Time

Busy busy, so much to do. Once again I'm the Mad Hatter, running around trying to get things ready for the tea party.

I came across this poem today, written about seven years ago. Seems I was just as busy then as I am now.

And this is still an appropriate way to describe Time.

TIME

Flying

doesn't begin to describe

what happens to it

More like

 disintegrate, evaporate, eviscerate

 My lack of it

cuts me

like the sharpest of knives

in my drawer

The one I use for carrots

or steak

Little pieces of it

get swept into the dust bin

tossed away

before I know they're gone

Panicked

I rummage through the trash

hoping to find a morsel

I can still put to good use

Elated

I grab scraps -

ten minutes here

fifteen there

Could it be I've found

one hour

soggy and tattered

amidst the rubble?

Clutching this treasure

this time of my own,

I weep

Then throw wide the door

and

fly

Singing and Swinging

One of my favorite childhood past times was swinging on the swing set in our backyard. And while I was swinging, I was singing, the volume of my voice increasing as my short legs pumped the air, propelling me higher and higher toward the blue sky. I sang "This Old Man," and "Row Row Row Your Boat." I made up a song using the words from Robert Louis Stevenson's children's poem (How do you like to go up in a swing...up in the air so blue? Oh I do think it's the pleasantest thing that ever a child can do!) It was exhilarating and satisfying and comforting all at once.

As soon as I was able, I joined the elementary school Glee Club, and eventually graduated into the Madrigal singers. There were only six of us, and we were all good friends. We got to wear nifty blue sashes and we felt very self-important singing a cappella. I cannot tell you how much I loved it. But maybe that's evident because it's such a strong memory 45 years later.

The notion of singing being fun isn't new to me.

The science behind the experience of it, however - well, that's something I'm enjoying learning about.

Read more about it in my post today on Medium.

The Sunday Salon: Permission to Read, Please

On this hot summer Sunday, I've been seriously contemplating climbing the stairs to my bedroom, stretching out on the king sized bed underneath a gently whirling fan, and reading napping. It's a revolutionary concept for me - the napping part, not the reading part. I never nap. But I haven't been sleeping very well, and last night was another in what has become something of an ugly habit - wake up at 1:30, stay awake  until 3 or 3:30, and then drift off into restless sleep until the alarm sounds Summer afternoons seem made for reading, and I'd love to allow myself the luxury of lolling around with The Burgess Boys, which I picked up at the library yesterday. But most of my reading is done at the extremes of the day. I'm used to reading first thing in the morning, often before anyone else is awake, and last thing at night, just before falling asleep. And these recent middle-of-the-night periods of wakefulness have proven a boon to my reading life, if not my physical one.

I wonder why it seems such a decadent pleasure to read in the middle of the day, one almost akin to eating dessert before (or instead of) the meal. In my youth and early adulthood, I often spent time in the afternoon reading, and recall many summer afternoons spent on the back porch of our house or under the shade tree, book in hand, while baby napped inside. It was so rejuvenating, that hour or so spent with a book, that it seems churlish not to engage in it more often.

It is without a doubt my Puritan work ethic that nudges me off the couch and on to more "productive" tasks. I tell myself that reading is sustenance for a writer, that it's is necessary for the betterment of my craft. I remind myself that many of the books piled on my TBR shelf are review books and require my dedicated attention. But even as I settle comfortably on the sofa, I can feel nagging tugs at my shirtsleeve...how about that laundry? did you remember to get the chicken out of the freezer? have those bills been paid yet?

What I really crave is permission to let that other stuff go and read in the middle of the day just for the pure love of it. Isn't that silly?

So without further ado, I will attempt to spend at least part of this summer Sunday engaged in the practice of reading.

How about you? When does most of your reading get done? Is reading during the day a guilty pleasure for you?

Beating the Brain Drain

Since we've moved into our new neighborhood, I've met more people than the first day in a new school. But unlike my school days, I'm finding it much more challenging to remember everyone's names. In our little cul-de-sac alone there are Bob and Sue, and Bob and Karen. There's  Jim and Mary Ellen, and Jim and Darlene, and Jim and Marilyn (I kid you not). There's Kevin and Karen, and Roger and Fran. Roberta and Bill. Ned and Elaine.

You get the picture. All of it reminding me (again!) that I'm not as young as I once was, and my brain no longer works as efficiently as it once did.

I've read a lot recently about the ways we can keep our brains in shape, and I've been happy to learn that many of them are already part of my daily life.

Brain boot camp, I call it.

You can read more about it here at Medium.

Sleep Cycle

I have an elaborate bedtime ritual, and I'm totally OCD about it. There's good reason for that. The act of falling asleep is the most delicate of all transactions for me. One false step, one thing out of place on the road to dreamland, and I will be awake until the wee hours of the morning.

It's been happening a lot lately. Like last night. A thunderstorm woke me at 1:30 and I spent the next three hours in restless sleep.

I did get some writing done. You can read the fruits of my midnight labor here.

How are you sleeping these days?