I have some thoughts inside me that need to be released or “unbottled.” These are thoughts tangential to my usual topic of being a grandmother – a “bubby” in Yiddish. Since I am a grandmother who writes, I find the theme of “writing about writing” to be quite intriguing. Recently, I read a brilliant post by one talented writer/blogger of that topic on her site. I agree with her premise, and I’d like to express my own bottled thoughts (soon to be unbottled) regarding her post.
In her essay, Ms. Bottledworder posits that writers are different in their sensitivities and insecurities from other professionals or tradesmen. For example, when a writer writes an essay, he throws his whole self into the process. Whether or not he writes about himself, he is allowing himself – his voice if you will – to be out there, to be vulnerable to others. Continue reading
The email in my box from my friend read “Are you okay? I’m worried about you. You haven’t blogged in days.”
Did I have to apologize to my readers – or even this reader, who is a good friend? I’m not sure if I have to ‘splain, but that’s what I do. I ‘splain. I was busy, I was swamped. All the usual excuses. But as my dad always told me, “Qui s’excuse, s’accuse.” I only sound more foolish with silly explanations.
Okay, onward. My topic today is about faking it. No explaining. No excuses. Just pretending to do things the right way.
What am I talking about??? Well let me explain – I mean let me elaborate! Continue reading
I struggle with consistency. No, I’m not talking about the consistency of the texture in a baked cake or potato kugel. Nor am I talking about the consistency of the mayonnaise as it is mashed inside tuna fish. (although I have trouble getting my tuna so perfectly mashed —and one of my daughters-in-law is by contrast amazing at making very consistently mashed tuna fish sandwiches!)
But again, I digress!
The kind of consistency that I have trouble with, has more to do with my commitments to myself regarding habits and goals.
What in the world am I talking about? (you ask).
This week, I switched the screen-saver on my phone.
The new picture is one of my grandson at the park pulling himself with his little hands across a horizontal ladder atop a swing set. You know the kind of playground equipment that the kid stretches upward and grips the first rung with one hand, while his little pre-school body dangles beneath the structure? Then, he edges his body forward, placing his other hand on the second rung, before leaving go of the first rung. He quickly transfers that fist from the first rung to go around the third rung. This continues rung by rung (with all of us observing, holding our breaths) while his mouth contorts in concentration, his eyes squint in the sun, his face drips perspiration, his fists hold on for dear life, and his cheeks grow steadily redder. Continue reading