The Flipper or Why Some Stubborn People Have to Be Tossed Off of Roofs In Order to Change Their Lives

In a moment of brazen puffery, I posted the link to this blog on the Facebook page of a group I have been working with called "40 bags in 40 days".  Yes, that means my housekeeping skills are not my strongest skillset.  Ahem.  But anyways, in the midst of all the decluttering, I found myself musing a lot about why it was that I had held onto some items or even acquired them in the first place.  And I realized that during my marriage, when I was not able to get the love I needed from my husband, I tried to fill that hole with stuff.  Just.....stuff.  At the time, money was not an issue.  I also overate, again, an attempt to fill that inner chasm.  I can be pretty stubborn about sticking to a course though, and it literally took a serious accident--in my case a fall off of a roof--to get me to seriously reassess my life and priorities.  That was almost 8 years ago (the accident) and I am still reassessing and redefining (I never said I was speedy!) So.  For posterity, here is the post I shared in 40 bags.....

Oooooookaaaayyyy so a while back there was a thread about weirdness we discovered whilst decluttering. Almost 8 years ago, I fell off a roof, got my leg tangled in the ladder and face planted on concrete. Broke out my front teeth. This was a major turning point for me--lost 150 pounds, began counseling that ultimately led to discovering my husband of 20 years was gay, divorce, and returning to the workforce, getting laid off twice....it's been a helluva decade. I just found the temporary teeth (a 'flipper' that held place while my bones healed enough to do the implants (took over two years) --- I give you The Flipper. It was in my underwear drawer next to my passport (because where else would you keep outdated orthodontia...) Unless somebody out there has a compelling reason...I believe this is outta here!

So I'm sitting in my dining room with a case of Food Coma....not finishing the crossword puzzle and listening to my boys brawl in the living room (its a video game--if they are going to REALLY brawl it has to be outside) and the laptop screen is mocking me.  I have just provided a link to this blog to a facebook group dedicated to decluttering (hi ladies!) because I am tired of NOT being a writer.  Of NOT playing with words every day.  Of NOT creating worlds and spinning webs of intrigue....being villainous and princess-esque... silly and serious and everywhere in between.  All of my life I have been told I am a good writer.  All of my life I have loved stories...reading them, hearing them, telling them, living them, brandishing them....it is time to create some.  My family and my friends who might as well be family tell me to write.  All the signs from heaven and the universe say to write.  And yet....I resist.  Bullheaded and stubborn I am.  To a fault.  Beyond a fault.  (hmmmmm.....what is beyond a fault....there's something I'll be pondering at 3 am).  I give up!  I surrender!  If you don't hear from me send me a scathing note that I need to get my 15 minutes in. There.  It's public.  My daily writing goal.  Bare minimum.

I have, in various stages of production:  a 'chick lit' book with a semi-crime fighting spunky heroine that could play into a series if I do it right; a YA feeling fantasy/epic adventure type of book; various stories that I have no idea where they could exist (I did "pin" a list of the 50 publications that publish literature, but I'm not sure I'm the lit type--not really all that highbrow.)

I have been really successful at the New Year's Non Resolutions (see previous post).  I have decluttered bit by bit.  Still decluttering but the apartment is in much better shape.  I am getting my feet back under me after a lot of financial stress.  Not there yet, but getting there (PS being a responsible adult sux) and have begun the whole eating better exercising thing bit by bit, small habit change by small habit change.  So now the writing.  I will do this nibble by nibble, scary step by scary step.  Jugular exposed. Be nice.

2014--Fewer Words, More Actions

Oh hey look--it's New Year's Day and time for resolutions. I once read an interview with Sting where he said that he was amazed his wife had stayed with him as long as she had because he tended to "live inside his head" the majority of the time.  That rang so true to me--I have this whole life going on in my head that has nothing to do with reality, but I would really like for it to become reality.  I'm actually not a big one on annual resolutions....it seems like a setup for failure--large outsize goals and then crashing failure when it doesn't happen.  I think perhaps I am more of a daily resolve kind of gal.  In that spirit, though, rather than set a specific goal, what I would like to do is make smaller changes, day by day, to ingrain new habits and make permanent life changes.  Hopefully this will work better for me than Grand, Overarching Goals.  So, here we go.  This year, I will do or have:

• less planning, more doing
• less panic, more prayer
• less brinksmanship, more small consistencies
• less fear, more faith
• less bravado, more resolve
• less ass, more muscle
• less fake it, more make it
• less stuff. Just. Less. Stuff.

Don't just dream big--do big. Or do small until it becomes big.  Just do. 

The 12 Days of Hawkmas

With appropriate nods to Frederic Austin, original composer, and Debbie Y, Soul Sister, friend, and Seahawks fan extraordinaire.

The 12 Days of Hawkmas

On the first day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
A chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the second day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the third day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the fourth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the fifth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the sixth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the seventh day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the eighth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
8 Baldwin receptions
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauscka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the ninth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
9 Sherman "You mads?"
8 Baldwin receptions
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the tenth day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
10 Earl Thomas tackles
9 Sherman "You mads?"
8 Baldwin receptions
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the eleventh day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
11 Kearse runbacks
10 Earl Thomas tackles
9 Sherman "You mads?"
8 Baldwin receptions
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

On the 12th day of Hawkmas, my Seahawks gave to me
12 12th men screaming
11 Kearse runbacks
10 Earl Thomas tackles
9 Sherman "You mads?"
8 Baldwin receptions
7 QB sacks
6 interceptions
5 Golden Tates!
4 Hauschka field goals
3 Russell scrambles
2 Beast Mode first downs
and a chance at the SuperBowl ring!

Almost: A Dream

I almost forgot your smile. The way that one little crinkle in the corner gives away the fact that your whole face is about to burst into sunshine. 

I almost forgot the way your heartbeat softly tickles my ear, comforting and steady.

I almost forgot how your left eyebrow arches, dark and satyric, when you're being a smartass, or a goofball, or naughty.

I almost forgot the sound of your laugh, rumbling in your chest and erupting into the world with joyousness.

I almost forgot the sleepy warmness of your hug in the pre-dawn soft light.

I almost forgot the simultaneous strength and softness of your hands. The silly tickles and the silent grace they provide.

I almost forgot the shelter of your arms, protecting, possessing.

I almost fogot your kiss.  Warm to hot, fierce and soft, soul to soul.

I almost forgot.  I almost gave up hope.

Almost.

The Honor and Burden of Story-Telling

Throughout the ages, story-telling has had a place of enormous importance in the development of society and the chronicling of life.  Stories were told to remember deeds or people, as cautions against the world, to keep alive a conquered culture, and merely as a way to pass the time.  Those who could orally tell a good tale have been revered.  Once writing came along, scribes and literacy were at first kept for the upper class; but literate or not, the stories were told.  Sometimes they were told orally, sometimes they were told in quilts, sometimes in pictures, sometimes in song.  But always, stories are told.  As a species, it is what we do.

One of my favorite movie lines is at the beginning of "Braveheart"--'History is written by the victors'.  If you think about that, it oozes of stories untold or unremembered, aches with the adage that there are two sides to every tale.  Respectfully, I submit there are more than two sides to every tale and that often the untold tales are the more interesting.   I hope to tell the stories that have remained silent, about those nearly forgotten, to bring light into the dark corners of the past and breathe life into the ghosts that linger there.

To me, the best stories combine fact and lore.  A skillful weaving of truth and possibility into a delectable morsel of food for thought--this, to me, is the hallmark of a great story.  The ability to transport the reader or listener to another time or place imparting both knowledge and imagination is indeed a true gift.  I hope that I have enough of that gift to share.

As I work to establish myself as a writer, I am mindful of the responsibility before me.  I owe it to the writers before me to carry on their legacy with skill, grace and passion.   And I owe it to everyone to be a wordsmith worthy of those about whom I write, fictional or real.  I hope to be up to the task.  And I am counting on you, my friends, to keep me honest. 

Remembering Jim Jack

I logged onto Facebook to see what was up in the world and there it was--the smiling face of Jim Jack with the words "RIP JJ--we will miss you" in my newsfeed.  I felt like I had been suckerpunched.  I quickly ran a search and discovered that he had been killed in an avalanche up at Stevens Pass.  And the tears began.

I graduated from high school with Jim.  Lakes High School, class of '84.  My maiden name is Jackson, so we were always next to each other in the yearbook.  I was, to put it bluntly, not popular and Jim was.  Some from high school may see this and wonder why in the world I would cry at the loss of Jim Jack--I wasn't best buds with him or even in the same Social Status. But he didn't care about all that superficial stuff--unusual for a high school aged guy, but true.  Jim didn't judge people (ironic that he grew up to be a judge--he would appreciate that), he just took people as they were, smiled, laughed and went on with life.  We had English together one semester, and we were in a drama club and a couple of plays together--in fact, one shining memory of him is as the silent but hilarious King Sextimus in "Once Upon A Mattress."  His antics on and off stage kept us all laughing until we cried.  Or snorted.   A story that I tell often involved Jim--sophomore year we were picking up our report cards, and the teacher that had the "J"s was often drunk.  I didn't realize it at the time--naive thing that I was, but it was true and as an adult I can see it clearly.  Anyways...she handed Jim Jack my report card in error.  That report card was the one and ONLY time in high school that I had straight As.  I will never forget Jim's shocked face when he saw the 4.0 and then the sheepish grin when he realized it was my report card.  That became 'our joke'--he teased me about straight As the rest of high school. And then, at our ten year reunion, he came up and gave me a big hug and said "Laura Jackson, how the heck are you?  What are you up to?"  At the time, I was working at CIA, and I told him so.  He paused, took a swig of his beer, nodded and grinned and said "That's because you got straight As."  He then proceeded to tell me about being a 'professional ski bum' and firefighter.  He was so happy and content--it all seemed to be a perfect fit for him.

With the advent of Facebook, like so many others, I have been able to keep in touch with scattered friends from long ago.  I don't accept every friend request--I have to actually know you.  And remember you fondly.  Despite having only seen him at reunions since high school, I happily accepted Jim's friend request.  It has been fascinating to me to have this window into his world, so vastly different from mine--his posts almost in another language to a non-skier "fresh pow today" meaning little to this suburban mom.  It was clear, however, that he loved his life and was filled with joy.  It seems wildly appropriate to me that his job was in the outdoors--no walls could contain that spirit and that larger than life personality. 

 Reunions will not be the same without him.  He will be remembered and toasted at all of them in the future, I can guarantee that.  I think of him now in Heaven, which for him will be sunny skies, clean crisp air, a killer run with "fresh pow" with a cold beer, warm fire and good friends at the end.  Cheers to you Jim--we will all miss your face.