Category Archives: personal

Into the Gloom

Well, I wrote that title and have been sitting here, not looking at it but resting my head in my hands. I’ve heard that everyone who suffers from allergies is REALLY SUFFERING this year. No doubt some people are suffering more than me. No doubt most people do not want to hear about my suffering.

In fact, that title was not meant to refer to my health problems or the resulting less than sunny mood. It was a straightforward observation of the weather.

Steven and I took our schnoodle Tabby for a walk after dinner tonight. Cold fall weather has come to the Mohawk Valley, so I dressed accordingly. I put on a hooded pullover sweatshirt, put the hood up, and added a warm jacket with a print involving skeletons. If I would have put on gloves, my life would have been perfect.

I know what you’re thinking: It’s OCTOBER, for heavens’ sake! What are you going to do when the snow flies and it’s below zero? Well, I’ll be acclimated by then, of course. Anyways, I was perfectly comfortable today except for my hands, and hands are often problematic.

Getting back to the walk, it was well before sundown but cloud cover darkened things considerably. It rained a little earlier but had stopped. It looked like it might storm, but we thought we might have time for a couple of blocks.

We encountered two of Tabby’s canine friends, Chico and Bear, with their person. We stopped and chatted and sniffed, according to species. I petted Chico, and Steven petted Bear.

We admired several houses’ Halloween decoration. The gloom made the lights stand out nicely. I thought a couple strings of lights looked more like Christmas lights, but I don’t have a problem with that. After all, reduce, reuse, recycle.

“If we lived in that apartment with the bay window,” I said, pointing to one of the large mansions now split into apartments, “we would put a display in the window.”

Steven agreed.

“Look, the house is for sale. We could buy it and put a display in the bay window.” Pause. “If we had lots and lots of money.”

As we walked down German Street towards our street, we saw a man running towards us with a dog on a leash. Tabby doesn’t like to run with me. We got out of the way, but said hello as they went by. Tabby expressed an interest in following the dog, but we talked her out of it.

It didn’t rain while we were out, so that was good. It was a pleasant if uneventful walk. Reading over the above paragraphs, I deem this a pleasant if unexciting blog post. Maybe a step above Wuss-out Wednesday.

Supporting the Arts

Friday night Steven and I supported the arts in the Mohawk Valley.

Doesn’t that sound fancy? It was a little fancier than our usual Friday night activities (sit around in sweatpants and order pizza is our favorite). We attended the Annual Art Giveaway of the Mohawk Valley Center for the Arts (MVCA).

I recently Liked MVCA on Facebook, which is how we found out about the giveaway. The center posted a beautiful picture, and I started making immediate plans to try to win it. Unfortunately, Steven had to work till 6:30, and the event began at 6. I could have made my way to the arts center in Little Falls, NY, to look at the art and purchase tickets, but did not manage it for one reason or another. Regular readers will not be surprised to hear that I didn’t even have my act together to look at works online and do things by mail or over the phone.

So I went to Francesca’s Banquet in Ilion, NY by myself, with Steven promising to join me as soon as possible. I gave my $5 donation to get in, spent another $5 on 50/50 tickets, made my usual lame joke about how the ticket doesn’t tell you how long to “Keep This Coupon,” then went on to look at the art.

I purchased a book of ten tickets for $30. It was set up like a Chinese auction; you put your ticket into a bag next to the piece you liked. Thirty-five works of art were offered. I figured if there weren’t ten I liked, I could put in multiple tickets for my favorites, like I do at regular Chinese auctions. Of course there were more than ten I liked, but I do have to watch my budget, so I put in for my ten favorites.

Then I realized I had missed a gorgeous soft-sculpture frog at the very end. Steven collects frogs. A few years ago, we had purchased a raffle ticket for such a frog at the arts center in Little Falls, but alas, did not win. I went back to where they were selling tickets and bought just one more ticket.

I saw a few people there I knew. I chatted them up as well as a few new people. There was a table of light refreshments and a cash bar. I indulged in a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and nibbled some cheese and vegetables.

Soon they began to draw for the artwork. Some of the artists were present and said a few words before the ticket for their piece was drawn. They spoke about their views of art in general or their method of working or the story behind that particular piece. I was fascinated. I kept telling people I was inspired and was going to take up an art so I could donate a piece next year. People were very gracious about it; nobody said anything like, “Yeah, like you’re going to be as good as that in a year or less!”

I ended up winning two very beautiful pieces. I was so excited! Steven will have to re-arrange some things on our walls to make good places for them. In the meantime, I’m watching the MVCA Facebook page for their next fundraiser.

For more information on the arts center, visit their website at www.mohawkvalleyarts.org/.

Does This Ever Happen to You?

Sometimes I don’t know why I (a) write this blog, (b) tell people that I write it and especially (c) share the link on Facebook, practically begging people to read it. What the hell’s wrong with me?

A calmer voice in my head reminds me that art and especially writing is all about communication. If I’m going to create something, this line of reasoning goes, why not put it out there?

A mean, nasty voice in my head sneers, “Art? What do you mean art? Do you think what you do is art?”

And then I start to wonder if I really ought to be sharing information about hearing voices in my head.

What prompts this… soul searching? hair tearing? wrist to foreheading?… is a post I am trying to write about the Mohawk Valley Center for the Arts. I mentioned on their Facebook page that I am writing one. Now all I can think is that it’s going to sound stupid and should I mention this or that and OH MY GOD, I have to write it now, somebody might be waiting to read it!

Or do I flatter myself?

I don’t know if this happens to other people, but sometimes I start to write about something and realize I am telling everything and it may not be all that interesting to everybody else. And sometimes as I write it becomes a good deal less interesting to me. Or I experience other resistance, usually along the lines of, “You can’t say THAT!” or “I just don’t feel like writing about this,” neither of which ought to be given the weight they seem to demand.

I first tried to write the piece in my usual personal fashion, sharing all my dithery gyrations in getting there (my computer is telling me “dithery” is not a word, but it is exactly what I mean). I was afraid it would go too long and really be too much about me, so I tried editing as I went with no great success. Next I tried a straightforward news release style. After all, I worked in the newspaper business. I understand the inverted pyramid. Moreover, I read newspapers regularly. I ought to have internalized the structure by now. I got two paragraphs written, and they were no great shakes.

In desperation, I went to another page of my notebook and wrote, um, what you just read (oh dear, I HOPE somebody is still reading). It will have to stand as a Monday Middle-aged Musing. I will somehow get the Arts Center post done. Stay tuned.

Wrist Not On Forehead

Well, I told you it was going to be Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I know some of you thought I would feel a little bad about so many foolish posts in a row and write something more better. Well.

In my defense, I woke up with the same headache, after being plagued all night with it, I might add. I must say I felt a little ill used. These things usually don’t last that long. I took a different OTC headache remedy today. It seemed to work a little better, but I felt quite drained and light-headed.

I don’t know why I’m going on about my symptoms. How boring. Oh yeah, it’s Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I am expected to kvetch about my many ills on such a day.

Only I don’t feel particularly wrist to forehead at the moment. You see, it is my 23rd wedding anniversary, and I happen to have the best husband. Whatever stupid life decisions I have made (most of them; I may have mentioned that), marrying my Steven is the best decision I ever made.

We have been celebrating ever since he got home some three hours ago. Then I remembered I had not made my blog post. Before he got home, when I was still feeling quite drained and lightheaded, I almost made a two sentence post reading: I’m not making a blog post today! It’s my wedding anniversary! Would that have been better? Discuss amongst yourselves.

Did I Mention I Have a Headache?

I started to write a post about a wonderful Mohawk Valley adventure Steven and I had last night. I was writing it at the laundromat, not exactly an adventure, but in the Mohawk Valley so I technically could have written about that. The writing was not going well, because I have one of those debilitating headaches I get sometimes.

I thought no problem, I have all day. A nap will probably fix me right up. It did not. Steven came home from work at 2:30. A cup of coffee would no doubt help. It did not. We went to the Ilion Farmer’s Market anyways, yes, something else I could write a post about. But I still have a headache.

We came home. I fixed supper, which I suppose I could write about, but it was a mere recombination of leftovers in a not especially innovative way. Still, when has that stopped me? Unfortunately, you see, there’s this headache.

So I guess it’s a blogger’s sick day, because I’m not even up to writing about how I can’t seem to write, another subject I have often gotten a post out of.

Many years ago I wrote a paper for a Shakespeare class in which I kept saying things I could have gotten into, but the paper was not long enough. The professor wrote a note that he found it frustrating that all I kept talking about what I wasn’t going to talk about. He still gave me an A on the paper, so you see, I have a long history of being rewarded for folly. I hope to see you again on Wrist to Forehead Sunday.

Lame Till Proven Innocent

Almost every time I go to write the year, I start to write a different year from what it really is.

That is the only random observation I have so far on this Lame Post Friday.

I always feel a little guilty having a Lame Post Friday right after a Non-Sequitur Thursday. Then again, at least I didn’t use the Wuss-Out Wednesday post I started to write two days ago. What did I post on Wednesday? I’ll have to look it up before I publish this. If I publish this.

That was as far as I wrote at work. Since that time, I have come up with a couple more random observations. If I choose between two things to do, I am sure to feel guilty about whichever one I didn’t pick. That is the personal one. The environmental one is: while I see several houses nicely decorated for Halloween, nobody seems to have really gone overboard. I record this observation with some regret, because I love Halloween.

Well, this is pretty thin, even for a Friday Lame Post (does that count as another observation?). However, I will publish it anyways, because I have to get out the door soon for a Mohawk Valley adventure. Yes, the thing I picked to do that now I feel guilty about not picking the other thing. However, in my defense, I walked my dog and I am making my blog post (such as it is). Therefore, I only have one thing to feel guilty about not doing.

In case you want to know, the thing I feel guilty about missing is exercising at Curves. Someone might argue that I can also feel guilty about not going running, but, really, that was never on the roster for today. However, my membership at Curves is over as of next week. Therefore, soon I will either be running for feeling guilty about it. You’ll read it here first (at least, I hope somebody will still be reading).

Heard It Through The Grapevine

There are days I don’t suffer from Writer’s Block, I suffer from Show It To Anybody Block. This sometimes takes the form of Write It And Cross It Out, but other times the words sit in my notebook, staring at me accusingly. “How could you write such a thing?” or “You’re not going to SHOW this to anybody are you?” or, more often, “What kind of a chicken-shit are you that you can write a thing and never let it see the light of day?”

I must be a writer. Even my words have words!

So you may have guessed, it is Non-Sequitur Thursday, better known as another excuse to write a post about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today. The thing is: I WROTE today! I started three different blog posts! I just can’t seem to finish any of them.

One of many memorable lines is the movie The Big Chill is, “I’m not hung up on completion.” It is said rather defensively, and in general I agree. It is usually a good idea to finish what we start. In my case that would include blog posts, novels and cleaning my closet. I probably could come up with some good half-baked philosophy about why it’s good to finish things or even why it is SOMETIMES a good thing not to. However, half-baked philosophy is for Lame Post Friday.

So, at the risk of being sequential on Non-Sequitur Thursday, I offer another apology for a foolish post. Still, I may have entertained. I may have offered an excuse for somebody to feel some superiority. Remember, no life is wasted. You can always stand as a bad example.

Hope to see you on Lame Post Friday.

Neither Loop Nor Lope

This is the second part of my Running in Vermont series (don’t worry; there are only two). I make bold to write about my other run because it features a covered bridge. One should always include a covered bridge or two on a trip to Vermont.

The covered bridge is at the opposite end of the street I ran out on Saturday. I had talked myself out of running on Sunday but talked myself back into it for reasons mentioned in yesterday’s post (soapy shower and not running later, if you want to know).

It was slightly warmer, and I started later, after drinking coffee and eating a doughnut (I sensibly waited an hour after the doughnut, like when you go swimming). I rather hoped the sugar and caffeine would help. As you may have predicted, not so much.

I made lumbering progress down the road, wondering why I couldn’t achieve the perceived lope of Saturday. Then I realized I was running uphill. Not a real hill, of course (even I would have noticed that), but one of those long upgrades that sometimes get you down. I felt better after I realized that. I didn’t have to blame the doughnut after all.

I remembered there is a small but definite hill right after the covered bridge. Well, it’s good to run hills. I could rock this.

It’s a one lane bridge. As I ran across I reflected that surely there would be space for me and a car if need be, even if I have put on a few pounds (I know, back on the South Beach for me). Then I realized a car was stopped on the other side waiting for me. How nice of that person. I gave him the thank you wave, and he waved back in a friendly fashion.

As I ran on I encountered a group of teenage boys walking in the opposite direction. We exchanged good mornings. I was looking at my watch by this time, knowing I would do a straight out and back. Luckily I was not too close to my turn around time. I did not want to come running up behind those boys. They might think I was stalking them, although I believe your typical stalker is more surreptitious than that.

Some distance ahead I saw a real hill going up and out of sight. If I had my run time built up, I thought with some wistfulness, I would be running up that hill. Something to aspire to for next year’s visit. I’ll probably write a blog post about it.

More Loop than Lope

As we drove to Vermont Friday afternoon, we saw some people running.

“I need to do that,” I said sadly, as many runners who are not currently running do.

“Maybe Vermont will inspire you,” Steven said.

I packed running clothes, based on the theory better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it. I figured I would talk myself our of it. Or it might rain.

Imagine my surprise when I got out of bed Saturday morning and put on running clothes. I think Steven was a little surprised too. There was no need to run too far, I told myself, especially since I had not run in… two weeks? Three weeks? I don’t even remember last weekend, and not for reasons which you may be forgiven for thinking. I figured fifteen minutes would be acceptable, twenty minutes respectable. Any more and I might be too tired to enjoy Vermont. Can’t have that.

Off I went.

And felt very cold. I had packed bicycle shorts and large t-shirt, which are usually good down to forty degrees. I don’t mind running in the cold, but I wished I had thought to bring a headband to cover my ears with. No matter. I said I wasn’t going to run very far, and I probably wouldn’t run fast enough to get much wind resistance. Just keep running.

The road my sister-in-law lives on is a quiet country road. Not completely quiet, though, which makes the complete lack of shoulder problematic. Most motorists slow down and move over, so that was nice. I made sure to give them the “thank you” wave when they did.

I ran to the end of the street, then around to another street to make kind of a loop, then back up the first street. I knew only a vague moment of hesitation before making the turn, thinking I PROBABLY remembered accurately where this one came out. It is always interesting running in an unfamiliar place. I usually don’t get too lost, but you never know, especially when roads loop as they tend to do.

As I ran, I reflected on the loopiness of roads. I don’t think I’ve ever gone running where the streets made perfect parallels and right angles. Army housing especially seems to be laid out based on a plate of spaghetti. Mmmm… I like spaghetti.

And so my thoughts ran, distracting me from my body, which might have started to complain at this point. Still, I seemed to be running along at a pretty good clip. I felt moderately pleased with myself.

As I started back down the first road, another runner passed me. He had on long spandex pants, a jacket, gloves and a hat.

“You’re better equipped than I am,” I told him.

“I’m actually working up a sweat,” he said. “I was thinking you were better dressed. Maybe something in between.”

I agreed, and he ran on. And then we came to the ugly truth about my pace, because he certainly left me in the dust. No matter. We all must run our own race. If my middle-aged shuffle feels like a loping gazelle in my head, who am I hurting?

One of the best parts of any run is the soapy shower afterward. Truth be known, that was my real inducement to run. It was my inducement the next day too. The other inducement was to run now and not have to run later. Or feel guilty about not running.

More Lighthearted than Literary

I’m having a Middle-aged Musings Monday and I’m not apologizing for it (I say a little defensively).

I actually had very little to muse about. However, I have the habit of picking up a book while I wait for my computer to boot up. Right now it’s A Writer’s Diary by Virginia Woolf (Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, New York, 1953). Today I came across the following: “Writing is not in the least an easy art. Thinking what to write, it seems easy; but the thought evaporates, runs hither and thither.”

And here we come to the ugly truth about me. For me thinking about what to write is never easy. My mind runs hither and thither or else seems to have evaporated. However, once I manage to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, words come out. It’s easy!

OK, all together now: Cindy, you’re no Virginia Woolf.

I actually say it with no feelings of shame or inferiority. I adore Virginia Woolf, admire her writing intensely, don’t know why I don’t read more of it. Could I write like Virginia Woolf? Or rather, could I write more betterly than what I do? Could I be admired by the snobby intellectuals? Would my stuff eventually be read by students of literature with varying degrees of loathing, envy or mystification?

I’m thinking not. I’m thinking I am more lighthearted than literary, and I don’t mind that a bit. We all write what we can. If I could only write more than what I do, publish and get paid for some of it, well, I would be exactly the kind of writer I aspire to be.