Oh, to support a local business

Ivanka Trump just published a book called The Trump Card: Playing to Win In Work and Life this month that has already received many good reviews. I’m intrigued enough to want to spend the money to get it in hardback [uber-rare for me], so the next question was: where should I buy it?

First I considered picking it up from the local Barnes & Noble because I love B&N and want to keep it going. Then I thought about buying it online from a used bookseller in Tennessee through the B&N site, which would save me some money and a little of the gas that goes into shipping. Then I thought about buying it from BetterWorldBooks because they support literacy programs and the shipping is free.

During this hour of indecisiveness (during which I was analyzing whether I really, really wanted this book more than any of the dozens of others on my wish lists), I found the web site IndieBound.org, where you can look up local independent booksellers and retailers. I found Davis Kidd, which is near me and even having a 10% off sale on Thursday, but they are located in a part of town that I despise driving through. Looking for a place closer to my work, though, yielded Landmark Booksellers, a local small business whose hours are listed as "open most days about 9:00 or 10:00 . . . closed most days about 5:00 or 6:00 But some nights we're open till 8:00 or 9:00." Add to this that they are purveyors of rare books as well as new books and offer a special room on book collecting and the care of rare books, well, I'm in love. When I called, the woman who answered the phone said she was with a customer and asked if she could call me back: whoah. Of course I said that would be fine. Then she called back and offered to order the book for me, as any bookstore would.

At this point in the economic slump, most people probably understand the value of shopping locally. It's just nice to see that there are so many options out there to do a good thing in a way that is still convenient. No, I won't be saving any money with this particular option, but maybe I'll be helping in a little way to save that bastion of the American dream, the independently owned business.

Growing Old Is . . .

Watching the year you were born get farther and farther down the pull-down menu on a web form.

Seeing a commercial for new, energy-efficient windows to replace those old, drafty '90s windows.

Realizing the kids who were in kindergarten when you graduated high school have now graduated from high school.

Thinking kids these days don't know what real music is.

Acknowledging that certain clothing is no longer appropriate in public.

Not taking everything so seriously.

Not so bad if you don't think about it too much.

Bye-Bye Chemicals. Hello, Fire In The Belly.

My husband believes that some people overeat to calm the fire in their belly. He's not talking about indigestion but about the burn to do something, to love someone, to be someone. It's a real physical pang that most people are not ready to deal with, so, he believes, they eat to mute the internal calling.

I can tell that the chemicals from my anti-depressants have left my body, and now the overwhelming love and compassion I used to feel as a teenager have returned (except without the attachment issues, thank God). It's an uncomfortable yearning characterized by an urge to act, an urge to speak out, and a simultaneous urge to hide from these pressing needs. Sometimes I can't imagine feeling this way for my whole life, but after my recent period of relative calm and complacency, I welcome the moments of such humongous emotion that my body radiates with energy. Will it ever go away? As long as there are people unable to govern or protect themselves, there will be others to exploit them, and I cannot be at peace. You can fight the passion - try to numb it, ignore it, demoralize or deprive it - but it will always return. Peace isn't just a lack of conflict; it's knowing that you've done something to help bring that lack of conflict to its fruition.

Learning Spanish! Soy mujer!

I just finished my first lesson at LiveMocha, a free language learning web site that is comparable to Rosetta Stone, but cooler because you get to befriend people and chat with people and help them with their lessons. I'm sad to admit I turned down the first three people who tried to chat with me because I was shy, but I'll get in there next time. I listened to a few lessons of other people and rated them, and people can rate mine, and it's an active learning community. What an exciting way to learn a language and connect with people around the world!

A Few of My Favorite Things

I seem to be finding a lot of products I like lately. Since I'm the type of person who wants everyone to have good experiences, I like to be an unpaid and sometimes unwelcome/overenthusiastic spokesperson for awesome products I find. Considering my recent list of favorites, one of two conclusions can be drawn: either I have really been lucky in picking good stuff, or my ability to discern quality has been severely hampered. It's up to readers, since "Everyone," as Marie says in When Harry Met Sally, "thinks they have good taste."

1) Tide Total Care: This stuff does what it says it will. My clothes are softer, brighter, not stretching out in the wash, and my husband's t-shirts smell heavenly on him. It got out dried blood, old dried-in schmutz on a hand-me-down, and tomato sauce. Stains? I laugh in the face of stains - ha ha ha ha! Tide even offers a free sample here. It's a little pricey, but it's totally worth it. Don't be fooled by the smell in the bottle; it's so concentrated that it smells a little weird before it's been diluted in the wash. It may not be appropriate for people with skin allergies due to the high fragrance content, but for the rest of us, it's better than Gain!


2) Allergen Block: There are two versions of this, Chloroseptic and Little Allergies, the latter being the only one I've been able to find (I found it at WalMart). It's a drug-free ointment that you rub around your nostrils and upper lip, and it claims to have a positive charge that repels negatively-charged allergens. Although it seemed far-fetched, I've built up a tolerance to Zyrtec and needed to find an affordable alternative. You may be shocked to know that I actually like it! It does have to be reapplied every 4-6 hours or if you get your face wet or have to blow your nose a lot - it doesn't stop post-nasal drip until your body stops reacting to the allergens you've already inhaled. Once my body got over what it was already reacting to, this stuff did a pretty good job of taming the outdoor allergens! It's not so great against my furry pets and fur-covered bed, though, so a little preventative maintenance of allergens might help prevent waking up miserable. You can get a $3 rebate from Rite-Aid until May 30th [it's about a third of the way down the page of the link]. Balancing the cost against the cost-per-use makes it a decent deal.



3) Hugo Naturals: I started with their French Lavender Calming Shampoo, Conditioner, and lotion while on our vacation, then fell in love with their bar soaps after we got back. The shampoo doesn't have icky sodium lauryl sulfate or other detergents, and the conditioner doesn't have alcohol. It feels weird to use, but it leaves hair thoroughly clean yet not stripped. The lotion absorbs quickly and doesn't have a heavy smell. The soap is one of the only soaps around that doesn't leave my skin dry and itchy, but it does have one caveat: it contains castor oil. Castor oil is perfectly safe to use but extremely toxic to harvest, making it a product that contributes to unsafe work places. I intend to let Hugo Naturals know about my concern and switch to their shower gel for my next go-round. I buy it at Whole Foods/Whole Body, but it can be purchased directly here.


These are just three of my favorite things of late, but let's face it, it's not that interesting a blog entry to read. It also doesn't endorse my favorite product site, Etsy.com. You can see all those favorite things in the box on the right, and buying things there supports independent craftspeople. Go Handmade!

Busy Isn't Always Busy

Sometimes busy is busy resting, busy recovering, busy watching movies, or busy overeating. Sometimes, busy means preoccupied. I always feel busy, but maybe that's 'cause even when I'm being lazy, it's intentional. There has to be some value in that.

We Will Put Anything In Our Mouths

Humans can be so overly concerned with their health (Swine Flu, anyone?), and yet we will put just about anything in our mouths. Why is this? The phenomenon occurred to me while looking up the potential side effects of quitting the anti-depressant Lexapro. People who cut off Lexapro without a tapering off reported things like brain shivers/brain freezes, memory loss, raging headaches, loss of sexual desire, and, of course, a return of their depression. "What's in those things?" my husband asked. Whatever it is, I want it to not be in my brain anymore, so I am ignoring my doctor's advice to just stop taking the drug and am cutting the pills in half while gradually increasing the time between doses. So far, I've had only one little brain freeze that does, in fact, feel like someone is blowing cold air over your frontal lobe. Perhaps I don't want to know what's in those things.

The side effects of prescription drugs described in commercials make a lot of people laugh, but it's a little scary when you think about what people will risk to get some other benefit. Then there are diet pills, untested supplements, exotic foods, random pills given to us at parties, pens and pencils, Pop Rocks, tobacco, fermented grains, corners of packages that have been passed through the hands of loaders, stockers, and cashiers . . . we are so gross! What is wrong with us that we believe our saliva has the power to kill the germs on a ketchup packet from a bin in a fast food restaurant, but we close schools and businesses at the mere threat of someone sneezing near us? Or why do we take a product that will "gently remind us when we're not eating right" - i.e., alli ® - which gives us diarrhea if we eat too much fatty food rather than just, say, limit our intake of fatty foods all on our own? Why is my father-in-law being directed to take vomit-inducing levels of iron but abstain from greens because they will react with his Coumadin rather than being directed to take some aspirin and eat some spinach?

The photos below are some of the food that my husband and I ate in Mexico on our vacation to San Miguel de Allende. It was the only time I've ever known this man to willingly and happily eat raw tomatoes, which really were so good I wrote home to my mother about them. Their food was fresh, flavorful, whole. It was the food people were meant to eat. It made us feel good because it was filled with nutrition, and it was a joy to smell, chew on, swallow, and moan over. It made me want to grow a garden. It also made me want to pay more attention to what I put in my mouth. Now, I'm perfecting my homemade bread, homemade applesauce, and homemade jam, which is surprisingly simple when made in small batches that aren't meant to keep all winter.


An Omelet with Avacado and Tomato; Fried Fish with Rice and Beans
 
Fresh-Squeezed Juices of Mango, Papaya, Pineapple, and Watermelon
 


The last photo is a sample of tequila ice cream, which turned out to be one of my favorite sensory experiences of the whole trip. It came from a street vendor, and it tasted a little like Kahlua, which I suppose may be because the best tequila has hints of coffee in it. The brightness of the tequila first hit my nose and then soared over my tongue while the sweetness and icy-milky texture following behind it had me licking the cup. This was my second helping during the trip, which was still soft and therefore could not be served in a waffle cone. Of course, in Mexico, we didn't have any idea what the kitchens were like where our food was made, if standard sanitation practices were in use, or even whether local water was part of the mix, but I didn't get sick once. And I wasn't scared. After all, we will put just about anything in our mouths!

Time To Recoup

Lately, whenever I get excited about an opportunity that falls through, I have to go through a little down time. Before I moved to Nashville, I could jump into a new project after barely absorbing a moment of disappointment. Now, I don't hop up so quickly.

I joke with former coworkers about my escape plan from my current job and the progress I'm making - or not making, really. There was the private housekeeper job at the home of the Dollar General founder and his wife, a children's book writer. How could I not get hired with my hotel and bed-and-breakfast experience, or my enthusiasm? There was the reporter job at the Nashville Business Journal, for which I was unqualified, but the editor interviewed me anyway because I was so determined. Some brokers who left the office where I currently work asked if I'd like to interview to be their assistant at the new firm, but the other two men on their new team hired an assistant that had just returned to the city after living in Kentucky. I did my best to procure an assistant job at Thomas Nelson Publishers under the VP of Marketing, sending notes and, finally, a cardboard book with three boxes inside. The title was, "What To Expect When You Hire Christine"; one box said "Save" with a fake watch inside to represent time, one box said "Make" with a roll of fake money inside, and one box said "Have" with a ball inside. Then Thomas Nelson Publishers instituted a hiring freeze. Three weeks later, they laid off ten percent of their workforce.





On the 13th of this month, I submitted my application to Teach For America. Last year, nearly 25,000 applicants applied for 3,700 positions. The date was the final date for submission out of four possible dates, but I had just read that they were going to be starting a corps in Nashville on the 12th. I filled out the application in two nights, including the 500-word essay, the 500-word letter of intent, and the 500-word description of how I overcame an obstacle. Over the ensuing week and half, I began to really see myself as a teacher, planning out lessons in my head. I felt sure that my life experiences and hard work supporting myself during college would be positive points, but as of yesterday, I was officially rejected. Never mind that they only have a limited number of positions, and I was probably only one of thousands who were rejected; it still stung a little. I decided long before that, though, that I would not be too disappointed and would apply again at the first deadline for next year.

The experience at least pushed to the fore my lingering desire to teach, the desire I've squelched for so long for lack of funds. I could try for Nashville Teacher Fellows next year, too, which is a similar program, and if I could raise the money, I could go to Western Governor's University to study teaching over the next few years. There are other options. I just need a day or to to heal from yet another bruising.

Visualization

I've been praciticing visualization lately. After reading Kathy Freston's Quantum Wellness and Joel Osteen's Become a Better You, I committed to working on myself from the inside as well as from the outside.

First I started with visualizing myself in a new career. That hasn't been going so well, but perhaps it is because I haven't committed to any sort of career yet. It is more like trying on clothes, seeing if I can imagine myself as a writer, a teacher, a baker, or an assistant in a publishing company. Lately I have been particularly drawn to the visualization of teaching because I recently applied to Teach For America. It may be the only way I can break into teaching without breaking the bank.

My most successful visualization so far has been visualizing myself as a 6-foot tall supermodel. Maybe I will never attain that career, but I do these visualizations while I'm walking, even if I'm just walking to the restroom. I try to carry myself like I am tall, slender, and practiced in the art of graceful walking. So far, it has helped me carry myself more confidently, and I feel better! I also feel slimmer! It's a challenge to not rush around like I usually do, or to not be self-conscious about my hair or worry about my belly. This practice takes my focus away from my imagined flaws and puts them on my envisioned exquisite beauty and charm. It makes me smile. When I'm in the restroom, I practice Joel Osteen's suggestion of telling myself I am smart, I am creative, I am beautiful, I am annointed, I have a purpose, I inspire people, etc. If I ever do get to be a teacher, this is something I can give them: the experience of visualization in creating a better self, even if is something small like walking taller. Of course at that point, I will have also visualized myself into a new career!

Let's Jump!

The local research hospital where I go for all of my medical needs has free valet parking. The waiting area for the people who were waiting for their cars was quite full today after my 10 am appointment. As I entered the waiting area, two little girls caught my eye because they were wearing fleece pullovers in twenty-degree weather without hats, gloves, or overcoats. Their mother seemed kind enough, young and proud and attentive. I remember a comedian once saying that children are like little heaters, so I figured these girls' energy must be keeping them from noticing the cold.

The younger girl looked just like her mother, blonde and petite and a little like the Swiss Miss girl. Her sister had brown hair but otherwise looked just like the other two. They were chattering away in their little girl ways and goofing around with little games like, "This is MY mommy!" where they took turns hugging Mommy. The younger girl began to hop around and laugh at her own antics when the older girl blurted out, "Let's jump!"

They lined themselves up next to each other, then hopped to the side of the room, then hopped back to Mommy. The woman did not stop them or corral them to her side but instead smiled as they hopped back and forth across the floor. Smart woman, I thought, to let them use up all that energy. Someone asked their ages - 4 and 5 was the answer - and the girls continued to hop around like, no kidding, little rabbits. They were delightful to watch. All I could think was how nice it must be to have fun hopping around the floor with no particular goal, no rules for a game, no reason at all except for fun.

Sometimes, when no one is looking, I'll hop in the air and click my heels together. I get it. Maybe I just need to do it more.

Georgia Ain't Louisiana, and It Sure Ain't Tennessee

I'm reading a section of Stephen King's On Writing where he talks about writing dialogue. In two of his examples, a southern-style accent seems to indicate ignorance. It's actually that style of speaking I like to refer to as "coun'ry," that slow rolling of words into one another that probably came about because southern humidity was far too oppressive to allow haste in anything, even speaking. Either way, such representations usually show the ignorance of the writer as well as the character. In my short life so far, I have lived in three southern states, four if you count Florida, but no one counts Florida. Each state has not just one version of a southern accent, but several. The great South is like Great Britain: when you're from there, you can tell where someone else is from simply by the way they speak.

In the countryside of Tennessee, you will find what may be the most typical country southern accent I've ever heard. In South Carolina, Charleston alone has the refined Charleston accent of the old south (click here to hear former Senator Ernest "Fritz" Hollings), the Gullah accent of its slave descendants (click here to hear examples), and the lack of an accent at all in its younger generation (actress Mena Suvari and comedian Stephen Colbert of "The Colbert Report" grew up there). The rest of the state has a much more common-sounding southern accent but not much of a country accent. Georgia, Atlanta not included, has a somewhat country accent pervasive throughout, although people speak faster in urban areas than Georgians from the actual countryside. Think of Paula Deen without the theatrical emphasis on her Southern-ness. In the mountains around Georgia and in some of the more rural areas, though, you'll find what some call a "hick" accent - see the comic strip above. That's the accent most used to represent ignorance in books because it represents people whom others assume aren't exposed to outside influences or a proper education. It's prevalent in many Appalachian areas, not because the people are ignorant, but because the people are geographically isolated and have developed their own dialects. In Atlanta, the diversity of its residents causes the southern accent to be less pervasive. The African American youth of Atlanta, though, have a way of speaking that is partly an accent, partly a colloquial vocabulary, and entirely their own.

The actresses in the movie "Steel Magnolias" did a fine job of their southern accents, even though Dolly Parton is from Tennessee and Julia Roberts is from Georgia. The playwright who originally penned "Steel Magnolias" for stage was from Louisiana, where the story takes place, and he knew how to write that Louisiana drawl. It's in the writing of the accent that the differences need to appear, and it's in the poor writing of accents where people get confused and begin to attach the stereotypes associated with the way people speak. Did Alice Walker get the accents right in The Color Purple? It wasn't until the movie came out that I even understood what half of the characters were supposed to be saying. Margaret Mitchell Marsh, though, thoroughly researched the history behind Gone With The Wind, and she represented a variety of different dialects as accurately as anyone can, I suppose, when writing phonetically.

North Carolina, Alabama, Mississipi, Texas, and Oklahoma all have their own accents, too. Perhaps authors who are going to write dialogue of someone in the South but aren't from the South should begin with a travel journal!

Wellness Sure Is Time-Consuming!

This year I made several resolutions, which I don't always do because they so often fail. I was already underway with an attempt to exercise more regularly and meditate, though, so I simply added my resolve to write daily to the list. Well, I also wanted to be a better listener and get to work early every day, but those are separate from the wellness kick I'm on. With a new empty calendar on the wall, I began to track my resolution progress with little sparkly smiley-face stickers. The yellow stickers, which I have more of, signify the days or nights when I write for at least 15 minutes. The other colors signify at least 30 minutes of exercise. Meditating had, at the beginning of the year, become part of my evening routine, so I didn't keep track of it.

As with most resolutions, the first week was filled with success and sparkly smiley-faces. It filled me with child-like glee to get to stick another symbol of hard work on my calendar most nights. The second week, I exercised once. I was tired, and I didn't feel good most of the week. I also only wrote once. I found it difficult to pull myself away from my husband in the evenings, although I did make time to start reading Stephen King's book, On Writing. I was going to bed by 8:30 every night, so that in itself was an accomplishment. This week, I've written for four days in a row, but I didn't exercise at all. Meditating has become a source of composing myself only when I am the most stressed but not too tired. If I'm too tired, I just get antsy or fall asleep. Tonight I tried exercising again, hula hooping on my bed, but after 15 minutes my esophagus burned with indigestion from exercising too soon after eating.

This is quite a dilemma! I am, as the good Lord knows, not a morning person. Years, many years, of trying to wake up early to exercise has taught me that it will never happen. I can accept that. In the evenings, though, how do I fit it all in? If I exercise for 30 minutes, then I have to shower and dry my hair, which takes at least 30 minutes. If I write for 15 minutes, then I'm going to end up writing for half an hour because I enjoy it. Then I have to fit in eating, resting at least an hour after eating before exercising, spending quality time with my husband (I guess resting and quality time go together), and meditating -- another 10 to 30 minutes. With about four hours between the time I get home and the time I go to bed, I haven't quite learned how to make it all fit.

One solution shines brightly as a beacon to lead me toward freedom: I need to get rid of my day job! Clearly I must have been meant to be a career writer; it seems to be wired in my biorhythms. Only then will I have all the time I want to do the stuff I want. It's the writers, those damned self-help writers and columnists for magazines, who actually have the time to do all the stuff they keep telling us we need to do to be whole people. Therefore, all non-writers and aspiring writers take heart: those people telling you what to do clearly do not live in the real world. As for me, I'm going to set about figuring out how to make a living writing and create my own little world.

Why I Haven't Posted (and why I should have)

Although I'd like to blame my not writing on the busy holidays, or on the fact that I've been working through depression the past couple months (that deserves another post), I just haven't posted lately because I haven't felt like I had anything to post. The subtitle of my blog is my motto, "Life's all about the experiences," and my life is pretty boring. Why write when I haven't had any noteworthy experiences?

Of course, I've had all sorts of noteworthy experiences, like visiting my family over Christmas. My dad gave his first Sunday sermon at his church, and it was only the second time I'd seen my niece, who was 10 months old at the time. There was the whole experience of reaching bottom emotionally and going to the doctor to get on medication. There are the experiences of my mindfulness practice through the book I've been studying, and experiences the book has asked me to notice, those pleasant things I notice while I'm experiencing them (like the snow falling gently through the air today).

My counselor suggested I carry around a journal with me, and she said I don't have to write long entries. I could just write a sentence or two as I'm feeling something. Her permission to write a sentence or two made all the difference. Sure, I knew that no one was going to grade me on my journal entries or judge me for writing a single sentence, yet I always felt compelled to write longer entries because they seemed more worthwhile. In my practice these past few weeks of writing shorter entries, it never occurred to me that rules of length don't exist for blog writing. If anything, people who blog generally post far shorter entries than I do. So now that I am learning to appreciate the small experiences, and now that I am learning to let myself write shorter pieces, and now that I'm committed this year to writing at least 15 minutes a night - it's a start - perhaps these posts will come more frequently. Perhaps these posts will be more enjoyable to read, too. I hope!