Winding Down

It never fails to amaze me how quickly life slips by. With a three month trip to the Czech Republic, I thought I would really feel like time had passed, but that wasn't the case this trip. True, I wrote most of a novel, did a ton of reasearch on publishing, and got more into social networking, including adding lots of photos to my repertoire. I also read about ten books (the lengths varied, but most were on the long side.) Then there were the trips to see friends around Czech and in Germany, as well as shopping trips with my Mom-in-law. Not to mention the bit about learning how to cook some traditional Czech meals. (Naturally, I still wouldn't say that I've reached any sort of proficiency in that area, but at least if I have a decent recipe I should be able to make an actual attmept.)

When I write it all out like that it looks like quite a lot. But the truth is, it has all flown by and we're down to one week. I find myself gearing up for the panic of packing and stressing over flight time management. I've decided to leave a list of things I leave behind on this trip, so that the next time we come over I won't overpack. It's so easy to forget, over the course of the year, exactly which outfits I frantically pulled out of my bag in order to meet the regulation weight.

In other news, I celebrated my first wedding anniversary yesterday. Any sort of first is always a big deal. While it is true that each day and event is a gift, firsts generate a different sort of sensation. They remind us both of the passing of time, as well as the importance of remembering. Throughout the day I was thinking of little bits of my wedding day. I remembered the muffins we had for breakfast that I could hardly get myself to eat. Every time I have them now, I will be pulled back to that moment. I thought about going through a coffee shop in Philomath and buying drinks for a few of my girls who were in the car with me. It was such an incredible feeling to tell the barista that I was about to get married. Then, that night, I pulled into Dutch Bros. as a wife, and when I shared the fact the girl gave us our coffee for free.

I first started journaling seriously because I realized that every day we live will be both a first and a last. We mark the big events in life (birthdays, weddings, life changes, etc.) but often forget that this day (2-20-12) will never happen again. Regardless of your beliefs about the possibility of time travel, you will never be able to experience this moment in exactly the same way. This is the one shot you've got.

So as I come to the end of this post today I'm left thinking of the three months that have just gone by, as well as the year that I have spent as a married woman, and I have to ask myself if I have really remembered that each of those days was a gift. It's so easy to focus on the irritations in life, or the things that stress us out, but it's far more important to remember a lovely moment sitting on the snow with the sun in your face like I experienced this afternoon with Mark. I'm not generally one to moralize on my blog (though I can't always hold myself back when a soap box suddenly presents itself) but I think this is really worth considering. Life flashes by in an instant. Isn't it better to enjoy the time we have to live and grow and share together, than to stress and worry and make the people around us miserable? Here's to hope that the days to come will bring more moments to cherish and more chances to take ahold of joy.

Record Breaking

Well, I've done it. I've managed to write more posts in a month than I ever have before. This has been quite an up and down one in my own personal blogland. I've had months where I didn't write a single post, or only one or two, then I've capped it off with a mind boggling best personal posting record here in December. In a skype chat with a friend a couple weeks ago she was pointing out how she can always tell when I have too much time on my hands. Those are the days when the posts become more frequent, even though there isn't a whole lot to say. At least it's good to know that people can benefit from the time I spend sitting around on my back side. I've actually done all sorts of writing this month. My book has more than doubled in size since we arrived here in the Czechlands, I've written a ton of blog posts, and the big 200 page journal that I brought along for the trip is more than half filled. I did bring an extra tiny journal along, as well as my Gadanke become journal and a journal for writing notes on thankfulness in, but I'm thinking I just might have to make an extra journal purchase as well, seeing as three and four are just specialty journals. Some might see this as overkill. And perhaps it is. Most of my journals are not meant for any sort of wider dispersion than for my and God's eyes only. My blog is read by a handful of friends and families (and the odd hits that I get from bizarre Russian URLS that make no sense to me whatsoever). I have no idea if the book I'm currently writing will end up being published, let alone a best seller (although I have a nephew who has already said he'll make the movie and a second who has asked to be the star character after hearing the briefest synopsis). I guess it all just goes to show that writing is something I do because it is a part of who I am. As much as I love comments, as much as being published is a huge dream, I don't write for that. I write because I love it. Well, I'm heading out to Cheb again today to hopefully meet up with some former students. Then tomorrow Tammy and I will go an see another former teacher who also married local. Should be an interesting couple of days, so I had to be sure to post a little something to get ahead of things. See I'm at 80 posts for the year with this one included, and my record for posts in a year is currently set at 82. Let's just see what I can do :)

Jet Lat? Or Something Like It...

Can you still call it jet lag after more than a week? I'm beginning to feel oddly suspicious that it is simply a deranged new sleeping pattern. I can remember times flying back from Hong Kong, typically an emotional mess, that I would go more than thirty hours without sleep and then turn into a gooey mess of time flipped confusion that seemed to go on for ages. Typically this was because I coddled to myself. If I felt tired I let myself sleep. Worse yet, I would let myself sleep whenever I felt like it for as long as my body felt like sleeping. Rookie mistakes that spread the adjustment process out for far too long.
I no longer have any excuses. I am no novice flyer. Okay, so it's not like I'm some sort of world traveling journalist or something, but I've done my fair share of getting around the planet. I know that, while it's fine to sleep as much as you want on a flight, when you arrive the goal is to stay up as late as humanly possible, then wake up when your body prompts you in the morning, regardless of how early that may be, and then press on actively all day until you collapse into sleep at the end of a long day at a reasonable hour. It's not an easy thing to do, but if followed the system works. This is especially true on holiday trips when you have only a couple of weeks to enjoy whatever distant land you have come to discover.
However, this trip is not like that. We have three months. That's almost enough time to be sloppy about it. If we spend a week in mindless self indulgence, we aren't going to waste our entire trip. There is still time to go into town and bask in the golden glow of the ancient spa hotels. The oplatky isn't going to all be consumed without us. The trains will still be there.
Then there's the whole issue of the snow. It's not really piling up just yet, but in a short lap around the house with Katcha the other night, I came in completely covered in white. It's sort of messy and all tied in with cold and wet, two things that have never been my faves.
At the same time, another thing that has never been my favorite, is the early morning. True, when I was a tiny tot I would miraculously wake up before 7 every Saturday morning in order to curl up in front of the television and watch the fuzz until the cartoons would be begin. The house was generally still asleep, except maybe for Dad, and I would keep the volume so low that it required me to sit within a few feet to hear anything at all. And I can't deny that Redding sunrises are a spectacular sight to behold, but I was always more than happy to curl back up in bed after witnessing them during my work mornings in college.
Anyone who knows me very well at all, or who has ever seen, or even worse HEARD me in the mornings is well aware that they just don't do it for me. I'd rather stay awake until 5 AM than get up at that heinous hour. But that is exactly what I have been doing. True, this is largely due to my sweet husband, who doesn't have my strict rules about getting over jet lag having only made this back and forth journey once in his life, and has been taking long afternoon naps that sometimes stretch until 3AM and then being fully awake through all those early morning hours. On both Tuesday and Wednesday he came in cheerfully at 5 and informed me that it was morning and therefore time to get up. The pitch blackness beyond the lacy curtains was more than enough to convince me that he was a liar. Mornings are supposed to be about warm sunlight stealing gently across the floor and sweetly nudging me into wakefulness. Apparently not any more.
While I was able to groan and squeal, and mostly convince him that what he was doing was sick and wrong, the damage was done. I was awake. The fact that his parents were up and getting ready to head off to work didn't make escaping back into blissful oblivion any easier. So on both occasions, by 5:45 or so, I gave up. Sure, it's true, you can get stuff done in the morning. I caught up in my journal, finished reading a book, and got back into my Denise Austin exercise videos. These are good things. They make it easier to be at least slightly energized and ready to go by 9 AM when I've been beginning work on my book writing.
Unfortunately, it also means something more sinister. By 8 PM I find myself getting downright groggy. 8. P. M. This is NOT okay in my book. Not even a little bit. So I know people who put their toddlers to bed that early, but I scarcely remember a time when 9 was not my earliest bedtiem. And I didn't even go to sleep right then. That was when Dad would start reading to us, not to mention prayer time that I always tried to stretch out as long as possible with the hope that he would fall asleep on the floor meaning I wouldn't have to fall asleep in the room alone. This was in large part because my dad IS a morning person.
Anyhow, I've been using whatever devices I can to keep myself up just as long as possible, but it's depressing to find myself falling asleep before ten, completely unable to keep my little eyes open. Then, this morning, my body had the audacity to wake up at 5 AM of it's own accord! Talk about total rubbish. I put off turning my lamp on until 5:30. The other half of the bed was already empty, seeing as how he had slept through most of the afternoon and evening, and had only come in for a little visit between 2 and 2:30 when he have up completely and went back to watching TV in the other room.
I'm really hoping a pattern isn't being established here that will run on for very long. Eventually I'm going to need to be up at night. It's just a must for my general well being. So for the state of my nerves, I think I'm just going to keep calling this jet lag a little bit longer and hope it all evens out in the right direction soon.

Food and Crafts

Let me start out by saying I am NOT a food blogger. Shouldn't come as a surprise to most people. Generally speaking, food has never been my strong point. On a wedding gift card my friend Ben pointed out that I'd made the comment: "Food is Fuel." He thought I should change my outlook and see it as something exciting, invigorating, life giving. A little tough to stomach.
But since getting married, or even since Mark and I started our relationship, I've learned that food is important. Part of creating a family requires feeding them, after all. And more and more I've found myself blogging about food. Not just pretty little dishes that I threw together to feed me, or different things that I ate in restaurants, but actual food that I cooked by myself. Not to mention the fact that I've become a little obsessed with shows on the Food Network, and reading Rachel Ray magazine. But despite all I've read and watched and tried to let infiltrate my being, cooking still sorta freaks me out.
Sure, when it comes right down to it, I can make something to eat. My parents have been gone for the past week and Mark and I have neither starved, nor eaten at McDonalds. That's quite a feat considering that our first month or so of marriage we were staying in McMinnville and I bought BigMacs for Mark almost every day. But that's the sort of spending trend that was destined to end. This week he's been served a variety of egg burrito renditions involving pepperoni, not to mention countless pepperoni, butter and cheese sandwiches, and some egg salad for good measure. Still, I'm a long way from being any sort of culinary anything.
Today, Mark said he wanted something chocolate. We were out of anything specific, and so I decided to make chocolate chip cookies. Only problem: no chocolate chips in the pantry. But did I let this stop me? Normally the answer would be yes, but today I decided to do something brave, something bold. I used the internet. Wahoo! I knew we had nutella so I did a search for nutella cookies, and was blessed to find one that only required 3 ingredients. How cool is that? And how could even I possibly go wrong?
So within half an hour of so I was able to serve Mark a platter of cookies.

They're a bit on the crumbly side, and probably wouldn't suffer from having a few more ingredients, but they were even relatively moist.
To make things even more shocking, I decided to create my own variation. I added about a tablespoon of peanut butter to the mixture that was left after baking the first pan full and came up with these little buddies.

In my opinionation (little salute to "Blossom" there ;) you just can't go wrong with nutella and peanut butter. And basically I'd say I was right. While they basically fall apart as soon as you pick them up, they taste pretty fantastic, and went excellently with my Hills Bros. Mocha.
I'm pretty all over the place with the links today, but they add a little something, and I like to give credit where credit is due. As I said, I'm not any sort of expert who will tell you about the brilliant and complex combination of flavors, or the expert plating designs of a dish. It's just a mishap or a magical moment here and there in my own haphazard experiences in the kitchen.
Now on to topic number two. After all, this is my blog, my place to say what I feel like saying, and I can be as mishmashed and all over the place as I'd like. So I'm going to share a recent inspiration/project idea. I've decided, thanks to years of personal experience, to create journals. In Prague I found what might be called, found journals, on display for 300kc+. In American markets I discovered re-purposed book journals for $15+. I've also found different sites online where you can buy handmade journals like one of my current blog faves Gadanke. All of these visions have helped to inspire me with the idea that this is something I could do as well.
Over the past few weeks I've been to a lot of garage sales collecting components for this fun new project. I still have a way to go in figuring out how to really do the book re-purposing, partly because it's hard to bring myself to cut up the lovely old books, and partly because it's hard to figure out how to get the pages securely inside. But I'm working on it, and am slowly gathering ideas on that front.
The past couple of days, however, I have done a lot of work on one journal in particular. Here's a little sneak peak into what I've come up with. It would be my niece Adelia's dream journal for sure:






Beyond what I've already inserted, I want to add bits of my own poetry to some of the pages. I thought about doing famous quotes and maybe Bible verses, but I don't want to risk any sort of copyright infringement, so for now I think I'll steer clear of things like that. With my collection of photos from around the world, I'm certain that I can create unique journals and pieces of art, that hopefully other people will enjoy as well. It's a thought at least. And if no one buys them, then I'll always have the chance to fill them myself...Perhaps at some point I'll even add creative covers using my powers of crochet, or include original artwork by Haley. Always best to incorporate family, right?
The writing dream is not dead. It still resides here in my head. But life proceeds. I just have to do my best to keep up and not go crazy in the process.

To Write: To Breathe...

There are people, unnamed of course, who would say that without publication, without national acclaim, it is unthinkable - or at the very least unrealistic - to call oneself a writer. But that only begs the point of what a writer actually is. No, I'm not a published novelist, a well paid journalist, or even a notable blogger. There are a scant few who "follow" my blog, and I get random hits that apparently come from some dentist site in Russia, but I can't claim a wide reader base. These accolades aside, I still believe that at the very heart of me a writer lives and breathes and dreams.
So what is it that makes a person a writer? Is it having a story to tell? Is it a desire to reach the masses? Is it knowing how to read the current market and figuring out how to manipulate words in order to make a profit?
There are a lot of people out there who have been granted the title of WRITER, novelist, poet, journalist, etc. I'm sure that in those categories you can find people who would answer yes to each of the above questions. But what about me?
When I was a kid I was always talking. Most of the time those "listening" to my words of wisdom or hilarity were present only in my own little head. I couldn't begin to remember what it was I felt was so important to tell them, but I was never a gifted story teller. That comes out sounding a bit off, but it's the truth. I could never just come up with an interesting story to tell when asked. Sure I can spice up tales from my own life of transience, but while my imagination soars on the page, I can't just speak it into existence. It's almost as though my fingers are an integral part of my story telling abilities, but I've never figured out how to talk with my hands except on paper.
There are plenty of things I'd like to tell the world. Sometimes it's as simple as: Grow up and figure out that life is not about you! I get sooooo fed up with this era of entitlement. It's as though people have come to the conclusion that because they were mommy's little angle, the entire world should cater to them. After all, we have it drilled into our individualistic developing minds that looking out for number one is not only critical, but also admirable. But as much as I like to talk the ear off of anyone willing to listen to my point of view, I'm not ready to start writing educational pamphlets to get the word out.
Then we come to the idea of a writing being a tool to amassing wealth. It is true that there are things to be researched when attempting to get into publication. Obviously, it's wise to write what the market wants if a person really wants to acquire the coveted "name in print." I wouldn't be so trite as to say that I'm above such things, or that I need to stick by my principles and write only what my heart desires. It's like saying I know better what people want to read than people do themselves. Sorta like on Design Star when Kelly decided that she knew better what the little boy should want his room to look like than what he said he wanted. Just because I have what I think is a stellar story idea, doesn't mean that there will be anyone else out there who wants to read it. At the same time, I can't just write to please a general populace. Just because "someone" was able to sell large quantities of sub-par books, doesn't mean that I'm going to stoop to that level just to make some quick cash.
When people ask me who I am, what I want to do or be, I still come back to the fact that I'm a writer, even though I can't answer yes to any of those questions. The truth is, for me, writing is like breathing. It's something I just do. Something I need to do. When I was several weeks behind in my journal I felt all tight in my head. My journals are not something anyone should, or even could, read. They are not literary master works, or even all that interesting if I'm being completely honest. But they have become an integral part of my life; how I manage my place in this world that so often doesn't measure up to my ideals or standards.
Likewise, my blogs are a place for me to express this world in a slightly more public forum. I don't guarantee that they'll be interesting to any person who passes through, but they're an attempt at both honesty and entertainment. A broader outlet for my light to shine so to speak.
Then there are those stories that still resonate inside my head. The snippets of ideas, the characters that haunt me, the ideas that seek to be revealed. If life was made of time, I would have more of it to spend on completing those stories. However, days evaporate before I even know what's happening. Today, for example, is just gone.
Perhaps, some day, I'll be able to add to my list of accomplishments a literary title. Perhaps I'll figure out how to get the word out and even make a buck or two. Perhaps not. Regardless, (yes, irregardless is still not a proper word despite the fact that spell check is currently registering it, and my boss uses it on a highly regular basis along with a handful of other nails on the chalkboard double negatives) I still call myself a writer. Lowercase is fully acceptable to me.

Remiss

Well, I had planned a nice blog with pictures, talking about the family trips over the weekend, but the computer that contains said photos, has decided it doesn't want to connect with the internet. In this era of technology, it would be so nice if all forms decided to work equally. Instead, they seem content to each have their own peculiarities and refusals. Therefore, I am picture free at the moment, and words will have to suffice.

The topic heaviest on my mind at the moment, is clearly publication. I'm trying to do my research and decide which option is the best, but it's a tricky sort of thing. This is largely due to the fact that:
1) I love "real" books that you can hold in your hands and feel and smell. Sure, it's nice to have the ease of carrying all your books in one place, and being able to still highlight, underline, leave notes, etc. it just isn't the same as having a paper copy.
2) I like having my hand held. It's nice having someone to take care of things. I would love to put my book/books out there, and know that they are in capable hands that understand the system and will see to it that it/they are run through all the proper circles. I realize this is a fairy tale approach, and until you actually achieve success the publishing companies don't go out of their way to take care of you even if they do agree to put your words in print, but things like taxes self promotion and paying taxes always scare me.
3) There is still a part of me that says self-publishing is a cop out. Anyone can self publish. And I have read the results of that truth. They aren't pretty. There is a stigma there, and it's hard for me to get around it.

So, while it seems that the fastest, most efficient, and most likely way to turn a profit is to self-publish, I'm still sitting here and twidling my thumbs. I've found numerous sites that can make this sort of publication a reality quickly. The one my husby set before me today has some initial fees, but the writer recieves 100% returns. That sounds pretty good to me, and the fees are not unreasonable. They provide the option of buying a print set as well, and have various helpful tools available at a decent price. Other sites allow you to do all the publishing elements for free (naturally providing extra services for sale) but they take a small cut of the returns.

I'm also torn on the topic of self-promotion. My blog, which I do adore, has a fairly microscopic readership. According to the "official following," I can only claim ten, and when I check where my stats come from, they're connected to sites that look pretty bogus if you ask me. So how do I take what little I have, and turn it into a fan club that will actually buy my books and bring me a profit? The topic of "twitter" has come up as well. I'm still having trouble figuring out the exact point of "tweeting." And again, how do you get people to read what you have to say if they don't know you? That's the big mystery. While all the people who follow me on Instagram think my photos are lovely, they're all people I know. I use facebook as a place to keep up with family and friends. I haven't the foggiest idea how to turn it into an actual social network that allows for business opportunities. Clearly, marketing has never been my strong point. That's part of the reason I finished my university education and got a job working in a lumber mill. Yup, I've got lots of life experiences, but how do I get people to care?

Oh the dilemmas. If anyone out there has thoughts, input, advice, a willingness to open up some dialogue, I would be more than grateful for comments and things to consider. Thanks.