NaPoWriMo

OK, so I have a confession… part of why I FINALLY started writing this blog is because I have my own personal sort of competition going. It’s all in my head though. I actually set up my profile and came up with the name for the blog quite a while ago, but just never began any posts. I have lots of excuses: I have a baby now, I work full time, I also keep a journal, if I ever HAVE any free time I’d also love to spend it knitting… so blogging isn’t always the first thing on my to-do list. However someone (who shall remain nameless) recently began blogging, I started reading it, and it sort of spurred me on to begin mine, as well. Competition can be healthy, and I hope that’s the way this is going… but I thought - and I hope this doesn’t sound too egotistical – I’m a better writer [than that person], why am I not doing it? Yeah yeah – “they” always say “writers write”, and I thought to myself, well this other person says they want to be a writer, so they’re writing, but I’ve ALWAYS wanted to be a writer, have written since I was a kid, and yet I’m really not writing so much these days. So, I started. Again. And found a bunch of my older poems and writing samples. And forgot how much I had wanted to take that more seriously. I re-read much of what I’d previously written, and found myself getting excited about it again, and reconnecting with things I’d written, and then also felt a tad bit guilty about feeling like I was “better” at writing than this other person. But it’s still true – what got me off my duff and paying attention to writing again was this competition I was feeling with someone else, that I had what I felt was more a way with words than them. Anyone who is literate can write, and it’s always that putting one foot in front of the other to make yourself a better writer, in many ways, to improve grammatically, and in form, structure, etc. But it’s the substance and how you convey that to others – some people just have a gift. I’m not saying I’m gifted that way, no… there are many writers out there who just take my breath away or make me cry, at how beautifully they string words together, and artfully, movingly tell a story. I aspire to that. And I don’t want to come at it from a place of ego, or feeling like I’m better than someone else at it, but to simply try to create lyrical, beautiful words that move people.

So all this was toward the end of April: I read a poem this other person wrote, and it sparked me to find my files with my poetry, and I re-read and started to get inspired, and lo and behold, it was April 29th and I realized I’d basically missed NaPoWriMo – April was National Poetry Month! Damn! Why couldn’t this all have come about say a month or so earlier, so I could have joined the NaPoWriMo challenge, and flexed my writing muscle to come up with 30 new poems? Well, better late than never… I suppose I could still do that… on my own. But much like my knitting, I feel like I have some “projects” I still need to finish before I begin new ones, so I think I’ll start by posting some of my older poems first. Some of them in particular help to tell my story, and would catch up this blog on my background, before I plunge into new territory with my writing. So I’ll post an older poem here and there, and give you a little insight into how each came about, and then I’ll feel like I can start fresh!

I recently attended B’s grandma’s funeral, and it brought back memories of attending my great-aunt’s funeral, while I was going through my divorce. There are other poems that are maybe more pertinent to telling my story here, but I thought this one was a little sweet, and searching for it led to me finding several others, too, so I may as well begin with this one.

Taste the Sugar
(4/18/07)

She was a Scorpio, like me. My great aunt,
pronounced "Inga", even though it was Inger,
spelled. Her full name Ruth Inger Jensen,
though my Danish great-grandparents couldn't
even pronounce Ruth, it was rather like "Root"
when they said it. Born in San Francisco, like my
Grandma Elsie. Had four children: Marvin, Harlan,
Tommy, and Gail. Harlan named after her husband,
who was shot once while driving a Metro bus.
The two Harlans gone now for I don't know how
many years. Both of them buried, though she was
cremated, wishing her ashes to be scattered
in the mountains. I really knew none of them well,
having distanced myself from my family for most
of my life. That's what happens when dysfunction
drives you to distrust intimacy, even in the simplest
form of supposed unconditional love family can represent.
I showed up, though how halfheartedly, I now wonder...
Sometimes at my Aunt Pat's former job at the wine shop,
in the arcade at Frederick & Nelson. I was there in
Bowie, Maryland, after my Uncle Dale died, to visit
and pay my respects to my Aunt Ellen, though I have no
real idea of what it must have been like for her to lose
her husband, and my Aunt Greta to lose her two husbands.
I kept the costume jewelry necklace and green-faced
compact, leftover trinkets from days of dress-up at
Aunt Ellen's. I keep the memory of my Grandma Elsie
and my Aunt Inger spoiling me and my sister with an entire
day of shopping, and expensive dresses, like we'd never
experienced before, or probably since. I took what
benefited me, I suppose, and hid from the rest.
Duty, sisterhood, family - how much do we truly give?
My mom was eloquent at the memorial, smiling and keeping
her composure for the most part, while I was surprisingly
beyond tearful. Remembering, Aunt Inger took in all of us
as her own, never excluding anyone, not even my
almost ex-husband, about whom she always remarked
"so handsome." I love her for that, and for so much more.
One common memory, so simple, perhaps the sweetest:
"You know the best way to taste the sugar? You have
to lick your finger first - that way it sticks better."

Burning the candle at both ends

First Fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

So I guess I've been burning the candle at both ends. What can I say, I'm such a hopeless night owl, and I've always been this way. However, it's probably gotten worse since I became a mother. I've always had a hard time forcing myself to knock off earlier than 11:00pm, unless I'm sick. And it's worse if I accidentally fall asleep early - because when I later wake up, I just feel deprived, as if I "lost" precious alone time. And that's truly what it is for me, time for myself, to decompress and unwind from my day, after I've eaten dinner (that B awesomely cooks for me!), perhaps put in a load or 2 of laundry, or whatever else. My time to just chill, finally, when it's quiet and still. Before I had Ace, I might have taken that time to knit for 4-6 hours straight (seriously!), or watch a movie or 2, staying up until midnight, 1:00 or 2:00am, depending on the night and how tired I was. I remember when I was in middle school, and I think it was a substitute teacher told us how she was going to watch a scary movie (it was near Halloween) that was on TV at like 3:00am, and I thought to myself how glorious that sounded! It might have been a little bit that she was a "grown-up", that she had the freedom to choose to do something like that without having an imposed bedtime, but also that it was long after dark, and a bit spooky, and seemed cozy and just delicious. I absolutely loved the idea.

Oh sure, I suppose I realize at some point this isn't sustainable, and eventually I do hit a wall. But until that point, I stubbornly rebel. It's not that I'm not tired - I'm exhausted - but I just simply get depressed at the idea that more sleep means less freedom for me. "Me time" during the wee hours is pretty much all I have right now - gone for now are all the enjoyable solo pastimes I used to take for granted, before I had a baby. I can't plan my evenings ahead of time, because I never know exactly what time Ace will fall asleep (or if he'll stay asleep), and I don't know what B's up for (or not). He has to get up so early in the morning that he's responsible, and usually goes to bed around 9-ish. I haven't even really figured out how I can knit during the evening/night, because we all live together in a studio condo, and when my boys do fall asleep they're right next to me. I don't have enough light to see properly, and I don't want to turn one on for fear of waking them. So I usually lie there, channel-surfing aimlessly (thank goodness for all the mindless, cheesy reality TV that exists these days), volume turned low as I can go yet still hear over B's snoring, and wind up feeling a tad guilty that I'm not doing something more productive and enriching with my time. It's a horrible, vicious cycle, that now when I'm actually laying it all out there doesn't sound so glorious or delicious after all - it sounds stupid of me, like I'm just not taking proper care of myself (sigh...).

And then there's Ben Stein, who went on CBS Sunday Morning recently, extolling the virtues and benefits of sleep, noting what a good "investment" it is, passing on the advice, "Never waste any time you could spend sleeping." Even quoting Macbeth: "Sleep knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care." (I've seen a few Shakespeare plays in my time, but hadn't heard that line; not completely sure what it means, but love the "knits" reference...) I get it. Yes, we're largely habitually sleep deprived (hello me!), and I'm sure all those studies are right about all the health benefits to getting more sleep. The truth is I would go for an afternoon nap if I could work that in (not likely) - I just don't want the pesky need for sleep infringing on my night owl tendencies! And if Mr. Ben Stein considers getting a mere 6 hours of sleep nightly "suicidal" - well, then I'm a downright crash-and-burn-kamikaze on my 4 or 5!

I'm not sure what the answer is... for now I, along with all the other hard-working mothers out there, try to be supermom and do it all. I work full-time (and am damn fortunate to be able to bring my baby to work with me, except for the day or 2 grandma watches him), stay up on household chores, take the very best care of Ace, be a good girlfriend, and TRY TRY TRY to work in those little snippets of time for myself. I'm sure things will get a little easier as Ace grows up, and daddy can take on more of a main role with his boy (hard to do while Ace is breastfeeding) - I foresee some days at the park playing catch, fishing trips, jam sessions in the future home music studio B will build... and when I'm not joining in, I will most definitely be logging some solo knitting sessions! But for now I have to be content in the dark with my occasional little glass of red, and a square or few of dark chocolate, gazing upon my slumbering boys, yawning and rubbing my bleary eyes until I finally relinquish the remote control, and resign myself to sleep - all sweet, self-investing 4 to 6 hours of you!!

If you also love staying up until the wee hours, here's to you - enjoy 'em! Salute, Prost! Skaal - and remember, f**k Ben Stein! Do what works for you! I'm doing my very best to...

One

I never thought I would write a blog. Then again, there are many things I never thought I would do, like own a condo (or for a little while, ever own a home, period...), get divorced, or be able to have a baby, and yet now here I am.

A little less than 4 years ago, all in the space of a month and a half, my divorce became final, I met my current wonderful boyfriend [who we'll refer to as B], and closed on the condo I now own. Pretty much exactly 2 years later, at the age of 40, I found myself seemingly impossibly pregnant with our amazing little baby boy [who we'll refer to as Ace] - who just turned one!

I am one of those people who believe things happen for a reason, and although I wasn't too sure I was ready for a relationship yet when I met B, there were increasingly plenty of signs that appeared, obvious and coincidental enough for me to pay attention. Signs that fell like dominos, one after another, that seemed to point in a certain direction. The mutual love of music, the discovered shared love of hockey, lots of other things, small and large. It was a new, exciting chapter for me, and especially with the addition of Ace to our lives, I sometimes feel like my life just recently began.

I don't really put too much weight on making mistakes, and dwelling on what-ifs. I've always believed wholeheartedly in the journey, paths taken or not. When someone asked if I felt like I wasted almost 10 years of my life being married before, and not really being happy much of that time, I quite honestly said no. I said I sort of felt like I'd been living a parallel life, and after a while I was just jolted or jogged over to this one. I think that's a good way to put it. It was all part of the same universe, maybe I just didn't realize my full potential before, but my past - mistakes and sometime happiness and all (for, at the time, we usually don't think the choices we're making ARE mistakes...) - is what helped shape the person I am today. I can't waste time believing that I wasted time, therefore I pretty much wouldn't change a thing. For me, when a window closed a door opened. Fall down seven times, get up eight - you get the picture...

I've read a few blogs over the past few years. Some standouts have been one about finding grace in grieving over the death of a newborn son, one about a Buddhist's self-deprecating, humor-filled beautiful journey through infertility to adoption, and one about fighting cancer while discovering everyday joys in life, exquisitely eloquent for its simple, heartfelt, humorous words. Those are the type of blogs that bring tears to your eyes, make you laugh out loud - make you tune in. Something to aspire to, that make you feel like you're not alone, and that keep you going.

I suppose, by their very nature, blogs are somewhat self-indulgent, even if they're meant to be cathartic. We, as humans, like a shared story. We crave connection, want to be heard, want to be loved. I've written since I was a little girl, but mostly privately. However, I've pretty much always wanted to be a writer, even if it was a secondary profession, or maybe more appropriately a professional hobby. I've always wanted to publish a book of poetry, write a screenplay that gets made into a movie. I've kept a journal for just over 25 years. Like I said, I never thought I'd write a blog, but if I keep this one up, I hope my story will be anything close to the few blogs I've mentioned, in quality, humor, and making anyone besides me want to read it.

I named it Yarns and Libations because, well, stories and drink seem to go hand in hand, throughout time. I love red wine, and before I got pregnant, when I was bummed thinking I never would be, drinking wine (sometimes a lot of it...) was an enjoyable pastime. Because I could. (not that I'm dry now - I still enjoy my red wine, just one glass or 2, not LOTS) And I'm also a huge knitter, so "Yarns" is of course my nod to that beloved pastime, as well.

So, here I go - my very first blog entry, my first "Yarn" to share with you. And I think each time it's fitting to end with a "cheers" of sorts, whether you or I have a glass to raise at the time. My sign-off will be a hodgepodge: "Salute" (Italian - to health), "Prost!" (German, from the Latin, may it be good), and because I'm part Danish, "Skaal" (they say "Bunden i vejret eller resten i haret" or "bottoms up or the rest in your hair").

So, Salute, Prost! Skaal, and remember: there is no knot that cannot be undone.