Author: smarthu (Page 1 of 10)

My DH read a “gem” about how fleeting time is: “Time is like a roll of toilet paper; the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.”

Why is that? Not only the days go faster, but the months and years. It’s frightening to notice your children are no longer children; you are no longer young, and you’re too old for “early onset” anything.

My resolutions for 2025; try to slow down time; use time wisely, move faster (than time) on remaining goals.

One thing about age (for me); you’re never done with your goals. There is going to be those scraps of “tp” left unused at the end of our days.

I intend to make it many more days and use up all the TP.

Sorry for the visual.

Has a good “ring” to it. two 2’s a 5 and a 0.

I usually, like most people set new goals on this day.

One of my most important (to me); don’t listen to talking-head news. I’m my own expert (in my own mind).

I’ll read headlines each day but limit it to one website, such as CNN.

The others are now noise to me instead of news.

If I can regain some productivity by not caring as much about what other people think is going to happen versus what actually happens, good on me.

By keeping this resolution, I can replace the time I gain with productive things; writing a couple books I’m working on, improving my exercise and strength routines, spending more time with DH, daughters and grands (if they are willing), traveling.

There’s so much more to do that doesn’t involve me reading comments on articles that may or may not be true, looking up celebrities or listening to political commentary.

I think it’s taken me a lifetime to discern the difference between a wish and a dream (and hope?).

I remember as a child thinking, “I hope I’m rich when I grow up. I hope I’m famous.” Not that I, a girl who grew up on a farm, knew about being rich and famous, only that it seemed like a good thing, or that I’d heard someone say it.

It took me dragging myself through four and the six years of college (years longer than it should), to learn that for a wish or dream to come to fruition, one has to set goals, sometimes smaller and then larger and larger goals. Step by step, goals help wishes and dreams to come true. Hope has only a small part in the process. So does wishing and dreaming.

Sometimes our dreams and wishes come true in ways we can’t imagine. Being rich is relative. How much do you need to be rich? Is money the only thing that would make you rich? How much would make me happy? Do I need a happy marriage to make me happy? (I decided I do–and that dream has come true). Will having things make me happy? (not as much as I thought).

When I was a child, my wishes and dreams were not as specific as some. For instance, I had a friend who had some talent with singing and she hoped to be an opera star. Is she? Most likely not, but her talent probably took her a long way through life, and perhaps she became a music teacher or a song writer. Or, maybe she’d surprise me (if I looked her up, which I may do), and became an opera star after all.

I had a family, like many, that didn’t tell us, that we can be whatever we want to be. They believed that to be a good person, to marry a good person and have a good family, was good enough. And, it is a good thing. Those are good things.

But, a person can wish, hope and dream. And, set goals and make them come to fruition in some way or another.

“Writing is easy—all you have to do is cross out all the wrong words. “ Mark Twain

This is similar to a sculputr’s quote if you’re sculpting a horse, whittle away all the parts that don’t look like a horse.

Ah, if only writing (and speaking) were so easy.

I heard all my life, usually in third person, “she’s so quiet,” while the person speaking is look at my mother, my teacher, my friend. I learned later that my quietness, which sometimes neared mutism or at least selective mutism, was probably due to hereditary shyness and introversion.

Many writers are introverts (that’s why many do not like doing public readings and book signings), but my introversion sometimes became pathological. I would often wonder when I would be able to say those words that I wanted to say, express those feelings, tell people why I had done certain things that I did. Often, there were no words, and often, I felt that my epitaph (I don’t want one, by the way), would be: “she was so quiet.”

So, I relate to writers who, sometimes later in life, find their voice, whatever that may be, however that may express itself. Science Fiction, Mystery, Women’s Fiction, Men in Jeopardy (it is now a genre, I hear), children’s books, non-fiction, even public speaking.

I have few regrets in my life, mostly minor ones as I wouldn’t dare change any big decisions in my life lest things turned out differently than they do now. I am grateful for my life every single day and for the people who have come along on this journey with me. I am grateful for every single thing I have and for every person who has helped me along the way.

One regret though is that I couldn’t or wasn’t able to express to people how I felt, about them or about something I had done to them, or they to me. To all those people, I say, “Thank you, I love you, please forgive me, I forgive you, please hear me.”

One way I can express those things is through writing.

I come from a family that had limited communication; didn’t hear those three little words that I had to teach myself how to say: “I love you,” “I am sorry.”

There are other non-spoken words that I trained myself by listening to others and to reading over the years. My parents came from ancestors that were taught not to talk about feelings, never to say “sorry” or admit wrong (remind you of anyone?), or be too affectionate. Once I learned to say, “I’m sorry,” it seemed I couldn’t quit saying it, so that now I say it entirely too often (as do my kids, I think). I think I’ll back off that one a bit and say “I love you” more often.

I got to thinking about the words we use today for our mental health that were not uttered when I grew up: triggered, depressed, relationship, A.D.D. (I think I have that), cancelled, stay-at-home mom or dad, and many more.

I am following on Insta dogs who are learning to talk using buttons that their owners put out for them to describe what they want. I imagine a dog of mine would push the “walk” and “cookie” buttons over and over, but some of these dogs push “sad” and “happy” and “hurt” buttons. This speaks to how emotive dogs are. Helpful, I suppose, but what do we do when our dog is sad? Cats, by the way, seem to press the Starbucks Pup Cup button almost all the time. Does that mean they don’t have feelings, or do they prefer to keep those feelings to themselves?

Maybe we need “people” buttons that allow the person to say “triggered” or “depressed.”

I am only partially being cynical. I think it’s healthy for people to express their feelings and ask for help.

Then, again, let’s toughen up just a bit.

My husband and I play a word game called, “you can write that book,” borrowed from his company’s work team (who are mostly musicians–my husband loves music and plays guitar and Ukelele). The work team’s game is “I’d play in that band,” and it uses phrases that come up every day that might make a good band name.

You Can Write that Book came about because I love, love coming up with book titles. Sometimes I don’t have an actual plot or even reason for the book, but think it might be a good title. Case in point, “A Murder of Crows.” It’s a collective noun, and there are many which could be used as mystery titles. I’ve yet to come up with a writable plot for the title, however. So, I tell my husband, “you can write that book.”

Sometimes one of us will say something we deem “title-worthy,” and the other will say, “you can write that book.”

Neither of us may or may not write any of the books for which I have titles floating around in my head. But, it makes me wonder as writers whether more writers start with titles rather than plots?

I don’t know, but if you, dear reader, want to write that book, go ahead.

Most books on editing your writing talk about “cutting your darlings,” which is like film-editing whereby loved scenes end up on the cutting-room floor.

Most writers have phrases or dialogue running through their heads that they are “dying” to put into a book, character dialogue or essay. Sometimes it’s something brilliant, but most of the time it’s brilliant in the mind of the writer. Thus, these things should be cut.

I don’t sent them to the proverbial trash bin, however, I have a file of “darlings,” sometimes for each piece I’m working on and sometimes I’m not working on anything appropriate for a darling.

One such thing that I keep trying (and failing to use), is the concept of “collective nouns”, such as “a murder of crows or a charm of hummingbirds.” I keep trying to fit it into a novel, and it never seems to work. I even have a novel in my “unfinished and unlikely to finish file,” named “A Murder of Crows.” I also think it’s been used a few times as a mystery title. It may be my most persistent “darling.”

My husband doesn’t throw out anything, so I’m trying to take a lesson from him. He is a master of reusing his writing and ideas across book. Of course, it’s easier to do that with non-fiction. I don’t like clutter, so I tend to throw out all things I deem of little use anymore. Now, I’m trying to save more ideas, words, titles. After all, clutter that is confined to a file or other electronic storage doesn’t need to take up space or bother me at all.

Speaking of editing, I love this site that deals with all types of writing “problems.” The owner of the site is related to Charles Darwin, and her last name IS Darwin. bit.ly/4d4WSeS

Can’t believe it, but my oldest grandson was married in the magical city of Vail at the Sonnenalp Hotel, which is reminiscent of a Nordic village.

I don’t often post personal pictures, but I’m making an exception. I’ve tried not to include any pictures that were not taken by me or my husband.

I am extremely lucky that I and my family are blessed with love, good health and happiness. I want to spread it around….

Many of us have thought about age this past week with President Biden withdrawing from a second run at another term. He was applauded widely for stepping down. Don’t get me wrong, I think for his health and the country’s, he needed to step down. It was time.

I watched his fateful debate with his opponent, watched him lose focus, stare blankly, cough and sputter. I turned it off and cried, somehow knowing that would be the end of his run. He has, in my opinion, been a strong and efficient leader, humble and honest and as my husband says, “is a work horse, not a show horse.”

It got me thinking about how we are treated differently as we age. We are no longer expected to be productive, but most of us want and need to be productive. Our mistakes and oopsies are more likely to be noticed and pointed out. Is it dementia? Is she failing? Even doctors treat you differently as you age. You are no longer going to die an early death, so many tests are bypassed. My late mother-in-law was told by one specialist that her symptoms couldn’t be Colon cancer because people over eighty don’t get it. The one who diagnosed her with Colon cancer told her that everyone over eighty gets it. Both were wrong. I trust Google. Just sayin’.

Every day, I am grateful that I’m older. Every day, every year is a blessing and is not guaranteed. Every day with husband, kids and grandkids is a blessing.

I didn’t start feeling old until I turned fifty, but now I realize how young fifty really is. My husband often quotes Groucho Marx – A man’s only as old as the woman he feels. I tell him that he should be starting to feel old (DH is six months younger that I). Luckily, as we age, our eyesight sometimes goes too.

I’ve also heard that “you are only as old as the secrets you carry.” I don’t suppose I have secrets anymore–at least not any of consequence. I guess the current book(s) I’m working on writing are secrets, as I am a closeted writer at times.

I hope we, as Americans can be more like Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese, who revere their aged. I hope young and old can come together and not blame or resent generations older than them and not blame or resent generations younger than them.

I’m expert at waiting, and not so good at using my “spare time.” I figure I’ve wasted hours/days upon days, waiting; i’ve waited for the right job (maybe I found it), waiting for the right man (I did find him & am married to him), waiting to retire, waiting for Social Security. Those are just the “big waits.” Smaller waits, such as doctor’s waiting rooms, bus rides, car rides, waiting for children to get home, waiting for morning to come–could all have been utilized better.

Here’s a fav poem about waiting

THE WAITING PLACE 

by Dr. Seuss

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come,
or a plane to go or the mail to come,
or the rain to go or the phone to ring,
or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.