You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
Last night, my laptop blew its hard drive*. I spent today driving halfway across the state to the Mac Store and back again, and I'm just now getting a chance to post today's entry. So it'll be short and sweet. :)
Bill and I have been trying to improve our diets and part of that includes adding more green, leafy veggies, like kale. I've been putting it in soups and pasta dishes, for example, and we like it okay, but Kale Chips are, by far, everyone's favorite use of this versatile veggie.
Kale Chips are baked, they're crispy, and salty and when I make them they disappear. Our daughter even squees and runs off with the bowl, munching.
Very yummy, incredibly simple, and they're healthy, too!
*The laptop was still under warranty and it's now sporting a shiny new hard drive, the Mac Geniuses even managed to save my working book files. Yay! It just cost me some time. :)
12 April, 2012
11 April, 2012
J is for Joneses
You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
About 24 years ago, I was incredibly blessed to be absorbed into Bill's family. Unlike my family (which I'll talk about on the S entry), the Jones clan encompasses a couple hundred individuals. Yep. In the 'immediate' family.
Seeing as how my whole family lived in a span of a handful of houses on the same block, Bill's family is MASSIVE. And almost all have been to our house. At the same time. With one bathroom. ;)
Ahem.
I was welcomed without question or reservation - at least none that I'd ever heard of - and some members of Bill's family, especially his Aunt Edna (yep, he has one too. Doesn't everyone??) are among my select few 'favorite people on the planet'. I know, with utter certainty, that I can pick up the phone and, with one little phone call, have a houseful of guys to help move something heavy, or build a new roof, or whatever. Need to borrow a car? Easy peasy. Need an emergency babysitter? Gotcha covered. Have any crisis at all, and a horde of Joneses - aunts, uncles, cousins twice removed - will descend like magical, friendly locusts and get it fixed, hauled, cleaned up, or corralled. Shortly after we got married, one of Bill's cousins had to move, and we - along with a lot of others - appeared at the house and got everything out of there and loaded in the truck, EVERYTHING, in less than an hour.
BAM! It's like magic. Joneses do not screw around.
Besides being generous with their time, the Jones family tends to be rowdy. And LOUD, everyone talking over everyone else. There's generally beer somewhere, and quite a few have issues with substance abuse (not that my family is clean in that regard, but the reasons for the abuse tend to be different). It's never quiet at a Jones family gathering and they get together every 4th of July. When we were first married, the annual party/family reunion was held at Bill's parents' house, but after his mom died it moved to ours. One year, when I did the head count, we had 177 people over, including children, and, yes, we had one bathroom. It was a madhouse, but since we had a huge yard, we managed. And it didn't include Uncle Charles' branch, or Aunt Marlene's branch, Duane and Jo's family (who mostly lived out of state), anyone from Sharon's side, or the folks who had to work.
Still, more than 175 people. In the "immediate family".
After several years, we decided that our poor septic system couldn't handle the stress anymore, so the party moved on, to Charles' house, then a park, then back to Bill's dad's, then another park. I'm not sure where it'll be this year, but it promises to have a lot of food, a lot of volleyball, and a whole LOT of kids running around. Every ten years or so they have the BIG family gathering and there were more than 300 people at the last one.
You don't get such a huge family without having a lot of children. We were the oddballs in the group because we only had our one daughter - and one of Bill's brothers has no children at all - but four to seven kids per family seems to be the norm. Cousin Johnny (who'd had a whole string of girls) once joked he was making his own softball team.
I know with a deep and abiding certainty, without a hint of reservation, that if our house were to burn down, or Bill's job evaporate, or a hundred other possible catastrophes were to fall upon us, the Jones family would be there, immediately, to help clean up or offer a place to stay, or money or whatever.
Bam! The helpful horde would descend.
Despite being solidly working class to downright poor, they're just incredibly generous and giving people. I have to admit it took me awhile to get used to the loud, rowdy, rambunctiousness of the family, but I love them all and I'm positive they know that if they need anything - anything - we, too, would be there to help.
Love you guys!!
About 24 years ago, I was incredibly blessed to be absorbed into Bill's family. Unlike my family (which I'll talk about on the S entry), the Jones clan encompasses a couple hundred individuals. Yep. In the 'immediate' family.
Seeing as how my whole family lived in a span of a handful of houses on the same block, Bill's family is MASSIVE. And almost all have been to our house. At the same time. With one bathroom. ;)
Ahem.
I was welcomed without question or reservation - at least none that I'd ever heard of - and some members of Bill's family, especially his Aunt Edna (yep, he has one too. Doesn't everyone??) are among my select few 'favorite people on the planet'. I know, with utter certainty, that I can pick up the phone and, with one little phone call, have a houseful of guys to help move something heavy, or build a new roof, or whatever. Need to borrow a car? Easy peasy. Need an emergency babysitter? Gotcha covered. Have any crisis at all, and a horde of Joneses - aunts, uncles, cousins twice removed - will descend like magical, friendly locusts and get it fixed, hauled, cleaned up, or corralled. Shortly after we got married, one of Bill's cousins had to move, and we - along with a lot of others - appeared at the house and got everything out of there and loaded in the truck, EVERYTHING, in less than an hour.
BAM! It's like magic. Joneses do not screw around.
Besides being generous with their time, the Jones family tends to be rowdy. And LOUD, everyone talking over everyone else. There's generally beer somewhere, and quite a few have issues with substance abuse (not that my family is clean in that regard, but the reasons for the abuse tend to be different). It's never quiet at a Jones family gathering and they get together every 4th of July. When we were first married, the annual party/family reunion was held at Bill's parents' house, but after his mom died it moved to ours. One year, when I did the head count, we had 177 people over, including children, and, yes, we had one bathroom. It was a madhouse, but since we had a huge yard, we managed. And it didn't include Uncle Charles' branch, or Aunt Marlene's branch, Duane and Jo's family (who mostly lived out of state), anyone from Sharon's side, or the folks who had to work.
Still, more than 175 people. In the "immediate family".
After several years, we decided that our poor septic system couldn't handle the stress anymore, so the party moved on, to Charles' house, then a park, then back to Bill's dad's, then another park. I'm not sure where it'll be this year, but it promises to have a lot of food, a lot of volleyball, and a whole LOT of kids running around. Every ten years or so they have the BIG family gathering and there were more than 300 people at the last one.
You don't get such a huge family without having a lot of children. We were the oddballs in the group because we only had our one daughter - and one of Bill's brothers has no children at all - but four to seven kids per family seems to be the norm. Cousin Johnny (who'd had a whole string of girls) once joked he was making his own softball team.
I know with a deep and abiding certainty, without a hint of reservation, that if our house were to burn down, or Bill's job evaporate, or a hundred other possible catastrophes were to fall upon us, the Jones family would be there, immediately, to help clean up or offer a place to stay, or money or whatever.
Bam! The helpful horde would descend.
Despite being solidly working class to downright poor, they're just incredibly generous and giving people. I have to admit it took me awhile to get used to the loud, rowdy, rambunctiousness of the family, but I love them all and I'm positive they know that if they need anything - anything - we, too, would be there to help.
Love you guys!!
10 April, 2012
I is for Introvert
You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
Most everyone has heard of introverts and extroverts. Extroverts are easy to spot. They're the people dancing around at parties and leading meetings and, frankly, kissing babies and shaking hands during political season. They take jobs in marketing and sales and rally others to their causes. They love the limelight, attention, and big events, and usually have lots and lots of friends. They like the new, the bright, the shiny, the trendy, the dangerous. Generally speaking, extroverts take chances and love to party.
Introverts, on the other hand, don't. We tend to stay home, have a few close friends, and avoid loud, boisterous events. Heck, some of us (like me) don't even have cell phones. ;)
It's not that we're shy. Some of us are, yes, but shy is another thing all together. Shyness implies fear of speaking with other people and while some introverts are shy, most of us aren't rendered mute by another's presence or fear speaking with others, or even reaching out to others. No, it's more about the quietness of solitude, and the comfort of familiarity. New things are approached with caution, not gusto, and when we get uncomfortable, we retreat to safer ground. Generally speaking, introverts skip the party and stay home.
I am, most definitely, an introvert.
I suck at personal conflict and confrontation (unless of course I am so angry that it overwhelms my instinctual desire to back off) and I never, ever do anything - or dress in any way - that calls attention to my presence. While I have no trouble actually speaking to groups of people, like when I give readings or talks (because, let's face it, I'm not shy), the mere thought of 'going to a convention' where there will be hundreds of strangers and bright flashy events and zero chance that I'll be able to control what's happening around me, well, I freak the heck out.
It's not the speaking that bothers me, it's being in a strange, overwhelming place. I tell ya, if everyone would just come to my house, that'd be great. lol
A lot of people have heard of the MeyersBriggs personality test. I am clear, waaaaay far off to the very edge of the 'I' on the introvert/extrovert scale. Back when I was in counseling for depression and PTSD, my therapist told me she'd never seen anyone with such a low score, so low in fact, it barely registered on the scale at all.
That explains why I am, apparently, invisible.
In all seriousness, my extreme, almost crippling introversion is one more reason I had such a hard time as a professional writer. I was pretty good at the writing part, the creative part, and I loved being edited, but interviews? Awful. Attention? Really awful. Reviews? Um, let's not even think about that. Marketing? Good God, please no. No, no, no, no, no. The award and all the, um, people staring and clapping and the plaque thing and stage lighting and...
OMG. NO! Get me the hell outta here. I wanna go HOME. NOW.
Home. With the door shut and the shades drawn and me curled up under blankets where it's safe and quiet and no one's looking at me or demanding things from me or - gasp - acting like I'm anything more than a quiet housewife from Iowa.
Anyway, as I struggle to get myself back into the 'published writer arena' - or at least sitting in my lonely car in the far reaches of its parking lot with my hands white-knuckle clamped to the steering wheel - I have to keep my introversion in mind. I have to. Because I remember what happened last time, and it wasn't super-cool-fun-times, at least not for me. I love talking with people about my work and what I do - and I really do enjoy what I do - I'd just rather do it on my terms, my way, with plenty of time and space and the ability to not keep shoving myself out there, kicking and screaming internally, as if I were a show pony strapped into a cage. Because being stared at while strapped in a cage isn't fun for anybody, especially the terrified show pony.
It is a worry. What if M sells? Or Spore? What then? Will I have to do interviews again? Will I have to go to conferences? How much will I have to get out and hustle for sales?
Hmm. I wonder if I could hire an extrovert to do all that stuff for me? ;) I can't pay much, but I'm really easy to work with.
Most everyone has heard of introverts and extroverts. Extroverts are easy to spot. They're the people dancing around at parties and leading meetings and, frankly, kissing babies and shaking hands during political season. They take jobs in marketing and sales and rally others to their causes. They love the limelight, attention, and big events, and usually have lots and lots of friends. They like the new, the bright, the shiny, the trendy, the dangerous. Generally speaking, extroverts take chances and love to party.
Introverts, on the other hand, don't. We tend to stay home, have a few close friends, and avoid loud, boisterous events. Heck, some of us (like me) don't even have cell phones. ;)
It's not that we're shy. Some of us are, yes, but shy is another thing all together. Shyness implies fear of speaking with other people and while some introverts are shy, most of us aren't rendered mute by another's presence or fear speaking with others, or even reaching out to others. No, it's more about the quietness of solitude, and the comfort of familiarity. New things are approached with caution, not gusto, and when we get uncomfortable, we retreat to safer ground. Generally speaking, introverts skip the party and stay home.
I am, most definitely, an introvert.
I suck at personal conflict and confrontation (unless of course I am so angry that it overwhelms my instinctual desire to back off) and I never, ever do anything - or dress in any way - that calls attention to my presence. While I have no trouble actually speaking to groups of people, like when I give readings or talks (because, let's face it, I'm not shy), the mere thought of 'going to a convention' where there will be hundreds of strangers and bright flashy events and zero chance that I'll be able to control what's happening around me, well, I freak the heck out.
It's not the speaking that bothers me, it's being in a strange, overwhelming place. I tell ya, if everyone would just come to my house, that'd be great. lol
A lot of people have heard of the MeyersBriggs personality test. I am clear, waaaaay far off to the very edge of the 'I' on the introvert/extrovert scale. Back when I was in counseling for depression and PTSD, my therapist told me she'd never seen anyone with such a low score, so low in fact, it barely registered on the scale at all.
That explains why I am, apparently, invisible.
In all seriousness, my extreme, almost crippling introversion is one more reason I had such a hard time as a professional writer. I was pretty good at the writing part, the creative part, and I loved being edited, but interviews? Awful. Attention? Really awful. Reviews? Um, let's not even think about that. Marketing? Good God, please no. No, no, no, no, no. The award and all the, um, people staring and clapping and the plaque thing and stage lighting and...
OMG. NO! Get me the hell outta here. I wanna go HOME. NOW.
Home. With the door shut and the shades drawn and me curled up under blankets where it's safe and quiet and no one's looking at me or demanding things from me or - gasp - acting like I'm anything more than a quiet housewife from Iowa.
Anyway, as I struggle to get myself back into the 'published writer arena' - or at least sitting in my lonely car in the far reaches of its parking lot with my hands white-knuckle clamped to the steering wheel - I have to keep my introversion in mind. I have to. Because I remember what happened last time, and it wasn't super-cool-fun-times, at least not for me. I love talking with people about my work and what I do - and I really do enjoy what I do - I'd just rather do it on my terms, my way, with plenty of time and space and the ability to not keep shoving myself out there, kicking and screaming internally, as if I were a show pony strapped into a cage. Because being stared at while strapped in a cage isn't fun for anybody, especially the terrified show pony.
It is a worry. What if M sells? Or Spore? What then? Will I have to do interviews again? Will I have to go to conferences? How much will I have to get out and hustle for sales?
Hmm. I wonder if I could hire an extrovert to do all that stuff for me? ;) I can't pay much, but I'm really easy to work with.
08 April, 2012
H is for Houses
You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
Houses! We love old houses. So far, we've extensively remodeled two - as in gutted and re-done from the studs out - and partially remodeled a third, that needed mostly cosmetic work and a new bathroom.
Remodeling is just awesome!
Here's the previous house we lived in, back when I wrote the Dubric books:
This house was a complete and total gut job. We removed everything but the east and north walls, and 3/4 of the foundation. Everything else, wiring, plumbing, roof, windows, everything, we did ourselves. Well, everything but installing the new furnace and running the duct work. That we hired out.
Here's a view from the other side:
Bill built both of the two-story bump-outs himself, and framed the roof (some of the angles were kinda crazy) and it was simply gorgeous!
I don't have digital pics of our first remodeled house (we did it waaaay before the days of digital photography) but here's a picture of our current house, shortly after we bought it:
It's a bit bigger than the yellow house and, frankly, was in better shape. We've replaced the floors in two of the bedrooms, painted it inside and out, did some major landscaping in the back yard, and put in an all new bathroom. That's about it.
The outside currently looks like this:
I love the color! It's perky, quirky, and friendly, all at the same time!
Inside, everything's one of three coordinating nice, creamy tans with white trim:
When it looked like Bill's job would be moving we had it on the market for a while last year and our appraised value was 10% higher than when we bought it. Not a bad return for 4 years investment, especially in this market. :) The yellow house at the beginning appraised at 6 times what we paid for it, but we did do a total gut job, and lived in it for 12 years. Nothing beats sweat equity.
Our current house is done, so we've been talking about moving on to something new, for us at least. There's a big 1890's house in a nearby town that'll be coming up as a foreclosure sale soon, and we're seriously tempted, especially if we can pick it up cheap! We LOVE remodeling old houses!
Houses! We love old houses. So far, we've extensively remodeled two - as in gutted and re-done from the studs out - and partially remodeled a third, that needed mostly cosmetic work and a new bathroom.
Remodeling is just awesome!
Here's the previous house we lived in, back when I wrote the Dubric books:
This house was a complete and total gut job. We removed everything but the east and north walls, and 3/4 of the foundation. Everything else, wiring, plumbing, roof, windows, everything, we did ourselves. Well, everything but installing the new furnace and running the duct work. That we hired out.
Here's a view from the other side:
Bill built both of the two-story bump-outs himself, and framed the roof (some of the angles were kinda crazy) and it was simply gorgeous!
I don't have digital pics of our first remodeled house (we did it waaaay before the days of digital photography) but here's a picture of our current house, shortly after we bought it:
It's a bit bigger than the yellow house and, frankly, was in better shape. We've replaced the floors in two of the bedrooms, painted it inside and out, did some major landscaping in the back yard, and put in an all new bathroom. That's about it.
The outside currently looks like this:
I love the color! It's perky, quirky, and friendly, all at the same time!
Inside, everything's one of three coordinating nice, creamy tans with white trim:
When it looked like Bill's job would be moving we had it on the market for a while last year and our appraised value was 10% higher than when we bought it. Not a bad return for 4 years investment, especially in this market. :) The yellow house at the beginning appraised at 6 times what we paid for it, but we did do a total gut job, and lived in it for 12 years. Nothing beats sweat equity.
Our current house is done, so we've been talking about moving on to something new, for us at least. There's a big 1890's house in a nearby town that'll be coming up as a foreclosure sale soon, and we're seriously tempted, especially if we can pick it up cheap! We LOVE remodeling old houses!
07 April, 2012
G is for God
You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
I actually thought about changing my topic this morning to avoid the quite-likely flood of arguments and hate mail, but I decided it needed to be said, for my own peace of mind if nothing else.
I believe in God.
I was raised, more or less, a Baptist. Sort of. My mother was (and still is) an Agnostic who liked to see God applied to a few select things, like weddings, and my father, back then, subscribed to the religion of "I'm going out for coffee". My great grandmother, however, was a regular bible reader, she'd read some most every day while sitting in her rocking chair, and I'm pretty sure she was a member of the Marquisville Baptist Church. She refused to ride in cars, though, so she never attended unless someone made her.
The Baptist part of my upbringing actually came from my Aunt Edna who lived next door. She'd load me up most Sundays and take me off to Sunday School at a different Baptist Church than the one my great grandmother got all the mail from.
Edna finally got tired of my questions and chatter, or just the weekly bother of dragging around a kid who wasn't hers, and I went a lot of years without ever setting foot in a church until middle school. I had a friend who my father called a 'Holy Roller' and I'd occasionally go to church with her. Unlike the rather frumpy Baptists, her church had a lot of standing and reaching up and singing loud and kneeling and screaming that we were all gonna burn in hell. Mostly, it struck me as incredibly odd.
I found these two experiences confusing when propped up against one another and I took every opportunity I could to go to church with friends. I learned about streets paved with gold and lakes of fire. I saw immersions. Took communion once - boy, I got a tsk, tsk from an old lady for that! - because it was being passed right by me and seemed impolite not to. I sat through yawn-worthy services, and services that ought to have come with sweat bands, we were so busy getting up and down and shifting around. I attended services full of 'love your neighbors' and services dripping with hatred for all things. Acceptance and judgement. Love and hate. Jesus and Satan.
I was about 15, maybe 16, when I decided that religion was a pile of hokum. That the guy - and it was almost always a guy - standing up front was making it all up. The things he was 'reading' from the book laid out before him didn't match what I read at home. Did match what I got from the book at home.
I let my curiosity move outward and I read about Hinduism and the Torah and Mohammed. I read about Buddhists and Wiccans and anything else I could dig up. It didn't take me long to decide that they're all hokum, every single one. They're a way for one person (or a group or powerful persons) to declare how other, less powerful people should live. And behave. And, most importantly, believe. If someone doesn't follow those particular rules, well, they're to be pitied, scorned, or despised.
I'm pretty much against things like that.
Across all of human history, we have believed in a creator. I fail to see why calling him Zeus or Allah or Jehovah or Krishna makes a bit of difference. I fail to see why one road to seek Him is any better, or more right, than another. I believe there are as many paths to God as people making the trek. All are correct. Each and every one. At least as long as they don't refute the right of a different person to seek a different way.
Anyway, I do believe in God. I just don't believe in religion. It divides us. It conquers us. It breeds hatred and intolerance. I'd much rather believe in a deity that wants us to get along because, like it or not, we're all stuck here together.
I actually thought about changing my topic this morning to avoid the quite-likely flood of arguments and hate mail, but I decided it needed to be said, for my own peace of mind if nothing else.
I believe in God.
I was raised, more or less, a Baptist. Sort of. My mother was (and still is) an Agnostic who liked to see God applied to a few select things, like weddings, and my father, back then, subscribed to the religion of "I'm going out for coffee". My great grandmother, however, was a regular bible reader, she'd read some most every day while sitting in her rocking chair, and I'm pretty sure she was a member of the Marquisville Baptist Church. She refused to ride in cars, though, so she never attended unless someone made her.
The Baptist part of my upbringing actually came from my Aunt Edna who lived next door. She'd load me up most Sundays and take me off to Sunday School at a different Baptist Church than the one my great grandmother got all the mail from.
Edna finally got tired of my questions and chatter, or just the weekly bother of dragging around a kid who wasn't hers, and I went a lot of years without ever setting foot in a church until middle school. I had a friend who my father called a 'Holy Roller' and I'd occasionally go to church with her. Unlike the rather frumpy Baptists, her church had a lot of standing and reaching up and singing loud and kneeling and screaming that we were all gonna burn in hell. Mostly, it struck me as incredibly odd.
I found these two experiences confusing when propped up against one another and I took every opportunity I could to go to church with friends. I learned about streets paved with gold and lakes of fire. I saw immersions. Took communion once - boy, I got a tsk, tsk from an old lady for that! - because it was being passed right by me and seemed impolite not to. I sat through yawn-worthy services, and services that ought to have come with sweat bands, we were so busy getting up and down and shifting around. I attended services full of 'love your neighbors' and services dripping with hatred for all things. Acceptance and judgement. Love and hate. Jesus and Satan.
I was about 15, maybe 16, when I decided that religion was a pile of hokum. That the guy - and it was almost always a guy - standing up front was making it all up. The things he was 'reading' from the book laid out before him didn't match what I read at home. Did match what I got from the book at home.
I let my curiosity move outward and I read about Hinduism and the Torah and Mohammed. I read about Buddhists and Wiccans and anything else I could dig up. It didn't take me long to decide that they're all hokum, every single one. They're a way for one person (or a group or powerful persons) to declare how other, less powerful people should live. And behave. And, most importantly, believe. If someone doesn't follow those particular rules, well, they're to be pitied, scorned, or despised.
I'm pretty much against things like that.
Across all of human history, we have believed in a creator. I fail to see why calling him Zeus or Allah or Jehovah or Krishna makes a bit of difference. I fail to see why one road to seek Him is any better, or more right, than another. I believe there are as many paths to God as people making the trek. All are correct. Each and every one. At least as long as they don't refute the right of a different person to seek a different way.
Anyway, I do believe in God. I just don't believe in religion. It divides us. It conquers us. It breeds hatred and intolerance. I'd much rather believe in a deity that wants us to get along because, like it or not, we're all stuck here together.
06 April, 2012
F is for Fear
You can find a full list of my A to Z challenge posts here. :)
I struggle with fear quite a lot, especially with my writing, and I wrote about it extensively when I was actively promoting the last Dubric novel, back in 2005-2006. This is a modified version of a couple of posts I made in 2006 and 2007, so some of you may have already read all or parts of this.
---
Fear is what keeps many of us succeeding. Not just in writing, but in all sorts of other things too.
I struggle with fear quite a lot, especially with my writing, and I wrote about it extensively when I was actively promoting the last Dubric novel, back in 2005-2006. This is a modified version of a couple of posts I made in 2006 and 2007, so some of you may have already read all or parts of this.
---
Fear is what keeps many of us succeeding. Not just in writing, but in all sorts of other things too.
And, you know, it's all in our heads. We have to stop thinking it's real, or at least recognize it for what it is.
I'm going to be pulling some quotes from a particular body of work for this essay - they're far more eloquent and beautiful than what I can create - and I'd like to start with this one.
It is by will alone that I set my mind in motion.
Say it out loud, like you mean it. It's a POWERFUL sentence.
It's spoken by Piter DeVries, in the original David Lynch film. I thought it was Thufir Hawat speaking it in the book, but could I find it?? Noooo.... Still a great line, though.
It is by will alone that I set my mind in motion.
Wow.
Let's bring up another quote, which actually prompted me to start this exercise -
I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
Yes, it's from Dune by Frank Herbert, and this particular quote is spoken by Paul Atreides (I think, our copy of the book isn't here in the house so I can't double check to be absolutely certain) and is the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear.
Anyway, with these two quotes from Dune in mind, I'd like to look at fear.
Experiencing fear has kept our species alive. I mean, look at the Dodo, which had so little fear that predators, including man, could walk right up to it and kill it to extinction. It's because of fear that we live. We have enough sense to not touch a hot stove, walk out into busy traffic, or step off the edge of a tall building. Fear is instinctual. Fear is a good thing. It gets our heart rate up, nudges adrenaline into gear, and helps us move quickly to get away from that saber toothed tiger, should the need arise.
It also gives us brain lock, which is why I've brought forth these quotes.
Our bodies and minds are programmed to the fight or flight response, along with the ever popular deer-in-headlights phenomena. It's not just on the highway with the semi barreling toward us that we get that lock up, it's when we're faced with a tough choice, or even a simple one. Many, many of us don't like to make decisions. For example - and a lot of you married folks will nod at this - my husband just about flat out refuses to pick a restaurant. "Whatever you want," he tells me, when all I want is not to have to pick this time. Some people freeze up when faced with what tie to wear. What shoes? Which insurance plan? Who to vote for? Often, to avoid making a choice, we make none at all until the decision is made for us, whether by circumstance or by someone else taking the lead. I believe that all comes down to fear - What if I make the wrong choice? What if I look stupid?
What if I fail?
Fear of failure is a huge problem. How many people never take a chance because of fear they might fail? Never approach the girl? Never apply for the better job? Never move out of their parents' home? Never send out their story?
Never even try?
It's that deer in headlights thing. Brain lock.
Fear is the mind killer.
It is with will alone that I set my mind in motion.
Think about those two statements side by side.
Some days I have to remind myself to say both, back to back. And it helps.
05 April, 2012
E is for Exercise
You can find a list of all of my A to Z posts here.
Today's topic - why, oh why, did I choose this one?? - is exercise.
I hate exercise, I really do. I was one of those tall, awkward kids in school that were picked last - or dang close to it - in gym. I am not coordinated. Nor am I speedy, strong, accurate, have good balance, stamina, or even have decent hand/eye coordination.
Frankly, I suck at sports. Consistently.
It always perplexes me when fitness experts say 'do an activity you love!'
Um. Last I knew, quilting isn't exercise. Fat quarters don't weigh that much and while lugging my sewing machine out of the house and to class takes a bit of huffing and puffing, the act of porting it around doesn't really get anything sewn.
So, frankly, for uncoordinated, never-been-athletic people like me, that 'do an activity you LOVE!' nonsense is utter bullshit.
Still, we all need to exercise. All of us, even clumsy people like me.
I walk around our little town several times a week if the weather's decent. I have a pile of exercise DVDs and actually use some now and again (especially Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies). Frankly, nothing's more comforting to people like me than seeing other people like me huff and puff through a work out. Those aerobic and tae-bo workouts with slim, athletic people? Total turn off. They're like the unreachable goal (and they're obviously the same folks that made fun of/thumped on the non-athletic as kids)
Well, maybe not obviously. I'm sure some are very nice people. They just remind me of the asshats of my childhood years, is all.
And, oh, I have a Wii. I actually do like Wii Sports Active, strangely enough, even though it consistently kicks my flabby ass. But my cat ate the sensor cord (seriously, it's in three pieces on my desk right now) so my Wii is defunct until I buy a new sensor.
Anyway, with exercise, I TRY. Honest. It's good for me, and I usually feel perkier afterwards. During, though... not so much. For me, and I'm surely not the only one, exercise is one of those things you have to do, but don't want to do, so you just do it and get it done and go on with the rest of your day.
Once I find 'an activity I love!' I'll let y'all know. Until then, I'll just keep making myself jive with Richard or take a mile-long walk across town.
Today's topic - why, oh why, did I choose this one?? - is exercise.
I hate exercise, I really do. I was one of those tall, awkward kids in school that were picked last - or dang close to it - in gym. I am not coordinated. Nor am I speedy, strong, accurate, have good balance, stamina, or even have decent hand/eye coordination.
Frankly, I suck at sports. Consistently.
It always perplexes me when fitness experts say 'do an activity you love!'
Um. Last I knew, quilting isn't exercise. Fat quarters don't weigh that much and while lugging my sewing machine out of the house and to class takes a bit of huffing and puffing, the act of porting it around doesn't really get anything sewn.
So, frankly, for uncoordinated, never-been-athletic people like me, that 'do an activity you LOVE!' nonsense is utter bullshit.
Still, we all need to exercise. All of us, even clumsy people like me.
I walk around our little town several times a week if the weather's decent. I have a pile of exercise DVDs and actually use some now and again (especially Richard Simmons' Sweatin' to the Oldies). Frankly, nothing's more comforting to people like me than seeing other people like me huff and puff through a work out. Those aerobic and tae-bo workouts with slim, athletic people? Total turn off. They're like the unreachable goal (and they're obviously the same folks that made fun of/thumped on the non-athletic as kids)
Well, maybe not obviously. I'm sure some are very nice people. They just remind me of the asshats of my childhood years, is all.
And, oh, I have a Wii. I actually do like Wii Sports Active, strangely enough, even though it consistently kicks my flabby ass. But my cat ate the sensor cord (seriously, it's in three pieces on my desk right now) so my Wii is defunct until I buy a new sensor.
Anyway, with exercise, I TRY. Honest. It's good for me, and I usually feel perkier afterwards. During, though... not so much. For me, and I'm surely not the only one, exercise is one of those things you have to do, but don't want to do, so you just do it and get it done and go on with the rest of your day.
Once I find 'an activity I love!' I'll let y'all know. Until then, I'll just keep making myself jive with Richard or take a mile-long walk across town.
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