For Dawn ...

It's been tossed around as a shockingly paradoxical rule in physics that apparently the mere act of observation influences the outcome of an experiment.  I think that those of us who have been trying to relate to children, lovers, co-workers, and God could have saved the physicists some amazement if they'd just asked us. 

Psychology tells us that we can't change another person, the only one we have control over is the one we see in the mirror.  but BUT BUT - it is also true that we influence those around us by what we expect of them.  The teacher told that the students in her class are all near genuis level intellects performs an academic miracle with otherwise "normal" kids.  Simply because she expected to find genius, she does. 

When I am discouraged and thinking that I'm not making much progress toward the dreams and hopes that I harbor for my life, I am encouraged to keep on looking for creativity, compassion, and courage because I believe that if I look I will find it.  

And as I type this I realize that it's not a contradiction at all, by controlling my own outlook and expectations, I am doing nothing more or less than accepting responsibility for my sphere of influence.

"In Her Eyes"

She stares through my shadow
She sees something more
Believes there's a light in me
She is sure
And her truth makes me stronger
Does she realize
I awake every morning
With her strength by my side

I am not a hero
I am not an angel
I am just a man
Man who's trying to love her
Unlike any other
In her eyes I am

This world keeps on spinning
Only she steals my heart
She's my inspiration
She's my northern star
I don't count my possession
All I call mine and give her completely
To the end of all time

I am not a hero
I am not an angel
I am just a man
Man who's trying to love her
Unlike any other
In her eyes I am

In her eyes I see the sky and all I'll ever need
In her eyes time passes by and she is with me

I am not a hero
I am not an angel
I am just a man
Man who's trying to love her
Unlike any other
In her eyes I am
In her eyes I am

    Lyric by Michael Hunter Ochs and Jeff Cohen
    Recorded by Josh Groban on 'Awake'

For Bill ...

I have been tagged to list six weird things about me.  Hmmm - I'm trying to think of something that's weird enough to be interesting and not so weird that I will lose the respect of all my readers.

1.  I know that the word weird comes from an Old English word (wyrd), that it's related to an Old Norse Word (urthr) and to another Old English word (weorthan) from which we derive our contemporary English word (worth) - I know that weird for many centuries implied something magical, supernatural, or fated, and that it's only in recent times that it's come to mean oddity.  I like the word weird.

2.  I sometimes forget to finish shaving my legs so I'll have one smooth one and one furry one.

3.  My feet don't stink.  (Cheryl contributed that one.)

4.  I know for certain that I'm not a funny person, but people are always laughing around me and acting like they think I'm funny.  (Especially when I'm TRYING to be serious.)

5.  My children can't think of anything about me that they think is weird.  (Now I KNOW I'm doing something wrong.)

6.  If I don't know that I have chocolate nearby, I get very cranky.  I don't have to eat it, but I must know that it's there.

Control

Remember "Ordinary People?"  when the psychiatrist has his interview with the son and learns that the kid wants "control?"  He tells him, "I'm not big on control, but if that's what you want ..."

I remember.  I'd like a little more control. 

In fact, I'd like a lot more control. 

And I'd like it yesterday.

Thanks

No photos

Alas and Alack, no nap yesterday either.  But I did get work done.  A lot of it.  And now, I have more.  Because I opened my mouth.  Oh well, someone has to save the world.  Might as well be me. 

People whose lives are not balanced by a healthy love of money suffer from an appalling obsession with personal integrity... You're afraid I mean to lie to you. 

from the Thirteenth Tale, by Dianne Setterfield

Isn't that a wonderful line? 

The rumor has it that Colorado will be hit by yet another snow storm sometime in the next 48 hours.  That would be okay with me.  It would be okay if I could segue that into a work-from-home day that somehow afforded me a nap.  I don't know what happened to me this morning, but I could not drag myself out of bed. 

I woke at my usual time: 4:30.  But I felt like I was drugged or something. 

My habit is to be up and writing by 5:00 so I can get in about two hours before I hit the shower at 7.  I'm out the door with Tucker by 7:30.  Then it's work work work, my first break comes at 2:15 when I leave to pick Tucker up from school.  Then if I have meetings or something that must be done in the office, I go back for a couple hours (I'll have to go back today, I have a 4:00 meeting).  Otherwise, I bring home whatever documents I'm working on and put in another couple three or four hours at home.  I did that last night.  I finished up the last of the work my boss needed done by this morning just about 9:30 last night.  And went straight to bed.

Today, both the bosses will be conducting meetings in Denver.  So I expect things to be rather laid back around the office.  I might even close my door, paint eyes on my lids like Johnny Depp in "Dead Man's Chest" and plug into my MP3 player for some extended communion with Josh Groban. 

I might. 

It could happen.

Really.

Her forehead twitched, and an eyebrow rose over the top of the sunglasses.  A strong black arch that bore no relation to any natural brow.

"Politeness.  Now, there's a poor man's virtue if ever there was one.  What's so admirable about inoffensiveness, i should like to know.  After all, it's easily achieved.  One needs no particular talent to be polite.  On the contrary, being nice is what's left when you've failed at everything else.  People with ambition don't give a damn what other people think about them.  I hardly suppose Wagner lost sleep worrying whether he'd hurt someone's feelings.  But then he was a genius."  Her voice flowed relentlessly on, recalling instance after instance of genius and its bedfellow, selfishness...

Truth and Perception

It's been a while since I got hung up on philosophy here.  Not the same as my real life where without even meaning to I find myself spending at least some portion of every day contemplating great questions. 

At the time of my divorce, I looked seriously at going back to school and doing the online tour of one University's Philosophy department I saw that Philosophy was being marketing as a short cut of "bullshit detection and elimination" which is such an unfortunate phrase that it's stuck with me.

Maybe it would be more helpful to have a "perception detection" device.  I've been going all academic on people lately, because there seems to be a perceptual whirlwind going on around here.  You know what I'm talking about?  People don't behave the way they behave based upon the Truth of what happens around them.  They behave based on their Perception of what is happening.  (People includes me, by the way.)

One of the people I spend a significant amount of time with has an issue with "perception checking."  If I say to her, "It sounds like you're saying ..., is that what you meant?"  She becomes angry and says, "You're trying to put words in my mouth, you need to pay attention to my exact words."

We each have a perception of the other based upon a half dozen or more of these exchanges. 

So one of my Christmas presents was a book.  Actually, several ... many  ... of my Christmas presents were books.  Okay, it hadn't occurred to me until this moment to count them but at the end of the day, I received fourteen books and two gift cards to book stores.  I have the perception that people know what I like!

So in the opening pages of one of my gift books, I ran across this passage about truth:

"I've nothing against people who love truth.  Apart from the fact that they make dull companions.  Just so long as they don't start on about storytelling and honesty, the way some of them do.  Naturally that annoys me.  But provided they leave me alone, I won't hurt them.

My gripe is not with lovers of the truth but with truth herself.  What succor, what consolation is there in truth, compared to a story?  What good is truth, at midnight, in the dark, when the wind is roaring like a bear in the chimney?  When the lightning strikes shadows on the bedroom wall and the rain taps at the window with its long fingernails?  No.  When fear and cold make a statue of you in your bed, don't expect hard-boned and fleshless truth to come running to your aid.  What you need are the plump comforts of a story.  The soothing, rocking safety of a lie."

from The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield

Isn't that a wonderful twisting passage?  I know exactly what she's talking about.  Or at least I think I do.  Because we can call them perceptions, or we can call them lies depending on how we feel about the things we believe and act on.  But it's almost impossible (philosophically speaking) to know any truth.  So we don't live our lives in truth no matter how much we want to believe we do.  We live our lives in perception and story. 

 Bookish Stuff

I checked my mail yesterday afternoon (on the way home from seeing Charlotte's Web which was just as wonderful a story as ever) and I got another earnings statement and small check from my publisher.  Isn't that just awesome!

Last month my book was reviewed at MidWest Book  Review which was very exciting to me:

MBR BOOKWATCH: December 2006

James A. Cox, Editor-in-Chief
Midwest Book Review
278 Orchard Drive, Oregon, WI 53575

Hidden in Plain Sight
Terri Verrette
Shadows Ink Publications
1209 Milwaukee Street, Excelsior Springs MO 64024
1932447717 $6.95

The word that comes to mind when describing this lovely chapbook is "graceful." From the esthetically pleasing cover art to the poetry inside, the experience is one of soothing grace. Ms. Verrette communicates simply, with carefully chosen words. "Learning to Walk (in heels)" is a poignant retrospective of life's lessons, the good and the bad. Maturity comes at a price:

I have walked in defeat
from the threshing floor when
the laughter and tears of my darkness
found no hope of release.

"High Country" is a beautifully rendered metaphor – a location and an emotional condition whereby the poet assimilates the locale and vice versa:

The wind here breathes hot or
cold but always dry.
Feel yourself evaporate to a
small tight shadow.
Shifting light across the rocky scape
calls your eye to sharp contrast, and you think of the
pain that flows from loving.

When a marriage dies, and something sacred shatters, how can a human describe that fracture? Ms. Verrette captures the loss in this haunting excerpt from the poem, "Marking the Moment:"

It comes as a slap of betrayal,
sharp sting of bitter words,
and occupation by hostile emotions
carting away our treasures in the night.
Hearts cling to the hope of life.
But no one can span the gulf of unseen death
when bone of bone is shattered.

Devoted lovers communicate through their senses and words. For those who love deeply, the rush of emotions can be overwhelming. Consider this excerpt from "Skin Talk" for example:

I want to tell you something so true
it will break, something so real
it will burn, something so holy
that sacrifice will cease.

Terri Verrette gives her readers "poems of stone….solid as Stonehenge." Through her skillful use of words, we experience love and loss, humor and whimsy. This is an exceptional collection of poems and highly recommended.

You can get a copy of the book either by ordering through the publisher at www.shadowpoetry.com or you can order one from me, which I will happily autograph for you.  All proceeds go into my savings account. 

I resolve ...

that in 2007, I will make more regular Xanga entries.  Starting ... well, obviously not on January 1. 

That said ... Drumroll    Please!

Thrity-seven years ago today ... God made us sisters.  She's funny, maddening, clever, compassionate, and she's taught me more than she will ever realize.  She's a character in every story I write to one degree or another.  She's the person I call when I need girl-time.  She's been my inspiration and she's scared me to death.  It's good I got a head-start, if she were the oldest, I'd never have kept up.

I love you, Cheryl.