Yesterday, took my cat in for her annual exam. She was due for "blood work"--such a strange way to describe it, both ghoulish and sanitized at the same time. Her panicked cries of pain when they were drawing blood, and when they were giving her a feline leukemia shot--I don't know what to say about it except that it was grim. I sat with my arms wrapped around my middle, as if they were doing it to me. She has been subdued for the last day or so, but she's also followed me around most of the time, rubbed against me for treats, played "catch the belt of the robe" from under the bed--in other words, her affection and joie de vivre seem not the least diminished by the cruel ordeal she has been through, which makes me feel even more culpable.
What do cats give us? My cat has never been all that demonstrative; but in her subtle way, she lets me know that I'm important to her. And she has become an indispensable part of my life, and my son's. It's not so much what she does as what she is.
Her two modes of being: watchful stillness, and play. If we could, as adults, try to function in those two modes a bit more often...the world would be a more interesting place, let's put it that way.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Friday, October 30, 2015
Zombie Mom
Any mom of younger kids who takes Halloween even semi-seriously--and that's probably 75 per cent of moms in America--is tired right now. So, the night before Halloween, there might be at least hundred and fifty million zombie-moms walking around in this country, just barely keeping their eyes open, having finished up last-minute Halloween costumes, having volunteered for school Halloween parties and festivals, having raced to the grocery store for last-minute Halloween candy, having carved their damn pumpkins (I still haven't done the latter--tomorrow morning's project), having trundled their kids off to bed after they stayed up way too late dreaming about their trick-or-treat adventures.
Zombie Moms should have an agreed-upon universal signal to tell each other who they are. Arms lifted at a ninety degree angle combined with dropped jaws?
Lucky for us, there's always the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays coming up--in which to kick back and relax while our husbands do all the heavy lifting.
Did I mention that I have a vivid imagination?
Zombie Moms should have an agreed-upon universal signal to tell each other who they are. Arms lifted at a ninety degree angle combined with dropped jaws?
Lucky for us, there's always the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays coming up--in which to kick back and relax while our husbands do all the heavy lifting.
Did I mention that I have a vivid imagination?
Thursday, October 29, 2015
One of Those Guys
Jerry Seinfeld said that from a young age, he wanted to be a comedian. He wanted to be "one of those guys." He was obsessed with it.
I haven't followed a writing career nearly as obsessively as Seinfeld followed his passion; however, I do feel an intense desire to be "one of those guys," a writer. And have felt it (off and on) since the age of about eighteen or nineteen.
I think I'm getting closer to achieving the goal of getting published in more than a few little poetry magazines. I feel confident that my stories could make it into print, at least five or six of them if not a whole pack of them.
Today was difficult, however. I spent about fifteen minutes (all the time I had for anything but my son, and related activities) revising an already much-revised story. Yet the story feels completely half-baked. It's one of the weakest stories of the bunch.
One of my chief criteria for a good story (two-thirds of Hollywood movies do not succeed at this) is, the main characters have to come alive. I think this is where this story falls apart. The main character is almost a caricature. I have to add more details--rich, significant details that tell us exactly who this guy is.
Somehow, getting this one story right seems very important. That's because most of the story works so damn well. But the part that doesn't work pretty much kills the rest of it.
If I want to be "one of those guys," I have to cut out the bad stories, just get rid of them. That much I know.
I haven't followed a writing career nearly as obsessively as Seinfeld followed his passion; however, I do feel an intense desire to be "one of those guys," a writer. And have felt it (off and on) since the age of about eighteen or nineteen.
I think I'm getting closer to achieving the goal of getting published in more than a few little poetry magazines. I feel confident that my stories could make it into print, at least five or six of them if not a whole pack of them.
Today was difficult, however. I spent about fifteen minutes (all the time I had for anything but my son, and related activities) revising an already much-revised story. Yet the story feels completely half-baked. It's one of the weakest stories of the bunch.
One of my chief criteria for a good story (two-thirds of Hollywood movies do not succeed at this) is, the main characters have to come alive. I think this is where this story falls apart. The main character is almost a caricature. I have to add more details--rich, significant details that tell us exactly who this guy is.
Somehow, getting this one story right seems very important. That's because most of the story works so damn well. But the part that doesn't work pretty much kills the rest of it.
If I want to be "one of those guys," I have to cut out the bad stories, just get rid of them. That much I know.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Hang On
This was one of those days, not a "Human Pinball" day, more like a "Hang On, the Ride's Starting" kind of day.
It started with a four-hour field trip for my son's class, to a marine science center. Actually it started with my cat snoring at 5 a.m., waking me up. Fell back asleep at around 6. Then, at 7:30, raced to Starbucks because there was no bread for sandwiches, and little else that I could easily pack into a brown bag for a field trip; bought two bagels from the superhuman morning baristas at my local cafe, working their way through lines of fifteen people (or more) as if they were nothing.
When we got to school the teacher told me she'd emailed me to say there were enough drivers; I never got the email. I stupidly said twice, "So you don't need me?" She didn't want to say it, so she hemmed and hawed; I stood there trying to figure out what to do. Finally I decided I would just accompany my son outside, to whichever car he was going in; but when the parent driving that car said "Why don't you just come along?" I thought, yes, why not. It turned out to be a fantastic field trip, the kind my son will probably remember for the rest of his life, or at least, the part where the class pulled fish out of the bay with a huge net then they let him transfer one fish to a clear bucket with his cupped hands--or the part where he got to touch a leopard shark, in spite of his fear that it would bite his hand off.
After the field trip the kids returned for one hour of class time, and so I went running in spite of a huge headache; the run (a moderately-paced one; I'm "tapering" as they say in the racing world--yes I'm a true triathlon geek now) helped me shake the headache, amazingly enough. I picked up my son; we watered the classroom garden, which looked as dry as a bone; I did some basic chores at home, then we went to a fundraising dinner for the school at a local "fresh-Mex" restaurant. Then back at home, I worked on my son's ghost costume (to be worn on Halloween and at the school Halloween parade the day before) until 10 p.m. Until just now in fact.
Now that the costume is done (just before the deadline), I feel so much better. In fact, I feel like Supermom today...able to cruise through long field trips and never-before-attempted costume construction in a single day...tomorrow though I've got to carve out a little time for myself, or I'll find myself falling into that cruel vortex of perfect-Mommy madness that so many women have disappeared into, never to be seen again.
It started with a four-hour field trip for my son's class, to a marine science center. Actually it started with my cat snoring at 5 a.m., waking me up. Fell back asleep at around 6. Then, at 7:30, raced to Starbucks because there was no bread for sandwiches, and little else that I could easily pack into a brown bag for a field trip; bought two bagels from the superhuman morning baristas at my local cafe, working their way through lines of fifteen people (or more) as if they were nothing.
When we got to school the teacher told me she'd emailed me to say there were enough drivers; I never got the email. I stupidly said twice, "So you don't need me?" She didn't want to say it, so she hemmed and hawed; I stood there trying to figure out what to do. Finally I decided I would just accompany my son outside, to whichever car he was going in; but when the parent driving that car said "Why don't you just come along?" I thought, yes, why not. It turned out to be a fantastic field trip, the kind my son will probably remember for the rest of his life, or at least, the part where the class pulled fish out of the bay with a huge net then they let him transfer one fish to a clear bucket with his cupped hands--or the part where he got to touch a leopard shark, in spite of his fear that it would bite his hand off.
After the field trip the kids returned for one hour of class time, and so I went running in spite of a huge headache; the run (a moderately-paced one; I'm "tapering" as they say in the racing world--yes I'm a true triathlon geek now) helped me shake the headache, amazingly enough. I picked up my son; we watered the classroom garden, which looked as dry as a bone; I did some basic chores at home, then we went to a fundraising dinner for the school at a local "fresh-Mex" restaurant. Then back at home, I worked on my son's ghost costume (to be worn on Halloween and at the school Halloween parade the day before) until 10 p.m. Until just now in fact.
Now that the costume is done (just before the deadline), I feel so much better. In fact, I feel like Supermom today...able to cruise through long field trips and never-before-attempted costume construction in a single day...tomorrow though I've got to carve out a little time for myself, or I'll find myself falling into that cruel vortex of perfect-Mommy madness that so many women have disappeared into, never to be seen again.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Being Six Years Old...
...is not that easy.
You're not really a big kid but no longer all that little...you're asked to do a lot more by yourself but you miss Mommy's attentions; whether or not you can zip your jacket or tie your shoelaces, just having her there helping you all the time, you miss that...you're out on the big playground at school, with the 9 and 10-year-olds, but you have no idea how to negotiate all that play space...if a kid starts picking on you, how do you cope? If the boys' bathroom is dirty and intimidating, and the classroom toilets are way too small (this is the case in my son's classroom), when do you go to the bathroom?
In kindergarten there was a lot of coloring and drawing; now it's all about spelling, math, writing long sentences with capitals and punctuation. There's a lot of sitting around while the teacher explains things. You're expected to do reports! Long reports that need to be researched.
It's just not that easy.
Yesterday I volunteered in the classroom again, reading a book about how to handle teasing--the book was Simon's Hook and I think the majority of the kids understood the central message, "Don't take the bait"; if a kid is teasing you, employ various tactics like ignoring, making a joke, changing the subject, or walking away rather than getting angry and shouting at them. Seeing all the kids eagerly participate in the somewhat feeble activity we'd brought for them (a "fishing pole" I'd made out of my cat's feather toy and a garden stake, with a cardboard "fish" at the end and a teasing message attached to it; they had to read the message and think of a good response), I was reminded of what a beautiful age it really is, six going on seven years old...so much is happening, and they are so vulnerable, yet they are (most of them) so eager for adventure, excitement, everything. Being a six-year-old is one of the hardest jobs in the world and one of the most rewarding. Being a mom or a teacher of a six-year-old, ditto.
You're not really a big kid but no longer all that little...you're asked to do a lot more by yourself but you miss Mommy's attentions; whether or not you can zip your jacket or tie your shoelaces, just having her there helping you all the time, you miss that...you're out on the big playground at school, with the 9 and 10-year-olds, but you have no idea how to negotiate all that play space...if a kid starts picking on you, how do you cope? If the boys' bathroom is dirty and intimidating, and the classroom toilets are way too small (this is the case in my son's classroom), when do you go to the bathroom?
In kindergarten there was a lot of coloring and drawing; now it's all about spelling, math, writing long sentences with capitals and punctuation. There's a lot of sitting around while the teacher explains things. You're expected to do reports! Long reports that need to be researched.
It's just not that easy.
Yesterday I volunteered in the classroom again, reading a book about how to handle teasing--the book was Simon's Hook and I think the majority of the kids understood the central message, "Don't take the bait"; if a kid is teasing you, employ various tactics like ignoring, making a joke, changing the subject, or walking away rather than getting angry and shouting at them. Seeing all the kids eagerly participate in the somewhat feeble activity we'd brought for them (a "fishing pole" I'd made out of my cat's feather toy and a garden stake, with a cardboard "fish" at the end and a teasing message attached to it; they had to read the message and think of a good response), I was reminded of what a beautiful age it really is, six going on seven years old...so much is happening, and they are so vulnerable, yet they are (most of them) so eager for adventure, excitement, everything. Being a six-year-old is one of the hardest jobs in the world and one of the most rewarding. Being a mom or a teacher of a six-year-old, ditto.
Monday, October 26, 2015
100--done?
With one more rewrite of a half-dead story, I think I've actually, finally made it to 100 decent short-short stories, each of which meets the criteria I set for myself when I started this project. (Ugh, I'm so tired of that term, "short-short story." It really needs a better name.)
The criteria were, in a nutshell: write short-short stories which are 500 to 1000 words in length (I won't reveal the subject matter yet); write the story in sentences that do not call attention to themselves with flowery words and ornate phrasing, but at the same time, use memorable images or metaphors in each story, and interesting connective ideas.
I don't know if I succeeded too well with the last two criteria, "memorable images and metaphors" and "interesting connective ideas." Also, the structure--I worked on the last story today because I sensed that it went emotionally dead towards the middle, and was also suffering from a faulty structure (the two problems were intertwined). But have I really thought through the structure of all of these pieces?
So now the question is: should I read through all of them one more time?
The thought of doing that is a bit painful...but I might.
Sunday, October 25, 2015
Swim Secrets
For the first time during a swim workout, I applied the pull technique outlined in Sheila Taormina's book, Swim Speed Secrets. After a slow-paced 250-meter warmup to practice the technique, I did two 100-meter splits which were not impressive, just one or two seconds faster than before. Then I tried a 500-meter, telling myself "Don't push too hard, you don't want to get injured." I swam much less than all-out, yet still managed to shave twenty-one seconds off my previous 500-meter time. Right now the muscles in my forearms and my upper back near the shoulder blades (posterior deltoids?) are a bit sore, but just a bit.
I've been swimming laps for twenty-six years, and this is the first time that I've learned a technique that improved my swimming speed. As I was swimming today I couldn't help thinking: "This is so obvious. Why didn't anyone tell me about this before?"
I won't try to explain the technique in detail--read the book for that. It basically involves keeping the elbows up during the first third of the stroke and pushing back with the hand and forearm acting as one, like a paddle, and only then, in the second two-thirds of the stroke, bringing the forearm down and the hand more towards the middle of the body, in a diagonal sweep. It means that the arm and hand are pushing water backwards during the entire stroke, or at least eighty percent of it; much more so than if the arms are nearly kept straight like windmill blades (which was how I used to do it). Taormina shows underwater photos of some of the greatest swimmers, and they all use this technique.
I'm a convert, without a doubt. And now I'm officially becoming a triathlon geek, since I'm so excited about this one improvement in my swimming.
I've been swimming laps for twenty-six years, and this is the first time that I've learned a technique that improved my swimming speed. As I was swimming today I couldn't help thinking: "This is so obvious. Why didn't anyone tell me about this before?"
I won't try to explain the technique in detail--read the book for that. It basically involves keeping the elbows up during the first third of the stroke and pushing back with the hand and forearm acting as one, like a paddle, and only then, in the second two-thirds of the stroke, bringing the forearm down and the hand more towards the middle of the body, in a diagonal sweep. It means that the arm and hand are pushing water backwards during the entire stroke, or at least eighty percent of it; much more so than if the arms are nearly kept straight like windmill blades (which was how I used to do it). Taormina shows underwater photos of some of the greatest swimmers, and they all use this technique.
I'm a convert, without a doubt. And now I'm officially becoming a triathlon geek, since I'm so excited about this one improvement in my swimming.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
The Art of...
I think Jerry Seinfeld is right. Standup comedy is an art. And so is his Internet creation, "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee."
Art is shaping something beautiful and unique out of nothing. Art has an identifiable form, a shape, that feels right, for various, often inexplicable reasons. Every episode--well, very nearly every episode of "Comedians"--has a marvelous shape to it. Seinfeld understands editing. The music, the cars, the details of the cars, the phone call to the guest, the greeting at the door, the drive to the coffee shop, the entrance, the conversation--it has an identifiable, well-plotted pace and structure, like the finest jazz riffs, like any good poem or story.
"You've finally made a show about nothing," Larry David says to Jerry, and it's true--but the show is about everything, too, in the same way that conversations with our best friends are about everything--life, death, misery, happiness, work, marriage, sex, politics, comedy, music, cars, donuts, drugs, etc. etc. In the same way that a good joke can have a lot of pain and sadness stashed in it, Seinfeld's "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee," this unassuming little chat show, has a lot of life and art running through it.
Art is shaping something beautiful and unique out of nothing. Art has an identifiable form, a shape, that feels right, for various, often inexplicable reasons. Every episode--well, very nearly every episode of "Comedians"--has a marvelous shape to it. Seinfeld understands editing. The music, the cars, the details of the cars, the phone call to the guest, the greeting at the door, the drive to the coffee shop, the entrance, the conversation--it has an identifiable, well-plotted pace and structure, like the finest jazz riffs, like any good poem or story.
"You've finally made a show about nothing," Larry David says to Jerry, and it's true--but the show is about everything, too, in the same way that conversations with our best friends are about everything--life, death, misery, happiness, work, marriage, sex, politics, comedy, music, cars, donuts, drugs, etc. etc. In the same way that a good joke can have a lot of pain and sadness stashed in it, Seinfeld's "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee," this unassuming little chat show, has a lot of life and art running through it.
Friday, October 23, 2015
So Weak
Yesterday's post was silly...who needs to know what my indulgences are (especially when they are so tame)? But I'll come clean here and say, I bought Sees chocolates yesterday, not long after the post, and ate two pieces yesterday, one today. It only takes the suggestion of Sees chocolates to make me want some, badly. Same goes for chocolate cake. (It's almost 10 p.m. yet I can see myself heading to the grocery store to buy some cake right now. Plus a little vanilla ice cream. All true sugarholics can relate I suppose.)
I bought, for my book club, Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See; while waiting for the book to arrive, read the first five or so pages online; was not impressed. But as I've said, I usually give an author fifty pages or so before expressing any kind of real judgment, and will do so with this book. What does it say about me that I'm more excited to read Sheila Taormina's Swim Speed Secrets than this very popular piece of fiction? Have I become trivial through and through, yuppified beyond recall?
Life seems so short; I don't really have the patience any more to slog through mediocre pieces of literature...I feel so much more alive writing, running, swimming, biking, even watching Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, than I do reading most fiction. And by "most fiction" I mean, everything except fantastic, Tolstoy-level fiction, or more lighthearted yet imaginative and genuinely funny stuff. There isn't much out there that qualifies as Tolstoy-level, nowadays...nor as terrific trash fiction. The cake-and-ice-cream stuff. But we genuinely need both in our lives.
I bought, for my book club, Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See; while waiting for the book to arrive, read the first five or so pages online; was not impressed. But as I've said, I usually give an author fifty pages or so before expressing any kind of real judgment, and will do so with this book. What does it say about me that I'm more excited to read Sheila Taormina's Swim Speed Secrets than this very popular piece of fiction? Have I become trivial through and through, yuppified beyond recall?
Life seems so short; I don't really have the patience any more to slog through mediocre pieces of literature...I feel so much more alive writing, running, swimming, biking, even watching Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, than I do reading most fiction. And by "most fiction" I mean, everything except fantastic, Tolstoy-level fiction, or more lighthearted yet imaginative and genuinely funny stuff. There isn't much out there that qualifies as Tolstoy-level, nowadays...nor as terrific trash fiction. The cake-and-ice-cream stuff. But we genuinely need both in our lives.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Treats
I plan to incorporate a number of "treats" into the next few weeks. By that I mean, rewards for having pushed myself hard lately, physically and mentally.
The biggest treat: going to my favorite spa, a few days after the triathlon. Already can't wait for that one.
Second treat: buying a few new outfits (reward for having reached, after seven years of trying, my pre-pregnancy weight).
Third: lunch at my favorite Chinese restaurant.
Fourth: About six pieces of my favorite See's chocolates. Eaten over the course of three days, if I'm being good (but I doubt I'll be good). Maybe an old fashioned donut too. Will wait until after the triathlon for these rewards. I hope.
Fifth: When all the stories are out, I will plan something really special--haven't yet figured that one out. Maybe, reading in bed Sunday morning, followed by a three-hour hike AND a trip to the spa, then dinner at the Chinese restaurant; followed by See's chocolates. And someone else besides me taking care of the boy AND cleaning the house from top to bottom.
Sometimes it doesn't hurt to dream.
The biggest treat: going to my favorite spa, a few days after the triathlon. Already can't wait for that one.
Second treat: buying a few new outfits (reward for having reached, after seven years of trying, my pre-pregnancy weight).
Third: lunch at my favorite Chinese restaurant.
Fourth: About six pieces of my favorite See's chocolates. Eaten over the course of three days, if I'm being good (but I doubt I'll be good). Maybe an old fashioned donut too. Will wait until after the triathlon for these rewards. I hope.
Fifth: When all the stories are out, I will plan something really special--haven't yet figured that one out. Maybe, reading in bed Sunday morning, followed by a three-hour hike AND a trip to the spa, then dinner at the Chinese restaurant; followed by See's chocolates. And someone else besides me taking care of the boy AND cleaning the house from top to bottom.
Sometimes it doesn't hurt to dream.
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
Fantasy
My son, like many kids his age, has an active fantasy life, although I think it's much too heavily influenced by the colorful, fast, but not terribly imaginative worlds created by Club Penguin (a play environment for the computer created by Disney) and certain kids' movies, as well as books like the Geronimo Stilton series...and, definitely, the countless battle games, available on the iPad--dragon battles, monster battles, airplane battles, tank battles, and now thanks to an outfit called Gluten Free Games, animals battling each other.
On the more positive side: he will read books about animals. He's doing a report on rockhopper penguins for school, and we're reading books about these amazing creatures. We watched a video showing rockhopper penguins coming home to a windswept island somewhere in the Atlantic; after spending five months at sea, they come home to mate and raise their young...just watching this three-minute video where they have to leap up onto the rocks, then get battered and tossed back into the ocean by huge waves, then leap up again, and again...was so much better than hours of any of his fantasy games...how can I convey this to him? Reality has so much fantasy in it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Works in Progress
Was moderately productive on all fronts today. Feeling insecure about everything, the writing, the triathlon, my son's progress at school...but I think everything is going reasonably well.
I swam hard but not at race pace, and still managed to do 500 meters in 10 minutes. Then jogged--not terribly fast, but my knee wasn't feeling all that great; will do double workouts today and tomorrow, then take it easy the following couple of days. That's straight from Joe Friel's playbook for the final three weeks before a triathlon.
As for the writing--I have 100 completed short-short stories (winnowed down from 109). I did the edits by hand; still have to type them into the computer. A lot of secretarial work to plow through. Hope to be 100% finished and ready to send things out by November 4th at the latest (just before the triathlon)...that's a tight schedule, but not crazy-tight.
A little depressed when I remember that I started writing these short-shorts in 2010, maybe even 2009. What can I do about that, though? Just get them out there and start the next thing, that's what.
As for my son and his schoolwork--what can I say? I don't want to talk too much about him in this blog, to protect his privacy; let's just say, I often have major anxieties about his progress, whether he's "keeping up," whether I'm too easy on him (it was a topic here a few weeks ago, I believe). But again, what can I say? I try to balance the pressure to finish school projects, to take French and music and art and tennis lessons, with, "Let's make brownies" or "Let's make some Shrinky-Dinks in the toaster oven." And if we don't have time for those "useless" activities, then I know I'm really doing something wrong.
I swam hard but not at race pace, and still managed to do 500 meters in 10 minutes. Then jogged--not terribly fast, but my knee wasn't feeling all that great; will do double workouts today and tomorrow, then take it easy the following couple of days. That's straight from Joe Friel's playbook for the final three weeks before a triathlon.
As for the writing--I have 100 completed short-short stories (winnowed down from 109). I did the edits by hand; still have to type them into the computer. A lot of secretarial work to plow through. Hope to be 100% finished and ready to send things out by November 4th at the latest (just before the triathlon)...that's a tight schedule, but not crazy-tight.
A little depressed when I remember that I started writing these short-shorts in 2010, maybe even 2009. What can I do about that, though? Just get them out there and start the next thing, that's what.
As for my son and his schoolwork--what can I say? I don't want to talk too much about him in this blog, to protect his privacy; let's just say, I often have major anxieties about his progress, whether he's "keeping up," whether I'm too easy on him (it was a topic here a few weeks ago, I believe). But again, what can I say? I try to balance the pressure to finish school projects, to take French and music and art and tennis lessons, with, "Let's make brownies" or "Let's make some Shrinky-Dinks in the toaster oven." And if we don't have time for those "useless" activities, then I know I'm really doing something wrong.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Sneaky Desires
Re: yesterday's post...I would be lying if I said my goal was just to finish the triathlon.
I have a feeling that I could finish in the top five for my age group (women 50-55), or even the top three...depending on how fast my group is on that particular day. At any rate...my real goal (if I'm being honest) is to finish below 1 hour 15 minutes. That would mean a 10-minute or better swim, a 2-minute transition to the bike, a 31-minute or better bike ride, a 1-minute transition to the run, a 29-minute or better run.
Doing mock triathlons at home, I've been able to go faster in each category...except the transitions; I've usually done worse in the transitions. And open-water swims are trickier than pool swims, obviously. And everything will be more difficult in a big group of people.
We all have these sneaky desires...while trying to act blase about things, we desire so much. And that's where the fear and nervousness come in. Finishing the triathlon in what I would consider a decent time, seems very important...though I try to maintain a sense of equilibrium about the whole thing.
Joe Friel coaches triathletes to not talk about their race preparation with anyone but their best friends and closest family members--their loved ones. And I think he's right. "Hide your intense effort," he says; that's true with any difficult activity. I once mentioned to a friend that I was exercising every day without fail; she looked at me without saying anything, but I felt a tension spring up almost immediately. "What a fanatic," I could hear her thinking. And I never even mentioned that I was preparing for a triathlon.
I do see that this particular triathlon is not really all that important, compared to my overall fitness and maintaining the exercise program. Similarly, getting published is not absolutely essential; writing is.
However...if I'm being honest, getting published and doing well in the triathlon are two goals that I do want to achieve--sooner rather than later.
I have a feeling that I could finish in the top five for my age group (women 50-55), or even the top three...depending on how fast my group is on that particular day. At any rate...my real goal (if I'm being honest) is to finish below 1 hour 15 minutes. That would mean a 10-minute or better swim, a 2-minute transition to the bike, a 31-minute or better bike ride, a 1-minute transition to the run, a 29-minute or better run.
Doing mock triathlons at home, I've been able to go faster in each category...except the transitions; I've usually done worse in the transitions. And open-water swims are trickier than pool swims, obviously. And everything will be more difficult in a big group of people.
We all have these sneaky desires...while trying to act blase about things, we desire so much. And that's where the fear and nervousness come in. Finishing the triathlon in what I would consider a decent time, seems very important...though I try to maintain a sense of equilibrium about the whole thing.
Joe Friel coaches triathletes to not talk about their race preparation with anyone but their best friends and closest family members--their loved ones. And I think he's right. "Hide your intense effort," he says; that's true with any difficult activity. I once mentioned to a friend that I was exercising every day without fail; she looked at me without saying anything, but I felt a tension spring up almost immediately. "What a fanatic," I could hear her thinking. And I never even mentioned that I was preparing for a triathlon.
I do see that this particular triathlon is not really all that important, compared to my overall fitness and maintaining the exercise program. Similarly, getting published is not absolutely essential; writing is.
However...if I'm being honest, getting published and doing well in the triathlon are two goals that I do want to achieve--sooner rather than later.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
How to Ease into a Triathlon
The last 3 weeks are, mentally, the most difficult part of preparing for a triathlon; it's when nervous people psyche themselves out. I am a nervous person. Though, at fifty, I've mellowed somewhat...but there's no getting around it; I will be nervous.
Joe Friel, in his book for beginner triathletes, says, "Your goal is to finish with a smile on your face. Forget about winning anything. Forget about beating your personal records. Just finish with a smile." Trying to look at it that way.
Also--it helps to know that I've prepared well...not fantastically well; I didn't do hourlong workouts on a regular basis. But--I know that I'll finish.
Today my loving husband drove me to the race site; the purpose was mainly to see if I needed my very warm setsuit or my average-warmth wetsuit for the swim portion; the answer was the average-warmth one (El Nino is helping me out in a big way there). I swam for nine minutes in the brown goop known as San Francisco Bay, then (after gingerly stepping out--lots of rocks, some of them sharp) I raced to my bike, did the first transition in about two minutes (not bad but not great) and biked the 8-mile course in a decent time. The hardest part was heading uphill on the bike right after swimming. I've not practiced that part of it very much, and was seriously out of breath for the first three minutes up that first hill. After that, though, it was okay. I finished biking with enough fuel in the tank to jog 3.1 miles (though I didn't do that today--need to keep my routines moderate from now until race day).
My husband and son were trapped for four hours, doing something that held almost zero interest for them--shuttling me one and a half hours to a race site, waiting for me to get my wetsuit and booties on, waiting forty-five minutes while I got through my workout, then shuttling me home again. It was good of them to do this, and to support me in other ways, leading up to and including my first triathlon; but I definitely don't want this to be the pattern. My husband bought a bike rack for the top of his car, because we thought it would make more sense for him to handle this part; but I think I need to get a trunk-attached rack for my car soon after this race is done.
Back to the issue of mental preparation. The trick, I think, is to ease into this rigorous, exhausting event--to tell myself, "Okay, it's going to be a harder workout than most, with a big crowd around you; but basically, it's still a workout. You've done this before. Just do what you did before, and you'll be fine...in fact, you'll be better than the last time you did it, because you've been training for weeks since then. And you've rested up well in the last few weeks. You're primed for this; just take it easy and everything will be fine."
I know this is the way to approach it; I need to be more laid-back, to compensate for my high-nerves attitude about the whole thing. This probably applies to every high-effort activity I'm involved with. Work hard, but saunter into the end zone if at all possible.
Joe Friel, in his book for beginner triathletes, says, "Your goal is to finish with a smile on your face. Forget about winning anything. Forget about beating your personal records. Just finish with a smile." Trying to look at it that way.
Also--it helps to know that I've prepared well...not fantastically well; I didn't do hourlong workouts on a regular basis. But--I know that I'll finish.
Today my loving husband drove me to the race site; the purpose was mainly to see if I needed my very warm setsuit or my average-warmth wetsuit for the swim portion; the answer was the average-warmth one (El Nino is helping me out in a big way there). I swam for nine minutes in the brown goop known as San Francisco Bay, then (after gingerly stepping out--lots of rocks, some of them sharp) I raced to my bike, did the first transition in about two minutes (not bad but not great) and biked the 8-mile course in a decent time. The hardest part was heading uphill on the bike right after swimming. I've not practiced that part of it very much, and was seriously out of breath for the first three minutes up that first hill. After that, though, it was okay. I finished biking with enough fuel in the tank to jog 3.1 miles (though I didn't do that today--need to keep my routines moderate from now until race day).
My husband and son were trapped for four hours, doing something that held almost zero interest for them--shuttling me one and a half hours to a race site, waiting for me to get my wetsuit and booties on, waiting forty-five minutes while I got through my workout, then shuttling me home again. It was good of them to do this, and to support me in other ways, leading up to and including my first triathlon; but I definitely don't want this to be the pattern. My husband bought a bike rack for the top of his car, because we thought it would make more sense for him to handle this part; but I think I need to get a trunk-attached rack for my car soon after this race is done.
Back to the issue of mental preparation. The trick, I think, is to ease into this rigorous, exhausting event--to tell myself, "Okay, it's going to be a harder workout than most, with a big crowd around you; but basically, it's still a workout. You've done this before. Just do what you did before, and you'll be fine...in fact, you'll be better than the last time you did it, because you've been training for weeks since then. And you've rested up well in the last few weeks. You're primed for this; just take it easy and everything will be fine."
I know this is the way to approach it; I need to be more laid-back, to compensate for my high-nerves attitude about the whole thing. This probably applies to every high-effort activity I'm involved with. Work hard, but saunter into the end zone if at all possible.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
3 Weeks to Go
Three weeks to go until my first-ever triathlon. It's a sprint triathlon, the easiest, shortest type of triathlon. But it definitely won't be easy for this beginner.
Yesterday was a confidence-booster in the sense that I ran farther than I've ever run at one time in the last, oh, seven years: 5.8 miles. (The running portion of the triathlon is 5K, or 3.1 miles.) I was super-tired afterwards, and I'm still tired; but I also feel a new sense of strength--super-charged, somehow...I can't explain how it's possible to feel tired and super-charged at the same time, but that's the only way to describe it. Endorphins are wonderful.
My triathlon "trainer" and guru, Joe Friel, who has written several books on the subject of triathlon training, says that the next three weeks should be all about gradually tapering down the length of the workouts while also doing an intense "mini-race" workout every three days or so. This, in order to be fully rested when race day arrives. I'm all in favor of doing shorter distances; that 5.8 miles was grueling. But I think my body and mind both benefitted tremendously from trying this one longer run before the tapering begins.
Yesterday was a confidence-booster in the sense that I ran farther than I've ever run at one time in the last, oh, seven years: 5.8 miles. (The running portion of the triathlon is 5K, or 3.1 miles.) I was super-tired afterwards, and I'm still tired; but I also feel a new sense of strength--super-charged, somehow...I can't explain how it's possible to feel tired and super-charged at the same time, but that's the only way to describe it. Endorphins are wonderful.
My triathlon "trainer" and guru, Joe Friel, who has written several books on the subject of triathlon training, says that the next three weeks should be all about gradually tapering down the length of the workouts while also doing an intense "mini-race" workout every three days or so. This, in order to be fully rested when race day arrives. I'm all in favor of doing shorter distances; that 5.8 miles was grueling. But I think my body and mind both benefitted tremendously from trying this one longer run before the tapering begins.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Saying Hell No
The next month is crazy-busy with projects--particularly for my son's school. Besides the five volunteer activities, there's a Halloween party, an all-day field trip...apart from school, my two must-finish projects for the next month are the short-short stories (really need to figure out a better name) and the sprint triathlon.
Everything is progressing; nothing is pushing me over the limit...but last night I was asked to do some additional volunteer work. Really easy stuff, requiring about 10 hours of my time, maybe even less. However...piling on 10 more hours, when I need about ten hours to get my files in order and clear out some of the junk that's sitting around the house; when I need to see my brother and his family; when I need some time to watch a damn movie or read a damn book or play basketball with my son...I said no.
In my mind was "Hell no." But I restrained myself.
It's amazing how liberating it is to say no. Nicely.
Everything is progressing; nothing is pushing me over the limit...but last night I was asked to do some additional volunteer work. Really easy stuff, requiring about 10 hours of my time, maybe even less. However...piling on 10 more hours, when I need about ten hours to get my files in order and clear out some of the junk that's sitting around the house; when I need to see my brother and his family; when I need some time to watch a damn movie or read a damn book or play basketball with my son...I said no.
In my mind was "Hell no." But I restrained myself.
It's amazing how liberating it is to say no. Nicely.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
A Poem a Day
It wouldn't be such a bad thing, for someone who studied poetics intensively at one point in her life, to plunge back into all that...as well as the music, damn it...
That's enough of a post for today; dog-tired. (And here I am trying to come up with new projects for myself; go figure.)
That's enough of a post for today; dog-tired. (And here I am trying to come up with new projects for myself; go figure.)
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Scaling Back?
Back in August, when I first started re-posting here, I said that I'd scaled back on the volunteer commitments at my son's school; it's not really true. I'm still volunteering about four hours a week. The same as last year.
I've signed up for about five different volunteer activities, none of them requiring huge amounts of time, but each of them requiring, on average, about four hours a month. That adds up to about 20 hours a month...for someone who has about 20 hours a week of free time, that's a huge amount.
"So you have trouble saying 'no,' like I do?" one mom playfully asked me. It's true, I have trouble saying no, and I also couldn't pass on reading books to my son's class, or helping the kids plant flowers and vegetables in their classroom garden.
But I do feel as if I signed up for about two activities too many. Nothing I can really do, though, now that I'm committed.
I've signed up for about five different volunteer activities, none of them requiring huge amounts of time, but each of them requiring, on average, about four hours a month. That adds up to about 20 hours a month...for someone who has about 20 hours a week of free time, that's a huge amount.
"So you have trouble saying 'no,' like I do?" one mom playfully asked me. It's true, I have trouble saying no, and I also couldn't pass on reading books to my son's class, or helping the kids plant flowers and vegetables in their classroom garden.
But I do feel as if I signed up for about two activities too many. Nothing I can really do, though, now that I'm committed.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
The Deer and the Triathlon
Painfully, sadly, no editing work was done today...and my son has yet to go to bed, because it's hot, and he inevitably takes longer to go to bed on a hot evening...
But my mental health seems intact, so far (see yesterday's post), and I can't be all that despondent; I managed to visit my favorite local spa this morning, for one glorious hour in a hot bath/sauna/cold plunge, and a few minutes resting on a bed, looking up at vaguely Byzantine tilework and decor...a quiet, still hour...what a fantastic luxury and better, in many ways, than flying off to some distant locale for several days, where I'd feel the weight of all that money spent and all that carbon released into the atmosphere...
Was thinking about the deer I encountered while biking in Marin, during the triathlon training...if I had been going much faster, I would have crashed into it, almost inevitably. The deer represents the environment, climate change, dying coral reefs; and the bicyclist in a triathlon--always trying to go faster, faster, faster--is like the American/Western economy, always seeking greater GDP/rising stock prices...at the expense of the deer, at the expense of the coral reefs, at the expense of every living thing on this planet.
Triathlons and bike races are semi-moronic events, let's face it. And so is the American economy.
But going to bed is not.
But my mental health seems intact, so far (see yesterday's post), and I can't be all that despondent; I managed to visit my favorite local spa this morning, for one glorious hour in a hot bath/sauna/cold plunge, and a few minutes resting on a bed, looking up at vaguely Byzantine tilework and decor...a quiet, still hour...what a fantastic luxury and better, in many ways, than flying off to some distant locale for several days, where I'd feel the weight of all that money spent and all that carbon released into the atmosphere...
Was thinking about the deer I encountered while biking in Marin, during the triathlon training...if I had been going much faster, I would have crashed into it, almost inevitably. The deer represents the environment, climate change, dying coral reefs; and the bicyclist in a triathlon--always trying to go faster, faster, faster--is like the American/Western economy, always seeking greater GDP/rising stock prices...at the expense of the deer, at the expense of the coral reefs, at the expense of every living thing on this planet.
Triathlons and bike races are semi-moronic events, let's face it. And so is the American economy.
But going to bed is not.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Stories?
Feeling a bit scattered and diffused. My son had the day off from school today, Teacher Learning Day (again), so we invited three boys and their moms to come to our place for most of the afternoon; also, this morning, my son and I both got our flu vaccines--his through a nasal spray, mine through a shot--and we shopped for food for the gathering. Yesterday--the triathlon training event, plus a hike with son and husband. The day before--cleaning the house most of the afternoon, and what? in the morning...I don't remember. The day before--school volunteering for an hour and a half, then a little minor shopping before I had to pick up my son (it was a Friday so dismissal was early, 12:45). Before that--I don't remember...the point is, haven't written for days and it doesn't feel good. I'd built up a good head of steam, was nearing the end as far as the editing of the short-shorts was concerned...tomorrow is another early dismissal day.
Will do everything I can to get some editing done tomorrow...I feel almost as if my mental health depends on it.
Will do everything I can to get some editing done tomorrow...I feel almost as if my mental health depends on it.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Tri Prep 2
The triathlon training was good; "minimize" was the basic message. You don't need the gels for a sprint triathlon; one or two swallows of water in your bottle are good enough; you don't need socks unless you're prone to blisters (I'll probably wear them just for running); and if you're super-tough and can withstand 64-degree water for ten minutes without a wetsuit, screw the wetsuit. (I already know I'm not that tough.)
"Minimize" is a pretty good message for most other activities in life...I'm not the first person to say that, I realize...but it's amazing how effective you can become in a wide range of pursuits, using that approach.
Even when getting yourself through the race--don't think about the future ("how am I going to survive the run, I'm already destroyed halfway through the bike ride!" etc.), think about keeping your good form for the next 20 steps or 20 rotations of the wheel, or 20 strokes through the water. Minimize your thoughts.
All good advice; that and actually experiencing the course made today's training event completely worthwhile for me.
We just practiced the transitions, the bike route and the running route; not the swimming. Both the bike ride and the run happened along roads that skirted the bay, and a nice part of it, too. Very scenic, for those not completely wrapped up in their breathing and hill-climbing agony (like me). At one point on my bike, I turned a corner and a deer was standing stock still in the middle of the road, right in my path; luckily, I had time to slow down as it saw me and bounded away...it was a nice moment; but I shudder to think what could have happened if I had been barrelling along in one of the steeper downhill parts of the bike ride.
And that reinforces my believe that I'm not going to stick with this triathlon thing for years and years. Two years at the most. I think the odds are pretty good that if you're biking a lot, something nasty will happen sooner or later. I don't mind taking risks, but I prefer ones where the odds are not heavily stacked against me.
So why am I doing this at all? Frankly, it's a long-standing dream...I've always liked all three activities: swimming, biking, running. I'm not great at any of them; but I like them all. So I wanted to do at least a one or two triathlons in my lifetime. And at fifty, you start thinking, about a lot of things: "If not now, when?"
"Minimize" is a pretty good message for most other activities in life...I'm not the first person to say that, I realize...but it's amazing how effective you can become in a wide range of pursuits, using that approach.
Even when getting yourself through the race--don't think about the future ("how am I going to survive the run, I'm already destroyed halfway through the bike ride!" etc.), think about keeping your good form for the next 20 steps or 20 rotations of the wheel, or 20 strokes through the water. Minimize your thoughts.
All good advice; that and actually experiencing the course made today's training event completely worthwhile for me.
We just practiced the transitions, the bike route and the running route; not the swimming. Both the bike ride and the run happened along roads that skirted the bay, and a nice part of it, too. Very scenic, for those not completely wrapped up in their breathing and hill-climbing agony (like me). At one point on my bike, I turned a corner and a deer was standing stock still in the middle of the road, right in my path; luckily, I had time to slow down as it saw me and bounded away...it was a nice moment; but I shudder to think what could have happened if I had been barrelling along in one of the steeper downhill parts of the bike ride.
And that reinforces my believe that I'm not going to stick with this triathlon thing for years and years. Two years at the most. I think the odds are pretty good that if you're biking a lot, something nasty will happen sooner or later. I don't mind taking risks, but I prefer ones where the odds are not heavily stacked against me.
So why am I doing this at all? Frankly, it's a long-standing dream...I've always liked all three activities: swimming, biking, running. I'm not great at any of them; but I like them all. So I wanted to do at least a one or two triathlons in my lifetime. And at fifty, you start thinking, about a lot of things: "If not now, when?"
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Tri Prep
My mind is 100% on tomorrow morning, when I'll be in San Rafael prepping for the Marin County Triathlon. They're offering one special training session. I just loaded up the car with all the crap -- excuse me, gear -- that I need for the event. It's way too much gear. The downside of any triathlon is all the gear that you need just to get through it. I even bought the racing belt, and one of those little gel packs, filled with 100 calories of goo that people squeeze into their throats just before the run, or somewhere around that time...I tried one of them, root beer-flavored. Did not enjoy it. I might opt out. I'm old school, love the Power Bars and Gatorade...but those aren't so easy to consume during a race. So it's either the gel or nothing.
Anyway. My mind is on the training event, not this post...so, will leave it at that for today.
Anyway. My mind is on the training event, not this post...so, will leave it at that for today.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Good Story Seasoning
I don't know how to write a story. What I mean is--yes, plot, characters, tension, catharsis...but with a short-short story, the way that these elements come together is so closely tied to the rhythm of the story, to individual word choices, to the overall poetry of the prose...
I know that sounds pretentious. It's hard to craft a good short-short story, is what I was trying to say. You have to focus on minutiae. But you can't do it in a way that appears fussy, over-written, over-careful.
It's like seasoning a stew. You've brought all the right ingredients together, but that's nothing. You have to know when to add a bit more rosemary, another laurel leaf...a half-teaspoon of bouillon. How do you know? No one knows.
But sometimes, you can feel the perfect stew happening--just as you can feel a damn good story coming together. All the sentences start sounding good, solid, true. (That sounded Hemingway-esque, but so be it.) Or you've managed to introduce a note of tension by changing just one phrase; instead of "The minister smiled" you write, "The minister attempted a smile."
But you have to know where to stop...once it's all come together, leave it alone.
Maybe the hardest thing in any pursuit is to know when to leave it alone, when to say, "finished." I'm getting better at that, though, in my old age. Cut and run--get it done.
I know that sounds pretentious. It's hard to craft a good short-short story, is what I was trying to say. You have to focus on minutiae. But you can't do it in a way that appears fussy, over-written, over-careful.
It's like seasoning a stew. You've brought all the right ingredients together, but that's nothing. You have to know when to add a bit more rosemary, another laurel leaf...a half-teaspoon of bouillon. How do you know? No one knows.
But sometimes, you can feel the perfect stew happening--just as you can feel a damn good story coming together. All the sentences start sounding good, solid, true. (That sounded Hemingway-esque, but so be it.) Or you've managed to introduce a note of tension by changing just one phrase; instead of "The minister smiled" you write, "The minister attempted a smile."
But you have to know where to stop...once it's all come together, leave it alone.
Maybe the hardest thing in any pursuit is to know when to leave it alone, when to say, "finished." I'm getting better at that, though, in my old age. Cut and run--get it done.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Just Chatting
Today at 10 a.m., an historic event: I spent an hour and a half chatting over coffee with two mom-friends.
I haven't done this sort of thing more than five times since my son was born. Outside of those five times, I'm always meeting up with adult friends in the context of a play date or something similar.
I can remember two just-the-two-of-us outings with a mom in San Francisco; that mom now lives in Utah. How she managed to make time for me, twice, with all of her mothering duties (she has six children), I do not know...but she did. A remarkable woman, someone I miss very much.
I spent several hours with a good friend from graduate school, about eight months ago. When we said goodbye I was suddenly crying, unable to enjoy the fullness of the moments we'd just spent together, thinking only of the fact that we were about to be separated for who knew how many years.
I spent several hours that same weekend (during a two-day trip that took me away from my son for the first time in his life) with another close female friend from grad school.
I went to a concert with one of my childhood friends.
I went to dinner with some friends from a video program I was in.
And that's more or less all--so seven times, total, since my boy was born, a little more than I thought. But not all that much; about once a year...not enough.
I haven't done this sort of thing more than five times since my son was born. Outside of those five times, I'm always meeting up with adult friends in the context of a play date or something similar.
I can remember two just-the-two-of-us outings with a mom in San Francisco; that mom now lives in Utah. How she managed to make time for me, twice, with all of her mothering duties (she has six children), I do not know...but she did. A remarkable woman, someone I miss very much.
I spent several hours with a good friend from graduate school, about eight months ago. When we said goodbye I was suddenly crying, unable to enjoy the fullness of the moments we'd just spent together, thinking only of the fact that we were about to be separated for who knew how many years.
I spent several hours that same weekend (during a two-day trip that took me away from my son for the first time in his life) with another close female friend from grad school.
I went to a concert with one of my childhood friends.
I went to dinner with some friends from a video program I was in.
And that's more or less all--so seven times, total, since my boy was born, a little more than I thought. But not all that much; about once a year...not enough.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Similar Themes
A lot of my stories involve older men or women reaching a breaking point because their lives are so banal and predictable. Is this autobiographical? Yes and no.
I am keenly aware that life can change in an instant--that in essence, life is never predictable. Moments of crisis can arise at any time, in any setting; and that is also a recurring theme in the stories. Sometimes a memory, juxtaposed against some specific thing that just happened, creates a life-changing emotion; something wells up and we decide, "No, things will no longer be this way," and there it is--life has changed, dramatically.
One of the things I wanted to say in these stories: moments of crisis and change occur throughout our lives, not just in our early adulthood, but right on into old age. Most of my stories involve people in their fifties or beyond.
If many of the stories are about suburbanites stuck in a dull routine, there are also stories which celebrate suburbia, routines, the everyday.
But it's true that on balance, most of the stories are about shaking up routines...and yes, that probably means something.
I am keenly aware that life can change in an instant--that in essence, life is never predictable. Moments of crisis can arise at any time, in any setting; and that is also a recurring theme in the stories. Sometimes a memory, juxtaposed against some specific thing that just happened, creates a life-changing emotion; something wells up and we decide, "No, things will no longer be this way," and there it is--life has changed, dramatically.
One of the things I wanted to say in these stories: moments of crisis and change occur throughout our lives, not just in our early adulthood, but right on into old age. Most of my stories involve people in their fifties or beyond.
If many of the stories are about suburbanites stuck in a dull routine, there are also stories which celebrate suburbia, routines, the everyday.
But it's true that on balance, most of the stories are about shaking up routines...and yes, that probably means something.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Intermezzo Part 2
My son has a cold, so he stayed home from school today. Didn't get much writing/editing done but did manage to run very well (my husband works from home four days a week and was watching my son). This probably won't be a long post; the cat woke me up again at 5 a.m...it's been a long day.
Re: "Immortal Beloved," it's a maddening film, in a way...yes, Gary Oldman does a magnificent job. Beethoven was a crank and wildly self-centered, and emotionally damaged from childhood; he constantly sought love, and rejected it, and in the end, he only lived through his music. This all comes out in Oldman's performance, so it is, in a way, a perfect bit of acting.
And the film itself is so close to being a masterpiece that it is heartbreaking. There are moments of bathos...not involving Oldman, involving some of the supporting actors. And in general, the tone of the film is always just a bit overwrought. Yes, Beethoven was a wildly emotional person. But we do not get enough of the working Beethoven. He wrote music, much of the time. He strolled the streets of Vienna and the surrounding countryside. He went to dinner parties, where he sometimes, but not always, behaved atrociously. But he was not a buffoon, and not as forlorn as this movie portrays.
So I guess it is, ultimately, the constant focus on Beethoven's sturm und drag that I object to, not the controversial idea the movie presents about which woman was the object of his greatest passion. If the film had been able to pull back a little--but we are constantly immersed in Beethoven's love life, and his most dramatic and tragic moments...it gets to be a bit much. And, ultimately, detracts from our understanding of the man and his music.
I should add, however: a few scenes from the movie are so remarkable, are so good at capturing Beethoven the raging genius, that I can almost forgive everything that goes off-track in the film...almost.
As I said, this film aims very high, and doesn't hit its mark; "Intermezzo" aimed low and easily succeeded. But I've been humming the "Ode to Joy" theme all day, and any film that puts Beethoven's miraculous Symphony Number 9 in my head can't be all bad.
Re: "Immortal Beloved," it's a maddening film, in a way...yes, Gary Oldman does a magnificent job. Beethoven was a crank and wildly self-centered, and emotionally damaged from childhood; he constantly sought love, and rejected it, and in the end, he only lived through his music. This all comes out in Oldman's performance, so it is, in a way, a perfect bit of acting.
And the film itself is so close to being a masterpiece that it is heartbreaking. There are moments of bathos...not involving Oldman, involving some of the supporting actors. And in general, the tone of the film is always just a bit overwrought. Yes, Beethoven was a wildly emotional person. But we do not get enough of the working Beethoven. He wrote music, much of the time. He strolled the streets of Vienna and the surrounding countryside. He went to dinner parties, where he sometimes, but not always, behaved atrociously. But he was not a buffoon, and not as forlorn as this movie portrays.
So I guess it is, ultimately, the constant focus on Beethoven's sturm und drag that I object to, not the controversial idea the movie presents about which woman was the object of his greatest passion. If the film had been able to pull back a little--but we are constantly immersed in Beethoven's love life, and his most dramatic and tragic moments...it gets to be a bit much. And, ultimately, detracts from our understanding of the man and his music.
I should add, however: a few scenes from the movie are so remarkable, are so good at capturing Beethoven the raging genius, that I can almost forgive everything that goes off-track in the film...almost.
As I said, this film aims very high, and doesn't hit its mark; "Intermezzo" aimed low and easily succeeded. But I've been humming the "Ode to Joy" theme all day, and any film that puts Beethoven's miraculous Symphony Number 9 in my head can't be all bad.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Intermezzo
Am watching, over the course of two nights (because I don't have time to watch a whole film in one sitting these days) the movie "Immortal Beloved." I saw it when it first came out, and loved it. Now--I'm not sure what I think...
Who was Beethoven? No one really knows, not even with all these letters and biographical tidbits...the "Immortal Beloved" letter was a huge piece of the puzzle--but the fact is that we do not know to whom the letter was addressed...
Beethoven has been such a huge part of my life, going back to when I was six or so (the same age my son is now) and listened obsessively to a recording of several of his pieces, called (absurdly) "Best of Beethoven." It included the last movement of the 9th Symphony, the last movement of the Emperor Concerto, and the "Wellington March." I also read a children's biography of the composer.
If I compare this movie with another, more lighthearted film, "Intermezzo," I feel that in some ways, "Intermezzo" provides a more satisfying peek into a composer's life--in "Intermezzo"'s case, Chopin's and Liszt's. Hugh Grant never received enough credit for his portrayal of Chopin in "Intermezzo." I don't think he ever really attempts to subsume himself in the real, historical Chopin; but in one scene, when his Chopin is telling George Sand that he might be too fragile for her--and Mr. Grant does his usual charming-awkward act, but with so much feeling and introversion--in that one scene I felt that he captured something about Chopin that was so important, it gave me a new insight into the composer's music.
There's another priceless scene; Chopin brings Liszt his new, as-yet-unpublished Etudes, and as Liszt begins to play Opus 25 Number 1 by sight (flawlessly of course), and Chopin and Liszt are attempting to talk about it, Liszt's wife, who had been trying to get her husband's attention, suddenly screams at him, and the ecstatic rippling notes come to a halt. The idea of Liszt's first performance of an immortal Chopin piece being interrupted in this way is just hysterical; it's one of my favorite scenes in the movies, period. And I think that one scene captures something important about those two composers--about their ability to shut out the chaos of their daily lives when they composed their masterpieces.
Because "Intermezzo" aimed lower, it was, in a way, more satisfying than "Immortal Beloved." Good movies about composers are extremely rare, and both of these films are good movies about composers--but "Immortal Beloved" strives to be great, and doesn't quite make it.
Who was Beethoven? No one really knows, not even with all these letters and biographical tidbits...the "Immortal Beloved" letter was a huge piece of the puzzle--but the fact is that we do not know to whom the letter was addressed...
Beethoven has been such a huge part of my life, going back to when I was six or so (the same age my son is now) and listened obsessively to a recording of several of his pieces, called (absurdly) "Best of Beethoven." It included the last movement of the 9th Symphony, the last movement of the Emperor Concerto, and the "Wellington March." I also read a children's biography of the composer.
If I compare this movie with another, more lighthearted film, "Intermezzo," I feel that in some ways, "Intermezzo" provides a more satisfying peek into a composer's life--in "Intermezzo"'s case, Chopin's and Liszt's. Hugh Grant never received enough credit for his portrayal of Chopin in "Intermezzo." I don't think he ever really attempts to subsume himself in the real, historical Chopin; but in one scene, when his Chopin is telling George Sand that he might be too fragile for her--and Mr. Grant does his usual charming-awkward act, but with so much feeling and introversion--in that one scene I felt that he captured something about Chopin that was so important, it gave me a new insight into the composer's music.
There's another priceless scene; Chopin brings Liszt his new, as-yet-unpublished Etudes, and as Liszt begins to play Opus 25 Number 1 by sight (flawlessly of course), and Chopin and Liszt are attempting to talk about it, Liszt's wife, who had been trying to get her husband's attention, suddenly screams at him, and the ecstatic rippling notes come to a halt. The idea of Liszt's first performance of an immortal Chopin piece being interrupted in this way is just hysterical; it's one of my favorite scenes in the movies, period. And I think that one scene captures something important about those two composers--about their ability to shut out the chaos of their daily lives when they composed their masterpieces.
Because "Intermezzo" aimed lower, it was, in a way, more satisfying than "Immortal Beloved." Good movies about composers are extremely rare, and both of these films are good movies about composers--but "Immortal Beloved" strives to be great, and doesn't quite make it.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Bay Area Natives
I am native to the Bay Area, but I am not a true native. I do not belong to one of the tribes that have lived in this region for thousands of years.
Today we went to a gathering of the Ohlone peoples at Coyote Hills Regional Park in Fremont. "Ohlone" is a general term for many different peoples, who spoke different languages, but who lived in the San Francisco Bay Area or just beyond it--Watsonville, Santa Cruz, Monterey, the Central Valley.
What surprised me the most about today's event--this sounds ignorant, but I'll bet a lot of Bay Area residents are equally stupid about this--is the sheer fact of the living people. I had no idea that so many Ohlone still exist. (Their numbers are in the thousands--three thousand? Maybe more.) And many of them are actively researching and promoting their cultural traditions, their language, their stories.
The three of us, my son, husband and I, attended this event. We first saw the remarkable permanent exhibit the park has on display at their visitor center, complete with a large tule boat and many artifacts like obsidian knives and spearheads; we hiked to the original site of an Ohlone village, where one can see tiny shellfish fragments on the ground--remnants of past meals the Ohlone ate--and enter replicas of a traditional wood hut and a sweat lodge. After walking a mile and a half to get to the village site--through freshwater marshes, surrounded by tule reeds, cattails, and shorebirds, with the hot sun beating down--it was wonderful to sit in the small wooden hut in that former village, and feel the sudden coolness, the wonderful stillness.
When we hiked back to the visitor's center and the gathering, we visited the tables where they were teaching people how to make fire, by using only a wooden stick and a block of wood with little holes carved through it, slots about as wide as the stick. You put a dry leaf beneath the hole, put the block of wood on the ground (someone else needs to hold it there), spin the stick very fast between the palms of your hand while pressing it down into the hole, and watch as smoke forms at the base (hopefully) and little embers gather on the dry leaf. You can use those embers to light pine needles or whatever you have on hand that will serve as starter material. We got to that stage at least--the smoke, the embers forming; we didn't have time to light pine needles and start an actual fire, but we are inspired to try this at home...it was a great experience for my computer-obsessed, indoor-oriented young boy.
Then we saw a dance troupe perform; it was led by Patrick Orozco, an Ohlone from the Chumash and Juaneno peoples who was born in 1939 in Watsonville, and who heard stories from his Ohlone grandmother and made costumes based on her description of the costumes she saw the men wearing at ritual dances more than a hundred years ago; he learned two songs from her, and was also able to obtain recordings of Ohlone songs from archives at the Smithsonian. He formed a dance troupe called "Amah-Ka-Tura," and he has been its leader for decades.
My son witnessed about four of the dances; he was mildly interested (a bit hot and tired by that time), but I was fascinated. I couldn't help thinking as I watched: the Ohlone peoples have existed for thousands of years, and they persist, in spite of the crazy, materialistic, techno-obsessed Bay Area in which they must now make their homes...I am deeply moved by the graceful manner in which these people are celebrating and preserving their cultural heritage.
Today we went to a gathering of the Ohlone peoples at Coyote Hills Regional Park in Fremont. "Ohlone" is a general term for many different peoples, who spoke different languages, but who lived in the San Francisco Bay Area or just beyond it--Watsonville, Santa Cruz, Monterey, the Central Valley.
What surprised me the most about today's event--this sounds ignorant, but I'll bet a lot of Bay Area residents are equally stupid about this--is the sheer fact of the living people. I had no idea that so many Ohlone still exist. (Their numbers are in the thousands--three thousand? Maybe more.) And many of them are actively researching and promoting their cultural traditions, their language, their stories.
The three of us, my son, husband and I, attended this event. We first saw the remarkable permanent exhibit the park has on display at their visitor center, complete with a large tule boat and many artifacts like obsidian knives and spearheads; we hiked to the original site of an Ohlone village, where one can see tiny shellfish fragments on the ground--remnants of past meals the Ohlone ate--and enter replicas of a traditional wood hut and a sweat lodge. After walking a mile and a half to get to the village site--through freshwater marshes, surrounded by tule reeds, cattails, and shorebirds, with the hot sun beating down--it was wonderful to sit in the small wooden hut in that former village, and feel the sudden coolness, the wonderful stillness.
When we hiked back to the visitor's center and the gathering, we visited the tables where they were teaching people how to make fire, by using only a wooden stick and a block of wood with little holes carved through it, slots about as wide as the stick. You put a dry leaf beneath the hole, put the block of wood on the ground (someone else needs to hold it there), spin the stick very fast between the palms of your hand while pressing it down into the hole, and watch as smoke forms at the base (hopefully) and little embers gather on the dry leaf. You can use those embers to light pine needles or whatever you have on hand that will serve as starter material. We got to that stage at least--the smoke, the embers forming; we didn't have time to light pine needles and start an actual fire, but we are inspired to try this at home...it was a great experience for my computer-obsessed, indoor-oriented young boy.
Then we saw a dance troupe perform; it was led by Patrick Orozco, an Ohlone from the Chumash and Juaneno peoples who was born in 1939 in Watsonville, and who heard stories from his Ohlone grandmother and made costumes based on her description of the costumes she saw the men wearing at ritual dances more than a hundred years ago; he learned two songs from her, and was also able to obtain recordings of Ohlone songs from archives at the Smithsonian. He formed a dance troupe called "Amah-Ka-Tura," and he has been its leader for decades.
My son witnessed about four of the dances; he was mildly interested (a bit hot and tired by that time), but I was fascinated. I couldn't help thinking as I watched: the Ohlone peoples have existed for thousands of years, and they persist, in spite of the crazy, materialistic, techno-obsessed Bay Area in which they must now make their homes...I am deeply moved by the graceful manner in which these people are celebrating and preserving their cultural heritage.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Library Days
My son has discovered the joy of books--the joy of diving into strange new worlds...it's not that he didn't have this experience before now; but more and more often these days, he's sitting down and immersing himself in a book by himself for several minutes. (He can spend forty-five minutes staring into his iPad as he plays a game, and the book-reading only lasts about seven minutes, max; but he's on the right track now, finally.)
His focus right now is limited--dinosaurs, monsters, ghosts and spooky creatures, knights and dragons, sea creatures, cats, dogs and farm animals...but whenever we go to the library, I grab at least a few books on other subjects, anything about which he has expressed an interest. Today my add-on books were about the Ohlone Indians, making paper airplanes, germs, and a book about knights in the Middle Ages. He picked out ten books on his own (another new development--just a few months ago I was selecting most of the books) so we have quite a nice stack of new reading material.
I feel both exhilarated and claustrophobic when I'm in a library...like the world is both opening up and closing in. After about thirty minutes I sometimes feel a desperate desire to leave. This occurred today...why? I don't really know...I love the world of words, but I love to escape from it as well.
His focus right now is limited--dinosaurs, monsters, ghosts and spooky creatures, knights and dragons, sea creatures, cats, dogs and farm animals...but whenever we go to the library, I grab at least a few books on other subjects, anything about which he has expressed an interest. Today my add-on books were about the Ohlone Indians, making paper airplanes, germs, and a book about knights in the Middle Ages. He picked out ten books on his own (another new development--just a few months ago I was selecting most of the books) so we have quite a nice stack of new reading material.
I feel both exhilarated and claustrophobic when I'm in a library...like the world is both opening up and closing in. After about thirty minutes I sometimes feel a desperate desire to leave. This occurred today...why? I don't really know...I love the world of words, but I love to escape from it as well.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Lucia Berlin
I am glad to see that Lucia Berlin is finally receiving a fair amount of national recognition...I have a feeling that there are at least 500 writers from the last thirty or forty years, writers recently deceased, who never received acclaim or even a polite nod from the literary establishment, because of a modest output or because their work never filled any sort of "glamorous" niche.
Lucia Berlin wrote stories about nurses, housecleaners, alcoholics. Her stories have both clarity and passion. "I carried him down the hallway like King Kong"--one unforgettable line from a story about a nurse caring for a very small man, a jockey. Berlin's narrator describes how beautiful the man was, and you can feel the strangeness of the experience for the nurse, as well as her fascination. Her stories are also funny, as that sentence indicates.
A collection of her stories was just released, ten years after her death...highly recommended for anyone looking for finely crafted stories about ordinary people and their extraordinary insights.
Lucia Berlin wrote stories about nurses, housecleaners, alcoholics. Her stories have both clarity and passion. "I carried him down the hallway like King Kong"--one unforgettable line from a story about a nurse caring for a very small man, a jockey. Berlin's narrator describes how beautiful the man was, and you can feel the strangeness of the experience for the nurse, as well as her fascination. Her stories are also funny, as that sentence indicates.
A collection of her stories was just released, ten years after her death...highly recommended for anyone looking for finely crafted stories about ordinary people and their extraordinary insights.
Thursday, October 1, 2015
All Over the Place
A full day. Read a book in my son's class, one that teaches about kindness, as part of a local program in which parent volunteers read books about kindness and prevention of bullying to their classes; then four parents, myself included, acted out short skits about kindness, choosing somewhat ambiguous situations for the children to think about (for instance, helping someone with a math problem, but saying, "That's so easy!" before any help is offered). It was great to be in his class, getting to know these six-year-olds, still babies in some ways, very mature in others...some of them wild and outspoken, others completely withdrawn. All of them, just about, wide open and hungry to learn. First grade seems like a wonderful grade to teach.
An hour after that, volunteered in an indoor play space that is open at my son's school at recess; sixty or more kids doing origami, chess, building with magnet-blocks, reading books, etc. It's that kind of school, where a large number of kids are doing origami and playing chess on a regular basis. (My son has discovered neither of those activities.)
This evening, called one of my aunts in Japan, after many months of hesitating, wondering if she was well enough to take a phone call. She was, but after a few minutes of conversation I think she was tired, or sad to hear my voice from so far away, or both; she mentioned also that she's only walking with great difficulty. I hung up the phone both exhilarated and deeply saddened.
In the middle of the day, completely rewrote a story that I'd almost thrown out, about a suicidal woman. The first version of the story was awful, just trash. This one seems, well, maybe not trash. Maybe this 54-year-old woman makes sense as a character; maybe I've made it so the reader will believe she is struggling with immense pain. Will have to read it again tomorrow to be sure.
A scattered day, too much going on...but most of it good.
An hour after that, volunteered in an indoor play space that is open at my son's school at recess; sixty or more kids doing origami, chess, building with magnet-blocks, reading books, etc. It's that kind of school, where a large number of kids are doing origami and playing chess on a regular basis. (My son has discovered neither of those activities.)
This evening, called one of my aunts in Japan, after many months of hesitating, wondering if she was well enough to take a phone call. She was, but after a few minutes of conversation I think she was tired, or sad to hear my voice from so far away, or both; she mentioned also that she's only walking with great difficulty. I hung up the phone both exhilarated and deeply saddened.
In the middle of the day, completely rewrote a story that I'd almost thrown out, about a suicidal woman. The first version of the story was awful, just trash. This one seems, well, maybe not trash. Maybe this 54-year-old woman makes sense as a character; maybe I've made it so the reader will believe she is struggling with immense pain. Will have to read it again tomorrow to be sure.
A scattered day, too much going on...but most of it good.
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