Yin and Yang

I have found that it’s best for me not to post anything here when I can’t be positive. There is a lot to be positive about, but, you know how it is, some folks, especially we menopausal ones, find it hard to think about anything but the negative at times. So, I’ll spare my little Interwebs tract of land the whine fest. There are people in Ethiopia, after all.

I leave for New York City tomorrow. As I say it aloud in my head as I type, I can’t not sound like the salsa guy. I’m happy but in the middle of my normal nervous phase right before any trip involving airports. It’s not the plane, just the airport. Once I’m on the plane, I’ll be fine, so there is that.

Let me try another tack to be positive here: I just know my personal space won’t be violated while touring the city like a Japanese person. Besides, it can’t be any more violated than sitting in a cubicle surrounded by folks from Plainfield, Indiana. Damn. Do you see my struggle? This little skirmish between good thoughts and bad can be serious. But, luckily, I could be in a whole different frame of mind in an hour.

Unrelated thought - The Goodbye Girl was on cable this weekend and it’s a personal favorite. I googled Quinn Cummings and found that she has a blog called the QC Report and a new book coming out in July. Her blog is quite funny – she blogged yesterday (the day after the movie aired) about an increase in traffic and the google search terms people used to find her. Cute.

There it was. Positive. For a minute anyway. ‘Cause there are things like the cubicle and the airport to think about.

Do-Over

Thanks to ingenious Web designer, Melody Watson, you’ll notice a new look here, and, hopefully, love it as much as I do.

I’m focusing more on my freelance business this year and wanted my site to reflect that. I also wanted it to be more reflective of me. I think she hit the nail on the head - even though she called the site ‘elegant’ once and well….while ever so close, it's not my exact aura :). For me, it has a northeastern, coastal, clean, crisp, beach-y, writer vibe and that’s me…in my dreams, anyway.

Anyway, I hope you’ll look around a while, come back often, and remember my name and this swanky new site whenever you have an itch for something wonderful to be written.

Excuse The Mess...

...during my re-construction. Big to-dos going on. Ch-ch-ch-changes, one might say have said in 1972.

I hope you don't stop by and think, "Who the heck is this Karen Rutherford and why is she so color and font and alignment blind?"

Newfangled site coming soon. Soon = as soon as Karen Rutherford holds up her end of the bargain.

So, please grab a' hold of your favorite safety partner and do be careful as you step over the clashing shades of red and fonts running amuck and such.

Thanks, The Management

February in Do More Review

While we continue to work out kinks in Karen 2.0, February’s release did have some solid improvements. The backup system was tested on the worst day of 2009 so far with a heated ultimatum to the Heavens. Results were favorable and though there was a meltdown, there wasn’t complete system failure. Small but steady progress was made on the experiment application and is currently at a 5.2% success rate. The procrastination issues have been fixed, for now. They will need close monitoring. The Leap philosophy has been embedded in the code and we are very pleased with its performance. We haven’t flipped the switch on the Leap feature yet, as we are preparing for a few upcoming changes.

Did I do more? I’m never sure until I recap through my gratitude journal.

I wrote, interviewed, searched, talked, looked forward to something, got fed up, wrote a tagline in a mere eight hours, didn’t watch television, went to Bloomington, worked, heard from Austin on Valentine’s Day, paid for a trip and a $400 gas bill, got taxes done, said no thank you to something not on the path, listened to a teleseminar, signed up for a class, put my best hex on a desperate boy, had a nice cry , tried a new restaurant, found the Storytelling Arts of Indiana, joined an online group, laughed at something that wasn’t especially funny, and was happy for a friend’s new house.

So, I think February was a success. Heading in the right direction and that’s what counts.

Is Al Pacino on the Facebook?

I feel like I shouldn’t admit this, but I don’t understand the facebook. I mean, I understand the term social networking, but isn’t that what telephones and email and blackberries and bluetooths and skypes and websites and blogs and ims and texts are for?

I guess this facebook is especially confusing to me, because there are games and walls and drinking and snowball fights and kidnappings and wars. It all sounds socially violent and very irresponsible to me.

But everything’s imaginary, right? So, let’s say I accepted four or five drinking requests and said yes to a snowball fight. I wouldn’t actually have to drive to the snow and the person who wants to throw a honkin’ ball of snow at me, right? Not only is that socially dangerous and illegal, it would also be very bad for my joints. (I don’t even want to know what’s involved in a mob war unless a young Al Pacino’s part of it.)

There are also constant questions about what I’m doing. Who wants to know? And why? This and the twits thing just feel awkward and creepy to me. I assume I type something in the little box, but where does it go and what's the point? I could never, ever do this. And you’re welcome.

I did, however, answer a quiz that had to be written by pre-teens about what I’m god of, even though I don’t really understand the question. I mean what could I possibly? I have no idea how it got on my page/wall/thingamajig. But anyway, I’m god of air, because it deemed me independent after it asked me if I would, with guns a'blazin', charge into a school where students were being held hostage by terrorists and I said no. Yea, explain it to me and then we’ll both understand.

So, feeling pretty confident that I’ll never belong, I’m forced to continue letting all these imaginary requests from the facebook pass me by. I don’t like being rude, but I really should watch out for my health now that I’m middle-aged and so unaware.

Empty Offices

I love an empty office. After the cleaning crew has come and emptied all the wastebaskets and turned off all the lights. I love to sit at my (temporary) desk with just one light on. It feels like night. Windows are two rows away and it’s a snowy day. It’s so quiet; I can hear the printer hum. All I hear is my own typing. I like knowing that the people who are usually here aren’t. They’re in their homes, probably just getting up or having coffee. I like that nobody knows I’m here. 

I wonder if my love of empty offices comes from memories of my father taking me to his when I was a kid. He traveled a lot during the week and would often go to his office on weekends. I don’t remember who initiated my going, but I sure am glad it worked out. 

He had a corner office with huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking one of those man-made, office park lakes. He’d let me sit at his secretary’s desk and play with the phones, the intercoms, the rolodexes, the papers. The typewriter! How I loved the typewriter. I’d take that plastic canvas cover off, plug it in and neatly stack my paper next to it. I was an expert at using those little correction paper strips that were fancy-new-fangled at the time. I’d place a strip over the wrong letters and type them again and they’d disappear. It was magic. And the office supplies! Forget about it. Hours. I’m still like a kid in a candy shop at the mere mention of the office supply cabinet. 

I ran the halls, looking in everyone’s office, getting to know them. I touched their stuff, looked at their pictures, sat in their chairs, and imagined their lives. Knowing that they couldn't possibly have the wonderful life I did. 

And here I sit forty years later in an empty office. I still look in other people’s cubicles. I still open up the supply cabinet just to window shop. I still correct my typing, just in a very different way. It’s so quiet that I can hear the clock on the wall ticking with every second. I’m sure if I closed my eyes long enough, I could hear my father calling my name from his big, important office, telling me it’s time to go home. 

Amazing Grass

In the midst of an email exchange with a friend today, we got to talking about digestive issues. 

“I’ve tried the probiotic stuff, but it didn’t help much.”

“It does seem to work for a time and then just quit. Sort of like an immunity build-up, so to speak.”

“I found this stuff called Amazing Grass at Whole Foods. But it worked well for a while and then stopped working, too.”

“Remember when amazing grass was something entirely different?”

We closed with hearty old-lady chuckles and trips to the bathroom.

Ship Coming In

According to my horoscope, my ship’s coming in tomorrow. Since I’ll be at the docks all day, I thought I should post something enlightening today. So here it is: my informal review of my new obsession, FX’s Damages.

I had no idea about Damages until I recently became a Ricky Gervais fan (I’m a late adopter, a.k.a. old person) and started reading his blog. He wrote that it was some of the most brilliant writing he’d ever experienced. So, I innocently clicked the Hulu button for Season 1, Episode 1. 

Hooked. Completely. Can’t stop. Peanut MnMs level of hooked-dom.

Yesterday, Ricky G. wrote that he was having the second season fed-ex’d. How ridiculous is that?!? :) Like Chris Rock says about OJ, “I’m not saying I could do what he did, but I understand.”

One of the writers is married to Grace, from Will and Grace. And another writer is the seemingly ("trust no one") oblivious doorman! Now, that’s funny.

And, of course, there is the burning question: What the hell happened to Glenn Close? Did someone beat her as a child? Relentlessly bully her on the playground? Lock her in a room? Chain her to a radiator? What was it that, to this day, gives this woman the endless supply of nasty she pulls from in role after role after role? I thought Cruella De Vil was bad, but this! This Patty Hughes. She’s hard to believe bad.

When Ellen asks her, “Do you regret what we did? Because I do.” and that woman looks at her and suspiciously asks, “You do?” Oh my. The icy chills. Sign me up for every episode forever and ever and ever. 

Damn you, Glenn Close. Damn you. 

On an unrelated note, at dinner last night, I was asked repeatedly about what kind of men I prefer. Huh? What kind of who do I what? It took me a few minutes to get with the program, but I came up with Craig Ferguson, Hugh Laurie and Colin Firth. And now I can’t stop laughing at my choices. I’m so obviously out of the loop. 

Then, my friend started picking out men in the packed restaurant and insisting on my reaction. I admit I sort of felt like an awkward girl of 39 again. But this must be stopped before it goes any further, because I really do like being in the house with the dog. I’ve waited on this peace for a long time. So, if (single) Craig Ferguson interrupted all this and knocked on the door and forced me to dinner and a movie, I’m afraid I’d have to say, “Thanks, Craig, but no thanks. Take all that love and admiration you have for me and move on down the road. Nobody here is interested in that stuff.” And then the dog would kill me in my sleep, because her survival of the fittest instinct told her it was the right thing to do for the betterment of my species. 

A Technical Writer's Dream

Some people think technical writing isn’t fun and exciting. To which I emphatically say, “Poppycock”. How often does this happen to you? 

Last night, I was awakened from what felt like one of those really deep sleep dreams. I was struggling with a Word table. I was rearranging columns. Inserting IP addresses. Typing in default values for things. Resizing screenshots. Centering. Bolding. Shading. 

Night before last, my alarm went off right in the middle of a masterful table of contents creation. I actually woke up and said “shit” out loud as I pushed the snooze button to try to get back to where I was so I could finish and save.

And, this weekend, I was indexing in my sleep. I know. It can’t get much better than subconscious indexing.

It was exactly what I’ve been doing lately. The kind of crazy fun that you just can't get enough of during the day and have to think about in your sleep! Night after night after night after night.

Ah, the enviable life of a technical writer. Now, you must try not to hate. This work and these dreams are reserved for special people. 

Note: Last night, I was also awakened by a second dream, though unrelated to tech writing and more scary than fun. My son’s father was moving my grandmother’s house to a small lot in a neighborhood very similar to my grandmother’s neighborhood. It was all very confusing, but I think I was moving there and I’m not 100%, but I think he was moving in, too! Writing this gives me the dry heaves. 

January in Review

February 1st marks the one-month anniversary of the release of Karen 2.0. This new version has some new features and some old kinks.

Features: It is supposed to be kinder, gentler to idiots (this has gone well, thus the use of the word idiots (actually we have noticed that it stops itself quicker when on futile tirades)). It is supposed to be working on an experiment (this has gone well and is at 4.04%). It is supposed to be more directed to writing and freelancing (this has gone well and we’ll know more as this comes together).

Kinks: Apparently, procrastination can be taken too far. We need to ask more calmly for what we need and want. We need to keep reaching out because crazy Universal connections are so meaningful and wonderful. We need to remember to repeat every minute of every day: leap and the net will appear (i.e., faith).

Kinks should be worked out soon - hopefully included in February’s service pack.

Only Floss The Ones You Wanna Keep

Flossing my teeth this morning (“Only floss the ones you wanna keep,” Ricky Gervais advises in Ghost Town), I was reminded of my trip to Cary, North Carolina, last fall. 

I was stopped at a red light on my way to an appointment when I found something amiss in a back tooth. So, I innocently pulled out my floss contraption and proceeded to do what flossers do. Since I can do more than one thing at a time sometimes, I noticed the car behind me pull up on my right side – probably to not be behind me when the light turned green. I was in a rental car with out of state plates and if you’ve ever been behind a rental car with out-of-state plates, you have probably wanted to get away from them, too. No problems. I understand. Come on around.

But, then I felt eyes on me. I looked to my right and she was staring at me. Disapprovingly, too. I’m still not sure I was doing anything wrong, but being in her territory, I figured her attitude trumped mine. So, I was caught doing something bad. 

In case you don’t know anything about Cary, it has the densest population of PhDs in the country. This means money, money, money, academia, academia, academia, high-falutin’, high-falutin’, high-faultin. And there I was flossin’ in public. Not only that, but I was on the road that passes in front of the upscale mall in town in a rented red Chevy Cobalt (bottom of the rental scale) with plates from Tippecanoe, Indiana (wherever this is, they must use canoes a lot to name the town after tipping over in one) .

So, since my hands were practically in my mouth anyway, I quickly covered it in shame and conjured up my “I’m so sorry, please don’t think bad of me” look. But, when she didn’t turn away and didn’t change expressions, I realized that there was nothing I could do to make her think good thoughts about me. So, I shrugged my shoulders and made my when-all-else-fails move: I started to laugh. 

And do you know what she did? She laughed, too. And not in a bad, laughing at me way, but in a permissive, carry on, let’s be friends kind of way. The light turned green, and we waved goodbye. 

Just goes to show you: yes, we can. 

¡Ay, caramba!

I failed. And now I have to pay - with movement.

Back in November, I made a writing deal with a friend. She would be the coach, and I would be the player. I needed someone tough, someone I respect too much to let down. Yes, the obvious question is why can’t I just push myself. Well, my friend, if I had that key, I’d be places right now. Anyway, I failed to complete a task the first week of January, so the punishment we had agreed on…well…

“Will you do this for me?”

“Yes! But, let’s think. We need to figure out what motivates you. Name something that you just hate to do. Quick.”

"Exercise.”

“Perfect. Every time you don’t turn in an assignment, we’ll exercise.”

I’m not sure that was an agreement, but I mentioned respect. So, I must exercise. The last time I exercised in public was at the YMCA, late at night after they turned out most of the lights because nobody was there, in the corner, walking quietly on a treadmill.

Tonight is something called Zumba. From what I’ve seen on YouTube, it involves dancing and rhythm and groups and boys. Oh, my. Another hive. (The last time I danced in public, it was sometime in the 1980s and involved more than just a few cocktails.)

I’ve emailed four excuses already, and she’s not buying a one of ‘em. I haven’t missed an assignment this week, though, and I may never again. That’s coaching!! And just what I need.

Apparently, Anyone Can Run a Writing Workshop

I have said it a hundred times: I will never, ever, ever go to another writer’s group in this city. Why, oh why, oh lord why don’t I listen to myself? I’m pretty smart; I don’t know why I’m so dumb. 

“For our first exercise, we’re going to pretend we’re kitchen implements. Pick an implement to be, and then write for ten minutes about being that implement. Then we’ll share.”

“Here’s an idea, you freak. You be a fuh-arking kitchen implement.”  (She must have read my mind. And she couldn’t wait to share her work with us (if you’ve ever been to a writer’s group, these are ALWAYS the writers to avoid). She was a tea bag and went on for at least a page about feeling like an unproductive ginger chai coconut blend until she was dipped in hot water.)

Anyway, this is as far as I got: “I’m an itchy ice pick.” 

I didn’t share.

I grabbed my coat and purse and left at the most polite moment I could find - when she got up to play a CD. Apparently, the next exercise after the kitchen stories was going to involve closing our eyes and listening to Indian music until something popped in our heads that we wanted to write about. 

I’m now a disappointed ice pick. But I’m one that writes, and I deserve better than listening to a ginger chai coconut tea bag. 

3.53%

After two weeks with “the experiment”, I’m a mere 96.47% shell of my former self. I know, right? I’m a little worried about premature invisibility at this breakneck pace. So to slow things down a bit, I’m excusing myself for scallops and soup and the best company EVER at PF Changs. What could be better? Nothing, that’s what.

My bouncing baby boy signed a lease on a house this week. I was asked to review the paperwork, but still. Life as we knew it. Still ppffffftt.

Why are there no pictures of the 1960s candy counter and front walkway in Memphis’ Poplar Ave Sears on the Interwebs? The Interwebs don’t care about my happiest of memories, obviously.

Despite all the messy weather this week, there was a bright spot in the car scraping madness. Yesterday, after work, I warmed up my car and was just beginning to scrape the back window when a man in a company truck pulled up and said, “Young lady..” (I’ve come to find out that this is the step after ma’am – men think it’s cute and a nice thing to say, but it’s really sort of maddening if you think about it for too long, ‘cause we all know they’re not addressing the real young ladies this way.) Anyway, “young lady, you’re too fast. Let me do this for you.” Maybe it’s his job to make sure driver are safely sent off in clear cars, but I’m pretending it was just for me until I hear otherwise. 96.47%, after all. Oh, and the new bifocals. H-O-T. January's Indiana hot. Which is not, just in case you’re thinking the missing 3.53% has gone to my head. 

Favorite House

I have a new favorite house picture. The only thing I can find wrong is the house next to it. Well, that and I can’t make out the garage situation. And all those rock beds look like work. But really, the house next to it is the big fat no-no. People might live there. Ick. 

My house will have a little yard but be surrounded by trees and woods for acres. And I’m gonna let the fallen leaves just rest on the ground each year until my yard man comes to cut ‘em all up in the spring. And nothing will ever go wrong in this house. Nothing ever breaks. Nothing ever gets old or needs painting. No maintenance. No costs. No jumping taxes. Yup. That’s how it’s going to be. Soon. Someday soon. 

Socks and Sounds

Stand in line in the cool air
Only perfect people get in the way
Trees and flowers grow thick
On an empty patio lit by park lamps.

Fingers wrap around a bottle of beer
Talk is stunted but want to do better
Shadows on late evening skin, pen held awkwardly by a left hand
Wonder what it feels like, what it takes.

Thumb through the shelves, anything else to do
Don't drink coffee and just as expected, it’s too late anyway
A passenger with the best view
Music is soft enough to talk a little more.

The end is quick and in black and white
Ancient and unwelcomed memories and a tear or two
A clean face, warm socks, and familiar sounds
Should’ve been more like her or anyone else.

Writer's Success Group

In September, I joined a Writer’s Success Group. It runs all year, four months at a time, and consists of monthly group phone calls and weekly check-ins about the participants’ writing projects. It’s purposefully small – typically four or five writers - and led by Cynthia Morris of Original Impulse and Journey Juju fame.

It ended a few Fridays ago. And I opted out of the next four-month run, thinking I’d just work consistently during January, February, March and April, then re-join in May for support during the editing process. At the time, I thought it was beneficial, but a little too frou-frou. I’m not one to delve easily into emotions or struggles with people I know, much less new folks. 

But now, I realize the invaluable benefit I got from the group: I wrote. I didn’t at first – I outlined and organized and thought things through – but once I started (about mid-point), I began to feel like a writer and it fueled me to write more and more. Another participant said she noticed a big change in me shifting from fear to confidence. What this group gave me was the confidence, despite the obvious vulnerability, to reach out to a dear friend who is now helping me with accountability and consistency.

My process now consists of saying a Writer’s Prayer a few times, procrastinating a little, saying it a few more times, procrastinating a little more….you get the picture. But it ends with the writing. I’ve even had a few breakthroughs and now understand what other writers are talking about. I’m still taking a break from the group, because I know what I have to/want to do until May. And only I can get it done (with aforementioned friend’s nudges).

I don’t know who I think I am, but if I were asked to recommend anything, it would be a group like this, asking a kind friend for what you need, and these two books: 

Stephen King’s On Writing. It is so matter-of-fact and unemotional about his writing process. He maintains a healthy distance from his writing now and I love that. I also loved hearing that, by the time he sends a manuscript off to the publisher, he’s so sick of that book he never wants to think about it again. He talks of the overuse of vocabulary and passive voice a lot, for which, as a reader, I can’t thank him enough. 

And SARK’s Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper. If you’re a person who doesn’t get a lot of encouragement and support and love about your project like I am, it is priceless. The front cover says it all: “Gifting the world with your words and stories”. It’s just cuteness and light and love and happy all over.

Week One

I’m not calling them resolutions, but I have decided that there will be some changes in 2009. My theme is “do more”. This means do more stuff in general, do more out there, do more to enjoy life again, do more for myself, do more good things, and do more with and to glorify God.

I think I’ll do a week-in-review to keep me in check and just see if I actually do “do more” each week. So far, this first week of 2009 has only consisted of three days, but I’ve:

• Been successful with (and prayed about) my 25% “experiment” (we’re not referring to it any other way for now)
• Bought new eyeglasses (even though they were freekin’ bifocals – a first for me)
• Smiled at strangers
• Initiated conversation with a stranger
• Held a door for someone carrying a bunch of books at the library
• Found a better conditioner
• Made my V2.0 vision board (I don't care what you think, so there)
• Ordered a new Tom Jones CD (read directly above)
• Blogged on my own sites
• Journaled
• Commented on another’s site
• Walked the dog
• Parked far away and backtracked three times in the store – planning my trips between dairy and produce
• Looked into a class
• Reached out
• Laughed
• Paid my dog doctor Visa bill off
• Apologized
• Researched two possible trips – one in February and one in April
• Watched Casablanca for the first time
• Tried to watch The Tudors (but they try too hard)
• Learned something that just has to be new (James’s??? I was not taught this. Is this like the new math?)
  
  Forming possessives of nouns:
  • Add ’s to the singular form of the word (even if it ends in -s):
    The owner’s car; James’s hat
  • Add ’s to the plural forms that do not end in -s:
    The children’s game; the geese’s honking
  • Add ’ to the end of plural nouns that end in -s:
    Houses’ roofs; friends’ letters
  • Add ’s to the end of compound words:
    My brother-in-law’s money
  • Add ’s to the last noun to show joint possession of an object:
    Todd and Anne’s apartment