renae_rude

I've been away for so very long that I don't know if I can come back.  I'm not sure I want to.  I know I miss livejournal sometimes -- and I think about my old lj friends more than one might expect.  I know that I don't want the writing that I've done here and over at moderately_mad to disappear someday.

Life has been hard since I disappeared.  I haven't journaled, in any way, about any of it.  I've done very little writing of any kind.  I shouldn't complain -- after all is said and done, we are in pretty good shape.  We just passed our 18th wedding anniversary and our marriage is still good.  Rick still has his job. We still have the house and we still pay our bills mostly on time.  I'm still teaching the boy at home and he's still a great student.

But my daughter is sick.  Well, she's better than she was, but she's still not entirely well, and we don't know if she ever will be.

Last fall, she began to complain of pain in her joints.  I thought she was just sore from a renewed effort to drop some weight.  I basically told her not to allow herself to become a hypochondriac.  When the pain didn't go away, I relented and took her to the clinic.  A skeptical doctor ordered a lot of tests, but clearly thought that, at age 22, my girl was too young to have anything seriously wrong with her.  I felt the same way.

The doctor was wrong.  I was wrong.

I didn't know much about her diagnosis but it didn't sound too bad -- rheumatoid arthritis.  I was more concerned by the doctor's suggestion that we might want to take a closer look at my daughter's thyroid.  Though she stressed that it was unrelated to the RA, and that it was likely nothing, she was a little concerned about a swelling her exam revealed.  Just to be on the safe side, she said, let's get an ultrasound.  

The ultrasound results came back inconclusive. " Well then, let's just rule out anything bad with a biopsy."  The biopsy results came back inconclusive, but suspicious.  "We'd better consult with a surgeon to evaluate the risk."   The surgeon left the decision up to us -- though he recommended a partial thyroidectomy because a surgical biopsy would be nearly as invasive.  Taking half the thyroid, he told us,  would remove the entire lump, which was probably benign anyway, but she would still have enough thyroid gland to function normally.  Best of all worlds.

He explained that there were risks of course.  That he would be working very near her vocal chords. I told him, "She sings.  She has always been a singer."  That there would be a rather prominant scar which would fade with time. My daughter told him, "That's okay -- scars can be sexy."  That he would take the whole thyroid if it looked like cancer when he got in there.  We told him to schedule the surgery.

His initial examination of the small mass was ... inconclusive.  He sent it off to the lab and we brought our girl home to heal.  Perhaps we'd now have time to look into the RA thing, we thought.

When we took her back to have the stitches removed, we were in a good mood.  We'd spent the morning shopping before getting a nice lunch.  I think I was laughing at something she said when he came into the room. Neither of us expected him to look so grim.  Neither of us expected him to say that the mass was cancerous.  He hurried to tell us that it was the best possible kind of cancer to have.  Papillary.  A cure rate of 90%, when it was caught early.  But it would be best to take the rest of the thyroid.  As soon as the swelling of the tissues in her throat came down enough. He explained that she would need to begin taking Synthroid, but not until after a treatment of radioactive iodine. She would have to crash completely, so that any remaining or migratory throid tissue would show up in the subsequent scan. 

So we got through it.  The crash was bad, but my daughter is tougher than any of us knew.  The radioactive procedure didn't show anything scary.  She responded quickly to the Synthroid once she was able to have it.  She can still sing.  The scar is kinda sexy.  And we think the cancer is gone.  (She'll have another scan around Christmastime.)

The RA is pretty severe but she's responding to the six or seven medications she now takes.  In August she moved to North Carolina.  We hope that the weather there will be easier on her.  I hope that her new life, with her new live-in boyfriend is wonderful enough to make up for some of what she's been through.  But I miss her.



   

I finally have an icon:)    My daughter made it for me from a photo of my beloved Toby-Cat.

Just finished up the day's science lessons.  We've got three more days to get ourselves situated properly for the summer. 

Then?

The longed-for bliss of summer vacation.

How I managed to let another couple of months get by me, I don't know.  But I did.   Apologies to my LJ friends.  It feels like life is just incredibly busy these days.  As usual, this entry signifies my intention to start reading journals and posting again.  We'll see how it goes.

So.  What's new?   What do I need to know? 

As for me and mine, well ...

School:
Today ended Ricky's 3rd quarter.  We're doing fine.  This year has been good so far.  He's really settling in to this home-schooled thing.  I think he has more friends and social opportunities now than he did when he was in public school.  He seems happier.  We intend to finish up 6th grade in May.  Through the summer he will study Latin, Logic and Music. 

Bad habits:  
I am afraid I've failed to quit smoking entirely.  Right now I smoke about a pack a week.  And always outside.   I have good days and bad, but this is progress.  I had trouble with the Chantix triggering depression.  I can handle a half-dose, but I'm having a break from it for the time being. These days I smoke more reasonably, but I expect there will be another push toward smoke-free in the near future.  My diet pepsi addiction is in about the same place.  I don't often buy it for the house anymore, but I manage to have a couple sodas a day anyway. 

Good habits:
I have taken up yoga and meditation.  I go to classes at the Y, which we joined using the savings from my cigarette purchases.  Recently I've been doing at least one of the following every day:  walking, yoga, going to the gym or meditation.  Thanks mostly to Rick, we've been regularly saving money.  We have about  $800 set aside for our autumn trip to New Orleans.  I see my mother, Gmom, once a month, and talk to The Godfather every couple of weeks.  Otherwise, I don't see anyone from the family.  I have made several new friends and I haven't had any contact with the girlfriends that made me crazy.  (I take full responsibility for my own craziness.  I just cant think of a better way to put that.)  I'm making a big push to get that novel draft done by the time I turn 41.  I am trying to remember that it is only a rough draft.

Oh.  And the fully painted bathroom finally has a working sink :D  (I laid the floor -- sticky tiles -- myself and did an excellent job.  I love the floor.)

Gonna go write now.

PS  Thank you for the nudges and notes.  They meant a lot in the worst days of this never-ending winter.

PPS  In fairness, I'm currently sitting at a table on my patio, barefoot and wearing a tank top. Fifty degree with sunshine is HEAVENLY!

23 years.  At least a pack a day -- from day one. 

wren08  quit a while back with the help of the drug Chantix.  I watched from the shadows and thought a lot.  Then I found out my sister-in-law quit.  Again, using Chantix.  About two weeks ago, I did a little research.  A week ago I made a doctor's appointment.   Last Tuesday, I started taking my prescription.  I was supposed to take them for a week before I quit, but I had my last cigarette on Saturday afternoon -- after making it through the day to that point without having any.  That last one pretty much sucked so I gathered up my remaining cigarettes and gave them to Ricky to destroy.

Sunday afternoon and all of Monday  were awful ... I had frequent cravings and urges.  If there had been cigarettes in the house, I would have smoked.  I was dreading today.  Then -- beam of light from heaven -- I realized my mistake:  the full dosage of Chantix started today -- which was supposed to be my quit day.  For these last three days, I've been on half a dose!  Today should be MUCH easier.  And every day, without as much as a puff, gets my system more cleaned out. 

Tonight, we will be caucusing.  This will be our first experience with the process.  I think it's cool that our daughter will understand it so soon in her voting career -- this is only her second presidential election.  And the boy will know what to do straight out of the gate.

If you haven't seen this video, PLEASE watch it with an open heart, especially if you lean the other way. I know we share many of the same heroes, the same dreams and the same ideas of what can make this country great again. Listen to what this man says. Maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle. Maybe we can all be little naive, even foolish. Maybe we can dare to hope.

"...We've been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope."
                                                                                              ~Obama

I am one confused puppy.   I need to take a few minutes to wake up and regroup, and I might as well do it here.

Our household pretty much took the weekend off -- we just putzed and played.  I went to sleep last night, knowing that I had to get up and tackle our real life with vigor.  I intended to start putting things back together with a trip to the grocery as soon as I awoke.  Imagine my surprise when I wandered downstairs this morning, to see the turkey  I meant to buy, thawing under a trickle of water in the kitchen sink.  A quick examination of the fridge confirmed that Rick did the grocery shopping sometime between when I went to sleep (at around 1:00-2:00am) and when he had to leave for work (around 7:00-8:00am).  The dishes were also done.  

I've still got a lot to do, but I am just blown away by the energy this man expends these days.  He sleeps in short bursts but it appears to be mostly enough for him.  Last night at about 9:00pm, he fell asleep for an hour or two.  I remember him being in bed with me for at least some of the night. Otherwise? I don't have a clue.

I had two extended-family encounters throughout the weekend. 

When I distanced myself from The Family, I went to great lengths to maintain my relationship with my nephew.  (He's only a couple of years younger than me.  We were close growing up -- I often think of him as my brother.)  He called me on Friday -- just having returned from a trip of a lifetime.  During the 17 minutes we talked, he blasted me and my beliefs at least twice.  He made fun of me for giving Ricky a cheap cell phone, ("How did kids ever survive back when they had a hundred acres to roam across?")  And he told me I was NOT Catholic, ("You can't be Catholic. You aren't a lemming.")  These weren't quick, little digs either.  Each bit of censure was wrapped in a good long, shaming rant.  I think he thought he was being funny. 

I also finally visited my mother, Gmom.  (It's been more than a month.)  Coward that I am, I took my son along.  (He's the only one that will go anywhere near The Family anymore.)  It went well.  She liked the prizes we took to her.  She forced me to take home some collectible Barbie dolls that I don't want.  For her, the whole thing was an opportunity to gossip about another person in the clan.  I hate that I take a certain glee in the misadventures of the niece in question.  She's been skating on her looks and baby-status for years.  Now that she's moved to a whole new level of acting out, it seems that other family members are starting to question her behavior.  Ah well.  We escaped relatively unscathed (ha) and now we should be good for another month.

It's time to go make lists and update 43Things.  Today will also hold: cleaning, animal chores, school organization, cooking, writing, ATC making, laundry and a couple of errands.

Good week to everyone. 
(I didn't read journals this weekend -- I'll be skimming to clear my inbox.  The lot of you write like crazy over weekends :)       
  

Life is startlingly good. 

I need to write here more often.  At the moment I find myself sort of paralyzed by all the things I want to say.  I want to write about the good and bad parts of this weekend.  I want to write about some freshly dawning truths about my old life.  I want to make a list of exactly how I'd like this day to go.  It's all too much.

But it's also all good.  Or at least fulfilling.  I feel so alive and engaged and awake most of the time.  And it's different from the hypomanic state that I used to rely on.  I'm not having any problems sleeping.  I can concentrate on one thing at a time.  I am finishing what I start.  I am balancing  my tasks in such a way that nothing is horribly neglected.  I am not afraid that I'm alienating or disappointing half the people I know. 

I can't quite shake the idea that this is a fantasy or a dream.  How could my daily life change so dramatically, so quickly?  I used to agonize about housekeeping.  Now, once or twice a week,  I spend a few hours deep cleaning.  The rest of the time I just pick up, do some dishes (if someone else hasn't gotten to them already) and putter around a bit.  I used to dread the phone ringing, because I knew I'd lose many hours to whatever new crisis had popped up.  Now, well, it never rings -- unless it's my husband or an appointment confirmation.  I used to feel rushed all the time, despite the fact that I wasn't accomplishing much of anything.  Now I feel like there's enough time to  write, teach, connect with others and take care of myself.  Especially if I pay attention to what I'm doing at any given time.

An Intense Weekend:

On Friday, I spent several hours cleaning and cooking and dealing with school ... all with a specific goal in mind.  I wanted to put things together well enough so that it would all hold while I spent the weekend writing and doing some fairly time-consuming "errands".  By five thirty, I was sitting at my computer, fussing with the 8th section of my book.  I wrote about five pages, spent some time with my various housemates,  napped, ate, bathed and slept. 

On Saturday morning I went to the post office where I found an AMAZING package from France in my mail box.  It contained a selection of little treats, a lovely miniature piece of vibrant, colorful art and a long letter that touched me beyond words.  I read it aloud to my husband as we drove to the blood bank.  He was so happy for me that HE got tears in his eyes.  (He also asked me to read it with an accent.  "Maybe like Minnie Driver?" )  We laughed a lot.  We exchanged a half-dozen startled looks as I read about a woman who seems a lot like me and a life that sounds a lot like ours -- despite some pretty significant differences in circumstances.  We shared lunch.  We gave blood.  (Now both of us have given a full gallon, as rapidly as it is possible to do, without missing any appointments.)  We talked a little about the donations we've recently made to Heifer International and Kiva.  We discussed money without getting crabby with each other.  We talked about our future trip to New Orleans and the little savings plan we've got going. 

Saturday afternoon, into evening, was more challenging.  I felt tired after being out and about.  I worked with the book a bit, but decided to give in to the desire for a nap after realizing I wasn't going to make much progress in my sleepy state.  Rick came to me just before I nodded off to say that he was going for a walk.  He smelled of spray paint, which made me smile. (Because that meant that at least some progress had been made on the bathroom project.)  After he left, I almost fell asleep but started to think about how terribly cold it was outside and how fast it was getting dark. 

This time of year is always hard on me.  This entry will get too long, and my whole day will go away, if I really explain why.  I know I have new readers on my flist so I think I have to say this much:  My father died of hypothermia when I was nine.  He was on a bender.  He was over-served.  He got in his car and drove on the coldest night of that year, January 28th.  At some point he stopped the car, left it running, walked into a field, laid down and died.  I barely knew him, but all indications are that I'm far more like him than my mother.

I wasn't able to sleep.  I didn't want to give in to my instinct to sit around fretting, so I invited my daughter to go to the store with me.  We enjoyed our little outing and bought way too much junk food.  (Cheesy-Corn, yum.)  The bank thermometer near the store read 4F / -16C. 

I was sure Rick would be back from his walk by the time we got home.  He wasn't.  His cell phone and his wallet were still on his desk and he'd been gone for at least an hour.   I went looking for him, of course.  And I found him, though he was nearly home.  His account of the event is HERE. 

[husband pimping]
By the way.  Rick has become wonderful about writing in his journal regularly -- and he writes very well.  HIS  entries are smart, often funny and of a reasonable length.   He could use some friends.  And he already knows a fair bit about the lot of you anyway :)  rick_the_ogre
[end of husband pimping]

So.  Saturday night was all about raising my husband's core temperature back into a reasonable range.   After he fell asleep, under three blankets, in the glow of a portable electric heater, I left him on the sofa, put some clothes back on and wrote another five or six pages.  (And ate a hella lotta cheese corn.)   Things are blurry for me already, but I'm pretty sure we eventually snuggled into bed.  I remember watching some more of The Wolf Man (1941) with the commentary track on.

On Sunday morning, we set out for our long-awaited trip to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis.   Our daughter opted to stay home, but Ricky joined us.  On the way, we listened to the tracks Rick's band recorded  while  performing  at a house party last fall. 

The wait at the gallery was crazy.  We spent at least an hour and a half in line.   The building itself is a work of art.  At one point, I sent the boys to wander a bit while I people-watched.  The teenage couple in front of me was adorable.  I used to look at such "kids" unfavorably but I must be mellowing.  It was strange to watch their hands, which looked almost as young as my son's (the main distinction being in how clean they were:) as they constantly touched each other.   For them, the line was an excuse to stand in the space of one person and forget anyone else existed.

Our boy's capacity for understanding and accepting the things he saw astound me.  He was polite, attentive, considerate of others.  We rented the available audio tour guide which helped immensely, I think.  I don't think I'll soon forget the vision of him sitting on the floor, in various, out-of-the-way corners of the gallery, studying  individual paintings while he listened to the guide.

The exhibit itself left me speechless.  I felt simultaneously energized and drained when we left the show.  I should have known that  viewing so many works by this intensely personal artist would have a major impact on me.

When we got home, I knew I was done for the weekend.  I conceded defeat for a writing related goal at 43Things before spending some time playing with upcoming swaps.  Then I crashed on the sofa and watched mindless TV for a couple of hours before falling asleep.

I woke today, knowing that I would spend some serious time trying to capture it all.  And now it's 2:30 and time to write more manuscript pages.

Life is startlingly good.

    

I've taken to setting firmer goals lately --goals that include deadlines.  A couple of those deadlines are looming.

Back before we decided to rearrange everything, we tore apart that giant bathroom I mentioned.  We had some plumbing issues and we figured, what the hell, lets redo some of this.  We disconnected the sink, tore out the broken-down vanity and stripped the walls of all towel bars and such.  We purchased a replacement sink and a cabinet as well as a matching medicine chest.  (Those are waiting in the garage until we are ready for them.)   Then we decided we might as well re-do the floor.  (Those tiles are waiting in the hallway.) 

You see, before we can do any of that, we must paint.

Here's how much I hate painting.  After living without a bathroom sink for at least a month, I forced myself to set a deadline for getting the pre-painting work done.  (You know, take off the wallpaper border, spackle, that kind of thing.)  I think I gave myself a WEEK to do that.  I met that deadline with some serious help from my husband.  Then I created a new goal in which I am supposed to do the priming.  (Much Kilz will be required.)  I gave myself two weeks to complete that step.  I'm down to 5 remaining days.  Nothing has been primed.

I managed to gather the pieces of four creative lives, shake them up AND redistribute them in such a way as to make everything better  in 4 days. 

I don't think I can get the priming step done in 5. 

THAT is how much I hate painting.

Other Goals & Deadlines

There's the novel thing of course -- that's the only one with a deadline of its own.  (May 27, 2008)

Then, at some point,  there's going to be:

The kids' sleeping room: which needs a better divider and some sprucing up.

The gardens -- never too soon to start thinking about those.

The Bednook:  Right now it has a dungeon theme going on.  Interesting but not restful.   (The faux stone-block wall is leftover from when it was Spade0014's room.  She also painted the ceiling grey.  And splotchy.  Not good for my mood management.)

Time to make dinner and watch MEDIUM!!!  (She's back!)

It took me a while to realize I made a rather broad ideological  jump between one entry and the next.  That's because I wandered off to 43Things to figure out a more lasting solution to my cyclical house-related angst. 

I went from I think the answer is twofold.  One:  I need much better storage.  Two: I need to change the scale of our things straight to We did it!  In between those two thoughts, I figured out that we needed to move our hobbies and arts to the front and center of our living space instead of tucking it into trunks and closets.  That epiphany made me realize that we had to give up our beautiful, big bedroom with the walk-in closet and move our sleeping quarters into a MUCH smaller room that I am now calling "the bednook".   (It's really not that small -- it just suffers in comparison.)

After a long discussion with Rick and the kids, we decided to basically rearrange everything we own.  I crafted a slightly overwhelming list at 43Things and everyone set to.  In less than four days of work, we significantly changed five of our rooms.  We now have:

Main Floor:

• a kitchen (untouched in this frenzy)
• a dining room / school room / computer room
• a laundry room (where my son now stores his clothing)
• a half-bath (untouched in this frenzy)
• a music room / exercise room (with a corner for my daughter's personal computer and school related things)

Upper Floor:

• a giant bathroom (which I'll get to in a moment)
• a bednook for Rick and me (which needs some attention)
• a sleeping room (which the kids share because they don't really sleep at the same time and which also needs some attention)
• a big ol' family room with a fold-down couch, a space for art and games, and my writing corner

In the process of reallocating our space, we got rid of the stuff we've outgrown. 

Everything feels more open now and we can do what we want and need to do without making a mess.

I'm glad we did it but it points to how much work remains.   But that's another entry.  (Coming right up.)

I am sitting in my studio corner, while the guys sit in the the main part of our "new" family room watching TV.  spade0014 is downstairs in the music / exercise room -- though she's probably doing the same thing I'm doing -- putzing around in her computer corner.

It was A LOT of work.  My family was awesome.  And it was entirely worth it.

I'm very tired.  Next:  A hot bath.

'Round we go again, my friends.  We have come back to that place in my mood cycle where EVERYTHING sucks, NOTHING is getting DONE and ALL of it must be MY FAULT.  Though, sometimes, SOMEBODY ELSE is to blame because NO ONE finishes a task THE RIGHT WAY.

Now.  Deep breath.  If I allow this pattern to repeat, a great deal will get organized, sorted and, ultimately, discarded in the next little bit.  I will be far too hard on everyone in sight ... including myself.   I will figure out how to make things somewhat better.  I will eventually wear out and things will slowly begin to go wrong.  I will forget that I don't want any more damn STUFF.  I will ignore troublesome little signs.  I will stuff things in places that make sense at the time.  And in a few weeks, or months, I will explode all over again.

So.  How do I make this the last time?

I've been paying close attention to the homes of other people lately -- in particular those of my mother- and sister-in-law.  I've also deliberately noticed homes on television.   I think I know what the problem is and I'm stuck.

MY house is too cluttered.  But, when it's reasonably clean, people think it's cozy and cute and comfortable.  They like to be here.  They say it has a nice "feel" to it. 

The homes I've been observing would be a dream to keep clean.  They are big houses with large, spacious rooms.   They have very few decorations, toys, books, blankets or nibblies.    (The sorts of things that make my house too cluttered.)  And NO animals. (The worst offenders in making my house "dirty".) They feel cold and sterile when they are clean, and sort of lonely and sad when there are a few personal items scattered around. (The idea of my mother- and father-in-law, moving through a house that's twice the size of ours just creeps me out.)  In either case, I get the distinct impression of a hotel room.

I think the answer is twofold.  One:  I need much better storage.  Two: I need to change the scale of our things.  That's what I THINK.  Unfortunately, I don't KNOW.  And trying it to find out it if works is an expensive proposition ... in time and funds.


I ambushed my husband with my concerns.  We may have a solution, but the work involved is sort of staggering to me right now.

...

Argh.  I've just written out some thoughts about what we can do ... which is even boring to me.  (And I can see what everything looks like.) I'll move the planning and plotting over to 43Things.  (Item 43, for those of you who want to follow along.)
 

This week thus far:
2007.12.31 - 2008.01.06


Complete project ~ Due 2008.05.27



Meters discovered at:
http://www.writertopia.com/toolbox/meters

Below, you will find a meme that records your level of "privilage" as you grew up.  I think it's a little hinky because generational differences would skew the results.  It does look pretty accurate for reflecting childhoods in the 70s and 80s.

What I found most interesting is the difference between my results and what I think my husband would say.  Even more startling would be the difference between my childhood and that of my children.  Particularly in the areas of college, books, lessons, gadgets and museums.  We haven't managed to give them travel though.

(swiped from memegarden who apparently got it from wordweaverlynn)

The Privilege List

Bold the ones that are true for you.

The list is based on an exercise developed by Will Barratt, Meagan Cahill, Angie Carlen, Minnette Huck, Drew Lurker, Stacy Ploskonka at Illinois State University. The exercise developers ask that if you participate in this blog game, you acknowledge their copyright.

If you post this in your blog, please leave a comment on this post. To participate in this blog game, copy and paste the above list into your blog, and bold the items that are true for you. If you don't have a blog, feel free to post your responses in the comments.

Father went to college
       ~But I don't know where he went, if got a degree or anything else.  I just have a photo.
Father finished college
Mother went to college
Mother finished college
Have any relative who is an attorney, physician, or professor
Were the same or higher class than your high school teachers
Had more than 50 books in your childhood home
  ~I know I had a lot of books.  My mother collected some for display and read biographies of Hollywood celebrities, mostly.
Had more than 500 books in your childhood home
Were read children's books by a parent
  ~I think so.  I know I read early, before Kindergarten and no one read to me after that.
Had lessons of any kind before you turned 18
Had more than two kinds of lessons before you turned 18
The people in the media who dress and talk like me are portrayed positively
  ~This is iffy.  It depends on which me I was being at the time.   Now, mostly yes.  (though sometimes "dumpy")
Had a credit card with your name on it before you turned 18
Your parents (or a trust) paid for the majority of your college costs
Your parents (or a trust) paid for all of your college costs
Went to a private high school
Went to summer camp
Had a private tutor before you turned 18
Family vacations involved staying at hotels
  ~I remember some motels, and sleeping in the van in the parking lot of an IHOP.
Your clothing was all bought new before you turned 18
  ~My mother like to dress me well.  I usually got to order a new school wardrobe from the catalogs.
Your parents bought you a car that was not a hand-me-down from them
There was original art in your house when you were a child
Had a phone in your room before you turned 18
You and your family lived in a single family house
  ~Sorta.  I never lived in an apartment or trailer, but we moved a lot.  We often lived in houses with my mother's husbands.  When she  was single we lived in duplexes with my much older, very responsible sister and her family.  At the end, we had a house for just the two of us.  (Though we rented rooms to others.)
Your parent(s) owned their own house or apartment before you left home
  ~Again, sorta.  I don't think she every paid a house off. 
You had your own room as a child
   ~ In most of the houses, yes -- though I wasn't encouraged to actually sleep in them.
Participated in an SAT/ACT prep course
Had your own TV in your room in High School
  ~Memory is fuzzy, but I think so.
Owned a mutual fund or IRA in High School or College
Flew anywhere on a commercial airline before you turned 16
Went on a cruise with your family
Went on more than one cruise with your family
Your parents took you to museums and art galleries as you grew up
You were unaware of how much heating bills were for your family

This was a handy little meme right about now :)

Your Life is 23% Off Track

In general, your life is going very well. You're quite happy with where you are and what you're doing. And even if you get a bit off course, you're usually able to get back on track easily.

I intend to finish writing a novel by the time I turn 41, in May of 2008. 

I've been writing all my life, and the project I'm currently working on is not my first attempt at a novel.  This year, however, I decided to set aside other projects to concentrate on FINISHING one book.  The decision came after I studied The Marshall Plan for Novel Writing. 

This instructional manual came into my life exactly when I needed it.  Despite being an avid reader and writer, until I read this book, I had no idea how to develop a good idea into a novel-length piece.  Everything I worked on just seemed to stall after a while.

In the Marshall Plan, you do not think about writing chapters, but rather sections.  (Chapter divisions come later.)  A section is a set of character actions that take place in one location, at one time.  It begins with a goal and ends with a failure for the protagonist.  I'm over-simplifying, but that's the basic idea.

The following links are here for two reasons:

1)  Revealing my progress (or lack thereof) publicly encourages me to keep plugging away.
2)  A few of my flist members have  agreed to act as preliminary readers.  These links allow them quick access to the project.

If you are interested in being added to the novel filter, let me know.  If I feel like I know you fairly well, I might just let you read my baby. 
:)

Eighteen thousand one hundred and fifty  people have included "write a book" on their 43Things.com lists.   And that figure doesn't take into account people who use a slightly different phrase.  Something like, say, "Finish a full draft of the Ruth novel by the time I turn 41."

Nine hundred and one people claim to have already done so.

18,150 - 901 = 17,249

Ouch.

I will be 41 on May 27th, 2008.  That means ... [give me a moment to check the calendar] ... I have 152 days to complete the first draft.  Approximately 21 weeks.  Or five months. 

I have much of the book outlined and the first six sections drafted.  Those sections amount to 36 pages and about 10,250 words.  My guidelines call for 82 sections and a total word count of 104,000.  Someone do the math for me.  OK, dammit, I'll do it myself. 


It all works out.  There is enough time if I stick to my two basic rules and add one more. 

Renae's Writing Rules:
1)  Write more days than not. 
(For the purposes of this exercise I am defining that as at least 4 days per week.)

2)  Don't allow more than one day to pass between writing sessions. 
(I lose the story thread too easily and waste time reorienting.)

3)  Write at least 20 manuscript pages per week.  (5,600 words)

Why this public planning?  Well, I made a self-nurturing decision in the middle of November.  I gave myself permission to break from do-or-die writing -- from Halloween to Solstice.  The stoppage always happens anyway.  In the future it will be a planned vacation, rather than a failure. 

The depression is lifting, I think.  I've told myself, for weeks, that it would get better after the solstice.  Now the wheel has turned and the worst has passed.  It's time to get back to work.

A related note:
I'm not using my journal nearly enough.  I have been reading faithfully and commenting some.  It's easy to keep up with that now that I get email reminders every time someone on my list posts.  The truth is, I've been obsessing elsewhere.  It started with the perfume oils which quickly led me to swap-bot.com.  Swap-bot led me to 43Things.  I've had a blast with all that, but I'm going to have to put it further back on the stove now.

I just finished my Christmas by watching Premonition (with Sandra Bullock.) Rick fell asleep about half-way through, and now he's snoring softly in our bedroom.

It has been a strange and wonderful holiday season, but one tinged with uneasiness.

We started off doing things differently in the weeks preceding Christmas.  Long before snow arrived, we decorated the maple tree that stands next to the patio.  We didn't do the St. Nicholas day activities that we usually do. We sent out Christmas cards.  I went to a Christmas tea with a new friend.  We attended a Christmas concert where Ricky performed.  (And I didn't cry.  That was a first.  I usually cry when one of my kids does exceptionally well in public.)  We attended a Christmas gathering of Rick's side of the family, but we left early so we could get home in time to light a solstice fire. 

We have always been careful about who to invite to our solstice fire.  This year, after discovering that one of the other home-school families  might not freak out, we invited them to join us.  The mom gave very regretful regrets.  I absolutely believe she would have joined us if she hadn't already had plans.  Ricky wanted us to invite the mother of his best friend.  We did.  She came.  We had a lovely visit.  After she left, we went to sleep, content to let the outdoor fire burn out, because Spade offered to keep the wood-stove going until dawn.

For gifts, we went really wonky. Though our daughter had her act together weeks before Christmas, the rest of us didn't.  I had collected some random things for stockings through the last couple of months, but not enough to do even one stocking very well. We had some ideas for gifts, but were uncertain about the exact specifications. (I can't tell one Lego Star Wars set from another, for example, and the boy already has at least half of them.)  On the 22nd or 23rd we decided to skip the last minute shopping. Instead we agreed to sit together on Christmas night to discuss our wish-lists.

On Christmas eve day, Rick and I went shopping at Walmart.  We bought regular household supplies and a few groceries.  That night we supped on deviled eggs, home-made cream cheese puffs and Jeno's pizza rolls.  Spade made some cookies.  We had an ordinary evening.  I waited for the men-folk to fall asleep, and Spade to get tied up on the computer. Then I arranged the assortment of stocking stuffers in a jumble on the dining table. I told Spade I was going to bed and then went upstairs. Instead of sleeping, I pulled out the small, artificial tree and the ornament box. I decorated the tree in my bedroom before carrying it in to set up in the kids' sleeping room. Then I went to sleep.  (Note to self:  I don't really like most of our ornaments.  Too many of them have associations with a different, more stressful time.)

Today we made our traditional Christmas breakfast ... at about 3:00pm. Then we nibbled at the egg souffle, hashbrown casserole and caramel rolls throughout the day.

Aside from cooking, cuddling, eating, choosing prizes and ordering them with the kids, Rick and I spent the day catching up on Heroes and watching Premonition. (I nearly forgot -- Rick did teach Ricky how to play checkers this morning.  Apparently we skipped that when Ricky was little and went straight to chess.)  While we were rotting our brains with 4 hours of network TV, the kids watched a biographical show about Stephen Hawking. Later, Spade gave Ricky his gift from her: Ninja v. Pirate.  The ensuing battle was perhaps the highlight of the day.

And that is pretty much it.

I don't feel guilty or bad exactly.  It's more like I feel like I SHOULD feel guilty or bad.  It was strange to not make any effort to see or talk to anyone in my family.  I will go to see my mother sometime this week.  I've still got to figure out some kind of gift for her. 

The hardest part of Christmas is the pressure to connect with traditions of past years.  I fully support the sentiment ... for other people.  But not for me.    Again, I feel like I should want to make amends or reconnect, but I don't.  And I worry that I'm a bad person.  I still can't quite believe that I walked away from ... [here's my penitential act -- must. enumerate. exact. loss.] ... 17 adults and 11 children.  Most of them blood relations.  In each individual instance, I have reasons.  No adult is an innocent bystander in this.  The kids are a different story, but  there's little I can do while they remain with their parents.  I will not insinuate that they should make any kind of choice.  I hope that staying away is really the honorable thing to do. 

I have to remember that Christmas gatherings, and the like, ended years ago.  That I am only refusing to pound on closed doors. 

For so long, I self-identified as "by-God loyal and committed ... if nothing else."  It's hard not to believe that I am now, logically speaking, disloyal and unreliable.


The truth is, as much as I hate to admit it,  that I'm struggling against the desire to *rail against them.  I want to clear my name.  I want to stop taking the karmic heat.  I want  to stop being fair and understanding and accepting of the personal limitations of these  people who "did the best they could."  I still want them to wake up and see how much more there can be to life.    And I want them -- most terribly of all -- to admit that they were wrong. 

*rail [reyl]
1. to utter bitter complaint or vehement denunciation (often followed by  at or against)


I know that's not right or good or accepting.  And that's the real karmic debt.  This is all about forgiving and moving on isn't it? So why do I sometimes feel like fighting? 

I should know better.



     

I received my first purchased shipment of Black Phoenix Alchemical Laboratory oils.  I now have 18 imps.  wren08 sent me 10, I ordered 6, and the lab tucked in two extras.  I'll be ordering more soon so I'd better get my thoughts together before I become overwhelmed.  Here are my brief reviews:

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