getting through december

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Last year I went cross country skiing at the Hildene estate in Manchester, Vermont. So fun. So pretty. The winter months don't have to be depressing.

It’s no wonder people find Christmas depressing. It’s a holiday in a dark month full of rabid consumerism and fake merriment.

Here’s how I’m going to power through the season:

1. I will be exceedingly good-natured, especially to crabby people. This is my passive-aggressive way — if I hold a door for you, a stranger, at the bank and you don’t say, Thank you, I will shout exuberantly, You’re welcome and have a beautiful holiday season!

2. Seriously, I will try to maintain a sunny attitude, even while facing layoffs, long lines, and disappointing gifts from my children.

3. I will give and go to a lot of holiday parties and have conversations with family and friends that are so deep and meaningful they cannot be summarized in a tweet. (But follow me any way on Twitter @MaryBethC — Self promotion? Not gonna stop!)

4. Delve into some childhood memories and try to make some damn good memories for my kids — but NOT memories of things like iPhones, but memories of experiences, like hanging out with cousins, eating fondue or looking at the Rockefeller tree. (We live in NYC and we never do any of the touristy, Christmas crap.)

5. Do some Christmas-y NYC things:

  • see the Renaissance angels at the Met
  • see the origami tree at the Museum of Natural History
  • see the windows on 5th Avenue
  • listen to Handel’s Messiah
  • eat Scandinavian food

6. Write a lot.

7. Travel a lot (to Chicago and the Adirondacks).

8. Drink a lot (of egg nog).

This was last winter’s post from my visit to Hildene.

Finished NaNoWriMo

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I loved when I validated my word count at the NaNoWriMo website and a dozen nerdy people on a video clip applauded me. Their applause made me cry. I love them. I love all my cyber and real friends and family who supported me during my month of extreme novel writing. Thanks!

When I finished NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) two years ago, I was in the small office at my husband’s family country house. And I cried then too. My tears surprised me. I didn’t realize that you could cry when you impressed yourself by doing something great. I thought tears were for extremes sadness or happiness, not novel writing. Why did I cry?

I cry all the time during commercials or at certain songs at church. I’ve cried twice today already (in a deep conversation with a work friend and then due to some family stress!)

Crying’s no biggie. I tell my kids, It’s good to cry; tears clean your eyes.

So, yes, I love my tears and my achievement. But I doubt I’ll embark on the adventure to write 50,000 words in one month again next year.  (FYI, that comes out to about 175 double-spaced pages.) I think I’ll do it every other year for the rest of my life.

See, this year, I ignored my family, let my house fall into disrepair, and blew off my work peeps who wanted to chat by the water cooler! I’ll take December now to pay attention, to make repairs, and to chat.

Oh, one more thing, please don’t ask to read the novel, because it’s total drivel. It’s a sketch that needs hours, days, months of detail work. And I don’t know if I have that kind of attention in me.

Whether or not, I return to that novel, I’m extremely proud!!

the view from my office window

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There is nothing in my view that is commercial — no billboards or neon lights. From my office window, there is Riverside Church, the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson River, and the New Jersey skyline.

When I ride my bike to work I go for miles and see nothing but trees, grass, and occasionally a hawk. That is why I call this blog My Beautiful New York.

Art and Sunset

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Along the Hudson walkway, there is so much art. This one reflects the water and the buildings in the distance.
The sky was beautiful tonite. It is a walking meditation along the Hudson River any time, but especially at sunrise and sunset.
Haven't been blogging much lately, because I'm planning a party and trying to finish my NaNoWriMo novel. NaNoWriMo=National Novel Writing Month.

Leave Me Alone! I Am Writing!

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I cannot get a thing done around here. Just since I started this blog post, I got:

Child 1: Mom, where is the blank paper for the printer? In this box of office supplies.

Child 2: Mom, where’s your credit card? I need to update my XBox name. You really need to? How much? $10. Here, Mom, I will pay for it myself. Here’s the money. (He hands me $10.) Okay. Now where’s the credit card? Here, take my credit card.

Child 3: Mom, I can’t find my Spanish text book. Where is it? I will help you look. (We cant’ find it. She’s upset.)

Husband: Mary Beth, how come Google is telling me I’m timed out? What does that even mean? All right, I’ll sign you out, now you have to sign back in.

Seriously? I cannot buy a freakin’ vowel around here.

But to cope with the demands, I did what I had to do. I plugged in some headphones (thanks for the tip, queenbeetf) and began writing.

I visited Dr. Wicked’s Write or Die site. There, you set a goal — mine is usually 500 words in 10 minutes, which I’ve yet to achieve. You must keep writing for the committed time, because if you lift your fingers, even for a few seconds, lights will flash, car horns will start honking, and I don’t know what else happens, because I start moving my fingers on the keyboard so that Dr. Wicked will not yell at me ever again. (Fear=motivator.)

So with the prodding from Dr. Wicked, I have broken the halfway mark on my NaNoWriMo novel. I have written 25,012 in 20 days. I have 10 days left to hit 50,000. My NaNoWriMo stats page informs me that I must write 2,272 words per day to hit my mark.

If I hit 400 words in 10-minute increments, five times a day, I should be able to finish. All I need is one extra hour every day.

Riverside Park is so beautiful lately.

I want to keep writing. The novel has taken a dark turn, following our crazy (or is she?) mother of three into the subway where she finally gets some relief from her parenting responsibilities sleeping in a secret room under the subway. But when she sleeps, she enter another world where a Corporation is trying to take over souls, forcing happiness on everyone. Our protagonist knows happiness is overrated. Hardship is necessary. Well, that was the plot from today. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? Not me.

The month will be over in a week and a half. I’ll get back to my regularly scheduled life. So until then, people, leave me alone, I’m writing!

Wait, this just in — Child 3 just found her Spanish book (it was on her desk, of all places!). So, there you go. This story ends like most good ones with a happily ever after.

What We Value

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Our family values the arts and to have dinner together and we also like to support each other in our ventures for example if one of us Jonesys wants to go hiking the next day we will have climbed mountains and we will complain and sulk and kick but we will have climbed the mountain and we will rise on top undefeated. Joneseys:1 Mountain: 0.

This morning, these words were open in my daughter’s binder. This was Cat’s answer to the question, “What are your values?” If you can get beyond the lack of punctuation and the run-on quality of the sentence, and I can, I think it’s a wonderful and inspiring piece of writing. (I know, I know, I’m not unbiased).

On top of Owl's Head, near Lake Placid, goofing around

I love the struggle and the victory over that struggle to climb the mountain.

The other day Cat asked me, “Why do we climb so many mountains?” I don’t know. The view is so beautiful from on top. The air is clear. We are all off our hand-held devices.

Why do we struggle? Why do we take on more struggle? Why am I doing NaNoWriMo this month? Why do I blog, plan parties, work my full time job, parent, cook, clean, care for my kids (two of them have been on antibiotics this week), be supportive of my husband (despite the reality that, due to his Parkinson’s, he drives me totally crazy), teach one night and take a non-fiction writing class another? Why do all that?

I guess I do it so that the next day I can say I did it. I have climbed a mountain. I have risen on top undefeated. MaryBeth: 1 Mountain: 0.

Pilates

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My fitness app says an hour of Pilates burns 336 calories. I find that hard to believe. It doesn’t seem like I’m doing that much.

This is Jenn, our Monday and Thursday exercise teacher.

Yesterday, at our lunch time work out Jenn said, “You all seem so down, like I’m torturing you,” when we were doing the hundred.

Hey, who has a smile on their face on Monday at noon, trying to hold the plank position? I said, “On Thursday, we’ll be less downcast.”

Also, it cracks me up that we work out in a small conference room right next to the cafeteria kitchen. Constantly in class, we hear the servers and the cooks yelling directives at each other, usually they say, “I need more waffle fries. More fried chicken.” But yesterday, I heard, “I need more broccoli.”

During exercise class, I am often thinking about lunch and so, always open to suggestion,  I thought, “Yes, I need more broccoli too.”

Even though I’m not always happy during exercise class, I am always happy when I’m done with exercise class. Then I can eat guilt-free, (broccoli not waffle fries).

I especially like when I am done with yoga class. That’s when we bow to each other and say, “Namaste.”

Modern Warfare 3

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I hung my head, ashamed. I was not alone. Every parent at the Upper West Side Game Stop store was embarrassed to be there, ashamed to be buying the new Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3.

I assume that’s what we, these pairs of parents and sons, were buying. The updated game was just released last week. How do I know this? I have no idea. It has simply seeped into our family culture.The posters with the dystopian world in the background and the gun-slinging hero in the foreground.

We, parents, have to be there to buy the game because it’s rated M for Mature. My 14-year old could not buy it without me, and he cuddled me as if he were a toddler, while we wanted in line for the purchase.

The cashier handed the mother in a business suit ahead of me the DVD X-Box game in the plastic bag.

“This is not mine,” she took the bag, like it was a dead mouse.

“It’s all yours,” she passed the bag to her son. He could barely suppress a smile. These teens and preteens get their way and they know it.

Why do I do this? I wondered. I am basically a pacifist. Maybe I let him have this game, because I want him to be happy, popular and a part of pop culture (UGH! I did just write that!). My son runs track, gets good grades, has the money ($65) to pay me back. Yet I am enabling an addictive activity. And I know it.

Yesterday he had three friends over and they had a great day. They played all day. They stopped to eat at Shake Shack; played a brief game of Apples to Apples; and watched Saturday Night Live; but otherwise, they were glued to the game.

The boys believe war gaming is useful because, my son tells me, “It develops hand-eye coordination and teaches about guns and modern-day battles.” Hmmmm. Doubtful.

My son’s friend’s dad, Daniel, told me he believes the boys talk about important things besides slaughtering one another while playing MW3. He said he’s overheard them talking about school, girls, and the Yankees. I don’t know. I only hear, “I need another kill” kind of thing.

If I didn’t have a 14-year old son, I would think parents, like me, who buy this kind of game for their sons are irresponsible. Wait, I still think that.

I want to write more on this, but I have to pry the boys off the XBox game (yes, one of the boys spent the night so they could play more) and get them ready for church. It’s a beautiful day in New York City and I don’t want them to miss it. There is a time for everything, a time for peace and a time for modern day warfare?

Small Victories

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I like the fancy night out. I like cake.

I like the gold star, I like the big win.

I like wearing a fancy dress and getting my hair blown out for the awards night where I finally might be recognized for all my hard work. For example, I totally had a blast at the UMAC (United Methodist Association of Communicators) awards dinner in Albuquerque last month. And yes, my name was on a few certificates and awards.

Recently, I’ve been published in some awesome venues. And last month, I did a reading of a couple of funny essays at a hip East Village club — Felt so good, like I was coming home. These were home runs for me and my writing — big wins in a lifetime of convincing myself to be content with small victories.

But I had one recent victory that I keep dwelling on. See, I started this creative writing workshop at lunch time. And I’m not very good at promoting it, so I’m sorry if you didn’t know about it. We meet on Wednesdays.

While I’ve led many of the sessions, (I am an unstoppable teacher), most of the time we rotate leadership. Last week, one of the shyest and most consistent members of the group, J.C., led our group of five people.

J.C. offered a simple suggestion for our time writing together: Make a list of five things you are grateful for. Then write about one or two. We wrote for 20 minutes. And then we read out loud. J.C. read hers, and it floored me. My jaw dropped open.

J.C. wrote that she was grateful for me and for our creative writing workshop. And she noted the exact date the workshops started, March 16, 2011.

Wow, it made me feel as if my life’s efforts — these little things I do, especially the ones that I take on when no one asks me to —  mean something to someone. And my whole messy life makes sense. It feels great. Small victories? Small wins? I don’t know. Maybe the seemingly small victories are the biggest deals of all.

About our Wednesday writing workshop

Foggy

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This morning, I felt I lived in San Francisco as I walked in Riverside Park. The fog made everything quiet.

The muted fall colors and the sun somewhere behind the fog made me feel so good. So peaceful.

There is something sad, inevitable, beautiful about autumn in New York.

 

Maybe the bittersweet beauty is the reason writers write songs about New York this time of year.