Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Monthly Archives: September 2012

No fish in the driveway

Nuthin’

I got nuthin’.

No internal inspiration.  No gifts of the gods dropping from the sky like that fish yesterday.

This is what happens sometimes.  You want to write, and nothing comes.

Writers Block.

That big, scary phrase that, in itself, stops all further forward motion and provides the excuse for it.

I can’t write.  I have Writer’s Block.

The thing is. . .there’s no such thing.  I mean, it’s nothing endemic to writers.  It’s a plain old combination of laziness and fear.  Sometimes, with exhaustion and/or addictions added to the mix.  (I don’t necessarily mean the more popular forms of substance abuse when I say “addiction.”  You can be addicted to television—or cupcakes.)

If you aren’t writing—well, we’ll say if I’m not writing—no need to make sweeping generalizations about the rest of you—but, if I’m not writing, it’s a good bet it’s because I don’t feel like it.

I’m too tired, too distracted by other things, too frightened I won’t have a good idea or be able to do justice to the ones I have.

The answer to all of that is:

So what?

So what if I wake up at 5 am after staying up until 2?  So what if I’m worried about the mortgage, the contract, the fight with my spouse or my mother, or the funny noise the car is making?

So what?

There’s a line from a song in A Chorus Line:

God, I’m a dancer.  A dancer dances.

It’s kind of the same thing.

A writer writes.

So, be a Nike commercial.  Just do it.  Or, as Julia Cameron says, show up at the page.

Are you a writer? A writer writes.

And, in case you hadn’t noticed, today, once again, I get to say I’m a writer.  The triumph of “So what?” over “I don’t feel like it.”

This may be the most important blog post I’ve ever written.

So far.

 

A fish in the driveway

Not just out of water.

In the driveway.

I guess I’ve been more startled by some things—a snake unexpectedly slithering across my path, a sudden crack of thunder, the smoke alarm going off—although that’s never really all that unexpected when we’re cooking.

But, honestly. . . a fish in the driveway?

Yesterday, I was having a productive day.  Straightened up around the house, a little light dusting.  Did my full workout.  Gave the MotH a haircut.  Finished one of the unending loads of laundry.  Made myself a master shopping list for a serious grocery run and a Home Depot shopping spree.  (We live at Home Depot since we moved.)  Took care of some emails and some paperwork, and was just about to take a short break when I decided to go get the mail.

I wandered down the driveway, taking my time in appreciating how much the lawn has improved and enjoying the fine sharp line of my edging work, and marveling—as always—at how brazen the squirrels are around here.

When, suddenly!  A horde of flies, and I glanced down to see a fish.

A very dead fish.

Lying in my driveway.

Now, it is true that I live near water.  Fish have been pulled out of it.  Inevitably, however, they are on the end of a fishing line.  They may flap around briefly on the dock, but they go one of three places:  back in the creek, into the crab trap, or into the kitchen.  Never, ever do they end up 50 or 60 yards away in the middle of my driveway.

It was startling.

Kind of like how the Egyptians must have felt when those frogs started falling from the sky.*  (I know, I know—they came up out of the Nile and didn’t drop from the sky at all.  When I was a kid, however, I thought they dropped from the sky, and I still like the story better that way. )

Actually, that’s what I assumed happened with the fish.

Some kind of aerial battle—osprey vs. eagle—and nobody winning.

Although, I’m not sure why one of the combatants wouldn’t have come down to retrieve the prey.  Possibly, they don’t like to lower themselves into civilization like that.

I suppose an alternative theory might be one of the neighborhood black cats—but they are usually hunting the aforementioned squirrels or various songbirds when they come by—not dragging dinner and then leaving it behind.

However it happened, it was startling.  And kind of icky.

And, of course, the MotH was nowhere to be found

I could have left it there until he returned, but it was already somewhat fragrant.  And there were those flies.

So, with great presence of mind and consummate bravery, I got the shovel out of the garage.  There was a one-woman funeral procession and burial at sea.

Any minute now my heart rate will be returning to normal.

A fish.

In the driveway.

What could it possibly mean?

Other than a little help from the gods when I was stuck for a blog post.

Thank you, gods.

I guess.

 

 

* Exodus 7:25 – 8:11

Virtual rearrangment

…of furniture, that is.

My Monday Miracle this week was the rearrangement of my office furniture.  And the Friday Find I promised you in that post is the online tool I used to help me figure out a new floor plan without succumbing to the cliché of countless cartoons.

You know the ones I mean—where the long-suffering husband manhandles the sofa from place to place only to end up restoring it to its original position while the wife stands by and points?

As I mentioned in the previous post, sliders saved the MotH’s* back—because I moved all the furniture myself—and Floorplanner saved my sanity—because I only moved it once.

Floorplanner is an online tool that allows you to create a floorplan and furnish it with all kinds of included pieces of furniture.  Then you can view it in 2D or 3D and rearrange everything over and over without developing a hernia.

It’s easy to install, because you don’t install it.  You work with it online, in your browser.

It’s fairly easy to use.  All the furniture pieces can be resized to your dimensions.  You just drag-and-drop them around your room and decide whether you like the new arrangement.

And it’s free.

Previously, I had purchased HGTV’s Home & Landscape Platinum Suite 2.0, and I tried to use it.  Ultimately, I took advantage of their money-back guarantee and returned it.  It was just too complicated for what I needed to do (and I could never figure out how to remove the grass I accidentally got growing in the living room).

Floorplanner let’s me draw a room and stick furniture in it.  Then it lets me move the furniture around.

That’s all I wanted.  That’s all I needed.

The big, expensive software packages are probably worth the time and money if you are an interior designer or a landscape contractor.  I’m sure it’s nice to be able to show clients how the space will look all 3D and painted and lit.

But I just want to make sure there’s room to walk between the desk and the closet before I actually move the desk.

Floorplanner.  Yay!

A rose by any other name*

…might not get the right plant food.

Today, I am very thankful for my friend Carole who has an uncanny ability (and, probably, some robust internet sources) to identify every plant I put in front of her—virtually speaking.

When we bought Casa Lagarto, we became the proud owners of a lot of flora and foliage.  Previously, I could recognize a pine tree, a cactus, a daffodil and a rose. Also, hyacinth and hydrangeas.  And not much else.

But here’s the value of networking—and a reminder that your network isn’t just your business acquaintances.

The first thing that happened is that my mom’s garden club held a meeting at my house.  After lunch by the water and their business meeting, they walked me around my yard and identified 90% of my botanical holdings.

There were a few things they didn’t recognize, and that’s where Carole came in.  She has unhesitatingly identified the Fringe Tree, the Mexican Hydrangea and the Spider Lily.  Also, the Canna Lily.

From pictures.

It’s an amazing talent!

And now everything in the garden is not only lovely, it has a name.

So, what’s in a name?

Sure, names don’t alter the essential nature of the thing being named.  On the other hand, if you’ve got a broken arm, you really don’t want your doctor calling it a brain tumor.  Trouble will ensue.

A plant without a name renders my essential botanical cluelessness even more deadly to said plant than it might otherwise be.  What generally saves them is my laissez faire attitude toward gardening.  Non-interference results in more weeds than are strictly necessary, but it supports the “First, do no harm” doctrine that is at the heart of my horticultural practice.

With a name, I can look things up.  I can research the best time of year for pruning, whether they need extra water (not too much of a problem in this year of the unending deluges), etc.  In addition, cause of death can be narrowed to something other than “I did something wrong.”  The carnation died from lack of water, the vinca died from too much water, but the begonia has survived because I recognized it needed water!

I don’t have a green thumb.  But I do have good and knowledgeable friends, and any plants that perish have only me to blame.

Thanks, Carole!

* Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Sc. 2 (Flapdoodle!)

No easy way

…to measure your carbon footprint

I’m wondering about this today, because we are considering buying a freezer.

The freezer that came with our refrigerator is too small.  We bought a side-by-side.  I don’t think I would do that again.  We didn’t have a big freezer in New York but it seemed to hold more.  And it was much easier to locate and extract things.  (The sound of the freezer door opening here is usually accompanied by thumps, crashes and muttered curses.  That’s if it’s the MotH that opened the door.  If it’s me, there’s usually an “Ow!” in there somewhere, frozen sausages being somewhat bruising to bare feet.)

We can probably clear out space in the laundry room for a small freezer.  Research indicates the cost won’t blow the budget.  It would be nice to be able to stock up on frozen pizzas.  (Currently, they have to be cut up and re-wrapped, and there are only so many pizza quarters that will fit.  [They aren’t any softer on bare feet, either.])  It would be nice to be able to take more advantage of the BOGO* offers at the local Winn-Dixie.

And I understand the risk involved in having a freezer full of food during hurricane season.

But. . .

What I am wondering is this.  Does it take more energy to run a freezer year-round or to make more trips to the grocery store?  Wouldn’t it be great if cars—and electric meters—came with more specific indicators?

Instead of that vague analog dial, why can’t a car have a digital display of fuel used down to tenths of a gallon?  You’re not going to tell me the technology isn’t available.

And shouldn’t my electric meter have something more useful than five dials whose pointers all spin different directions?  We ought to be able to see how much electricity we’ve used during any given billing cycle and what it’s costing us—not only in terms of dollars about to be billed but actual carbon footprint.

Awareness and attention.  The first steps to a balanced budget and energy conservation.

How hard can it be?

I wonder.

Two Timing

Another way to improve your descriptions.

So, we’ve been talking–intermittently–about descriptive writing.  I believe it started with me mentioning that I don’t think I’m very good at it.  Then, last Tuesday’s Tip was the I look up and I see… exercise.

Today, I have another exercise for you.  Once again, I don’t remember where I got it and will have to add that information if and when I can.

The idea is this:

Take a scene, a setting, and describe it twice in such a way that the passage will convey completely different moods.  You might use words that impart a sense of danger and dread in one iteration and then sketch the same scene in joyful and exhilarating terms.

For example, here’s some practice writing I did for this exercise.  Try not to consider this the best example of my work, okay?  It’s just to give you an idea of how to explore this.  In this case, it’s two descriptions of the same boat ride:

  1. Hundreds of rolling wavelets marched toward her like an advancing army, broken only when the jet ski roared by.  Looking at the dark slice it cut through the gun-gray water, her heart beat in sudden panic.  That chainsaw buzzing of the motor. . . .the accompanying sound of the dozens of horror movies she and Eddie had watched in their teens.  Maybe it was that subliminal memory of blood and gore that was making her feel queasy and not the unstable floor beneath her feet rocking and rising and falling with every shudder of wind and water, giving her the sensation of an earthquake’s aftershock.

  2.  Hundreds of rolling wavelets marched toward her like a crowd of eager children on parade, the procession broken only when the jetski bounced across the shimmering wake bubbling out aft.  Looking at the gray-green line the other craft sketched through the green-gray sea, her heart lifted.  The darker patch was there in the water, in her life, but it was behind her now, and she was free of it.  Maybe it was that subliminal sense of liberty that made the simple act of balancing on the gentle rise and fall of the deck as exhilarating as surfing.

So, any purple prose aside, do you get the idea?  Give it a shot.  And if you’d like to share the results, feel free to post your work in the comments.

Happy Writing!

A pocketful. . .

. . .of miracles

Nothing to do with Apple Annie or Bette Davis or Frank Capra or Damon Runyon or anything else pertaining to the film of that name.  (Except, if you want a good old-fashioned feel-good movie, by all means catch it the next time it’s on the air.)

It’s just that I have several miracles to report this Monday.  They are small pocket-sized miracles, not big, giant stupendous miracles like when you get a publishing contract or a production or your preferred candidate wins an election.  Just small change-my-world-but-probably-not-yours miracles.

The first is that I’ve rearranged my office.  Those of you who have any amount of computer equipment will recognize that this is the single most awful task a person could undertake in the room rearranging department.  (Yeah, okay, totally rearranging your kitchen would probably be more awful–except the disconnecting and reconnecting, in that case, would most likely be done by electricians and plumbers, so it probably averages out.)

I have been feeling cramped and disorganized for a while, but I wasn’t sure what the best new arrangement might be, and I certainly did not want to proceed too much by trial and error.  I can trial and error my way through moving a living room sofa and some floor lamps, but trial and error cabling and uncabling of printers, phones, and what-have-you did not seem like my idea of a good time.

So, the first miracle is I found a way to do a virtual rearrangement.  (I’m going to tell you about that on Friday.  It will be a Friday Find!)

The second miracle is that I overcame my reluctance to generate chaos and plunged ahead.

The third miracle is (are?) sliders which allowed me to move a desk, a table, and the heaviest file cabinet known to man, single-handedly.  (All right, I got a little bit of help from the MotH,* but that was just at the end, for the parts where the sliders had to be picked up so that things could fit up against the walls.)

The fourth miracle is that the new arrangement did not require total re-cabling–yay!–and all the equipment still works.

The fifth is that the room is, like, twelve times bigger–with all the same furniture in it!

And the sixth and, perhaps, most important, miracle is that all that space inspired me to clean off my desk and clean out my project box.  (I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t look like Levenger’s sells these any more.  I love mine.)

But I have scanned everything that needed scanning, filed everything that needed filing, paid everything that needed paying, and tossed everything that needed tossing.

Maybe it’s a sackful of miracles, not a pocketful!

 

* Man of the House

 

They’re out to get me

. . .and just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not.

I may have mentioned before that I have Wizard of Oz trees.

You remember that scene, right?  In the apple orchard?  Somebody–the scarecrow, I think–says something insulting to the trees, and the next thing you know, our heroes are being pelted with apples. The bombardment drives them out of the orchard and further on down the Yellow Brick Road.

What happens at my house is somewhat more sinister–because I don’t recall any insulting words being passed prior to the attacks.

My arboreal acquaintances began their campaign innocently enough.  Sweetgum balls and acorns dropped onto the driveway and the lawn.  This is somewhat hazardous to lawn mower blades but in the natural order of things, right?  To be expected.

In short order, however, we began to notice that the balls, beads and seeds tended to fall in surprisingly close proximity to our heads whenever we were outside.  Almost as if the trees were taking aim.

So, okay, that’s a bit paranoid.  Just a matter of happenstance, surely.

Why, then, on a dry and totally windless day, would a sweetgum limb crash down on the driveway mere minutes after I had walked beneath it?  The timing was such that it brought a group of teenage boys racing across the road, certain they were going to have a chance to rescue me (or, perhaps, steal my ruby slippers).

And why, on a subsequent dry and totally windless day, would another sweetgum limb crash down on the driveway mere seconds before the MotH* backed the car through that exact spot?

So, that summer (last one) went on like that with branches falling here and there with no provocation.

This summer has been less prone to arboreal accidents.  I’d almost forgotten that the trees are out to get me.

But yesterday, I parked in my cousin’s driveway under a hickory tree.  There’s now a fifty-cent-piece size dent in the hood of my car.  It’s from a hickory nut.  I’d say a “fallen hickory nut,” except it is clear to me that it was thrown with great force.

I’m just issuing a fair warning to all the timber in my vicinity.  There’s a chain saw in the garage–and such a thing as self-defense.

Watch yourselves.

* Man of the House

Some people say

but all of us should think.

“Some people say” is not a legitimate news source.  If you’re hearing that phrase on whatever “news” program you are watching, take a moment and think about it.

It takes work. . .hard work. . .for a reporter to get someone to go on the record.  Once a person has been quoted, he or she can be refuted.  Anyone who wants to do so can check the facts.  We can evaluate the credibility of the source.  We can verify that yes, in fact, someone did say this. We can find evidence to support or contradict the statement.

“Some people say” is either lazy reporting or an attempt to get you to swallow a lie.  There’s a good chance, when you hear that phrase, that the “some people” are the editor or the reporter himself or the person with the biggest axe.  For grinding, that is.

Journalism is about reporting facts accompanied by proper attribution.

Propaganda is “some people say.”

 

 

 

Boogie down!

The 27-Fling Boogie

The 27-Fling Boogie is an invention of Marla Cilley over at FlyLady.net.  The FlyLady is full of tips and tricks to get your house in order and keep it that way.  Lots of good information, and much of it has been helpful to me.

One of the most fun and effective things is the 27-Fling Boogie.

As I recall it, once you’ve decided which “zone” of your house is going to get your attention, you–very quickly–identify 27 things to throw away and 27 things to give away.  Put them in bags or boxes or whatever, and get them out of the house.

Right into the garbage can.  Right into the trunk of the car.

The purpose of moving them immediately is to prevent the inevitable second guessing that occurs if you keep the box or bag long enough that you take another look.  If you’re anything like me, you will re-think your decision.  Hey!  I might need that sometime.  If the bag is already in the garbage can and the box is already in the car, ready to go to Goodwill or wherever, they are probably going to stay there.

It seems simple, doesn’t it?  Hardly worth a whole bog post.

The thing is, there is something about the number 27.  Maybe it’s the rhythm of it.  Maybe it’s the magical quality of being a perfect cube (3 cubed).  Maybe it’s that it’s a high enough number that you have to really stretch to find enough items to meet the goal–so you steel yourself to get rid of that sequined purse that you have never used. “27” keeps you at it when you think it’s time to stop for cake.

The “boogie” plays into this, too.  It has a connotation of fast and fun.  As does “fling,” really.  The idea is to get moving.  Don’t stop to think.  Fling!

After a while, in subsequent iterations, you’re not going to find 27 things in a particular zone.  That’s when you expand the boogie to the whole house, I guess.  (Actually, the way it’s described on the FlyLady website now does apply to the whole house.  It may be my faulty memory that makes me think it was originally applied to zones.  I did do quite well culling my bookshelves, though, when I 27-fling boogied through my office.  Whatever works, right?)

And on my next boogie, I’m going to cube it a little further.  27 things to throw away, 27 things to give away, and 27 things for a garage sale.

Boogie down!

 

 

 


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