My Father's Papers

Growing up, there were always newspapers in the house. There were usually three newspapers delivered to the house.  These papers arrived daily for my father’s enjoyment.  As kids we poked around with the Sunday paper after my father had gone through it.  I read the Parade and my brothers the comics.  My mother bypassed the news in search of sales.  She mostly used old newspapers to capture the skins of peeled potatoes and shucked corn when cooking.   Sometimes I was able to amuse this deeply religious woman with the daily horoscope, “Ma, today you will find love in unexpected places.”  But it was my father who thoroughly read the newspapers. He would read them at the kitchen table, from his big chair in the den, while sitting on the front porch or by the wood burning stove in the basement. 

The papers lived in various parts of the house which annoyed my mother.   There’s nothing more unruly than a paper once opened.  It can’t be returned to its former pristine state.  It’s easier to leave them opened and disheveled all over the place.  Sometimes my mother expressed her frustration, “I’m so tired of Your Father’s Papers.”   She always said Your Father’s Papers as if to mockingly announce a great novel or play.  But what was she to do?  All things considered, this is just the byproduct of a man that likes to read newspapers.   Still, the papers were just one more thing she had to corral to maintain some semblance of order at home. 

I’ve always been amused that my father involves my mother in the reading of his newspapers.   He doesn’t seem to notice her shoddy rapport with his papers.  Sometimes he would suddenly appear from another part of the house with his paper “Rudell, look at this!  I told you…they going to jail!”  They were usually a political figure that he had been following.   He would monitor their hopeful rise to office all the way to their ruinous end.   Mom would acknowledge his five alarm news with a slight nod or lift of the eyebrow.   He would walk away muttering his convictions into the air and shaking his head, ”Naw, uh-uh…you just can’t do that.”  

I often think of my parents as I try to manage reading and taming the Washington Post I have delivered to my apartment once a week.   I know there is no great mystery or feat in reading a newspaper.  If I were speaking to a therapist, she would look over me closely and say “Mystery…hmmmnnnn….let’s explore this a little more…”   Obviously I don’t rely on this once a week delivery, that I pick through, as my primary source of information.  So, why do I have the subscription? We all do things that tie us to our childhood.  We desire to have a better understanding of it or want to relive a feeling or experience that we know we can’t get back.  Sometimes it’s a conscious choice and other times not.  Maybe that’s why I have them living with me in my small space.

There are still a lot of papers in my parent’s house.  I wasn’t sure which ones so I asked my dad.

“Dad, what papers do you get at the house?”

 “The (Baltimore) Sun and The (Capital) Gazette”

“I thought there was another paper like the Afro American or did it go out of circulation?”

“Oh Yeah, I get the Afro American but that’s just once a week.  They still around.” 

“You read these papers every day!” 

 “Yeah.  Why?” 

“I was just wondering.”

Of course, I wasn’t just wondering.  I was just amazed.

Labor Day Nostalgia & Considerations

Although special to me, I haven’t always understood the purpose of Labor Day.  Yes, I knew that Labor Day had something to do with labor, i.e. work.  I probably learned about it in history class in middle school.   I didn't pay much attention to the history being taught because I often felt detached or excluded from it. Even as a child, I knew that there was history and then there was the retelling of history.  As a result, my response to American holiday fanfare is always accompanied by a slight roll of the eyes. 

By the way, according to the U.S. Department of Labor, the first Labor Day celebration was in the city of New York on September 5^th in 1882.   Labor Day didn't become a national holiday until 1894.  About 28 states had adopted legislation to celebrate the holiday before Congress passed legislation to make it a national holiday that would be celebrated on the first Monday of September.  Labor Day was created out of the American labor movement and is meant to celebrate the American worker and achievements made to our country’s prosperity.   

"Woman's Work is Never Done "-   From My Kitchen

I often feel nostalgic and even whimsical about Labor Day.   Growing up, Labor Day meant the end of summer and going back to school.  In Maryland, we didn't go back to school until after Labor Day.  My mother would take us shopping to get us ready for school.  Of course, as the only girl in the house, this was a much greater production for me than for my two older brothers.  Every year, there was the constant negotiation with my mother in terms of how many new outfits I really needed for school.  I would try to tell her what some of the popular kids would be wearing and Rudell (ma) would say “Karen, those kids aren't going to do anything with their lives.”  But at some point, the negotiations would end when Rudell said, “Karen, you have enough.”  At home, I would model for my mother – as if she hadn't already seen every piece I tried on in the store and again at the register when she paid for them.  I was pleased and she was exhausted. 

I learned that I’m not supposed to where white after Labor Day.  But when I was in college at Spelman, I met a lot of women from California and they were unaware of this fashion rule.   My roommate was from California and she thought that was the funniest thing she had ever heard.  She was still laughing in December as she was putting on her white pants before heading out to class.   I figured this must be an unwritten rule for certain parts of the country.   I still like the idea of putting away light and airy clothing to make way for fall clothing, cooler weather and the smell of sweet potato pies in the oven. 

Beyond the end of summer, going back to school, wardrobes and shopping – Labor Day is a day in which we should pause and reconsider our work.  Many struggle with work life balance.  This isn't to say that we can ever achieve balance.  Most people spend at least 8 hours at work and 2 hours commuting.  This doesn't account for evening, job-related functions and part-time employment.  Still, there should be time in which we work and time in which we don’t work.  We need to leave, get rest and then return more focused.  We should also consider whether or not we like our work.   If the job isn't fulfilling, does it at least help to accomplish some of your life goals at this stage of your life?  No one should stay on a job that is physically and emotionally draining resulting in un-wellness.     While you may not be able to leave immediately, you can plan your great escape.  I've done it a few times and it was worth it.  Either way, it’s up to us to figure it out - how we work and don’t work –perhaps this is the real significance of a holiday that celebrates the American worker.

Morning

My eyes are steadied by the overhead fan.  The dark blades circle in play about the white ceiling.   I curve my body and pull the covers close.  I am cold, but I like the lulling fan.  

The birds are in the tree again and just outside my window.  The tree is inhabited by their melodic shrills and staccato, high-pitched bleats.  I slightly turn my head towards them – unable to resist or to understand.  Their call and response reminds me of a good Sunday morning sermon. 

My airy white room is made brighter still by the sun.  The lightness of the room is grounded by a few pieces of heavy furniture.  The walls are empty except for a gift from years ago.  Behind a dark frame and glass, is the sparse arrangement of curved wood elements.  A woman is praying.  

Lightly, almost magically, it begins to rain.  The rain thumps against the leaves of the big tree.  The birds have quieted.  There is a silence that I adore.

Always, there are things to do.  But, I look to the praying woman across from me and feel the fan above me.  I stretch and curl back up.  I rest again to ease into a new day.

From my morning walk in San Juan, PR - September 2009

Just a Little Faith

Many years ago, at the end of service, the pastor of my church said that he had a gift for each of us.  The ushers then handed out a small, amber-colored glass vial.  It was no more than half an inch in diameter. Inside, there appeared to be a tiny grain.   The pastor then revealed that he wanted to give each of us a mustard seed.

I was amused by my inability to recognize what was in my hand, given the setting and the fact that I’ve spent many years and countless hours in church.    I’ve heard the referenced biblical scripture countless times: “Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, move from here to there, and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you" (Matthew 17:20 NIV).

I’m sure that the pastor said something very wise and metaphorical about the mustard seed that now eludes me.  When I look at it, I’m still surprised at how small and unassuming it is – even fragile.  Maybe it’s because I have big ideas and big dreams so I want the mustard seed to be grandiose in some way.  

But then, I’m reminded that every big thing is made up of many small things.  For the musician, every performance is the result of hours and hours of practice that begins with tuning an instrument and playing scales.  Before the FIFA World Cup, there’s the athlete competing and practicing for years and starting out their workout regimen with a stretch.  Prior to the published book of 80,000 words, there’s the writer living in obscurity (or even absurdity) researching her topic and making little notes in her phone or on paper napkins.  No goal is accomplished and nothing big happens without being committed to small, and seemingly insignificant, things that must be repeated over and over again without applause, without mention and mostly going unnoticed by those around us.

There’s a lot that we can do if we have a little faith.  That’s what that lil mustard seed is saying to me when I look at it from time to time.  Because faith requires action, we have to start somewhere - complete a scale, a stretch or a word.  

This is how we move mountains and realize that nothing will be impossible.

In pursuit of the life we want

The leader of one of the creative groups (The StuckCreative) that I attend, always tells us to do something each day towards our creative work.  I’ve been going to this group for months and have yet to accomplish this.   I’ve concluded that this may be ideal but far from practical.

It would be great if we could devote all of our energy and time in pursuit of a particular goal.  Can you imagine if there was a program like The Biggest Loser where we could check out of our life and pursue our dreams full time? There would be a staff of experts and a coach standing by for support.  At the end of the day, you would fall into your lovely bed exhausted from pursuing this one desire all day long.  When you check in with your loved ones they would provide positive reinforcement and proclaim that your success in achieving this dream is a matter of life and death for you and your family.  There would be many happy tears to follow.

In reality, we are managing (to varying degrees) the life we have right now while working towards the life we hope to create.   And creating something new requires time and practice.  We do this in the midst of work, family and other responsibilities.  Of course there are benign unexpected things that happen that temporarily disrupt our lives like last summer when the air conditioning unit in my house in Atlanta decided to go on strike against the tenant.  There are also non-benign things that happen to us such as illness, or loss of a loved one or loss of a job.   We have no choice but to tend to these things.

To all of this, I say that we should continue on in pursuit of our goals and the life that we want.   Don't feel bad or disappointed if you can’t do this daily or even routinely.  Most often, achieving our goals is a lot like driving to work in traffic.  At some places we can move pretty fast and other times you just have to sit there and wait.    We always manage to get there but sometimes it takes a little longer.

People We Meet 2.0

I enjoy meeting new people.  I periodically like to throw myself into situations where I don’t know anyone.   I usually choose venues where I can be around people with similar interests.  You won’t find me hanging out at a bar but you might find me wandering around an art festival or book fair.  Last fall, I went to a writer’s workshop about publishing and hoped to meet fellow writers. 

I happened to "meet" two people during the afternoon workshop session when the moderator released us for a break.   He said, “Be back in 15 minutes” but what they must have heard was, “Ready, set …complain!”   They sounded worse than kids forced to eat a plate of liver with sides of beets and broccoli.   Yet, this was a meal they didn’t have to keep eating.  At any moment they could have excused themselves.  Was it the registration fee that held them in place?  I made the mistake of turning around to look at these sad souls.  They locked eyes with mine and assumed that I too was a part of their struggle.   

They were an interesting pair.  He was thin with light-brown, 1970’s David Cassidy hair.  He wore 80’s styled jeans and a washed-out t-shirt.  A scowl seemed etched into his crypt-like face.  She too, was stuck somewhere in time.  Her blouse had pink and blue flowers and her skirt was long and light blue.  Her thin, bottle blond hair with grey roots was trying to hold on long enough to crumple about her shoulders.  Some middle-age women are cute and plump with a distinct style- always announcing their arrival.  She was not one of them.   Her face was red, accentuated by stubbornness and bewilderment.

For some reason, I was more amused than annoyed by them.   I was having such a fabulous time that it hadn’t occurred to me that others weren’t.  The man and woman were so in sync that I wrongly assumed they were a couple.  When one paused the other began, quite effortlessly.  They didn’t like the breakout sessions focusing on specific genres like fiction or memoirs.  And the workshop should only focus on specific steps to getting published.   The last speaker, a successful author and editor, asked if we were really ready to publish.  To this they took high offense. She once told a writer that there were only 10 good pages that should be kept out of the 80 page document that had been written.  To that, the man said, “What does that have to do with getting published?”   I'm thinking it had everything to do with publishing but I smiled anyway.  The woman couldn’t wait to add, “Yeah, and they assume that everyone here is a writer! Not everyone wants to write a book.”    I guess she failed to read the first sentence of the promo for the workshop: Our popular annual seminar provides writers with the information they need to publish their work in print or e-book format in today's changing digital landscape. 

At some point, I broke in and asked the woman, “Oh, so what are you working on and what are you trying to do?’  I wanted to hear about this great artistic expression that will change the world.  She said that she wasn’t sure.  A while ago she started a blog and posted 6 times but then she got busy trying to help her husband with his business so she hadn’t been able to get back to it.  I looked to her sidekick and thought surely he must have something to offer but he too had nothing.  I nodded as if I understood while backing away.  I reminded them of the break because now I really needed one.  They stayed.

As I turned, I could hear the woman once more…”And you know what else?...” 

Note:  After receiving feedback from my writing group and a few more revisions, I decided to repost People We Meet which was originally posted on November 2013.  

Gene and I Agree

In my last post, I made a comment about how often I observe bad writing.  I saw this article by Gene Weingarten in the Washington Post Magazine about bad writing.  I've included the article after my post in case the link should stop working one day.  I was glad to see that Gene agrees with me.

Obviously, some are more aware of bad writing than others.  They probably have some type of relationship with the construction of words by way of profession or passion.  I liken it to a good friend who is serious about his body and working out.  He often notices imperfections in other’s bodies.   He points out things that I would never notice. 

Just like working out and having a nice body requires a commitment of time and effort, so does good writing. I often look up the definition of words that I think I know.  I religiously use the spelling and grammar check. The exception to this is Facebook.  Communication on Facebook means breaking every rule of grammar and a proliferation of abbreviations and acronyms.  If I don’t like the flow of a sentence, I keep looking at it – often rearranging the position of words, deleting or adding them.  I flee from clichés in search of my own voice. Then, I step back like an artist and stare at my creation.  Still not satisfied, I go through this tortuous process again and again.   Weirdly, I enjoy this. 

Here's Gene's article Gene defiantly recommends that you watch your language 
By Gene Weingarten, Published: January 3 in Washington Post Magazine

As the world’s leading connoisseur and curator of Bad Writing on the Internet, I often get letters from people about some common misuse of language that happens to annoy them. Most of these complaints are pedestrian. (Yes, I know “ATM machine” is redundant. Zzzz.) But reader Amity Horowitz just wrote in with an eye-opener. Coyly, Amity invited me to Google the peculiar expression “defiantly recommend.”

“Defiantly recommend” has been used 1.5 million times! While one might occasionally recommend something defiantly, at the risk of censure or ridicule — say, the ritual eating of one’s placenta — how often would that sort of thing happen? Not a million-odd times. So I investigated.

“Defiantly recommend” turns out to be a classic example of Internet-induced idiocy, an elegant collision of incompetence and indifference:  A person wants to write “I definitely recommend,” in, say, a product review but spells it “definately,” which is the illiterate’s go-to version of the word. Spellcheck (and its co-conspirator, autocorrect) realizes something is wrong and suggests “defiantly.” The incompetent writer doesn’t know this is wrong or doesn’t care or doesn’t notice. And so “defiantly recommend” gets published a million-plus times. A similar thing happens when inept spellers write “alot,” meaning “a lot,” but spellcheck turns it into “allot,” which explains the hemorrhage of Google hits for expressions like “I have allot of weapons.” This phenomenon has happened more than 2.2 million times, which is allot.

We will call this sort of thing The Law of Incorrect Corrections, and it leads indirectly to:

The Law of Uninformed Uniformity
Before the Web, to be published as a writer, you pretty much had to be a professional. Professionals are unafraid of words and know a lot of them and take pains to use them in entertaining, unexpected combinations. This is not so with many amateurs of the Web, who have much they wish to say but lack the professional’s confidence and extensive arsenal of words. They are to writing as I am to fashion: I know I have to put something on every day, but I have no confidence in my ability to mix and match with style or taste. And so I tend to dress in “uniforms”: safe combinations of familiar things, such as khaki pants with blue shirts. The modern Web-sters are like that with words. With words, they are … woefully inadequate.

Consider that very expression, a staple of the Internet. A Google search confirms that 80 percent of the time the word “woefully” is used, it is modifying the word “inadequate.” It’s difficult to explain how preposterous this is, but I’ll try: It’s as though 80 percent of the time people use salt, it’s on scrambled eggs. Think of all the missed opportunities for flavor.

Finally, The Principle of Trite & Wrong
Cliche is easy — it pops into the mind in an instant and often sounds profound or at least comfortingly familiar. Therefore, cliche infests the Internet, even when it is completely inappropriate to the point being made.

Consider “nothing could be further from the truth.” This expression is always a lie. Repeat: This expression is always a lie. If we scan the Web, however, we find it has been used 13 million times, generally in pompous defense of oneself or of another against allegedly scurrilous allegations. Charles Colson, for example, once decried the popular image of Martin Luther King Jr. as “a liberal firebrand, waging war on traditional values.” Says Colson: “Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Really, now! I think I can refute this without getting into a tedious discussion of a dead man’s politics. Here is one statement, for example, that is palpably further from the truth: “Martin Luther King Jr. was a subspecies of avocado.” See?

I could go on and on, but whatever I said about the absurdity of the situation would be woefully inadequate.