Consumed

What consumes my days, since my last post:

Dump trucks. Buses. Motorcycles. Bicycles. (Or "drucks, dusses, momos, aies," in the words of my now 20 month old.) What consumes him, consumes me. My world is now lit up with front-loaders, dump trucks, school buses, city buses, private buses. I run an errand after he's asleep and when I pass a construction zone, my heart jumps and I wish he were there with me to see the trucks at work in the bright lights, surrounded by darkness.

Words. 50,000, to be exact. I'm doing NaNoWriMo for the fifth time in ten years. I love this challenge; it is insane and charming, and I love scouring the forums for bursts of creativity from people all over the world. This has, however, left me with fewer words to insert on this blog.

Books. For the first time, I attended the Texas Book Festival this year, and was reminded how vital reading is to the writing process. As in, you can't write without reading books. I found new authors (Julie Otsuka, Esmeralda Santiago, Yael Kohen) and was reminded of old favorites (Madeleine L'Engle). During this NaNoWriMo process, I am actively trying to write for at least an hour a day, and read part of a book for at least an hour a day.

Current events. Sandy. The Sandy aftermath and physical and emotional healing that needs to be done. The election. Four more years!

Leveling up with our business. After four years of operating and growing steadily, but struggling, as most small businesses do, with cash flow, I discovered something called a line of credit. Huh. Evidently this helps small businesses manage cash flow and those few weeks every four months when the checks are almost in the mail but they owe their contractors today. I am so pleased to have this resource now to help us out. This will change our lives.

Sleep? Somewhere in there.

Strength, Reverence, Clarity

Strength of feeling, reverence for mystery, and clarity of intellect must be kept in balance with one another. Neither the passive nor the active must dominate, they must work in conjunction, as in a marriage.

--Denise Levertov

Closed Door, Opened Door

Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.

Advice from John Gould, novelist and columnist, to his student in high school, Stephen King

Whiplash

Being a parent is so weird.

One minute, your 19 month old is tearing around the public restroom (which doesn't have a changing table), rubbing his hands all over the toilet seat, trash can, door stopper, while you try to change his poopy diaper. You calm yourself by silently repeating, "just two hours until bedtime. Just two more hours."

And then, the next minute, once he's asleep, you're at the corner store, giddy on the trivial freedom of moving through the world solo. Suddenly, you hear a toddler's voice pipe up one aisle over, and your whole body thinks, "Oh, I wish my little one was here!"

Bang. Bang. Back and forth, one to the next. Whiplash. I remember feeling crazy in the first few months of motherhood when this sensation swung through. I'm used to it now, but it still startles me with its intensity.

How much can you hold? How much feeling can you contain? Keep growing your capacity. I am constantly humbled and amused by this journey.

Use It

Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare fiddle?

--Katherine Mansfield, born on this day in 1888