Photos That Dance

I miss the cadence of photographs.  I mean honest to goodness, photographs taken with film that’s dropped off to a store, developed and put into albums. I miss the value of them - the value of time. Of expectation.

Steve had a simple request for me the other night.  Could I find a picture that included him, my dad, brother Keith and brother-in-law Rod?  The Fire Co.’s celebrates its 75^th anniversary in May and they’re looking for “family” shots of members for the program booklet.

“Sure,” I said.  I could see the picture in my mind – knew it was somewhere in the house.  And so I started to look.  Two and a half hours later I’d gone through over 15 albums and speed glanced at hundreds of loose photos.  The picture in my “mind’s eye” was nowhere to be found, but I did chance across one taken at least 25 years ago and a few others I pulled out for good measure. 

Neither the albums nor the loose photos were in chronological order so I jumped through the past 50 years or so, setting down the box of loose photos with my first grade picture to open an album and find Steven and me when we started dating, 13 years later. There were trips that spanned the last thirty years by planes, trains and automobiles.  I was heavy, then thin (more than I remember) and every size in between.  My hair was long, then short, poker straight and permed like wild a couple of times (again, more than I remember).  Abram passed from soccer games to school concerts and Steven flowed through fire company events and his paramedic career.

There used to be a dance you had with photos.  It started before an event or holiday, when you made sure you had enough film, batteries and flash cubes.  It wasn’t a cheap venture, so quite often the one receiving the “big” Christmas gift that year was tipped off to that fact when the camera was taken out to capture the “special moment”.   There were group shots where one person inevitably blinked or that family member who always managed to be talking to the person next to them during the shot.  Pictures were taken with a specific plan in mind of it being a future gift and always, always, there were promises to get “doubles” and share.  

When the roll was finished (and sometimes this would take months and you would have Christmas, a birthday or two and the following fourth of July on the same roll), you dropped it off to be developed at the little yellow capped Fotomat booth, an island unto itself in the middle of the plaza parking lot.  Like magic, in a few days you’d go back and from inside that amazingly little space, they’d hand over your pictures. I spent many days dreaming of growing up and working in that little booth, and really believed they somehow developed them in there!    

Growing up our family pictures weren’t put into albums; you’d stumble across a box of them, or open a desk drawer to find a few hundred of them.  When I got married, I put mine in albums and did so until the middle 90’s.  Soon I didn’t drop the film off to a store, but sent the roll by mail to be developed and the pictures (with doubles to be sent to my mom in Florida) were delivered to my doorstep.  I didn’t even feel the falter in my dance step.   

In the early 2000’s I got my first digital camera and pictures got downloaded on my computer and placed in albums in the “My Pictures” tab.  Rarely were any printed – they just got sent as an email attachment.  Then came Facebook and the ability to share with family and friends online.  The dance came to an end. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I love my digital camera.  I appreciate the ability to see a picture immediately and do a re-take until everyone is smiling and looks good.  I have thousands of pictures of remodeling the house, vacations and family events.  I love posting a quick snapshot on Facebook of Steven and I as we enjoy a glass of wine while cooking steaks. 

But still, I miss the dance.  I’ve never lost myself to strolling through my online albums for hours at a time like I did the other night with my albums and loose photos.  Those photos whirled me around ‘til I was near breathless. 

My Boot Camp Touchstone

Photo courtesy: http://lumberjocks.com/projects/24369

I had to rewrite this post a couple of hours before it was scheduled for release because it was eerily similar to one my good writing friend, Elaine Kehoe posted earlier this afternoon.  We had both written about the six week “I Should Be Writing! Boot Camp” that we just finished, led by our “drill sergeant”, Lisa Romeo. 

Elaine gave an eloquent account of the class and the most important accomplishment she got from it.  Don’t miss her post.  I’m going to break the #1 blogging rule and tell you to go now - really – go read it now – then come back if you want to read my re-written post about Boot Camp and what I’m taking away as my touchstone from the class.   

You’re back?  Thanks…. so we begin… last November I wrote Lisa about participating in Boot Camp.  I told her I was thinking of investing in myself and my writing with the stipend I’d received from a piece published in Chicken Soup for the Soul and wondered if the course was for me. 

By now, you know what the course was by Elaine’s account.  So let me start with Lisa’s account to me last November of what the course is not: 

“To explain how Boot Camp works first let me tell you what Boot Camp is NOT – not a craft class (though there is an option each week to submit work for private feedback); not a motivational seminar or support group (though some writers use it solely for that); not a guilt trip; not a score-keeping situation where you compare your writing output to others. It's also not easy, in the sense that it requires you to take it on, take it seriously, not simply think of it as an extra little something.”

And she was right.  It was NOT easy.  She was TOUGH. She was DIRECT. She was HONEST. She is the most challenging, resourceful and inspiring mentor I’ve ever had. 

The six weeks were filled with lessons, assignments, daily prompts and briefs, feedback on written pieces, suggested readings, resources, techniques, tips suggested readings, and one-on-one phone calls with Lisa.  We looked at our habits, our vices and our support systems.   She ran me through my paces and helped me take stock of myself as a writer.  What it meant to me to be one. Where it wove through my past, present and future and how being one fit into the fiber of my life.  And of course, the PRIMARY GOAL OF BOOT CAMP:  To be a writer who writes regularly and to incorporate change to CONTINUE to write regularly AFTER Boot Camp ended.   

And my take away touchstone?  That would be the dual tag team of commitment and accountability. 

As a good little beginning boot camper, I wanted to please the drill sergeant and started out by feeling that the most important thing was following through on the commitment(s) made on a Monday by email to Lisa about what I would accomplish the coming week and to report favorably on them during my accountability check-ins. 

You see, commitment and follow through to others has always been a strong motivator for me.  Commitment and follow through to myself…not so much.  But a funny thing happened as I passed through those accountability checks.  I began to value the work of the commitment as much as I wanted to report it “being done.”  The work, my development as a writer, and the scope of my writing began to grow. 

Before I knew it, I’d begun to create a “writing life” for myself through my commitments.  Being a steadfast calendar person, I took to plotting my commitments by the day, week, month and year.  I penciled in time to make a writing space for myself, to write and post a blog piece, to do my assignments for Boot camp, scheduled time for writing and researching markets, and wrote down the deadlines for submissions I found interesting. 

This was a major breakthrough for me and my key to continuing to write regularly after Boot Camp.  Seeing the commitments on the calendar broke what I wanted to do into manageable pieces, gave me a sense of control over what I wanted to accomplish and nudged me into areas I’d never ventured before. I even applied for a position with a new online literary magazine as a “staff reader.”  (Application acknowledged and just waiting, waiting, waiting to hear back – keep your fingers crossed!) How the commitments grew on each other and led to different areas added variety and reignited an interest in writing that I’d lost.    

However, I know myself well enough to know that valuing the work of the commitment won’t carry me for long.  I need to be accountable.  The commitment process developed and worked for me on the basis of being accountable to someone.  So now that the six weeks have ended and my accountability to Lisa has come to a close, I’m fortunate to have made a commitment with my good friend Elaine, to be accountable to each other for our writing. AND it’s super helpful that we have all the resources Lisa put at our fingertips to help guide us. 

It’s not easy to invest in ourselves.  But every once in a while when we do, the investment comes back tenfold.  I know Boot Camp is one of those rare items that will increase in value every time I go through the materials; utilize a tip, technique or writing prompt.  It’s carrying me “onward” into my writing future. 

I’ll end as I began, breaking that #1 rule and suggest you head over to Lisa’s site now and check out the next Boot Camp that starts April 8^th.  Click on the other classes and/or private coaching she offers.  She’s an investment you just can’t beat. 

Do it. Do it for yourself. Do it for your writing. Do it now.

Be EXCELLENT to Each Other

I spotted this bumper sticker on a parked car as Steven and I strolled along a sidewalk in Maine last summer.  I actually stopped and took a picture of it.  Why?  It’s a good reminder.  It’s direct.  It’s simple. It’s honest.  And yes, it’s easy.  Easier than you think.

The word excellent scares people off.  They think it’s “over the top” and “highly ambitious” when really the definition is just “very good of its kind:  eminently good”.  Not so scary or unattainable in that light.

Being excellent is being mindful of the mundane, routine, everyday life most of us live and purposefully taking it up a notch.  It’s making life more enjoyable with an action for another, your tone of voice, a thoughtful task done. A please and thank you. It’s giving consideration to someone else’s point of view or situation – sometimes making a concession.  It’s in following through on your word and keeping a promise. 

So while it’s not anything over the top or highly ambitious, it is being eminently good, and being so consistently. It’s within everyone’s reach.  It costs nothing – it’s only the giving of yourself.    

You can be excellent in any relationship whether it’s with a partner, a child, a parent, a coworker, a sibling or a friend. We’re naturally excellent in the first blush of our relationships.  It’s easy when things are fresh and new.  Personalities haven’t clashed, differences in thoughts and beliefs haven’t surfaced, and often the challenges of life that tend to wear you down haven’t happened yet.  But then they do.  Months and years pass and it’s easy to hold a grudge, fall into a rut or begin to take for granted this other person who truly does mean so much to you.  You lose what being excellent to each other brings your relationship. 

Spotting that bumper sticker stopped me in my tracks.  You can’t be on a 30 year journey with someone and not stumble a time or two, which Steven and I have done.  But our past practices of embracing the little daily things we do for each other, the respect we feel for and show each other, the humor and the love, and the mindset of being a team, are what’s always brought us back on course and to the incredible place we are now.  A lifelong set of practices wrapped up in 5 little words on a bumper sticker.  Be Excellent to Each Other. 

Take a moment and think of the ones in your life who are important to you.  The ones you love. Go be excellent with them.  Be excellent to each other.  Do it now. Do it today. And every day that follows. 

The Community Beyond My Desk

I never expected this to happen or to find myself here.

Creating for me has been a solitary endeavor.  However, I’ve stepped away from my desk and found a very welcoming place indeed. 

A few months ago, I was invited to join a group of local artists (writers, musicians, actors, painters, designers, to name a few).  Their mission?  “To spark their creative endeavors and get encouragement to keep on working.” As a loner, it was a leap of faith for me to join this group.  We meet once a month and discuss everything imaginable from the drive we feel to be creative, the tools we use, the workspaces we use and the risks and sacrifices we make in our lives to do what we do.  It was astounding to me the similarities in challenges and goals we all share.

In a very short time they’ve had a profound effect in how I see myself as an artist and the creative process.

Photo Credit: Niagara Univesity

An assignment from the “You Should Be Writing Boot Camp” course I’m taking tasked me to “nurture myself with a planned distraction”.  I work at Niagara University, which is home to the Castellani Art Museum. I like museums, however rarely go.  In fact, I've gone to the Castellani once in my seven years at Niagara.

So a few weeks ago on my lunch hour, I walked the rooms, starting with an exhibition of the history of Niagara Falls.  The following rooms housed a celebration of the Top-Spin series (solo exhibitions for emerging regional artists), portraits, sculptures and paintings. 
In the last room that held a collection on the Underground Railroad, I sat on the remarkably comfy bench and thought of being an artist.  

I thought about FEELING like an artist.  Like the ones who created the works I'd just looked at.  They had a vision.  They created and developed it into a form to share with others.  Their work touched me in thought and emotion.  

I thought about BEING an artist. I have a vision.  I create and develop pieces and share them with others.  People read my work that I will never know or meet.  It will touch them in ways that I don't know and can't imagine.   

I thought about the procrastinations and distractions in their lives and the daily routines they had.  And I thought about all the finished pieces I'd seen.  And that made me think about their commitments, their drive, their love of their craft.  I have within me all the same vices and talents. 

Then Friday night, I went to a reception for the artists of MY FAVORITE THINGS, by Robin Frey and Heidi Zanelli at Fox Run’s Gyda Higgins Gallery.  I met Heidi through the local group of artists. 
I walked the exhibition, admiring the beauty of the paintings and portraits as I listened to vocalist Mari McNeil, another artist from the group, provide soft musical jazz background.  Again, I found myself thinking of the process of creating and being an artist.

Sometimes stepping away from your own little corner of creativity opens up a whole new world, which is exactly what’s happened.  Where have I found myself now?  Remarkably... in a community of artists. 

A community made up of online friends, mentors and blogging groups like GBE2 Blog On and The Writer’s Post.  There is the talented group of writers and a wise instructor, Lisa Romeo, who I’ve met through the Boot Camp course, and an inspiring group of artists that I meet with once a month, all who have spurred my creativity to new heights.  More importantly, they’ve helped me feel a part of something bigger – something that allows me to walk through the Castellani or an artist’s reception and feel a connection not only to the finished pieces, but the artists, whether I know them or not.  We are ALL part of a community of artists.   

So no, I never expected this to happen or to find myself here; part of a world I hadn’t realized existed.  A world where I can nurture and support others with my experiences or by being part of an event.  By sharing my goals, my failures or my techniques. By showing interest and giving encouragement and feedback.  Yes, it’s a simple concept, but a new one for this solitary writer.  I’m glad I finally ventured past the edge of my desk.

On Being Lucky

Really - I couldn't just put a RABBIT's FOOT here now could I?

My mother, the Queen of Spin, instilled in me at an early age that 13 was a LUCKY number.  So, standing on the horizon of 2013, I’m expecting a lot!  In my heart of hearts, I know she pushed that belief in us kids because my oldest brother’s (and youngest nephew’s) birthdays are on April 13^th.  She wasn’t a believer in bad luck, so in our household, the number got flipped on its head.  There was never any worry of the 13^th floor in any building and Friday the 13^th, well that was just a “double” lucky day. 

I kick off 2013 with turning 50 this month.  Personally, it doesn’t bother me – chalk up another one for mom – who always said that age was just a number and since we didn’t have any control over it, why worry about it?  What I didn’t expect is the freedom that I do the closer I get to the day.  Somewhere in my head, 50 became the line in the sand.  You know… the one where I’m not trying to “establish” anything, or to “be” anyone.  It’s where I just get to be comfortable in my own skin and enjoy the groundwork I’ve laid down.  I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the fact that I’ve gone to a few funerals in the past few years for friends my age or younger that really shook me up.  So, in their memory, I really don’t have any right other than to just celebrate it for the sheer luck and gift of being able to.

March brings the joyful celebration of 30 years of marriage to my confidante, best friend and soul mate.  Will it have been 10,958 days of wedded bliss?  Of course not.  But honestly, pretty darn close. A few years ago, I watched Susan Sarandon as Beverly Clark in Shall We Dance give one of the best descriptions of marriage I’ve ever heard.. "We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'." And so, on March 19^th, Steven and I will have been each other’s witness for 10, 958 days.  And for that I am grateful, humbled and proud. 

Kitschy, Kitschy - here we come!

Summer looms with the “Amy & Steve hit Route 66” trip.  We’ll fly into Chicago, rent a car and travel the fabled ribbon of asphalt and concrete to LA and then fly home.   Over 2,000 miles in 14 days filled with enough diners, kitschy road side attractions, and historic sites to keep us laughing, learning and loving all the way. 

Around the house there is a front foyer make-over project with a built-in combination coat rack/storage bench that we’re pretty excited about.  We’ll be tiling virgins on that one as we place the tile floor in during that project (good thing it’s a small area to learn on)!

I’ve got some writing classes planned, hopefully LOTS of writing and some submissions to send out. Birthday celebrations for Abram and Steve along with a few surprises sprinkled in and it should be a busy year! And of course, there’s that whole “lucky” element from Mom.  I’ll have to pay closer attention to the lottery this year, just in case it wasn’t all spin.

At the Cliff's Edge

I’m poised in a precarious position, here between 2012 and 2013.  I’m standing at the cliff’s edge, feeling the unease of the dizzying height and the pull of the abyss mix with the fervent wish that the release will be worth stepping off.  That is, stepping off the writing cliff. 

In January I set out on a journey to what I thought was a summit, one step at a time, following a deliberate trail with a self-made map for my writing year.  I wanted to write more, establish some discipline, continue my self-education, connect with a writing community and find a way to reach out of my comfort zone.  Daunting goals indeed.    

January 1^st was the first step, with my first blog on My Writing Corner.  I completed 67 posts this year (including this one) and met a blog challenge of 28 posts in April.  In numbers, not as many as I’d hoped for, but at least two each month and I hit my self-imposed goal of 500 – 700 words per post.  Goal #1 & 2 met!

Trudging on, I learned the software to edit and update my website, Amy Writes, instead of having to ask my ever supportive husband, Steve, to do it for me (lucky for me he’s always in the wings, ready to lend a helping hand when my mind goes blank on how to do something or I’ve lost my notes!).   

There was sustenance along the way in an overwhelming smorgasbord of writers and blogs to follow on the internet.    After overfilling my plate for many months, I learned to appreciate smaller portions and honed it to a manageable half dozen sites or so.  Learning from and commenting on those blogs has provided a daily balanced meal of an online writing community that I’m very grateful for.  Goal #3 & 4 met! 

I sent a few scouts out in the form of submissions and although I didn’t get any of them published, it was a nice sense of accomplishment to set a submission goal and meet it by deadline and guidelines.  One submission from 2011 hit the bull’s-eye and took me completely by surprise.  “Journey’s Beginning” got accepted and published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: finding my faith in October. 

That singular event, more than any other, propelled me to the cliff’s edge.  It was a spotlight I was not prepared for.  It lead to newspaper articles in print and online, recognition at the University I work at in my non-writing day job and had me doing a bit self-promotion (NOT something I am comfortable with).  It’s been a test in learning to accept compliments on my story and writing in general from the readers it’s brought to My Writing Corner.  Goal #5 met…..sort of…

Which brings me to my cliff.  I know in my heart, I may have met the goals, but I didn’t exceed.  I didn’t reach the summit wrung out and totally spent.  I’ve found in my real hiking with Steve, if I plod along at an even pace, and stop every now and then I can always reach the summit we set out for.  And although I feel accomplished to have made it here, to my writing summit, I didn’t have to stretch far.  If I really want those first four goals to reach beyond my wildest dreams, to be surprised at what I produce, I need to get out of my comfort zone.  I need to be willing to jump off the cliff.   

So…I jump into 2013 with a six week course that starts on January 7^th with Lisa Romeo titled: “I Should Be Writing Boot Camp - Jan 2013”. I’ve also made a personal challenge to face head on, the “3 Quiet Fears That Stop Writers From Writing”, by delving into Janna Malamud Smith’s book, An Absorbing Errand: How Artists and Craftsmen Make Their Way to Mastery.    I’m looking for these two pieces alone to be a catalyst to further my writing and an introduction to my non-comfort zone.   

Clenched in my hand are my goals for 2013.  More depth and honesty in my writing. Steadier and more targeted submissions.  Dedicated schedule for blog posts. Continued education in the craft. Become stronger in the writing and creative community, both online and in person.    With persistence, hard work and yes, a bit of luck, I’m hoping the accomplished goals will land at the bottom before me, a cushion to land on this time next year.    

It’s scary here at the edge.  But off I step, with the fervent wish that the release will be worth it.

Magic and Belief

I pull the Christmas music box string very slowly and wooden figures of snowman, elf, angel and Mr. and Mrs. Claus peek at me through the windows and door openings of their little yellow house as they travel backward, winding up in Ferris wheel fashion.  The small nails that hold them to the rotating board are delicate, allowing them to sway back and forth as they make their rounds… 

I’ve pulled that string, watched the figurines peek out at me and listened to the slightly tin sound of Jingle Bells, for just over 45 years now.   

I was three when my brothers gave the music box to our mom for Christmas in ‘67.  Three years ago when my parents passed, my siblings granted my wish to have the music box.  Now as I hang it on my kitchen wall, I don’t see the age it carries or the areas where the glitter, meant to be sparkling snow on the eaves, has long since rubbed off in the packing and unpacking over the years.   What I see, what I feel, is a direct link to my childhood Christmas and all the magic it held.   

Twenty nine years ago this Christmas, about to celebrate my first Christmas married and in my own home, mom gave Steven and I a ceramic manger scene.  In two words, it’s big.  With 18 pieces and camels and wise men that stand eight inches tall, it could be overwhelming, but her artistic talent shines through in the incredible detailing of each piece, the deep, rich colors she used and in the delicate features conveying the wonder of the moment.  Amidst the often hectic holiday madness, it never fails to make me pause and renews the spiritual meaning of Christmas for me.

Our home is not large.  These two very different holiday pieces are physically about five steps from each other.  Yet they bridge the years for me between child and adult, between daughter and wife/mother seamlessly.  There’s no theme to my Christmas decorations.  The house is not done in ribbons of blue and silver, in red and gold balls in glass vases, nor in country chic.  It doesn’t look like any spread in the pages of a magazine.  It’s much like my mother’s was; warm and comforting; a blending of pieces that hold more meaning in the history or memory of receiving them than in the purchasing of them for a “look”.  What’s developed is a blend of my Christmas past with my Christmas present.   

I pull the string and listen to Jingle Bells.  My eyes travel from the figurines in the music box to the figurines in the manger scene.  A final gift from mom, a mixture of magic and the wonder of belief.