At what age did I start to think that where I was going was more important than where I already was? When was it that I began to believe that the most important thing about what I was doing was getting it over with? Knowing how to live is not something we have to teach children. Knowing how to live is something we have to be careful not to take away from them.
from No Impact Man, by Colin Beavan
(Those who were there are asked to remain silent until some other folk have had a chance to answer.)
Question: Why did Munchkin Boy make a cake in the shape of a 74 for his 9th birthday?
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Here's a hint.
So those who have followed my career path probably know that I have worked in all manner of writing/editing/print type environments for both work and pleasure. In the last 10 years (give or take a few), I have concentrated on a freelance path that has become gradually more focused over time. My current "elevator speech" involves a considerable amount of ghostwriting.
Being a... ghost... has its advantages (fairly lucrative as far as freelance writing goes) and disadvantages (I don't see my name in print as often).
So yesterday I was checking out some of my client websites, just to see how they were handling my material... I mean, the material that they purchased from me. I'm always curious about the end product. Turns out, one of my clients has gotten some recent news coverage - an appearance/interview on a major news show. I was beyond giddy when I realized that the interview was about an article that had appeared on the client's website.
Yep, it was my article... one I had written in their name. The whole interview was filled with little graphics and bullet points -- my words right up there on the television screen (well, I watched it online).
I had mixed emotions, initially. That's me! Yet not me. But me, none-the-less!
I finally decided... though I really can't share the link... that I'm going to go ahead and let myself swell with a bit of pride.
I'm listening to my children "negotiate" in the other room, forcing myself to remain seated and keep my input to myself. In general, they've always gotten along fairly well, but we go through these periods of time where it seems to take more work. They are adjusting to each other's growing selves and priorities. Little brother might not be as easily swayed as he once was. Little sister might be less likely to succumb to charms of older sister. Therefore, experimenting in methods of strong-arming, bribery, flattery, systems of conniving both logical and fantastic, and even the occasional brute force might take place. With three of them, there are bound to be occasional alliances and standoffs.
A long-standing parental question in our house has been, "Do you want me to get involved?"
I can hardly remember a moment when they did, though I have been known to pull one or the other aside and suggest "alternate" negotiating tactics anyway. Communication is king, as far as I'm concerned, and I like to think that my children are learning to listen and express themselves and come to points of agreement somewhere in the middle when the subject warrants.
Loud discussions tend to fill me with anxiety. Yelling or screeching will easily send me write over the edge. I have to stop and examine, at times, the origins of my discomfort. Living elbow to elbow with your fellow human -- be it family or friend, neighbor or person just passing by on the street -- you've got to be prepared for a bit of bumping and jostling at times. You've got to learn when to stand your ground, and when to concede it. You have to learn when it is worth it to take the time to lead a person to more amicable waters and when to put down your own pride and follow. You've got to be comfortable standing alone, even in a crowd.
And what better place to learn all this than with your own siblings? The people whose elbows you know best. Where it is safe to disagree and test the stuff you are made of and know that you will still be loved unconditionally (as it should be).
The conversation in the other room rose to a crescendo, was punctuated with a few staccato bursts, and finally ended (in surprisingly short time, I might add) with a lovely hum of harmony. Apparently, an agreement was reached. No parental input necessary.
It's a silly little thing, but I get a kick from entering my words each day and watching these little bars appear on my NaNoWriMo site. I am at 9,013 words as of day 4. My friend Cheryl and I have been sending daily check-ins. I think she's having as much fun as I am.
Believe it or not, this is only my 2nd time doing NaNo. I think the last time I tried it was 2001, and I've pretty much spent the last 8 or so years tweaking that novel, or some version of that novel, or some spin-off from that novel about related characters whom I thought might be more interesting to write about. In 2001, they did not have the cool bar graph function. I'm not even sure that they had a website.
You know about our ceiling... we are still looking up into the rafters, but we have a plan in place, and the plan is good. We know how we are going to go about insulating and putting the room back together. The electrician is going to start next week with lighting, a ceiling fan, and as a bonus, he will be taking care of some other electrical wants we've had on our list (with the ceiling open, it will be easier for him to get into the rooms that need work.
And as must be typical in these old houses... we've been sort of mentally making lists for the next project. It's exhausting. Sometimes I think it would be helpful if one or both of us really enjoyed this handy house type of work. It's unfortunate that we both look at it as such a chore, though we've improved. There is the pride of having done the job ourselves, but working up to doing the job can be oh-so-painful.
So the "next" item on the list... we've been pretty sure... had something to do with the water supply to our kitchen. Our faucet was down to a dribble and we were envisioning old crusty pipes that were simply too full of stuff to let the water through. I was imagining an enormous job that would take us days and have us doing dishes in the bath tub. Actually, the water pressure has been poor enough I've been known to wash a dish or two in the bath tub.
This morning I watching the water dribble from the faucet and I thought to myself, "I wonder if it could be something as simple as a valve not all the way open." I flipped open the cabinet doors and turned the valve to the hot water. No such luck; it seemed to be open all the way. When I turned the faucet back on, however, the dribble had been reduced to drip. Man was I kicking myself. All I had done was turn the shut-off valve from open, to shut, to open again and now I had no water!?!?
I did not want to mess with plumbing today.
I did not want to get dirty and make a dozen trips to the hardware store and end up tearing out my cabinets and putting new holes in the floors in order to do what I was imagining would be a complete re-piping of the kitchen.
So I apologized to hubby for completely eliminating our kitchen water supply and walked away. "I'll haul the dishes to the tub to wash later," I said. "I'll suffer the consequences of my actions, I just don't want to think about it or attempt to do anything about it right now."
Hubby, however, had no such patience. Before I knew it he was taking apart the kitchen sink. Thank goodness, he didn't have to go to far to discover that we did, indeed, have water pressure. Apparently it was the faucet itself that was clogging up the works, though we weren't able to entirely figure out how. The faucet is fairly new. I installed it myself shortly after we moved in. I'm going to chalk it up to the fact that we had purchased the lowest end, cheapest faucet we could find. Something broke inside or got lodged wrong to clog it or who knows what. (And no, it wasn't the aerator... I've checked and cleaned that a good half-dozen times.)
We bought higher end, this round, and by golly.... we have a strong current of water now flowing out of our new kitchen faucet. The best part of all is that hubby was able to complete the whole exchange in under two hours. He disassembled, reaseembled and we had the water back on with no leaks the first time!
Hubby rocks. He's my plumber. He's my hero.
Happy Halloween!