turkey and stay up too late.

Day 29 (Bonus): I’m thankful for NaNoWriMo and the inspiration, motivation, and excitement that gets me to write down fresh ideas every fall.

Day 30 (Excess): I’m thankful for readers. And writers. And idea-sharers. And inspirers. And you. I’m very thankful for all of you.

Three out of four ain't bad: a triptych

While it rained, he stood at the window of his apartment playing a scratched violin. With only three strings, he had to adapt his musical arrangements. He was grateful once more that the E — the high string — was the missing string, and not any of the others. Those high notes scraped the inside of his brain anyway.

***

The little girls are dressed in their best clothes. Their grandmother starched and pressed the little dresses until they could have stood on their own. Their curled, brown hair is pinned away from their cheeks by matching yellow bird barrettes. Grandmother made them matching sweater-coats, smart little wool jackets to keep their blue dresses tidy and keep out the autumn chill. The polished shoes are buckled now, but the soccer ball abandoned under the practice goal will be irresistible soon. The tiny scuff marks will be scolded and then buffed away.

***

Two men play accordion inside the little Bavarian restaurant. The building was made of several rooms that had been added on and patched together over the past 100 years. In the nineties, the owner tried to make the place brighter by putting thick white stucco on all the inside and outside walls. Chalkboards display the hearty offerings of the day: two meals, two appetizers, two kinds of beer, and two accordion players.