“I wanted him to have a regular job where he put on a necktie and went off somewhere with the other fathers and sat in a little office and smoked. But the idea of spending entire days in someone else’s office doing someone else’s work did not suit my father’s soul. I think it would have killed him… So I grew up around this man who sat in the study all day and wrote books…” – Anne Lamott, bird by bird
Two pages in and Anne Lamott already has me figured out. I’m adding this book, recommended by two of my lovely novel readers, to my small pile that I’m reading simultaneously, (Snow Child and Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking). I think I must have a very advanced form of ADHD because I find myself alternating between reading multiple books, working on my novel, and blogging all within the same afternoon. I’m okay with it though. I like the writing that is coming out of all of this, even if it’s progressing slowly.
Luna is already loving up on bird by bird too… And, yes, I appreciate the irony of the cat and title.
Today was the inaugural meeting of the Sac Girls’ Blogging Club. My apologies to any other club with the same name, we did not steal it from you and chances are we’d love to join forces with you if you really exist.
When people in my real life discovered that I had a blog, I started to get a lot of questions about how things work. I also discovered the blogs of some other pretty cool people that I already knew beyond the computer screen. Brainstorming with a friend about blogs, the idea dawned on us– we need to start a nerdy girls’ blogging club!
So, today, three of us met at Old Soul in Sac and talked WordPress vs. Blogger, WordPress navigation, site monetization, and guest blogging. One of us is now even a WordPress convert, but we’ll wait until her style changes are ready to unveil her new WordPress home. We also chatted about teaching, reading, summer plans, exactly the social vision that I imagined for such a club.
Now, we have the goal to make our little club a weekly occurrence. Even if it only ends up happening a couple times a month, I’m excited. It’s nice to connect in real life with the faces behind the stories we read online. If you’re a chick in the Sacramento area and feel like joining us, let us know! Sorry men, it’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just that we feel safer connecting with women in person, (and, besides, you’re probably not interested in all of our chatter anyway!).
In my old life, I belonged to a secret club of commuters. I woke up three mornings a week at a quarter to six, caught the 7AM train from Sacramento to Richmond, then took BART to Berkeley and walked to work. Door-to-door, my commute took two hours and twenty minutes each way. I left the house each morning at 6:40 AM and returned each evening a little before 8PM. I only intended to do this for a couple of months, but thanks to the bad economy I did it for almost one year.
A few rides into my new routine, I discovered that I was not alone. There were dozens of people that rode the same route, some taking the train all the way down to San Jose or switching to a bus in Emeryville headed for downtown San Francisco. We were all part of the same club, regardless of the length of our commute. Many riders had been doing it for years, if not decades. All had their own reasons. Cheaper housing, spouses employed in Sacramento, kids attending certain schools, students unwilling to relocate.
The ambassador for the club was a little old Indian man who introduced himself the first time he spotted my 10-ride pass. He asked me questions about my life, sized me up to figure out how long I would last. Many commuters did not make it. They quit before it ever became a routine. But this little old man showed me the way of the train. He made sure I knew about the secret commuter club parties– birthdays, anniversaries, engagements, all celebrated by the veteran commuters on a pre-planned car of the train. They even threw a holiday party, complete with alcohol and dancing. My little old friend was reputed to be quite the drunken dancer.
Introvert that I am, I avoided becoming a true member of the club. I preferred to finish up my daily analyst work, read novels, write, and listen. And, boy did I listen. I heard so much on that train. I listened to men and women start extramarital affairs. I eavesdropped on conversations about healthy eating, train track suicides, inner-club gossip. I knew who was supposed to be the bitch and who was losing custody of their kids. Turns out people talk a lot when they sit on the train. They also do their makeup, curl their hair, and drink, a lot.
I never knew that this little club of commuter warriors existed until I became a temporary interloper. But, if you ever take Amtrak from Sacramento to the Bay Area, they are there, living out a portion of their lives on the train. To make things more bearable, they have formed an eclectic little family. If you stop to look and listen, you will find them. I do not miss my commute, but I am grateful to know the secrets of the train.
I’m finally back into a groove with my writing. I know where I want to add scenes, I’m living in my story. I see everything so differently than when I began. If I could start over, my writing would be better. I’m not patient enough to start over, so hopefully this will be good enough.
This afternoon I’m expanding a scene in Barcelona. It’s evening, my female protagonist is exploring the city with a new friend. In order to write, I first needed to crawl back into my own memories of Spain. Part of the reason that I chose to send my characters on journeys was so that I could have their adventures with them. I want this to feel authentic, so I need to remember.
To help me go back, I pulled out my old photo album from my summer spent studying abroad in Spain seven years ago. A lot has changed since then. My boyfriend is now my husband. We both look older. The photographs were taken with film, the color and clarity is disappointing, (especially after scanning). Instead of blogging, I wrote my family weekly emails, which are stapled together in the back of my album:
“Alex and I have reached our last stop together and it is going to be very hard to say goodbye… Paris was beautiful and the people were much friendlier than we expected… Madrid really comes alive at night and Alex and I enjoyed a three hour goodbye dinner in La Plaza Mayor.”
“I made it safely to Burgos and have a nice little room with a bathroom all to myself… It is strange being entirely alone in a foreign country.”
“At home when I go out with friends we leave around 9:30, here things do not get going until 2:00 in the morning and people stay out until it is light out… Spaniards actually do dance moves as opposed to standing around kind of moving, and everyone sings along to songs in the bars. ‘La Camisa Negra’ is still stuck in my head… The city is so alive at night and all kinds of people are out, young and old.”
“I thought it was funny today when we were walking and I found a flyer for where to buy pimps and hoes garb, a theme that sadly the clubs must have decided sells well to American college students.”
“Last night we took an evening bus back to Burgos from Barcelona. The Northern Spanish countryside at dusk was incredible. As it got dark we even saw lightning storms.”
That summer changed my life. Rome, Venice, Cinque Terre, Paris, Madrid, Burgos, Barcelona, Bilbao, Salamanca. I learned to travel alone. I made new friends and confirmed my love for travel, (until that point it was all in my head). I have been back to Europe twice since then, but nothing will ever compare to that first long adventure. Fortunately, I can always go back with words, pictures, and “La Camisa Negra.”
Gentlemen readers, unless you are fabulous hair dressers or dads in charge of the morning hair routine (mine was, and boy was he proud when he discovered the flip through ponytail!), this post is probably not for you.
Ladies and hair-interested men, listen up.
I discovered my secret to summer hair. It only took me 28 years, (which is okay, because it took me 26 years to learn how to wear makeup). I have never been high maintenance with my hair and have always envied girls that make looking put together seem effortless. That’s the beauty of this discovery– it is almost effortless. All you need is wet hair and the ability to start a french braid, (even if that ability stops as soon as those first three strands are started, which it does in my case).
The secret:
1. Start one french braid at the crown of the head to one side or your part, (the part does not need to be in the center, in fact I think it’s cuter if one side ends up with more play).
2. Instead of continuing a french braid all of the way down, just use those first three braid pieces to make a regular braid down the back of the head, (you’ll end up with one small braid). Rubber band at the end for now.
3. Do the the same thing to the other side, creating a second small braid to the other side of your part. You should still have about half of your hair left unbraided since you did not continue french braids all the way down.
4. Remove rubber bands from the braids and combine with the remaining hair to twist into one bun, (today I varied this by braiding the two small braids with the remaining hair into one long braid before twisting into the bun, either works well).
5. Ta-da! Your hair is now summer ready, (great for swimming, or still looking pulled together without having to blow dry). BONUS: After your hair dries, you have a second wavy look for later, (which I’m noticing is really in right now).
The braids create a relaxed but pretty summer look that is really hard to mess up, (if I can do it, you can do it!).
Reminds me a little of the coveted renaissance fair braids growing up, very sweet and romantic.
I love that this is something I can actually successfully do to my own hair in five minutes. Had to include this shot for my creepy evil eye.
I don’t keep a diary or a journal. I do keep notebooks and notebooks full of lists, ideas, quotes, and little pieces of inspiration. I recently read that both adults and children that keep gratitude journals are happier and healthier. That’s what my notebooks are for me, little conscious reminders to live life and be happy. I encourage some of my students to do the same thing and am planning to make a more concerted whole class effort next school year.
Interestingly, these notebooks helped to pull me out of my darkest moments and are now an integral part of my life. At yoga last night, I realized that I need to start bringing a notebook to class so that I can jot down all of the ideas that come to me while I’m out living life. Others might think I’m strange, but I swear by these little notes to myself. They keep me creative, inspired, planned, and happy. They help me shape my own reality.
My current rotation of notebooks.
I use my notebooks to collect quotes…
And brainstorm life choices. This was before quitting my old job, I like how I thought there was a magic answer.
Happy little inspiration scribbles…
Plans for the future, (Six Weeks is now Expecting Happiness)…
And, today’s list, plans to finish my book with help from my lovely readers. Thanks ladies!
A friend once mentioned how vulnerable she felt when blogging. I see why she feels that way. It’s nice to be able to write down your thoughts and feelings, but when they are your deepest thoughts, about things that others may or may not know and understand it makes it difficult to really go there… if you know what I’m saying. Well, I’m about to go there.
I thought about you today. Actually, I’ve thought about you a lot in the past few months. I’m not sure why now and not before…….I wish I knew. Everyone has that one song that reminds them of people who are special to them, and I have that one artist that reminds me of you. You were obsessed with her. All you did was talk about how much you loved her and if you had the chance you would make her a happy woman…
My husband had a point. Instead of writing, I spent at least a half hour amusing myself with Instragram, (which I just read should not be used for blog photos, but whatever, amateur blogging in action I guess…). It seems like wherever I go, home or out, I spend necessary time distracting myself before I hunker down and get to work. I maintain that this is part of my creative process.
Distractions help me get focused, if that makes any sense.
So after I played with Instagram, eavesdropped on a conversation between dad and teenaged kids about a solo backpacking trip, and ate my chocolate chip banana bread, I got to work on revisions. I also realized that Old Soul at Weatherstone is my current favorite coffee shop in Sacramento. Between the shady brick patio, the beer on tap, and the artsy Portland-esque decor, I can’t get enough, (see, I’m totally a wannabe hipster).
I’m making it a semi-daily goal this summer to spend a couple of hours working in a coffee shop in addition to the time spent at home. I love listening, observing, and being outside, while also creating, (increased distractions or not!). Best of all, my husband’s job allows him to join me some days, (speaking of which, if you’re looking to buy or sell a house in Sac, I know the man for the job…).
Any other favorite Sacramento coffee shops I should know about?
Here is today’s distraction collection, (the first of many, I’m sure):
Old Soul at Weatherstone
Favorite Outdoor Coffee Seating in Sacramento
Think it’s time to clean my computer screen…
MacBook ad? More distractions from revisions…
Our feet wishing they were in Roma, or Tokyo, or Paris… Wow, I’m a dork.
Found this in my wallet from when I quit my cube job, made me smile.
Summer makes me nostalgic. It makes me want to slow down time so that I can savor each new memory. If I were a superhero, that is what my power would be, time manipulation.
Driving home from my family’s house tonight, my husband and I talked about our differing perceptions of time. For him, life moves at just the right speed, which makes me envious. I guess you do not have to be a superhero to appreciate life properly. Still, I’m not sure how to slow down. It feels like there are more things I want to do than there is time to do them.
I think this is part of why I like to write so much. It gives me the space to trap myself in time.
Tonight I want to trap myself in new summer memories. I want to hold them to my heart so that everyone in them will be with me always. If I could figure out a way for summer dinners to last longer, I would. Instead, it is the words and pictures that are left.
I’m trying to focus on writing but I got sucked into reading an article and then writing this blog simply by searching the correct way to write twenty somethings, (and, I still don’t have a freaking answer, looks like it could be twenty-somethings, twentysomethings, or twenty somethings, depending on who you ask!).
I guess that I’m already breaking one of my summer writing commandments by allowing myself to be distracted by the internet and social media instead of focusing on the task at hand. Damn you again internet.
Stumbled across this article about twenty somethings and happiness which cuts to the core of what I’m trying to write about in Expecting Happiness. We are a generation obsessed with finding this magic key to life that may or may not exist. Really, we’re probably no different than any other generation, we just happen to be the ones complaining right now. Doesn’t every generation face the quintessential crisis of having to grow up and get a job?
Are we really that different for hoping we can change the work world into a more satisfying place?
I like that the article ended with a desire to bring our dogs to work. My husband was pretty stoked when he found out he could bring Simon to his new office and we’ve envied other friends with this luxury for years. Seems like we might be simpler to please than we pretend. And, really, I can’t complain, Simon is pretty much always by my side as I write.
That’s why I’m convinced writers have it the best. They can write from anywhere and achieve any of those desires mentioned in the article. Now only to figure out how to get paid for doing it…
The only thing better than bringing your dog to work? Bringing you dog to work at the beach…
“A perfectly kept house is the sign of a misspent life.”
Saw that recently on Tumblr and agreed only because of the word perfectly. I’m getting better at not being OCD about cleaning. My husband helps with this by not sharing my compulsion for tidiness.
However, there is something about cleaning that is meditative for me. The first day of a break, I always clean my house. I throw out or give away everything superfluous, I make my home a place that I want to spend time. I recently read that people with neat bedrooms sleep better and that people with neat living spaces are calmer, (at least those prone to anxiety, like little old me). Not sure if any of that is true, but anecdotally, I feel much less stressed in an ordered environment.
I wouldn’t say that I like the actual act of cleaning, but I do like the quiet time to think. I find that I have to carry around a notebook from room to room because writing ideas come to me while I work. And, when it’s all done, I feel very visually satisfied with my surroundings. I even make my husband come look at my new organization systems, much to his chagrin.
So, there you have it. Today I enjoyed the zen of cleaning. It’s one of my little life rituals for inner peace.
What are your secrets to consciously cultivating happiness?
Here was one of the bonuses of my compulsion to clean– found this note I didn’t take the time to fully enjoy from a student yesterday. She pretty much captured me in a nutshell: I care for them, I’m always watching, and my dream is for them to at least have the option to go college. Doesn’t hurt that she likes my glasses and my outfit either… Made me smile.
oliviaobryon 