Precious time

Precious time.

Precious time with loved ones.
Precious time to do what one wants in life.
Precious time to be idle.
Precious time to make decisions.
Precious time to accomplish things.
Precious time to call one's own.

Precious time. That's what I'm thinking about today.

Soup and jello

I'm on the mend. I'm craving actual food. Whew. Things were looking dicey for a while today. So weak and tired and out of it.

Getting sick and then ultimately overcoming it always feels like such a victory, a fresh start, a thoughtful pause.

Chicken soup, jello, and ginger ale never tasted so good.

Bad egg?

This afternoon I felt so tired I could have put my head down on my desk and slept right there. As I walked home from the PATH after work, I told the friend I was with that I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was glued to the couch when I got home, so nauseous. Tried to eat crackers. At 10:30, finally threw up. So gross, but what a relief.

Had two eggs over light with whole wheat toast for lunch. Bad egg?

Holiday weekend potpourri

What an action-packed weekend. In a nutshell, was surrounded by family on Thanksgiving, then did the insane but fun Black Friday shopping trip with my sister and her friends, met a childhood friend of my mother's on Saturday and spent today getting back into my home routine (gym, church, writing my book).

Random thoughts from the four-day span:

-- My train ride with a fresh issue of O magazine was delightful Wednesday night.
-- I missed my blog.
-- My mother's stuffing is a little piece of heaven.
-- I taught my 3-year-old nephew to say, "Bonjour, Aunt Nancy" and "Merci beaucoup." He is a riot.
-- My 2-year-old niece took me by the index finger into my parents' bedroom so I would wind up my mother's music box over and over again. She is such a fun combination of angelic and assertive.
-- Saturday I saw a side of each of my parents that was new to me. Sometimes it takes a while for us to figure out our parents are people capable of an array of behaviors and emotions. It was illuminating, positive.
-- I am so, so thankful for my friends.
-- The sermon at church this morning was about how our bodies are central to our spirituality. How our "good" qualities and our "bad" qualities are central to our spirituality. How so many of us must undo the thinking of childhood religions that said otherwise.
-- I've been talking about how Desperate Housewives isn't as good this season as it was last. Tonight it was phenomenal. You have to love when Gabrielle takes on a bitchy nun, Bree finds out her husband was murdered and Lynette gets her boss fired after seeing her in a compromising position with the help. And, to boot, the wrap-up by the narrator had the same message on "good" and "bad" as the church sermon this morning.

That's all, folks.

Free dip

So I'm in the drugstore today and the lines are pretty long, spilling into the aisles, in fact. I decide I don't want to wait. As I'm walking out, I'm sort of behind this woman in line and I see her right arm extended back behind her. She's looking very nonchalant. I take a quick glance at her hand. It has maneuvered the lid off a jar of Vaseline on the shelf and she is rubbing the petroleum jelly on her apparently dry left hand. In one fell swoop she snapped the lid back on and left the jar on the shelf with all the others.

How funny is that?

Today's lesson: Don't buy Vaseline without first checking there isn't a dip taken out of it.

Deep thoughts

This popped into my head today

From the sublime to the ridiculous

But upon deeper thought

I realized it was never sublime

Yes, Virginia

I was reading The New York Times "Book Review" today and there was a review of a new Virginia Woolf biography. Considering where I am with my own writing right now, I found this tidbit fabulous:

"I am ashamed, or perhaps proud, to say how much of my time is spent in thinking, thinking, thinking about literature," Woolf wrote in one letter. And in another, "I've shirked two parties, and another Frenchman, and buying a hat, and going to tea with Hilda Trevelyan: for I really can't combine all this with keeping my imaginary people going."

Yes, yes, yes, Virginia.

Abundance

I'm about to begin writing. I've got the decent table in the crowded cafe. My well-worn copy of A Room of One's Own is sitting here with me for inspiration. My coffee is fresh.

I'm thinking about the people who make all this possible. My brother for the computer setup with the Wifi card. The manager here who just gave me the coffee for free. The friend who told me I must read the Virginia Woolf classic that has inspired my book so. The people who have inspired my characters, who I have come to love. The friend who just read a piece of my book despite my trepidation and wrote back an email with LOVED IT in the subject line. The friend who got me the "day" job and made financial peace possible.

And then there is the friend and life coach who pushed me to a breakthrough idea this week. What was a little germ of a thought voiced out loud to her became a hell of an idea for my book. We had some back and forth on it and next thing I knew I was soaring high as a kite. I love this. I must go execute it.

Stay tuned.

Man and the moon

Last night there was almost a full moon. I walked home from the "day" job along the waterfront and marveled that it looked like a big orange ball sitting on top of a building to the left of the Empire State Building. So fabulous.

A man walked beside me. Came out of nowhere, it seemed, as I was in my own world trying to figure out the new cellphone. I put it back in my bag to look at later. He marveled at the moon, too. I realized he was talking to me. Nice conversation ensued. Nice guy. Nice energy. We walked about three blocks. That's all it took for him to ask for my number and for me to hand it over.

Looking forward to his call.

Still I Rise

Today this masterpiece of a poem, one of my all-time favorites, came to mind. The only thing better than seeing it in print is hearing Maya Angelou read it. I can almost hear her deep, melodic voice as my eyes move over the words.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

--Maya Angelou

Clear communication

I got a new cellphone. A cute little thing. A great deal, a steal really. The old one was dying a slow death, the little screen showing all kinds of jumbled numbers, the paint all over the outside peeling off. I squeezed every ounce of use out of that little contraption.

It was an interesting exercise to go through 103 numbers in my old phone's address book and weed out the ones I no longer need or see what people I've lost touch with. I had that phone about five years.

Now I have a new toy, a fresh start, a clear line.

A dance

He is a puppet.
She is a puppet master.

She pulls a string.
He reacts.

She pulls another string.
He reacts again.

She pulls the string harder.
He jumps.

She keeps it up.
He keeps jumping.

She says "Jump."
He says, "How high?"

It's their dance.

Ambulance

So I was just in a cafe writing my book. I was at a table for two. Next to me was a table for four and there was a woman sitting there already when I set up my laptop and got my coffee.

As I became engrossed in my writing, my attention would occasionally wander to her. She had a large beverage filled with ice and she kept stirring it with a straw. Stirring and stirring. Like she needed the noise. She got up and walked by my table and suddenly I was overtaken by her body odor. I sensed she might be homeless. Something about her faraway look.

I kept writing. I saw her go up to the counter and say something to the cashier. I kept writing. A few minutes later I saw three people in uniform come into the cafe. "Did someone call an ambulance?" one asked. The cashier pointed to the woman next to me, who was sitting there quietly. I was dumbfounded. She had asked them to call an ambulance?

The paramedics approached her with care, started asking questions. She said her stomach hurt. They asked where specifically. She said her right side. Questions. Answers. Questions. Answers. They asked if she could be pregnant, when she'd menstruated last. I was further dumbfounded. They asked where she lived. She said Jersey City.

The cafe manager approached, took one of the paramedics aside. She told him that the woman had been there since 10 a.m. and all she'd had all day was coffee and sugar packets. It was 9:15 p.m.

They took her blood pressure, asked her if she could walk to the ambulance. She nodded and they escorted her out the door.

I stopped writing.

Over the rainbow

Dorothy is locked in the witch's castle trying desperately to get home to Auntie Em. Yes, I'm watching The Wizard of Oz for the first time in ages. What a hoot. Love those magical ruby slippers.

I'm particularly intrigued to see it at this time. My book has a fantasy component and I like checking in on how others have done it. A few weeks ago I watched Catwoman for the same reason. Normal life happenings give way to some outsized fantasy scenario, sometimes as snippets throughout the piece and sometimes -- as in The Wizard of Oz -- sandwiched inside the normalcy.

How wonderful to go somewhere over the rainbow on a daring quest for a heart, a brain, courage and a trip home. And to find them in such a spiritual way.

Why oh why can't I?

Bed

I'm sleeping in tomorrow. Magic words. Color me joyous.

Ride home

I witnessed an explosive, emotional encounter today that brought tears to my eyes. I walked out of my "day job" saddened by what had transpired. It had nothing to do with me, but I had a front row seat and it was ugly. I hate to see intelligent, good people feeling frustrated and trapped and not heard. I long to see real, productive, honest communication in the workplace sometimes. It seems so rare. Don't people understand what a difference that could make?

I walked to the subway pondering the mess I'd left. I sat on the train and fished my battered copy of A Room of One's Own out of my purse and began reading chapter 3. It is written in such a frank, no-nonsense tone and it is just so illuminating and wise that I became quickly absorbed. Near the end of the chapter, as we pulled into Hoboken, I read a line that made me laugh out loud:

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.

Thank you, Virginia Woolf. I needed that.

Simple pleasure

What is it about Diet Coke? This afternoon I opened a bottle of it over ice and it was like I was in my own world for a while. The first hit of an icy cold Diet Coke is incomparable. It's one of those moments to be savored.

You'd think I was talking about fine wine the way I'm carrying on. But I've had this obsession for years. I remember having a job almost 20 years ago where I traveled a bit and I treasured the moments where I could draw a bubble bath and get a cold one out of the vending machine to linger over. Such a fine contrast to the steamy hot water, that bubbling, fizzy, cold liquid on my tongue.

What a concoction.

Spike heels

Went to a sample sale today. Right in the building where I work my "day" job. Shoes. Cynthia Rowley. Nancy Geist. A brand called Nancy Nancy. Fabulous selection. The $700 boots were $140. The $350 shoes were $80. Nice. But I didn't buy anything.

Tried on some truly sexy black pumps, though. Several styles, as a matter of fact. I was so drawn to the high heels, which I almost never wear. My diva was out in force.

Great way to spend a lunch hour.

Slices of life

I got an idea for another character in my book. They just keep rolling in.

So often when I hear writers talk about process they talk about being steeped in their characters. Having always been a non-fiction writing professional, I always wondered what that would be like. Now I know.

Something you've been doing for a long time or someone you see regularly suddenly gives you a lightbulb moment. A snippet of dialogue or an observation. Like today I was down in the Wall Street area when this guy checked me out head-to-toe. I thought, "He's a goon, but a hot goon." That's a line, right? Wouldn't a character say that to her girlfriend? And wouldn't the girlfriend know exactly what she meant?

Slices of life. Keeping it real. What fun.

Diamonds through haze

This morning the fog over the Hudson River was so thick I could see only light images of the Manhattan skyline through the haze. When the sun broke through the clouds, it was like nothing I'd ever seen outside of film or photos. It cast its light on the milky white below. The image was like diamonds on the water. All this gray-white and one concentrated patch of shimmering diamonds.

It set the tone for a day that was illuminating on so many levels. I learned what happens when you ask of a higher power, "Show me your face." I gloriously traded stories on the trials and tribulations of character development and plot with a fellow author. I felt the profound sadness of what is inevitable when love is overshadowed by mistrust.

Deep breath. Sigh.

Be real

Book world is really growing on me. I've done about four hours worth now and I must say I love the little world I'm creating. The challenge is to be and stay real. Real. Real. Real. It's key.

So much of what I name things is steeped in meaning. Each item is dear to me. My character is saucy and wise. The storylines are moving. It's taking shape.

Stay the course, baby, stay the course.

Choice

It's Friday night. I'm in a cafe writing my book. (Well, I guess technically right now I'm writing my blog entry -- haha). There is an elderly man falling asleep at one table. There is another older gentleman reading one newspaper after another. The young crew of employees is cleaning around me so as to get their night of partying started as quickly as possible.

These are the choices life boils down to lately:

social life or book
clean apartment or book
mindless TV or book
family or book
friends or book
leisure time or book

Book has been winning out a lot more than it used to.

Finally.

Capricorn

My horoscope in the New York Post today:

You may not be able to summon up a great deal of enthusiasm for what you have to do today but with the Sun at right angles to Saturn, your ruler, that is quite understandable. The important thing is that you keep going anyway, even if it isn't much fun, because the efforts you make now will yield huge rewards later on.

Could that speak to me any more today? I think not.

Spinning

I'm on the hamster wheel. It's spinning around and around and around. I keep moving and it keeps spinning. I am propelled forward by my own power and pace. I alone determine how long to keep spinning.

Smart broad

Read New York magazine's cover story on Maureen Dowd today. Just flat out good writing. Really captured her. The woman has it going on. You've got to love it when the president of the United States calls you "The Cobra."

I so dig smart, sassy women.