I wrote today. For about four hours. I worked on the grant again, but my goal is to write, it doesn't matter as much what I write. I also worked on character outlines again, and realized I'm taking them too far. I don't need to tell their story as much paint their picture. That also counts as writing.
I'm feeling really good right now. While there's much still up in the air, I am optimistic about it's resolution, which allows me to move forward.
Spring. That's allowing me to move forward too. The weather is so nice right now (pause—knock on wood), that it feels like spring. The next fews days will be in the 60s before the temps plummet to the 20s again. I'm yearning to plant flowers, something I learned not to do until after Father's Day in this neck of the woods.
Hopeful. Optimistic. Happy. Writing. It's all good.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
At Least It's Writing
While I'm not officially writing in terms of fiction, I am writing. Grants that is. Or a grant, and another one is right behind it. I enjoy it, which is probably because of the person I work with, who makes it fun and interesting. It's also rewarding. The grant I'm working on is for the school district, and its successful outcome will mean a new roof for a school in great need of one.
I've decided that as long as I'm writing, I'm moving in the right direction. If I can write every day, twenty-one days from now it will be a habit. I used to write every day, and I can tell you, the advice I give everyone who asks me how to go about writing a book is WRITE. Sit down and start writing. And continue to write. Every day. This blog is testament to the fact that I do not practice what I preach. However, my intentions are good.
Writing. Every day. That's my goal.
I've decided that as long as I'm writing, I'm moving in the right direction. If I can write every day, twenty-one days from now it will be a habit. I used to write every day, and I can tell you, the advice I give everyone who asks me how to go about writing a book is WRITE. Sit down and start writing. And continue to write. Every day. This blog is testament to the fact that I do not practice what I preach. However, my intentions are good.
Writing. Every day. That's my goal.
Monday, January 25, 2016
A "I should've bought a lottery ticket," Kind of Day
Today was one of those days that everything went right. Even the stuff that didn't seem like it was going to go right ended up working itself out. The best thing that happened today was Frank's court appearance for his ticket.
He warned me that the officer who gave him the ticket might not be the easiest guy to work with . . . and no, those weren't the words he used to communicate that fact to me. Upon seeing him standing in the hallway outside the courtroom, I felt the same pessimism. We checked in when the doors to the courtroom opened, and took our seat. A few minutes later, the officer checked in, and I made note that he had three cases. The clerk told him that only "Buchman" had checked in. He turned toward the seats, mostly full with other people waiting, and said, "Which one's Buchman?" Frank stood and we followed the officer back out to the hallway.
He didn't immediately address Frank. Instead he looked at me and said, "Why are you here today?" I began to explain the circumstances that led us to come to court over Frank's speeding ticket rather than just paying the fine. We were armed with photos, illustrations, even a google map. Before I finished my first sentence, he interrupted me, looked at Frank, and told that regardless of the circumstances, speeding was a crime. He lectured a little longer, which Frank took like a man.
Then the officer turned to me and asked if I was "mom." When I said I was, he said, "So you'll be paying his fine." "No," I answered. "This was his ticket, his fine to pay."
He looked back and Frank, and said, "You dressed nice for court today. You've been respectful, and I think you learned your lesson. How about if we dismiss this thing? No fine, no points."
Frank told him that would be the greatest thing ever, thanked him and shook his hand. We went back into the courtroom so he could tell the clerk we had a dismissal. She congratulated the officer. One down, two to go I suppose.
When we arrived at the courtroom, a very nice older gentleman offered me his seat. I asked if we were supposed to wait outside and he said yes, we were all there for traffic court. As I waited for Frank to talk to the clerk, I saw that the man was in front of him. He wasn't as lucky as my son was. He still had to pay a fine, but he looked relatively happy, so maybe it wasn't a big fine. When he heard the officer tell the clerk Frank's case was dismissed, the man looked at me and said, "Good job Mom." "No," I responded. "This is all him."
I'm proud of the way Frank handled himself today. I told him the outcome would be dependent on his attitude as much as anything else. If he was respectful, polite, AND contrite, perhaps he could get the ticket reduced to a non-moving violation. I DID NOT anticipate or suggest to him that it might be dismissed.
Earlier I told him I was sorry he had to go through this, but I thought the experience would provide him with several life lessons. I'm happy they weren't painful. They were inconvenient, and I think caused him more stress than the situation probably warranted, however, I think he'll think twice before speeding again, or doing anything else that might require another visit to the courthouse.
He warned me that the officer who gave him the ticket might not be the easiest guy to work with . . . and no, those weren't the words he used to communicate that fact to me. Upon seeing him standing in the hallway outside the courtroom, I felt the same pessimism. We checked in when the doors to the courtroom opened, and took our seat. A few minutes later, the officer checked in, and I made note that he had three cases. The clerk told him that only "Buchman" had checked in. He turned toward the seats, mostly full with other people waiting, and said, "Which one's Buchman?" Frank stood and we followed the officer back out to the hallway.
He didn't immediately address Frank. Instead he looked at me and said, "Why are you here today?" I began to explain the circumstances that led us to come to court over Frank's speeding ticket rather than just paying the fine. We were armed with photos, illustrations, even a google map. Before I finished my first sentence, he interrupted me, looked at Frank, and told that regardless of the circumstances, speeding was a crime. He lectured a little longer, which Frank took like a man.
Then the officer turned to me and asked if I was "mom." When I said I was, he said, "So you'll be paying his fine." "No," I answered. "This was his ticket, his fine to pay."
He looked back and Frank, and said, "You dressed nice for court today. You've been respectful, and I think you learned your lesson. How about if we dismiss this thing? No fine, no points."
Frank told him that would be the greatest thing ever, thanked him and shook his hand. We went back into the courtroom so he could tell the clerk we had a dismissal. She congratulated the officer. One down, two to go I suppose.
When we arrived at the courtroom, a very nice older gentleman offered me his seat. I asked if we were supposed to wait outside and he said yes, we were all there for traffic court. As I waited for Frank to talk to the clerk, I saw that the man was in front of him. He wasn't as lucky as my son was. He still had to pay a fine, but he looked relatively happy, so maybe it wasn't a big fine. When he heard the officer tell the clerk Frank's case was dismissed, the man looked at me and said, "Good job Mom." "No," I responded. "This is all him."
I'm proud of the way Frank handled himself today. I told him the outcome would be dependent on his attitude as much as anything else. If he was respectful, polite, AND contrite, perhaps he could get the ticket reduced to a non-moving violation. I DID NOT anticipate or suggest to him that it might be dismissed.
Earlier I told him I was sorry he had to go through this, but I thought the experience would provide him with several life lessons. I'm happy they weren't painful. They were inconvenient, and I think caused him more stress than the situation probably warranted, however, I think he'll think twice before speeding again, or doing anything else that might require another visit to the courthouse.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Finally. Writing.
After days (or has it been weeks?), I'm finally writing. Previously I posted about how I had to plan first, but now that I'm in the midst of it, it's writing. I started by putting the initial family tree together. I have thirty-one people in it, which is a good start. There are another ten-plus people to be added, but I decided to start writing the character outlines before I went further. It is clear why I can't continue to keep these characters in my head. There are simply too many of them.
I started with Olivia Young Fairchild Rice. The first thing I realized was I hadn't ever given her a maiden name. I also hadn't named her parents. Naming characters is really difficult. Harder than you'd think. Another funny thing . . . I couldn't remember what color her hair was. Good thing Ben is bald.
As I've written previously, writing my character outlines is probably long overdue. However, I learned a long time ago that I'm better at jumping in and getting things done, and then making corrections than I am at what I consider over-planning. I have Tom Peters to thank for that personal philosophy. Now that I'm three years in, I can go back, outline the characters I've written, and also have a good foundation for writing the new character outlines. I cannot wait to start the outlines for the latest hero and heroine. I find myself lost in thought, imagining what they look like, plotting their back story. It is so much fun. If I'd only allowed myself to get lost in thought sooner . . . I'd probably have another book written by now.
I'm especially enjoying listing Liv's faults. It's much more fun than listing her strengths! She's immature, sheltered, self-sacrificial, naive, and stubborn. And I'm just getting started. Can you imagine how much fun I'm going to have writing Lyric's character outline?
I love these characters so much. It's part of why I love writing so much. I think back on when I was writing FALL, and how I moved through the process. Some of it was heart wrenching. I've grown as a writer, thank goodness, but there is a part of me that mourns the loss of that innocent approach. Will I experience those feelings again? I suppose I might. There is a better chance given that I write different series.
When I pick up a series after being away from it for several months, it is like coming home. Being with the characters again is like visiting old friends. I get excited about writing the next book . . . and then days go by, and I'm not able to get back into it.
This time though, it feels different. It feels as though I'm really in it. I hope so. I need to be.
I started with Olivia Young Fairchild Rice. The first thing I realized was I hadn't ever given her a maiden name. I also hadn't named her parents. Naming characters is really difficult. Harder than you'd think. Another funny thing . . . I couldn't remember what color her hair was. Good thing Ben is bald.
As I've written previously, writing my character outlines is probably long overdue. However, I learned a long time ago that I'm better at jumping in and getting things done, and then making corrections than I am at what I consider over-planning. I have Tom Peters to thank for that personal philosophy. Now that I'm three years in, I can go back, outline the characters I've written, and also have a good foundation for writing the new character outlines. I cannot wait to start the outlines for the latest hero and heroine. I find myself lost in thought, imagining what they look like, plotting their back story. It is so much fun. If I'd only allowed myself to get lost in thought sooner . . . I'd probably have another book written by now.
I'm especially enjoying listing Liv's faults. It's much more fun than listing her strengths! She's immature, sheltered, self-sacrificial, naive, and stubborn. And I'm just getting started. Can you imagine how much fun I'm going to have writing Lyric's character outline?
I love these characters so much. It's part of why I love writing so much. I think back on when I was writing FALL, and how I moved through the process. Some of it was heart wrenching. I've grown as a writer, thank goodness, but there is a part of me that mourns the loss of that innocent approach. Will I experience those feelings again? I suppose I might. There is a better chance given that I write different series.
When I pick up a series after being away from it for several months, it is like coming home. Being with the characters again is like visiting old friends. I get excited about writing the next book . . . and then days go by, and I'm not able to get back into it.
This time though, it feels different. It feels as though I'm really in it. I hope so. I need to be.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Vicarious Living
I'm in the midst of it with Frank. I'm so excited for him, I'm almost beside myself. It was a long time ago, but I still remember, at his age, the uncertainty of what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I knew what I wanted to do, my mother had other ideas. At the time, and in hindsight, she was completely wrong. She convinced me, by refusing to fund any other pursuit, that my only chance at success in life was to become an accountant. If I did, she told me, I could always fall back on teaching, that is if I wasn't able to handle the real deal. Creative? No, I had no creativity. I've made jokes about how she really wasn't using reverse psychology, but it wasn't a joke.
Fast-forward to Frank and his decision about fields of pursuit. Frank loves music. He loves listening to it, he loves making it, he loves seeing it performed live, and performing. He's also a pretty good video editor, reporter and anchor, being the senior-most person in the Ridgeline TV department. He's also up for an internship with the school district to film for their communications department.
Knowing all of this, and remembering how hard it was to discuss this with my own mother, I've really taken a backseat in his decision-making. It's a fine line to walk between too much influence and not enough support. I'm sure I haven't achieved the perfect balance, despite trying my hardest. However, I do think the decisions he's making are his own, and are ones he's happy with.
So what are they? Pursuit of a music degree with an emphasis in producing. The colleges that offer those programs typically include some kind of performance component, songwriting, along with theory. But the emphasis is music production technology. His first choice, Berklee School of Music in Boston. It has a thirty-four percent acceptance rate, and even when you get in, it's highly competitive. My plan was to take Frank for a visit over spring break, but the more we learned, the more roads to it popped up.
Now what? Berklee is an amazing school for people trying to figure out if they want to apply. There are academic advisors on hand about twelve hours a day, who are thrilled to talk about a student's prospects and the best road to get there. I think the course we have mapped out will serve him well. Yesterday he said that if he does everything necessary to get into Berklee, then he'd certainly have what he needed to get into his second, third or fourth choice. Prudent he is.
As I watch him navigate this new time of his life, that's where the vicarious living comes in. The world is wide open for him to pursue a career in a field he loves. Better? He can actually make a good living doing it. And not just one thing. There are so many career opportunities and areas of specialization he could pursue with this type of degree.
There's promise and hope and excitement . . . along with parents who are wiping their brow, thankful that he has found something he loves.
I wrote a Facebook post the other day about how it is a parent's job to guide our children to chase their dreams and LIVE their passion. It's starts now. Actually it started years ago, and continues. If only we all could be so lucky.
Fast-forward to Frank and his decision about fields of pursuit. Frank loves music. He loves listening to it, he loves making it, he loves seeing it performed live, and performing. He's also a pretty good video editor, reporter and anchor, being the senior-most person in the Ridgeline TV department. He's also up for an internship with the school district to film for their communications department.
Knowing all of this, and remembering how hard it was to discuss this with my own mother, I've really taken a backseat in his decision-making. It's a fine line to walk between too much influence and not enough support. I'm sure I haven't achieved the perfect balance, despite trying my hardest. However, I do think the decisions he's making are his own, and are ones he's happy with.
So what are they? Pursuit of a music degree with an emphasis in producing. The colleges that offer those programs typically include some kind of performance component, songwriting, along with theory. But the emphasis is music production technology. His first choice, Berklee School of Music in Boston. It has a thirty-four percent acceptance rate, and even when you get in, it's highly competitive. My plan was to take Frank for a visit over spring break, but the more we learned, the more roads to it popped up.
Now what? Berklee is an amazing school for people trying to figure out if they want to apply. There are academic advisors on hand about twelve hours a day, who are thrilled to talk about a student's prospects and the best road to get there. I think the course we have mapped out will serve him well. Yesterday he said that if he does everything necessary to get into Berklee, then he'd certainly have what he needed to get into his second, third or fourth choice. Prudent he is.
As I watch him navigate this new time of his life, that's where the vicarious living comes in. The world is wide open for him to pursue a career in a field he loves. Better? He can actually make a good living doing it. And not just one thing. There are so many career opportunities and areas of specialization he could pursue with this type of degree.
There's promise and hope and excitement . . . along with parents who are wiping their brow, thankful that he has found something he loves.
I wrote a Facebook post the other day about how it is a parent's job to guide our children to chase their dreams and LIVE their passion. It's starts now. Actually it started years ago, and continues. If only we all could be so lucky.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Domestic Days
I didn't write today. I'm beginning to realize that I'm intentionally adding things to my to-do list that have nothing to do with writing. I'm not sure what that's all about, apart from avoidance.
My day today was a domestic one. I baked. A lot. I also made hummus. And I sewed on buttons, and restrung tennis shoes. I also went to the grocery store, and drove by a house for sale. Tomorrow morning we're scheduled to look at it.
It's an excuse, I know it is. But being unsettled is unsettling. Our lease here is up at the end of July, and between now and then we need to find a place to live. It's a tall order given what we're looking for. We need a certain number of rooms on the main floor, easy in and out of the house, a certain number of bedrooms (not that unusual), and closet space. That's a big one.
How people get by with wall closets is a mystery to me. Only one room in the house we're in now has a wall closet. It's in Beckett's room and it is a perpetual disaster. Anyway, closet space is big on our list. A laundry room that is big enough for the doors of the washer and dryer to open all the way. Wouldn't think that would be a requirement, right? Wrong. It is not so in the house we're in now. It is the smallest, least functional laundry room I've ever seen.
So instead of writing, I'm worrying about where we're going to live, and organizing the remainder of what is now in this house. There isn't much left, but I still feel unsettled. It doesn't relate to what is in this house, I realize that now. It relates to getting our lives organized.
Writing is a big undertaking. I have to read. Then I have to organize. I'm pretty sure I already wrote a post about this. It seems simple enough. I just need to do it. My email inbox is down to twenty-nine things to follow up on. Bills are paid, accounting is done, filing is even done.
My latest project: getting Frank ready for college, and that means making plans for the summer. We have a plan. He'll be applying to NYU for a summer music program. If he gets in, he'll spend two weeks at NYU, three days with Uncle Andy, and then four days at Berklee. He'll leave the day after his birthday, and get home July 18. And when he gets home, he should be ready to apply to the colleges he's interested in, at least the audition/portfolio component of it. Then there's the matter of a little thing called the SAT, which Palmer Ridge isn't offering this year. Great. So we need to get that scheduled. He'll take the ACT in April, but I have to figure out when he should and can take the SAT. Or maybe HE should figure out when he should and can take the SAT. There's an idea!
And maybe I should write. Or at least read and organize. There's another idea.
My day today was a domestic one. I baked. A lot. I also made hummus. And I sewed on buttons, and restrung tennis shoes. I also went to the grocery store, and drove by a house for sale. Tomorrow morning we're scheduled to look at it.
It's an excuse, I know it is. But being unsettled is unsettling. Our lease here is up at the end of July, and between now and then we need to find a place to live. It's a tall order given what we're looking for. We need a certain number of rooms on the main floor, easy in and out of the house, a certain number of bedrooms (not that unusual), and closet space. That's a big one.
How people get by with wall closets is a mystery to me. Only one room in the house we're in now has a wall closet. It's in Beckett's room and it is a perpetual disaster. Anyway, closet space is big on our list. A laundry room that is big enough for the doors of the washer and dryer to open all the way. Wouldn't think that would be a requirement, right? Wrong. It is not so in the house we're in now. It is the smallest, least functional laundry room I've ever seen.
So instead of writing, I'm worrying about where we're going to live, and organizing the remainder of what is now in this house. There isn't much left, but I still feel unsettled. It doesn't relate to what is in this house, I realize that now. It relates to getting our lives organized.
Writing is a big undertaking. I have to read. Then I have to organize. I'm pretty sure I already wrote a post about this. It seems simple enough. I just need to do it. My email inbox is down to twenty-nine things to follow up on. Bills are paid, accounting is done, filing is even done.
My latest project: getting Frank ready for college, and that means making plans for the summer. We have a plan. He'll be applying to NYU for a summer music program. If he gets in, he'll spend two weeks at NYU, three days with Uncle Andy, and then four days at Berklee. He'll leave the day after his birthday, and get home July 18. And when he gets home, he should be ready to apply to the colleges he's interested in, at least the audition/portfolio component of it. Then there's the matter of a little thing called the SAT, which Palmer Ridge isn't offering this year. Great. So we need to get that scheduled. He'll take the ACT in April, but I have to figure out when he should and can take the SAT. Or maybe HE should figure out when he should and can take the SAT. There's an idea!
And maybe I should write. Or at least read and organize. There's another idea.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Five Miles, A Good Song and Some Words of Encouragement
I'm grumpy. I was excited to get on the treadmill this morning. My intention was to read DANCE, which I was sure would carry me through the tediousness of walking inside rather than out. Instead, I hated it.
It's part of the process. I know that. I've felt this way before, about every book I've written. I also know that I'll get through it. When I start editing, which now seems completely overwhelming and not likely to yield many results, I know I'll eventually wonder what I was so upset about. Alas, while I'm feeling this way, even knowing I'll feel better later today or tomorrow, doesn't help.
Hating my own words, made the five miles hell to plow through. I can usually overcome it by getting lost in whatever I'm reading. No such luck today. I went back to the other book I was reading yesterday. Thinking about how good it was versus how bad DANCE is, further added to my growing grouchiness.
I hoped to make it to four miles. If I could force myself that far, I'd feel better. Instead I went five. A song by Bryce Vine came on, and I received words of encouragement from a couple different sources. "Don't get frustrated." "Hang in there."
I have a meeting to go to, and after that, I'll come back and start my edit. Doing something constructive always makes me feel better.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
A Writer's Week
Sunday night. I'm planning the week ahead. Hoping and praying the idyllic vision I conjure when I close my eyes and plan, materializes.
I want to write this week. I want to write every week, but looking ahead, writing actually seems possible. Actually, it isn't possible at all. Because there's more to it than the writing part. Planning is bigger, and more time consuming.
Not that long ago I did a major edit of FALL. I feel as though I know it, having spent so much time with it, but it is likely that part of planning will include a read-through of it along with the other four books.
While on the treadmill this morning, reading someone else's work and loving her characters, I thought about my characters, and how much I love them too. I have favorites. Billy Patterson. I love writing him. Liv and Ben Rice. I love writing them too. They feel like family. They're probably the characters I know the best. I can see them.
I need to see some of the others better. So I've decided to sit down and write what I see when I write each of them (and yes, it's probably something I should've done a long time ago). It wasn't difficult when I was keeping ten characters in my head. Now that it's grown to more than I can count without really thinking about it, or making a list, it's harder.
The other thing I'm going to do this week, is a family tree. I mean, they all seem to marry a Rice, or be the offspring or cousin of one, so it should be pretty easy. It'll help me keep the timeline better.
When I wrote the first book in this series, it wasn't a story I thought anyone would ever read. I didn't do character development on the front end . . . I just wrote the story. Who knew there'd be a book six? So . . . I have a hard time remembering how old all the kids should be.
It's probably my favorite thing about this series. The families. A man and a woman don't simply fall in the love and live happily ever after. They have kids. And family gatherings where everyone shows up, which means I get to write about what's been happening in all their lives . . . not just the two, or in a couple cases, three (love triangles that is), main characters. I found myself going back and trying to figure out how old each of the kids are. And since they keep having kids . . . it's turning into too much math.
I started reading DANCE this morning because the characters I was reading reminded me specifically of Billy Patterson. Arrogant. Impatient. Sarcastic. Intolerant. Stubborn. Independent. But in my mind, has the biggest heart of the bunch. Re-reading DANCE made me realize I also think he's funny.
If you're reading this and are not a writer, you probably think I'm crazy. If you are a writer, you're identifying. The memes talk about how you shouldn't piss off a writer because they'll make you a character and kill you in their next book. They also talk about how writers' block means your imaginary friends aren't speaking to you. Both true. I miss my imaginary friends, and really want to spend some time with them this week.
I want to write this week. I want to write every week, but looking ahead, writing actually seems possible. Actually, it isn't possible at all. Because there's more to it than the writing part. Planning is bigger, and more time consuming.
Not that long ago I did a major edit of FALL. I feel as though I know it, having spent so much time with it, but it is likely that part of planning will include a read-through of it along with the other four books.
While on the treadmill this morning, reading someone else's work and loving her characters, I thought about my characters, and how much I love them too. I have favorites. Billy Patterson. I love writing him. Liv and Ben Rice. I love writing them too. They feel like family. They're probably the characters I know the best. I can see them.
I need to see some of the others better. So I've decided to sit down and write what I see when I write each of them (and yes, it's probably something I should've done a long time ago). It wasn't difficult when I was keeping ten characters in my head. Now that it's grown to more than I can count without really thinking about it, or making a list, it's harder.
The other thing I'm going to do this week, is a family tree. I mean, they all seem to marry a Rice, or be the offspring or cousin of one, so it should be pretty easy. It'll help me keep the timeline better.
When I wrote the first book in this series, it wasn't a story I thought anyone would ever read. I didn't do character development on the front end . . . I just wrote the story. Who knew there'd be a book six? So . . . I have a hard time remembering how old all the kids should be.
It's probably my favorite thing about this series. The families. A man and a woman don't simply fall in the love and live happily ever after. They have kids. And family gatherings where everyone shows up, which means I get to write about what's been happening in all their lives . . . not just the two, or in a couple cases, three (love triangles that is), main characters. I found myself going back and trying to figure out how old each of the kids are. And since they keep having kids . . . it's turning into too much math.
I started reading DANCE this morning because the characters I was reading reminded me specifically of Billy Patterson. Arrogant. Impatient. Sarcastic. Intolerant. Stubborn. Independent. But in my mind, has the biggest heart of the bunch. Re-reading DANCE made me realize I also think he's funny.
If you're reading this and are not a writer, you probably think I'm crazy. If you are a writer, you're identifying. The memes talk about how you shouldn't piss off a writer because they'll make you a character and kill you in their next book. They also talk about how writers' block means your imaginary friends aren't speaking to you. Both true. I miss my imaginary friends, and really want to spend some time with them this week.
Friday, January 08, 2016
Time to Kill
I finished my photo album project. I say that, but I'm not really finished. There are still a few things to do. First, figure out if I'm going to print photos from the last ten years so Beckett has photo albums to look at that have pictures of him in it. I think I will, but the undertaking is overwhelming. I had to spread out the photos of Doug in "his" album. There weren't very many, compared to me. As the only child and only grandchild, I had a billion. I threw away at least half.
Anyway, second I'm going to write notes at the front of each album explaining who is in the album, and how they relate to our family. Most of it is in my head, and neither of the boys appear interested in learning more right now. Even if they did, it's easy to forget who is who and what is what, as evidenced by my struggle with remembering who the people in Doug's ancestral family were and how they related to him.
I tell myself this won't take me very long, which is very optimistic I'm sure. Things never take as little time as we imagine they will on the front end. Rarely do I surprise myself by how little time something takes.
I have an hour before I have to leave for a meeting that will keep me away from the house until mid-afternoon. I'm very glad the photos are in albums and the dining and living rooms no longer contain boxes, and empty albums, and various sizes of photo pages, and trash bags, and all the other stuff involved in completing that phase.
I might as well kill the time by sorting through the thousands of pics I have from the last ten years. Phase two (or is it three?) begins.
Anyway, second I'm going to write notes at the front of each album explaining who is in the album, and how they relate to our family. Most of it is in my head, and neither of the boys appear interested in learning more right now. Even if they did, it's easy to forget who is who and what is what, as evidenced by my struggle with remembering who the people in Doug's ancestral family were and how they related to him.
I tell myself this won't take me very long, which is very optimistic I'm sure. Things never take as little time as we imagine they will on the front end. Rarely do I surprise myself by how little time something takes.
I have an hour before I have to leave for a meeting that will keep me away from the house until mid-afternoon. I'm very glad the photos are in albums and the dining and living rooms no longer contain boxes, and empty albums, and various sizes of photo pages, and trash bags, and all the other stuff involved in completing that phase.
I might as well kill the time by sorting through the thousands of pics I have from the last ten years. Phase two (or is it three?) begins.
Tuesday, January 05, 2016
A Twenty-Five-Mile Walk
That's how far I've walked in the four days so far in 2016. I've also climbed 165 flights of stairs (or 1,650 in elevation gain). Thanks to FitBit, I know all this.
Recently we watched A Walk in the Woods, the movie made from Bill Bryson's book of the same name. It was tough to watch Nick Nolte, as well as understand him. I got distracted wondering why Robert Redford made the movie. There must've been a reason, I just couldn't find one compelling enough. I missed the press junket for it, during which I'm sure he explained himself.
There were things I identified with . . . the worrying wife thinking her husband had gone mad for thinking of doing something as crazy as walking the Appalachian Trail. It also inspired me. How long will it take me to reach the same distance? If I walk the same approximate distance every day, I can walk the equivalent distance in less than a year. Not much less, but less.
I've decided to make it my goal for 2016. We'll see.
Recently we watched A Walk in the Woods, the movie made from Bill Bryson's book of the same name. It was tough to watch Nick Nolte, as well as understand him. I got distracted wondering why Robert Redford made the movie. There must've been a reason, I just couldn't find one compelling enough. I missed the press junket for it, during which I'm sure he explained himself.
There were things I identified with . . . the worrying wife thinking her husband had gone mad for thinking of doing something as crazy as walking the Appalachian Trail. It also inspired me. How long will it take me to reach the same distance? If I walk the same approximate distance every day, I can walk the equivalent distance in less than a year. Not much less, but less.
I've decided to make it my goal for 2016. We'll see.
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