Author: jenzug

500 Words about my bad mood.

I tried writing this weekend, but I just couldn’t make it happen. I stared for quite awhile at my empty computer screen, but nothing was coming to me. I even tried to think of something to write that I wouldn’t necessarily post on my blog, but still… nothing.

With Fall in the air I’ve entered into project mode. Most people get this cleaning bug in the Spring, but for me the Fall is the season for reorganization and deep cleaning. I think it’s because I do NOTHING all summer long and now that I’m forced to be inside I realize how great the Nast is around here.

Also, I feel like a low level cranky person these days. I’ve been the Sweden of mood swings – not particularly joyful, not particularly depressed. Just blah. It makes for less anger outbursts, but I also feel like I’m not very much fun. I’m capable of HAVING fun, if fun happens to land on my doorway, but it just seems like too much energy to go out and MAKE the fun happen.

Moods like this also make me prone to jealousy and lack of contentment because I see other happy, well adjusted people around me and it makes me want their friends or their stuff so I can be happy and well adjusted, too.

But The Marge is arriving tonight. That’s my mom, and she’s the cutest 72 year old I know. She’s a teacher, and for the last 20 years of her career she taught/administered at the preschool level so she is just a DARLING with my kids.

She also breaks out into song at random moments. Like when she suddenly remembers something she’ll say in a sing-song voice, “I forgot to call the deeeeeeeeentiiiiiiiiiiiist….” Or she’ll sing a song about taking out the trash, or she’ll just make up some sort of tweedle-dee-diddle-dee-doo to fill in the empty space.

And it’s hereditary, too. Only it skips a generation like the twins gene because I do not have the gift of song, but Ruthie does. She sings EVERYTHING she says now, and she sings it slow and dramatically so it takes FOREVER for her to follow through on something you’ve asked her to do because she first has to sing, “OOOOOHHHHHHHH KAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! IIIIIIIIIII WIIIIIIIIILLLLLL DOOOOOOOOOO THAAAAAAAAT!”

The other day I was with my girlfriends and one of them mentioned she had talked to her mom and we all gasped in sympathy. Then we just giggled about how, when some of us say we just talked to our mom, we have to go out for coffee to debrief. I’m happy to report that I do not have such a mom, and I hope all you locals will get a chance to see The Marge this week.

And look at that, even at the mere discussion of my mom I’m already in a better mood.

Lauren Sandler’s, Righteous, Illustrates that Hatchet Jobs Sell Books

Dear friends of mine agreed to be interviewed last year by Lauren Sandler for a book she was writing – the just released, Righteous: Dispatches from the Evangelical Youth Movement. The interview was with Ted Dietz, mainly, but following the interview Ted and his wife, Sarah, my best friend of fifteen years, invited Lauren and her husband over for dinner…

…TO BE NICE.

What was just released this week is a gross twisting of fact and reality, and a sad distortion of the lives of two women – my friend, Sarah, and another gal I know, Judy. These are lovely, strong, educated women who have made the choice to be married, to raise children, and to stay home with their children while they are young.

Their lives and the choices they have made are currently being mocked and scrutinized and debated on the reputable salon.com, and in blogs across the internet. Lauren has portrayed both these women as shallow, trapped, sell-outs who left behind great careers and a fabulous life of partying because they bought into the brainwashing tactics of a tennis shoe wearing, cool aide drinking pastor.

You can read an excerpt of the book here at salon.com. If you know Ted and Sarah as I do, you will be disgusted at how they are portrayed. If you don’t know Ted and Sarah, please know that what is printed is not fact, but rather an attempt to shove a size 10 foot of reality into the size 8 shoe of Lauren’s agenda.

When Bryan and I were talking last night, and I was flying off the handle with expletives and threats of dismemberment, he reminded me of Jeffrey Overstreet’s hilarious story on his Looking Closer blog – the one where he was contacted for an interview on whether he thought the media was anti-religious. As he was preparing his response, one that called out the media’s tendency to cover the most arresting stories, which also tend to be the extreme voices in religion – the Jerry Fallwell types who blame terrorist acts on homosexuals – the media source called him back to cancel, determining that Jeffrey’s voice was not extreme enough for the interview.

“I can’t think of a punchline good enough to end this story,” he said in conclusion.

Ted and Sarah are balanced, salt of the earth people. What they lacked in extremity, Lauren fashioned with words in a James Frey Million Little Pieces sort of way. But hey, a little augmented reality never hurt anybody, right?

It certainly sells books.

On Writing

Isn’t it funny how 68 degrees in July feels refreshing, while 68 degrees in September feels frigid? It’s cool and rainy today. My mom is visiting next week and if this cooler weather keeps up I may need to actually turn my furnace on to keep her tiny body from dropping into hypothermia.

It’s a perfect afternoon for snuggling up in my chair to read a book – though I should be picking up clutter in my living room (those damn ‘shoulds!’). I cracked open a book my friend recently gave me, Writers On Writing. In the introduction, John Darnton writes about the day he discovered a helpful technique for tackling a large writing project:

“One day I complained to a friend…that the work was going slowly, that I had been writing only a thousand words a day. He sat up like a bolt, downed his scotch and peered at me through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “One thousand words a day! That’s terrific! Don’t you realize? That’s thirty thousand words a month. Three, four months and you’ve got a book.’ I did the math; he was right. I set my computer so that I could knock off the moment I hit a thousand words. The device worked. A momentous task had been cut down to bite sizes. No longer was I laboring to climb a mountain while staring at the snow-covered peak far above; instead I was climbing a single slope day after day until one day I would arrive at the summit. And one day I did.”

This is a concept I’m very familiar with in theory, but I often forget to execute. And not just with writing, either. It’s a Flylady thing to tackle household projects 15 minutes at a time, or an hour at a time, yet I still avoid starting something unless I have all day to devote it. And therefore nothing gets done.

I love to write. I love to practice writing. But sometimes I obsess over writing so much that I ignore my home and my family. Granted, we writers must write when the inspiration hits, but even in that I have set up tools to accommodate both my busy life AND my random idea spurts. I modified Anne Lamott’s tool of carrying index cards with her wherever she goes, and began to carry a small booklet that fits into even my smallest purse. I can collect my thoughts as they come (and they hit me in odd places, like in the bath tub, while driving the car, or sitting in a bar) and expand on them later at my computer. My Blogher friend, Amy, wrote about our books here.

But as much as I hear writers saying it’s important to write every day, I’ve never heard anyone define HOW MUCH they write each day. So I went back and did word counts for all my more significant, thoughtful posts, and found most of them to be right around 500 words. Do I have time to write 500 words a day? Maybe not as coherent blog posts, but I may certainly be able to free-write 500 words on a theme to flush out the structure for a book idea I have.

Hmmm… I’ll try it for a week and see how it goes. Though next week is network television’s premier week, so maybe the timing is bad….

Striving After the Wind…

I haven’t felt much like writing lately. Can you tell? This blog has taken a turn toward online photo journaling and reports of what I did yesterday, more akin to my journaling style of junior high.

Many questions are in my mind, like… do I really have anything to say? Does anybody out there even care about what I say? And… remind me again why I’m doing this?

I’ve been in a funk about life in general, and I think I’ve finally put my finger on it. After a friend left this morning I was sitting in my Thinking Chair contemplating the laundry and the lunch that needed to be made, and I found myself wondering, What Is The Point? Why Do I Bother? And so forth. I had fallen into the Black Hole of Purposelessness we all fall into from time to time, whether we are stay at home moms, working moms, college students or career women.

I found myself staring at all these trees, yet completely missing the forest.

It’s easy to lose motivation for doing the laundry if your only motivation is so your family has clean clothes. Hell, I can certainly wear the same clothes for days on end and turn my underwear inside out for double the inventory, but does that serve the greater purpose I’ve chosen in my life? Does that glorify God?

I decided to draw inspiration from Ecclesiastes, since Solomon also struggled with the meaning of life. It’s been awhile since I read it, and I certainly didn’t take the time for seminary-level research, but I was reminded of a few good things:

“There is nothing better for a man than to eat and drink and tell himself that his labor is good. This also I have seen, that it is from the hand of God. For who can eat and who can have enjoyment without Him” (Ecclesiastes 2:24-25)?

“One hand full of rest is better than two fists full of labor and striving after wind” (4:6).

“Guard your steps as you go to the house of God, and draw near to listen rather than to offer the sacrifice of fools; for they do not know they are doing evil” (5:1).

“Here is what I have seen to be good and fitting: to eat, to drink and enjoy oneself in all one’s labor in which he toils under the sun during the few years of his life which God has given him; for this is his reward” (Ecclesiastes 5:18).

I find much comfort in completing tasks. It gives me purpose. I can see results. But it is easier for me to find more joy in COMPLETING a task than it is for me to find worship in DOING the task. Hence, the easy burnout when I find myself completing the same task over and over again.

Today I am reminding myself that all work is futile unless I enjoy the work in God’s presence. I am reminding myself that my sacrifice of work is foolish unless I am drawing near to God and enjoying his presence. And finally, that in laziness I will perish, and that working too much is vanity, but a healthy balance of rest and work is good.

Dot Com vs Lake Wobegon

IMG_3723We spent Labor Day with my dad and step mom at their new vacation condo on Lake Whatcom in Bellingham. We had told Ruthie we were going to visit Grandma and Grandpa’s new house on the lake, and when we got there she asked them if their old house was broken.

It was classic – reminded me of the time she asked if our burned-out hall light needed new batteries.

It was a perfect, lazy afternoon, spent sitting on the patio, sitting on the dock, sitting in the grass, and eating ourselves into a disgusting state of shock. My dad has an endless supply of potato chips and French onion dip, and it even follows him to new homes in new cities. The dip stalks me whenever I visit him and I can’t resist it.

But I digress.

My step mom was talking about the single family home values on the lake, how people were buying up little shacks or smaller older homes and tearing them down or gutting and adding on. I looked around the lake and saw large, modern, mansions.

Bryan’s college friend grew up on Lake Sammamish East of Seattle, and his parents still live in their small cabin-like home while all the houses around them have been torn down and rebuilt as big white boxes that stretch the entire length and width of their lot.

I asked Bryan why he thought this happened, why the lake front properties in Western Washington seemed to be reserved for big city executives making six figures. I come from Minnesota where it seems like everyone has a cabin on a lake or knows someone with a cabin on a lake, whether it’s one room with a wood stove, or a house with rooms and a kitchen. There’s always somewhere for the common man to go fishing for the weekend, even if it’s a small motel resort along the highway.

Dot Com vs. Lake Wobegon, he said.

It’s true, I guess. Here, it seems the Lake Life is for the privileged few, while in Minnesota, it’s as much a way of life as the ‘hot dish’ is a way of life, and eating dinner at lunchtime and supper at dinnertime is a way of life. At least that’s how I remember the remote, quiet lake on which our cabin was located. There, Lake Life was decadently simple, and slow, and relaxing. It was where we read books, and took long walks, and listened to the loons, and watched deer crossing the field.

IMG_3748I love my dad’s condo on Lake Whatcom, and I suppose even in the absence of wildlife, his lake home is just as relaxing at the cabins of my memory. It’s a beautiful home, and will be a fun place for the family to gather. I loved the lapping of the water against the retaining wall, the sound of the speedboats and the kids screaming from their inner tubes, and smelling the familiar lake smell.

My children will have grand memories of visiting grandpa and grandma at the lake, and I guess fond memories are what’s important.

Things That Keep Me From Blogging.

Some friends came over to the House of Barbeque on Friday night, and one of them mentioned that she’d missed my regular blog updates. Aside from it being a busy week with Bryan home (he likes that attention, you know), I’ve been having some interesting health issues that have created a lot of fatigue. I’ve been doing a whole lot of NOTHING (including NOT cleaning my house) and going to bed early.

For about four or five years I’ve had very stiff legs and feet. When I am still for a long time, like while at a movie or working at a desk or even while sleeping, my legs and feet can barely hold my weight when I stand up. Every morning I hobble out of bed, give my legs a few minutes to get their bearings, then head down the stairs while leaning heavily on the hand rails.

I’ve always loved stretching and have tried to remain nimble, which is why this condition has irritated me. It seems no matter how much I stretch, or what kind of expensive therapeutic shoes I purchase, my legs and feet still feel painful and stiff after being still. During and after yoga I feel great, but even when I practice three times a week I am still stiff in between classes.

This weekend I became concerned as my whole body now feels stiff and achy, and my skin has that prickly tingly sensation when you touch me, almost like I have the flu. Only I have no other flu symptoms, and I feel fine other than I’m really fatigued. Ibuprofen seems to make the achiness go away so I can function, but I’m not a big fan of around the clock medication if there’s another way to treat the problem.

I finally went to see the doctor last week. I have always dismissed the pain and stiffness as side effects of my pregnancies, and then I attributed it to my depression, and then to my struggle to over come my anger problem. But now that I’m getting my mental ducks in a row and the problem seems to be worsening, I’ve decided to wage war against my decrepit body.

Decrepit. That’s really how I feel – old and decrepit. I can’t move quickly, and can’t get up and down from the floor easily, and I’m always tired. It occurred to me one day that if I feel like this at nearly-35, I’m screwed if I make it to 70. Both my parents and most of my grandparents have had healthy and active lives with very few health problems, and I’d like to continue that trend.

So, that’s an update and explanation of where I’ve been. It’s sad, really, because I have about five posts drafted either on the computer or in my head, but I haven’t had the energy to think. Hopefully I will feel better soon.

White Trash Gets Classy and other spontaneous events of the day.

IMG_3698Bowling isn’t the slumming event that it used to be in my college days – back when you could only display three letters of your name in the computer, thereby drawing out Viv, my sassy, gum chewing, bad ass alter ego. I’ve never been to such a high tech bowling alley as ACME Bowl. We took the kids there Saturday for some good, airconditioned fun, and we had a blast. The scoring is completely computerized, and every time Ruthie’s turn came up the gutter bumpers automatically popped up from in the floor! The hardest part was trying to keep Ruthie and Thomas both from chasing the ball down the lane – something we were not always successful at. Oops!

IMG_3709We also went to Target to buy me a yoga mat, and came out with a new bicycle for Ruthie. We’ve talked about getting her one for awhile, and yesterday just seemed like a good day. She’s so stuck in a rut with her boring three wheeled life that she kept calling it her new tricycle. Poor kid doesn’t even know how cool she is.

We walked to the park and she rode most of the way by herself. As I walked behind her, I couldn’t help noticing the muscles in her calves flexing and her long legs stretching to reach the pedals and the fact that she’s even OLD enough to ride a bicycle. She starts preschool tomorrow, and so far I’ve been in denial. I’m so screwed.

Spy Man

Bryan reads my email. He has always read my email. My laptop sits at the entrance to the kitchen so it’s easy to take a quick gander as you walk by. This hasn’t always bothered me, but lately I fume every time I catch him doing it. He walks upstairs from his basement office, stops to read what’s new on my computer, then pours himself a cup of coffee and heads back downstairs.

It downright makes my pissy, and I don’t know why.

It’s not like I have anything to hide – I’m not corresponding with a secret lover or trying to plan a surprise party. I don’t mind what he sees, and half the time he comes across information I’d forgotten to tell him anyway.

I think I just want some fucking privacy, is that so much to ask? I can’t eat my breakfast without someone wanting a bite, I can’t pee without an audience of toddlers, and the other day Bryan barged into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth.

BRUSHING MY TEETH!

I know, not a terribly private thing to be doing, but I AM NEVER ALONE.

Maybe it’s because he’s home all day now so it’s just a matter of increased frequency, but MAN I almost bitched him up one side and down the other today.

He made up for it later when did all the prep work for our House of Barbeque night. I love that man.

Things That Bring Stillness

I’ve been attending a yoga class at the gym once or twice a week for the last month, and today is the first time that I felt strength and confidence through the process. I’m getting the hang of it. My shoulders are feeling stronger to hold my weight, my calves are limbering up as I stretch, and I’m able to hold more of the difficult poses.

Today I was getting so into it, that as I breathed and stretched, I actually felt the urge to cry. This is not unusual for me. I often feel like crying after a good massage or a chiropractic appointment – I think it’s my body’s response to a release of tension.

I think in light of the emotional stress my own anger problems cause me, yoga has actually been a more beneficial exercise for me than a regular aerobic workout. It slows me down, causes me to be patient and content, and brings me into focus. Yoga is not a competition, or a task to complete, or even something I can do while reading the gossip magazines. I can’t multitask yoga. I have to be still in body and mind.

I’m not losing any weight, but lately none of that seems to matter, because yoga doesn’t seem to be as much about the end goal as it is about the discipline of just doing it.