Faye McCray's Blog, page 13
October 22, 2013
28 years, 28 lessons
Four years ago today, I woke up with my face smushed inside my elbow on my mother’s light oak kitchen table in Queens wondering if the previous ten hours had been a dream. My head hurt and old tears stained my face. There was a knock at the door. I wiped the residues of my hour of sleep from the corners of my mouth and answered. My aunt had bagels and my older brother was still gone.
My brother, Tommy and I on a family vacation in Mystic, CT in 1987.
My brother, Tommy died on October 22, 2009. He lived 38 years, 4 months, 22 days and 3 ½ hours. I was born when he was 10 years old. Here is what I learned from the 28 years I witnessed his life. 1. Remain amused. No matter what you may go through… no matter how hard life tries to break you down or what someone else might say or do to make you stumble, put it in perspective and find the humor. Tommy could have patented his signature smirk. He was always in on the joke so he always won.2. Never let a freshman take yo’ spot. This lesson was also taught by Sidra from Love and Basketball. My brother was the baby for ten years before I was born. If I was going to out-cute him, out-smart him, or out-sweet him, I had to work for it. Always make them work for it.3. Gloat when necessary. Even when beating your seven-year-old kid sister in Street Fighter, gloat. Enjoy every win. You earned it. Just be prepared for the blow back. 4. Never trust a big butt and a smile. Literally. This one is tucked away to use with my sons one day. Know the difference between the brain between your legs and the one in your head. Act accordingly.5. Never beg someone to love you. Loving you and being loved by you is a privilege. I’ll never forget crying my eyes out after finding out an ex-boyfriend was cheating on me. I wondered if I should forgive him and take him back. Tommy looked me square in the eyes and said, “You’re my sister, don’t be desperate.” Ha. He was right. 6. Get it. Even when no one else does. Especially when no one else does. Understanding the subtext is often more important than understanding what is actually being said.7. Love is an action. Tommy never told me he loved me but he sat with me when I was afraid of the dark, brought me milk when I cried, and made all my battles his battles.8. It’s always sunglass weather. Tommy’s shades were almost as signature as his smirk.9. Listen more than you speak. I remember Tommy’s quiet observance more than I remember his words. When he spoke, (most times) it mattered.10. PRINCE is EVERYTHING. If you don’t know, ask someone.11. Always check on kids who are alone in a basement. I’ll just let you use your imagination on that one. 12. Dowhatyoulike. If you’d rather sing to Frank Sinatra than dance to the latest hip hop single, do it. Put your own smile on your face. Ultimately, you hold the key to your happiness. No one else does.13. Flirt shamelessly. There are far too many good-looking people in this world not to. Just remain mindful of boundaries.14. Drive fast with the windows down and music playing. Ride a note and feel weightless… but don’t hit pedestrians.15. Pose in the mirror. Because you are fucking sexy at every angle.16. Don’t always pick up your phone. Most times, it can wait. Sometimes it is better to let your own voice be the only voice in your head.17. Believe in the impossible. Because nothing is.18. Show up. Always be there when it matters. Every time I needed my brother there, he was. From moving me into my first apartment, to wheeling me up to NICU after an emergency C-section to see my son after he was born, to driving to Virginia to pick me up when I just needed to get home. He always showed up, even when I didn’t ask. 19. Protect your space. Not everyone is worthy of coming into your space. Your home is your sanctuary. Discriminate. 20. Be a hero… within limits. Tommy was a Detective with the NYPD. He was a 9/11 first responder and saved countless lives during his 19 years as a police officer. He acted on instinct not impulse. 21. Ask questions; doubt the answers. You’ve been lied to. Never stop wondering why.22. Never stop believing in love. It’s what we are here for. 23. Love your parents without condition. Their humanity is no less stainless than your own. Don’t be naïve but forgive their sins. They gave you life.24. Childhood is precious. Protect yours, protect others.25. Get lost in the sky. Be quiet and look up. You will feel large, small, significant, and insignificant all at the same time. It’s magic.26. Guard your health. If you have reason to question your health, go see a doctor. 27. There is never enough time. Don’t hold grudges. Don’t put it off. Remain present and regret nothing. Make the journey count more than the destination.28. Everyone dies. So get to living.
My eldest brother, Marc (on the right) and Tommy and I hugging after their big brother speech at my wedding in 2006.
My brother, Tommy and I on a family vacation in Mystic, CT in 1987.My brother, Tommy died on October 22, 2009. He lived 38 years, 4 months, 22 days and 3 ½ hours. I was born when he was 10 years old. Here is what I learned from the 28 years I witnessed his life. 1. Remain amused. No matter what you may go through… no matter how hard life tries to break you down or what someone else might say or do to make you stumble, put it in perspective and find the humor. Tommy could have patented his signature smirk. He was always in on the joke so he always won.2. Never let a freshman take yo’ spot. This lesson was also taught by Sidra from Love and Basketball. My brother was the baby for ten years before I was born. If I was going to out-cute him, out-smart him, or out-sweet him, I had to work for it. Always make them work for it.3. Gloat when necessary. Even when beating your seven-year-old kid sister in Street Fighter, gloat. Enjoy every win. You earned it. Just be prepared for the blow back. 4. Never trust a big butt and a smile. Literally. This one is tucked away to use with my sons one day. Know the difference between the brain between your legs and the one in your head. Act accordingly.5. Never beg someone to love you. Loving you and being loved by you is a privilege. I’ll never forget crying my eyes out after finding out an ex-boyfriend was cheating on me. I wondered if I should forgive him and take him back. Tommy looked me square in the eyes and said, “You’re my sister, don’t be desperate.” Ha. He was right. 6. Get it. Even when no one else does. Especially when no one else does. Understanding the subtext is often more important than understanding what is actually being said.7. Love is an action. Tommy never told me he loved me but he sat with me when I was afraid of the dark, brought me milk when I cried, and made all my battles his battles.8. It’s always sunglass weather. Tommy’s shades were almost as signature as his smirk.9. Listen more than you speak. I remember Tommy’s quiet observance more than I remember his words. When he spoke, (most times) it mattered.10. PRINCE is EVERYTHING. If you don’t know, ask someone.11. Always check on kids who are alone in a basement. I’ll just let you use your imagination on that one. 12. Dowhatyoulike. If you’d rather sing to Frank Sinatra than dance to the latest hip hop single, do it. Put your own smile on your face. Ultimately, you hold the key to your happiness. No one else does.13. Flirt shamelessly. There are far too many good-looking people in this world not to. Just remain mindful of boundaries.14. Drive fast with the windows down and music playing. Ride a note and feel weightless… but don’t hit pedestrians.15. Pose in the mirror. Because you are fucking sexy at every angle.16. Don’t always pick up your phone. Most times, it can wait. Sometimes it is better to let your own voice be the only voice in your head.17. Believe in the impossible. Because nothing is.18. Show up. Always be there when it matters. Every time I needed my brother there, he was. From moving me into my first apartment, to wheeling me up to NICU after an emergency C-section to see my son after he was born, to driving to Virginia to pick me up when I just needed to get home. He always showed up, even when I didn’t ask. 19. Protect your space. Not everyone is worthy of coming into your space. Your home is your sanctuary. Discriminate. 20. Be a hero… within limits. Tommy was a Detective with the NYPD. He was a 9/11 first responder and saved countless lives during his 19 years as a police officer. He acted on instinct not impulse. 21. Ask questions; doubt the answers. You’ve been lied to. Never stop wondering why.22. Never stop believing in love. It’s what we are here for. 23. Love your parents without condition. Their humanity is no less stainless than your own. Don’t be naïve but forgive their sins. They gave you life.24. Childhood is precious. Protect yours, protect others.25. Get lost in the sky. Be quiet and look up. You will feel large, small, significant, and insignificant all at the same time. It’s magic.26. Guard your health. If you have reason to question your health, go see a doctor. 27. There is never enough time. Don’t hold grudges. Don’t put it off. Remain present and regret nothing. Make the journey count more than the destination.28. Everyone dies. So get to living.
My eldest brother, Marc (on the right) and Tommy and I hugging after their big brother speech at my wedding in 2006.
October 20, 2013
Countdown to Kindle...
11 days to my short story debuts on Kindle, woot, woot!If you happen to follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you may have noticed I have been oddly quiet.No worries... I am not lying face down on my keyboard (most days).I have been typing away, hoping to have a quality product ready for October 31. I was also furloughed along with thousands of other federal employees due to the shutdown AND I was taking care of my youngest because our day care plans unexpectedly fell through. What's that they say about God and plans?!
But - I've made the best of it. Despite not knowing where my next pay check would come from, I am blessed to have a working spouse. I also have a helluva kid. Although I missed doing my fancy lawyer lady dance the past two weeks and I could have done without the anxiety of the televised Congressional-will they/won't they, hanging with him by day and writing by night was all kinds of awesome. Mom/Writer has a ring to it, doesn't it?
My littlest painting on the front lawn.
But, the horn has sounded and I'm back to the work and we are back to our regularly scheduled programming. For now...
Talk soon!
Love and Light,
Faye
But - I've made the best of it. Despite not knowing where my next pay check would come from, I am blessed to have a working spouse. I also have a helluva kid. Although I missed doing my fancy lawyer lady dance the past two weeks and I could have done without the anxiety of the televised Congressional-will they/won't they, hanging with him by day and writing by night was all kinds of awesome. Mom/Writer has a ring to it, doesn't it?
My littlest painting on the front lawn.But, the horn has sounded and I'm back to the work and we are back to our regularly scheduled programming. For now...
Talk soon!
Love and Light,
Faye
September 28, 2013
Deadlines
As I await word on my manuscript, I am preparing myself for the life of a professional writer. One of the luxuries of writing my first novel was that there were no stakes. I got lost in my characters, their stories, and their drama and I wasn't concerned about much else. It wasn't until I work-shopped my first piece and I got positive feedback that I realized other people may like it too. Tapping into that joy I felt, the fun it seemed to bring others, and the pure happiness that writing gave me helped me finally admit I wanted to pursue writing as a profession.
But let's face it, the joy of writing for yourself is quite different from writing for business. If When I am fortunate enough to go into contract with a publisher, I am going to be expected to write - with editors, suppliers, and an audience - all waiting for my product... under deadline.
My hippie brain is the leader of deadline opposition. What can be more damaging to creativity than the pressure of a looming deadline? Art takes time. Examining butterfly wings. Watching sunsets. Peering at people through a clean section of a foggy window pane. You know, allowing time to see your creepy artist process through. However, the other part of my brain - that stiff 9-5er that goes to work everyday, realizes that deadlines are discipline. They are reigning it all in and holding yourself accountable. They are proof that you want to be taken seriously. Proof that you can control your gift. That your muse isn't just running around showing up when and where she feels like it ripping up your pages and making you stare at a blank screen.
That is the discipline I am practicing with the short story I am publishing on October 31. I want to prove to myself that I am ready. Ready for the deadlines, the vulnerability and to be held accountable. It's one thing to believe you can be something, it's quite another to prove that you can be. I mean it's possible right? You wouldn't have writers like Stephen King or James Patterson or John Grisham producing quality book after book if writers weren't able to make inspiration a part of their profession. But who knows - maybe they miss deadlines all the time.
Love and Light,
Faye
But let's face it, the joy of writing for yourself is quite different from writing for business. If When I am fortunate enough to go into contract with a publisher, I am going to be expected to write - with editors, suppliers, and an audience - all waiting for my product... under deadline.
My hippie brain is the leader of deadline opposition. What can be more damaging to creativity than the pressure of a looming deadline? Art takes time. Examining butterfly wings. Watching sunsets. Peering at people through a clean section of a foggy window pane. You know, allowing time to see your creepy artist process through. However, the other part of my brain - that stiff 9-5er that goes to work everyday, realizes that deadlines are discipline. They are reigning it all in and holding yourself accountable. They are proof that you want to be taken seriously. Proof that you can control your gift. That your muse isn't just running around showing up when and where she feels like it ripping up your pages and making you stare at a blank screen.
That is the discipline I am practicing with the short story I am publishing on October 31. I want to prove to myself that I am ready. Ready for the deadlines, the vulnerability and to be held accountable. It's one thing to believe you can be something, it's quite another to prove that you can be. I mean it's possible right? You wouldn't have writers like Stephen King or James Patterson or John Grisham producing quality book after book if writers weren't able to make inspiration a part of their profession. But who knows - maybe they miss deadlines all the time.
Love and Light,
Faye
September 21, 2013
Fraidy Cat
THE TWILIGHT ZONEI scare really easily.
...like too easily.
To this day a picture of Rod Serling smoking a cigarette scares the crap out of me just because of the memory of Twilight Zone marathons I was forced to endure as a child (Thanks, Mom).
As a victim of my own overactive imagination, real life situations often pale in comparison to things that I conjure up in my head An article about a sinkhole making headlines in the news? I will stare into space for ten minutes after I read the article and wonder if the gaping sink hole has the potential to spread to me (...300 miles from where it originated, and engulf everyone unfortunate enough to be in its path, unexpectedly pulling me from where I sit at my computer, leaving only enough time to scream, "WHY?!?" as my weakening fingers lose their grip on the edge of the Earth).
A plane flying too low as a thunderstorm approaches? I stare up at the sky just a little too long wondering what if a flash of lighting strikes the plane teleporting it and all its' passengers to another dimension leaving me to convince those that didn't witness it that the passengers of the plane are still out there (victims of citizens of a parallel universe intent on learning human patterns and studying Earth to prepare for a planet-wide colonization).
You would think with such a creepy imagination and a clear penchant for torturing myself the horror genre would be a natural fit.
Too bad I have always been too freaked out to try.
In honor of Halloween this year, I am stepping outside my comfortable box and publishing my first horror short story. On October 31, I am debuting the short story, Chesapeake House, on Kindle. It is the story of a traveling young couple whose stop at a deserted rest area leaves them fighting to survive an apparent zombie pandemic.
Horror writer, Harry Shannon, is quoted as saying, "...reading and writing horror is about eating my own shadow so it won't eat me." This leaves me to believe that maybe people who write horror are the biggest fraidy cats of all, just made a little less scared by being in the driver's seat of the inevitable dysfunction. I'm hoping getting knee-deep in my own worst nightmares will do something to smolder my raging imagination. Or at least bring it down to a simmer. If not, I'll just keep reminding myself...
Love and Light,
Faye
September 5, 2013
Inspiration
Writers are an interesting breed.
We are voyeurs. We find inspiration in the most mundane things. From watching a tear stained child skip the edges of the floor tiles in a department store to passing an abandoned rest area towering beneath the trees under the glow of the moonlight.
We watch.
We imagine.
Then we retreat to our caves to write it all down.
I have a story for you guys.
Debuting on Kindle this October.
The inspiration enveloped me like a sink hole and I happily plummeted into a cushy, word-filled descent.
Can't wait to emerge and share!
Thanks for hanging with me, folks...
Love and Light,
Faye
We are voyeurs. We find inspiration in the most mundane things. From watching a tear stained child skip the edges of the floor tiles in a department store to passing an abandoned rest area towering beneath the trees under the glow of the moonlight.
We watch.
We imagine.
Then we retreat to our caves to write it all down.
I have a story for you guys.
Debuting on Kindle this October.
The inspiration enveloped me like a sink hole and I happily plummeted into a cushy, word-filled descent.
Can't wait to emerge and share!
Thanks for hanging with me, folks...
Love and Light,
Faye
August 21, 2013
Postponing Joy
Not gonna lie.
This journey to publication is a bit of a rollercoaster.
I'm not just talking about the NOs because those I expected. I'm talking about the "Ehhh, maybe," "Ack! We love it! But, now we don't," and "Yeeesss.....I mean NOOOOOO!" moments. Those so-close-you-can-almost-touch-it-but-now-I-am-snatching-it-away-and-laughing-at-you moments. Okay... so no one is actually laughing.
I got some pretty darn awesome "maybe" news recently. However, in response to my very real history of publishing-induced trauma, I talked myself down from any happiness I was feeling before I shared it with anyone.
That's amazing, my best friend said after I finally told her.
No. I responded. We will not be excited. We are cautiously optimistic. Then I broke into my best pre-Oscar 'I'm just grateful to be nominated' speech.
Why are you always postponing your joy?
I...
NO! You need to claim it and own it, and stop talking yourself down.
Now, this particular friend works for the Queen of Optimism and Positivity, the big O herself, Oprah Winfrey. Outwardly, I told her to stop pushing her agenda on me and got off the phone. Inwardly, I knew she was right. You see, this particular friend has been unabashedly open about the things she wants. She puts it out there and claims it like she isn't cripplingly afraid it won't come true. As if failure would just be a stumble and she would "running man" it off and keep going.
I really, really admire that.
So, in honor of that admiration... and my desire to never be called a joy post-poner again... I'll admit it. I'm excited. I'm excited, and I won't feel bad about it. I'm excited, and there is nothing I can do about it.
Love and Light,
Faye
This journey to publication is a bit of a rollercoaster.
I'm not just talking about the NOs because those I expected. I'm talking about the "Ehhh, maybe," "Ack! We love it! But, now we don't," and "Yeeesss.....I mean NOOOOOO!" moments. Those so-close-you-can-almost-touch-it-but-now-I-am-snatching-it-away-and-laughing-at-you moments. Okay... so no one is actually laughing.
I got some pretty darn awesome "maybe" news recently. However, in response to my very real history of publishing-induced trauma, I talked myself down from any happiness I was feeling before I shared it with anyone.
That's amazing, my best friend said after I finally told her.
No. I responded. We will not be excited. We are cautiously optimistic. Then I broke into my best pre-Oscar 'I'm just grateful to be nominated' speech.
Why are you always postponing your joy?
I...
NO! You need to claim it and own it, and stop talking yourself down.
Now, this particular friend works for the Queen of Optimism and Positivity, the big O herself, Oprah Winfrey. Outwardly, I told her to stop pushing her agenda on me and got off the phone. Inwardly, I knew she was right. You see, this particular friend has been unabashedly open about the things she wants. She puts it out there and claims it like she isn't cripplingly afraid it won't come true. As if failure would just be a stumble and she would "running man" it off and keep going.
I really, really admire that.
So, in honor of that admiration... and my desire to never be called a joy post-poner again... I'll admit it. I'm excited. I'm excited, and I won't feel bad about it. I'm excited, and there is nothing I can do about it.
Love and Light,
Faye
August 12, 2013
Sacred Space
I saw
42
a few weeks ago. For those of you unfamiliar with it, 42 is a movie telling the story of Jackie Robinson and his role in the integration of Major League Baseball. I wanted to see it when it was in the movies but babysitters are hard to come by, and when you get one, it's hard to justify using that precious time to go see a movie. Anyway, my husband and I finally settled down to watch it and it was... okay. It was entertaining, and the actors did a nice job. Anyway, to my husband's chagrin, I have developed this new annoying habit of Google-ing things while I watch movies (looking up stuff on Google). Whether it be "where did I see that actor before?" or "I wonder if this is a true story", movie watching for me these days usually involves my i-Phone clutched in my palm ready for me to find out the answer to a question that just can't wait. Needless to say, leaning over my husband multiple times during movie-watching to whisper, "the one with the blonde hair played a high school student in Dawson's Creek" or "do you know the guy who played the dad died one month after filming this?" has not made me the most popular date at the movies.
But, I do it anyway.
Movies like 42 were MADE for Google-watching (see what I did there, coined a new phrase like I'm an entertainment correspondent... yup, go me). It's based on a true story, surrounds real events, and involves real people. Not only can I Google the actors, I can Google the characters they play!!
One of the greatest things about the movie 42 was the underlying love story between Jackie Robinson and his wife, Rachel. I was captivated by Rachel's commitment to her husband and his career and how she selflessly supported him as he became the first African American to play Major League Baseball. The movie depicted him facing heinous racial discrimination which included everything from the free use of racial epitaphs by his colleagues while he stood on the baseball mound to death threats against him and his family. In my Google search, I read an article where Rachel revealed that in order to combat the egregious working conditions her husband faced, she decided to make her home a sanctuary for him. She made it a place where he could shut out the discrimination and harsh realities of the outside world and feel free to just love and be loved. Throughout Jackie's career, Rachel dedicated herself to doing just that.
Now if you feminist ire is being raised, just know, following Jackie's retirement, Rachel pursued a nursing career and went on to teach nursing as an Assistant Professor at Yale. I think her choice to focus on the sanctity of her home was less about playing the role of dutiful wife and more about love. Can you imagine the rage Jackie Robinson must have felt to be challenged and threatened every time he walked on that baseball field and could do nothing to defend himself? I would imagine it festered and grew like an infected sore that he just couldn't heal. I imagine she, more than anyone, knew what he was holding inside. She also knew the gravity of the task he had chosen to take on. Based on what I saw in the movie and subsequently read, that love she had for him and the sanctity she created was probably the thing that kept him alive. The thing that kept him going back every day and breaking down barriers.
Rachel's commitment has encouraged me to make my own. While I work on myself (which is my greatest gift to anyone who loves me), I am also working on creating a sanctuary for my family. Home shouldn't be a stop over as you go from one place to the next or that place you sleep, (sometimes) eat, and take a shower after a long day at work. I want it to be base. Remember that from when you were a kid playing tag? You ran frantically from "It" so you could get to base where no one could touch you. I want my 'home' to be base. The place of silly laughter, rest, happiness, free tears and deep breaths.
Before my son's 3rd birthday recently, I redecorated our family room: I cleaned our office space where my husband does most of his work and pinned up inspirational messages and pictures, put my kids play area in a more open space surrounded by light, and I moved my beloved chaise (where 90% of my writing takes place) to a corner by the window and surrounding it with objects and pictures of people that love, encourage and inspire me. I added a nesting table perfect for housing my cup of tea or glass of wine. I even put lavender and vanilla candles along the mantel above the fireplace to illuminate the space when my husband and I talk and build after the tiny humans go to sleep. Our first full day in the newly designed room, my kids didn't ask to watch TV once and the hubz and I couldn't wait until the evening to enjoy the peace and quiet. I realized how necessary nurturing that peace is to our happiness. How necessary it is to our soul. I read an article recently in the NY Times that said,
"Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done." - Tim Krieder, "The Busy Trap"
I'm setting the stage. I can't help but think that is exactly what it's all about. That and the hokey pokey.Think about it.
Love and Light, Faye
But, I do it anyway.
Movies like 42 were MADE for Google-watching (see what I did there, coined a new phrase like I'm an entertainment correspondent... yup, go me). It's based on a true story, surrounds real events, and involves real people. Not only can I Google the actors, I can Google the characters they play!!
One of the greatest things about the movie 42 was the underlying love story between Jackie Robinson and his wife, Rachel. I was captivated by Rachel's commitment to her husband and his career and how she selflessly supported him as he became the first African American to play Major League Baseball. The movie depicted him facing heinous racial discrimination which included everything from the free use of racial epitaphs by his colleagues while he stood on the baseball mound to death threats against him and his family. In my Google search, I read an article where Rachel revealed that in order to combat the egregious working conditions her husband faced, she decided to make her home a sanctuary for him. She made it a place where he could shut out the discrimination and harsh realities of the outside world and feel free to just love and be loved. Throughout Jackie's career, Rachel dedicated herself to doing just that.
Now if you feminist ire is being raised, just know, following Jackie's retirement, Rachel pursued a nursing career and went on to teach nursing as an Assistant Professor at Yale. I think her choice to focus on the sanctity of her home was less about playing the role of dutiful wife and more about love. Can you imagine the rage Jackie Robinson must have felt to be challenged and threatened every time he walked on that baseball field and could do nothing to defend himself? I would imagine it festered and grew like an infected sore that he just couldn't heal. I imagine she, more than anyone, knew what he was holding inside. She also knew the gravity of the task he had chosen to take on. Based on what I saw in the movie and subsequently read, that love she had for him and the sanctity she created was probably the thing that kept him alive. The thing that kept him going back every day and breaking down barriers.
Rachel's commitment has encouraged me to make my own. While I work on myself (which is my greatest gift to anyone who loves me), I am also working on creating a sanctuary for my family. Home shouldn't be a stop over as you go from one place to the next or that place you sleep, (sometimes) eat, and take a shower after a long day at work. I want it to be base. Remember that from when you were a kid playing tag? You ran frantically from "It" so you could get to base where no one could touch you. I want my 'home' to be base. The place of silly laughter, rest, happiness, free tears and deep breaths.
Before my son's 3rd birthday recently, I redecorated our family room: I cleaned our office space where my husband does most of his work and pinned up inspirational messages and pictures, put my kids play area in a more open space surrounded by light, and I moved my beloved chaise (where 90% of my writing takes place) to a corner by the window and surrounding it with objects and pictures of people that love, encourage and inspire me. I added a nesting table perfect for housing my cup of tea or glass of wine. I even put lavender and vanilla candles along the mantel above the fireplace to illuminate the space when my husband and I talk and build after the tiny humans go to sleep. Our first full day in the newly designed room, my kids didn't ask to watch TV once and the hubz and I couldn't wait until the evening to enjoy the peace and quiet. I realized how necessary nurturing that peace is to our happiness. How necessary it is to our soul. I read an article recently in the NY Times that said,
"Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done." - Tim Krieder, "The Busy Trap"
I'm setting the stage. I can't help but think that is exactly what it's all about. That and the hokey pokey.Think about it.
Love and Light, Faye
August 5, 2013
Love is short, forgetting is so long...
At 32, I am just now discovering Pablo Neruda and these words. Oh, how I could have weeped to these words during the angst of my teen years and the heartbreaks in my twenties... They would have been the perfect side dish to a fleece blanket or a glass of wine. But... without the cloud of selfish tears, in the (relative) stability of my 30s, I truly see their beauty. Thanks, Pablo.
Love and Light,
Faye
Love and Light,
Faye
