My Lost Voice (and other things worth reading that someone else wrote)

This whole kids-home-for-the-summer thing? SO overrated.

Keeping two boys entertained for ten cold,rainy,miserable weeks? SO testing my patience.

These children need things to do. All the time.

At the end of the day, I can't even string words together to speak, never mind write.

I am working on little else these days other than Summer Activity Director.

And to make matters worse, my little voice that tells me what to write has disappeared. Packed its bags and hitched a ride to somewhere tropical for a real summer break. It's probably spending its days lounging in a cabana sipping mai tais and learning how to surf. I don't blame it, really. I think it got tired of competing for attention around here. Every time it started to feed me my lines, another little voice, one asking for juice or a snack or a book or bum-wiping help, drowned it out.

My voice didn't stand a chance being heard this summer.

I'm my hoping it returns in September when this house quiets down and I can spend some quality, one-on-one time with it. As soon as the school bus pulls away, I'll invite my voice back inside for a frothy cinnamon-sprinkled cappuccino (its favorite). We'll chat. I'll open my laptop and, fingers crossed, it will guide my hands across the keyboard. It will whisper words into my ears, stories into my head. It will be an effortless sort of reunion. I'm hoping.

While I await its return I have been spending my evenings lost in other people's voices.

I am tearing through books at record speed.

A few nights ago I picked up The Space Between Us (brilliance so far). In the back of the book the author has included a few writing tips for us wannabes.

There are a few that stood out, and since I have no voice of my own right now, I will share hers.

Thrity Umrigar's writing words of wisdom:

Saying that you don't have time to write is an excuse. The fact is that nobody has time to write, other than the miniscule number of writers who make their living from writing full-time. Most writers make the time to write. Their lives are no easier or less busy than anyone else's. They too have dentist appointments and kids who need trips to the emergency room and pets who puke in the kitchen and gardens that have to be watered and weeded. The difference between writers and non-writers is just that writers write. Non-writers talk about wanting to write.

And

Write in the shower. Get away from what I call "the tyranny of the blank screen". There's nothing more intimidating than to sit before the computer with nothing to say. Many people think that when they turn on the computer, they're also jump-starting their brains. But that's not the way the subconscious works. You have to tap into it more frequently than that. That means thinking about your story all the time, living with it, never letting it wander too far away from you. A story is like a newborn - you have to tend to it, feed it, be aware of it all the time. So write dialogue in the shower. Go for long solitary walks and try different lines out loud. Think about plot when you're in your car. Let the story seep into your bones, every fiber of your brain. The story you're writing should feel more real to you than the life you are living.
You know those people who buy fixer-upper homes, move into them, and live there while they renovate them? That's what a story is like. You move into the story, you occupy it like a house, and you live there until it's completely done.



So go on, now. Go find your voice and write something.

The Cross Country Sabbatical

Well I left my happy home to see what I could find out
I left my folk and friends with the aim to clear my mind out
Well I hit the rowdy road and many kinds I met there
Many stories told me of the way to get there
On The Road To Find Out - Cat Stevens


We are thinking about a trip.

Half planning, half dreaming about an extended, super-sized Road Trip.

Three weeks? Four weeks? SIX weeks?

Does anyone on this continent even indulge in extended holidays?

Several years ago, I worked for a company that was owned by a French business. Unless there was a dire corporate emergency, we were basically at a standstill during the month of August. The European employees would set their Out Of Office Replies for a duration of 3-4 weeks, while we Americans would trudge into work every day, feigning productivity, because we had already used up our 10 day allotted vacation time.

What if we learned a thing or two from our friends across the pond and instituted a month long national hiatus? Wouldn't we be more productive employees in the long run? Have stronger families? Dole out less vials of Zoloft, even?

It's worth a try, I say.

One may argue that our Road Trip dream was born around a roaring outdoor fire pit after a few frosty pale ales.

And one would be right.

A few too many slugs of beer with some old friends and suddenly the idea of two families of four caravaning across the country seems like a brilliant idea.

In truth, the idea has been simmering in the back of our heads ever since we watched Surfwise except we'd come back and not mess up our kids, but, indeed, the booze bubbled it back to life.

Maybe it's the monotony of suburbia. Maybe it's the desire to show our kids something other than pine trees and backyard deer. Or maybe it's just the fuzzy after-effects of beer.

More likely it's the desire to go all Clark Griswold Jack Kerouac and hit the road. To see what we see. To create memories for our kids that a week at Disney World couldn't come close to offering.

But - of course- damn logistics always tangle themselves up in a good plan.

For instance, until President Obama calls me about implementing the month-long shut down idea, is it even possible to just get up and go for more than the socially acceptable 1-2 week vacation?

I mean, is seeing the world's largest ball of twine reason enough to risk job security?

And if one were to push the vacation-leave envelope, what would happen, say, if one's employer finds that they can live without you?

What then?

And, of course, there's the money thing.

Funding the trip and justifying that cost racks us with guilt.

Couldn't the money be used for something more sensible? College funds, retirement funds, emergency funds, The Kitchen Renovation Fund?

When weighing my options between a new kitchen and four weeks in a car with my family, there should be a clear winner. But, oddly, there is not.

How I got to the point in my life where driving for days in a confined space with motion-sick children may be more appealing than a granite counter top island, I do not know.

But here I am.

So we're planning, scheming, hoping that one of these summers before our kids think we are idiots and stop talking to us we will leave our happy home, pack up the car and see what there is to find out.

I Love It When My Mother Makes Jello Shots

The boys and I have retreated north for two weeks, leaving The Husband home alone to fend for himself (not to worry, he seems to have easily regressed into bachelorhood mode, filling his grocery cart with frozen pizzas and beer).

The boys will be spending the next 14 days at Camp Nana and Grampa. Activities at Camp N&G include swimming, tennis, tractor rides, fishing, toy and book store excursions with deep-pockets-Nana, and convincing grandparents that ice cream is a food group.

My writing time will be limited as I lounge poolside supervise camp activities, so, in my absence, I will leave you with this thought to ponder:

What would YOU do if your 71 year old mother showed up with jello shots at your annual 4th of July lobstah cook out?

Hypothetically speaking (but really not), of course.

I Didn't Starve

swordfish, peas, broccoli, whole wheat bread, strawberries


Last night's dinner, purchased entirely at the farmer's market.

I had every intention of photographing the finished product, displayed beautifully on my dinner plate, but I was so hungry, see, that I forgot.

Day 1 of Eat New England a success.