What do you wish you could do more every day?
I wish I could write more. That doesn’t mean I never have enough time to write. Sometimes, something else gets in the way.
Sometimes it’s my focus and I find myself taking a detour on the Internet. Sometimes it’s negative self-talk that makes me not want to write. Sometimes it’s too much to think about.
Today it’s my iPad is down to zero and is recharging very slowly. I can’t always do something about it.
Today feels more like spring (at 42 degrees) than did the weather in the 60s a couple of weeks ago. It could be the quality of the sunshine, or yellow forsythia flowers chilling on the bush. Or the mobs of robins on the lawn and in the trees.
I have gotten through the winter without depression dogging my steps. I don’t know how I did it, other than luck. Definitely luck. I feel a bit tired right now, but not depressed. Not crying, not dreading work, not denigrating myself.
I’m still keeping watch. I am in the middle of the 12th anniversary of the most stressful time of my life. My best friend died, then my department disbanded, and I was hospitalized with suicidal ideations and a medicine-related problem. I spent the summer overmedicated and yanked off of supervising internships. I am always afraid this will happen to me again.
But in the meantime, it’s Spring. I watch the birds to see what might surprise me today. I write, feeling the words become part of me. I look for crocuses, for daffodils, for a reminder that all is bright again.
I am going to write about the patron saint of this day, March 17.
Not that one.
I’m writing about St. Gertrude. St. Gertrude is the patron saint of cats for reasons that do not appear in her history. It might be because she was the patron saint of rats and rats spread bubonic plague so we have to bring the cats out to rid us of the plague — but no. Early Catholicism was brutal on cats, especially black ones.
Nowadays, though, in this cat-loving world of ours (the cats won!) Gertrude can be portrayed with a cat in her lap and the rats scurrying away.
St. Gertrude is also the patron saint of gardeners, widows, the recently deceased, the sick, the poor, the mentally ill, and travelers. She sounds like someone I’d like to hang out with.
How does one celebrate St. Gertrude’s Day? I guess by petting cats. They’ll be happy for the attention.
According to Ken Jennings, there are many misconceptions about the Ides of March, the day that Julius Caesar was assassinated. I’ll try to summarize here.
An ides was a calendar entry in the Roman calendar used to divide the month into two halves. In most months, it was on the 13th of the month; in others (including March) it was on the 15th. The Roman calendar was odd; all days of the month after the ides were labeled as “x days before the beginning of next month.” Almost as if the second half of the month wasn’t worth much.
That goes back to Julius Caesar, who was warned by a soothsayer (psychic) to beware the day. Wouldn’t it be convenient to have reliable soothsayers today? “Don’t go to work today.” “Avoid the tuna salad at lunch.” “Beware the Amway Salesman.” I could use someone like that.
Not unless your name is Julius Caesar.
You also don’t have to worry about the early 70’s American rock band of the same name, famous for the song “Vehicle”.
As a writer, I want to be prepared for writing wherever I go, because who knows when I’m going to have an hour or two to work. I write my works on computers unless I have to interrogate (interview) my characters; then it’s pen and ink. So I have to have a keyboard with me at all times.
The problem with that is that my laptop is powerful, which means it’s big. Heavy. It has to be, because it’s the computer I do my graphics work on. Graphics to me is layout for book covers and not actual drawings or renderings, but I still feel like I need muscle in my laptop.
That means that I need a lighter computer for on-the-go. Thus, my go-kit.
My go-kit is centered on an iPad with an M1 chip and 256 MB storage at just over 1 lb weight. It’s quite useful for information gathering, word processing, and most of what I need to do to produce a book. (I understand it uses Photoshop as well, but I have some trouble accessing the materials I need on here.)
To make this a computer substitute, I need input devices. Rather than get one of Apple’s expensive magic keyboards, I am content with a matching Logi keyboard and mouse, which together cost $50. They match the protector case on the iPad as well, all in what Logi calls “Lavender Lemonade”. See above.)
All this, including the cable, fits in a small computer bag (also lavender) that goes with me almost everywhere, hence the name. I have yet to utilize it fully, however, because I have trouble using the Apple Pencil without glitches. If I can get that taken care of, I wouldn’t even need the pen and ink.
So here’s my solution to not wanting to haul a heavy computer around so I can write when I’m inspired.
It’s Spring Break, and I’m writing and reading.
Writing: two items at once:
Reading:
And, frustratingly, I don’t feel like I’m getting too far. Sometimes, things go swimmingly, and sometimes they go drowningly.
I assume someone else’s money is going to pay for this?
I would go to the Apple Store and upgrade my computer equipment for the top-of-the-line stuff I can’t afford. I’d start with the new high-spec MacBook Air and a brand new iPad Air.
While I’m there I would buy new AirPod Pros and a new watch, and two new displays for the office.
I feel like I’m missing something. Extra cables, maybe, and a few new power bricks.
This would be very satisfying for a period of time. A short period of time, it turns out. This is because of a concept called the hedonic treadmill. When we consume (buy) a product, we feel happy (hedonic happiness) for a short period of time, and then it fades. Then we have to consume more to get that thrill again. That’s the treadmill.
So the shopping spree isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I will admit it was fun, it was really fun! But I’m not missing much.
My hair is very thin on top. Very thin. Thin enough that I would get hair transplants if I could afford them. Thin enough that I’m considering wearing wigs if I could get rid of visions of the styles my mother used to wear when I was growing up.
Which is why I’m trying hats.
Hats are stylish, at times eccentric, and always noticeable.
I’m not sure I can pull hats off, at least not at work.
I’m going to try anyhow.
What kind of hats? That’s a question. I’m going to have to try on a lot of hats to find one I like.
Wish me luck.
So far, I have gotten no closer to the Big Audacious Goal. That goal was to sell books at a writers’ conference. I’m not totally sold on the goal, which is probably why I need to have the goal. Frankly, I’m afraid I’m going to fail selling any books. I think the goal is too audacious for me, as it plays with my insecurities.
I didn’t think I could find a BAG that would seem too big, either. I’m surprised to discover this. There are a dearth of writers’ conferences that are achievable. The ones in this area are too big and overwhelming. The one I would be most comfortable in no longer exists.
Am I going to fulfill this goal, or is it time for a more manageable BAG? Stay tuned.
I have never learned to speak
the language of these slate-edged hills;
silence speaking eloquently
things I almost understand
I think I have heard you walking
softly, barefoot and daydreaming;
wonder if you've heard me calling
out my name, an owl's whisper.
In the Catskills,
do the sleepy towns tell tales?
In the Catskills,
do the sleepy towns tell tales?
**********
This is all I remember of the song. I wrote it 30 years or so ago, and I really haven’t visited it since I wrote it. I couldn’t even remember this much earlier this morning. I wrote the words down somewhere, but I don’t remember where I put them.
I looked on my computer and I found it! I found it!
I have never learned to speak
The language of these slate-edged hills –
Silence speaking eloquently
Things I almost understand
CHORUS:
I think I have seen you walking
Softly, barefoot and daydreaming
Wonder if you hear me calling
Out your name, an owl’s whisper
In the Catskills,
Do the sleepy towns tell tales?
In the Catskills,
Do the sleepy towns tell tales?
Looking in the deep blue patience
Of your eyes, I falter, losing
All my words of consequence
Everything I meant to say
CHORUS
In the wind that blows around
The hills, I thought I felt your smile
Gather up my words again
And try to ask what you were thinking
CHORUS
I used to be a singer-songwriter until I divorced my guitarist. I had an okay voice; my guitarist played a semi-finger-picking style and wasn’t very disciplined. We were never going to be anything but those folksingers who attended open mic occasionally. But I loved the words.
Most of what I wrote was about crushes I got while spending my daily life in a small town in the foothills of the Catskills. I had lots of crushes; I have lots of songs to reclaim.
I can’t sing now; I’ve lost my voice in all but my talking range. I suppose I could get it back with practice, but it’s hard having the heart to practice when reminded of how much I’ve lost.
I started to sing this, and I could sing without obstruction to my voice, although it was not as strong as before. The lost is not so lost anymore.
