My day in pictures. It was kind of cheerless, but I made my own way along the street and Congress Park, taking photographs along the way. I’ll share some of the writing when I am settled back into real life.
Pump
Pump House
In front of Visitors' Center
Spirit of Life
Skidmore College
(it’s a little dry today)
Cool wind on my face as I step off the porch. Fall leaves swirl all around me. Deep breath. And a smile. What a difference one year makes. And so it begins.
This is what I tweeted/facebooked when I walked out of the door first thing this morning. It was a wonderful feeling. At the moment, I’m attempting to organize my six days of writing. Of retreat. It’s funny, that word: retreat. When the military use it, it’s a bad thing, but when an artist or a writer or just a vacationer uses it, it’s a special occasion, a special time to rejuvenate, to reinvent, to be reborn in something else, someone else. The English language is a funny thing.
So begins my retreat. Or whatever it is. I still can’t pinpoint what I’m doing. I just know that I miss my writer’s conferences. I miss the creativity that fills me from my friends. I miss the poking and the petting that I need, but am so afraid to ask for. I miss the feeling; a feeling. I miss Wales. Actually, that’s not true.
I long for Wales. In the Fall, the hiraeth is strong, so strong. I even enjoy when my friend E talks down about his hometown near Bangor because then I can extol its virtues and the top one hundred reasons why he should also love it too. I know deep down he does, but it’s his hometown and he knows all of its intrincasies, which are boring and sheep filled.
Last year, I went to Denver and got some of this. Plotting a trip for spring perhaps, but this year, I can barely afford to go to Starbucks, but I need something. Not want.
NEED.
I’ve decided to give it to myself. I still have appointments. I still have bills. I still have family obligations, but I’m spreading MY TIME out among the next two weeks and if I can manage my goals, you will be hearing about most of it (some of you more than others), and at the end of the two weeks, I’m hoping to have a foundation for the next year to carry me through with more goals and successes and growiing and journeying down this path; this seemingly new path that has always been a thread in my subconscious that I’ve followed haphazardly.
I’ve planned the family’s menu for this week and done the grocery shopping this morning after Mass. About fifty dollars. I may or may not be home for dinner, and my husband and teenage son will be in charge of cooking. I’ve packed the freezer with waffles for breakfast and I’ve promised not to leave before all the kids get on their buses.
I have also, believe it or not, labeled all the boxes and wrappings of the food with the day of the week that they’re supposed to be eaten on. I thought my husband would be insulted that I did that, but it thanked me. Hopefully, our daughter will stay away from the cheese until after grilled cheese night!
So meals are planned.
Shopping is done.
There will be a lot of introspection and reflection and the things I’ve lost and the ones I’ve found in the last year, but especially in the last ten months, and always harking back to the good and the lessons learned and who I am today rather than who I never was.
Today, I’m at the library in a quiet corner by the window. There is a waterfall, and a frog and trees of just the right color and height (that’s a joke – if you’re reading this in the future, Google: Romney, Election 2012, it might still be amusing).
Today, I organize and plan and prepare. There will be index cards and workshop homework and creating a new blog and a dedicated Facebook page.
I will get back on track for my self-imposed assignments and all the while, not so much finding myself as becoming myself.
October, for me, has been both a highlight and a lowpoint in my life.
My second son was born on the 12th and almost exactly 8 weeks later, my mother died. That began a very difficult year. Every first of his was also the first for me without my mother.
Since then, the time from about September 11th until December 7th (the last night I spoke to my mother before she died the next morning) is a depression filled awful time in what used to be my favorite time of the year.
In 2009, I was gifted with a trip to North Wales by my best friend, so that I would have something to look forward to during my “dark time”.
In 2011, I spent a week in Denver with my good friends while my husband held down the fort.
This year, I cannot afford to go anywhere.
I fell apart last year after I got back from Denver (you will certainly here about all of this in good time) and continued to fall apart emotionally and physically until finally being diagnosed in January with severe depression.
Somewhere after adjusting the right medicine I decided to virtually go away for a week. This is my virtual Wales. Finding Tulsa (which will need explaining later) .
Recharge.
Renew.
Focus on my writing and my blotting and start marketing myself so I can eventually make money doing what I love.
Tomorrow is the first day of this – sabbatical? I’d like to come up with another name, but I will share my daily renewal with you, here with my writing, my checklists, my photographs. Feedback is welcome and encouraged.
See you tomorrow.
The blizzard that wasn’t. December 2009. My friends were waiting for me in DC. It was a quick hop; get on the plane if my legs would carry me, although it’s not so much the legs that were the problem as the will. The want was there, but sometimes that’s not enough.
“I can’t take the train?”
“It’s only two days.”
“I don’t want the little plane.”
“It’s a jet.”
“It’s not. I googled it.”
Silence.
“Fine. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Happy messages appear on my voicemail while I slept.
5 AM comes way too soon. It seems silly to pack the kids just to drop me off, but –
There is practically no one at the airport. It’s 5AM.
I kiss everyone goodbye and they pull away from the curb.
Can’t I change my mind? It’s dark and they say the weather will be bad. How will I even get home tomorrow?
Inside I hand the ticket clerk my papers and she smiles.
“That flight’s cancelled. Three feet of snow.”
I look out the window at the bare ground, the sun coming up and look back to her as if she’s crazy.
“DC. Three feet of snow. Airports are closed.”
“But it never snows in DC.”
She shrugs. “Do you want a refund? You were coming back tomorrow anyway.”
“Sure. A refund is good.”
I call my husband. He hasn’t gotten too far and he comes back. I guess we’ll have breakfast.
I leave messages. Sorry, can’t come. I don’t tell them that I am grateful not to get on a tiny airplane in December to land in the snow.
“Oh, poor Karen. What will you do snowbound with the little ones?”
“Snowbound? No. That’s just DC and Virginia. We have no snow. I’m going shopping.”
My shovel is dry.
I think Virginia got almost if not more than 100 inches of snow that year. Actually, I do know. Because I got every whiny phone call with each flake landing. I think he cried once. Record breaking snow.
I think we broke records here too – for least amount of snow.
Manchester. Last day. The only day it really rained. The hostel is nice enough, but it’s upstairs – third floor – no elevator.
No elevator equals no suitcase; at least as far as I’m concerned. It’s been misty all week, so I left my umbrella in the rental. Of course.
It’s still misting, so it’s not too bad. I have to walk about two blocks to find something for dinner. Piccadilly’s just down there I’m told. Not the circus – that’s in London, but right around the uni.
It’s getting dark and with it comes the rain. It is cold and wet. The kind of wet that soaks through your clothes, through your skin – I imagine my bones rusting. They’re already creaking. I am clearly a tourist. No umbrella.
Little do they know, I always have an umbrella. Just not here.
I wander down the street, the rain slapping me in the face – the hood on my shirt up covering my hair. That’s just for show, though. It’s a jersey knit and I think it’s wetter than the puddles I sidestep.
I slide into a Tesco grabbing a soda and a snack for later – once I’m “home” I can’t go back out. One more night. Had it still been Wales, I wouldn’t want to leave, but Manchester.
Fuck. I hate Manchester. The driving. The roundabouts. The Ring Road. The Ring. The fucking ring. It is a cunting nightmare. That’s no exaggeration. Round and round and round and NO! Dammit! I do not want to go to fucking Leeds! Manchester. MANCHESTER!
I stop a van for hire. Can you get me to Newton St?
Nah. I can get there, but I can’t tell you how.
I burst into tears and I suppress the urge to grab this stranger and cling to him. I half reach out my hand, but stop, wiping away a tear.
He inhales and points to his van. Follow me. I’ll show you where to turn. Thank G-d. Thank you, thank you. I breathe in relief and gratitude that can never be truly expressed. The feeling of holding onto the log or driftwood and then seeing the rescue boat.
It still took two hours because of all the one way streets.
I will never go back there. Never.
At least, I will never drive there again.
I hate Manchester.
October is both my favorite and least favorite month of the year. I had always loved Fall, but especially October. Cool, sleeping with the windows open, light jacket all the time, occasional boots (I have writing boots as opposed to riding boots), long sweaters (yes, I also have a writing sweater.) I am nothing if not ritualistic.
There are insane amounts of activities and appointments coming up plus my oasis of Writing Workshop and AP.
In 2009, I went to Wales.
In 2011, I went to Denver.
This year, I am virtually going back to Wales. On the days that I do not have an appointment, I am going on Sabbatical. I will still be online, and I will continue to attend Mass and will also be home for dinner (probably cooking – the point of this is to make my Fall better, not to make the family’s harder.)
If I remember the calendar correctly, I have six days in the two weeks where I usually find my solace. Sometimes, it’s simply a question of mind over matter. The middle of October is sad, and foreboding of winter and bad anniversaries, but it can also be a beacon – my Welsh adventure and Denver with my closest friends and this will be the first year since I’m aware of the difficulty of the time that I am homebound, so I am ‘traveling’.
My plan (still very tentative – I’ve only mapped out the days) is to go somewhere new each day and write. Or photograph. Or career plan. And network.
If anyone has any suggestions for writing (or photography) prompts, drop them by.
The more the merrier and I can add them to my prompt jar for one of those days. I got a great one last week from my friend, although when he said ‘tea’ I will admit to rolling my eyes. As it turned out, it wasn’t half bad. I might actually post it later today.
Yesterday, in class, the prompt was rain soaked, and I wrote about Manchester. Yes. *That* Manchester. I don’t think I’ve ever been any other place that so readily brings to mind a vulgar term for the female anatomy. I will be posting this later.
October is a busy month, both personally and in important causes to many of us.
Some of them include:
Breast Cancer Awareness, Research and Treatment – women get your mammograms. Men, ask the women in your lives if they’ve gotten their mammograms or self-examined themselves this month.
Domestic Violence Awareness and Prevention – 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
LGBT History Month and October 11th is National Coming Out Day. It’s a good time to reevaluate why you’re (if you are) still in the closet and why and if now is the time that you feel safe, both physically and emotionally, with coming out.
Suicide Prevention Month ended with the end of September, but the depression and reasons for suicide, both in adults and children and teens is still ongoing despite turning the calendar page to October. Please be aware of those people in your lives who seem a bit more off than usual or who reach out in whatever ways they need to.
1-800-273-TALK
I’d like to add something that is coming up in November – the 20th of November is Transgender Remembrance Day. Being transgender, either openly or closeted is not always a safe place to be, so in teaching your children and talking about men and women who are only different on the outside than what you usually think about when you ‘assign’ gender labels to people you see or know, please also think about how much more danger Transgender people are in than most others in the LGB community.
In many cases, where there are non-discriminatory and hate crime statuses for most LGB people, transgender is excluded, which increases their chances for poverty, sexual and physical abuse, verbal and emotional abuse and being murdered.
All of these ribbons – pink, yellow, puzzle pieces, rainbow, red, purple – wearing them is a nice reminder – for me it’s as a reminder of my murdered friend. However, there is so much more that needs to be done, including the simple awareness and respect for all people.
Griffins and Ginger Snaps 