Saturday, December 3, 2016

Ok, Let's do this thing

It's only been about a millionty-seven years since I actually tried any straight up online journaling, so the best I can say about my doing Holidailies is.. I'll try. If you look at the archives, you'll see my short lived failed stab at last years NaNoWriMo poetry theme with Magaly Guerrero.  Two whole days worth! Oi.

So, super speedy update for anyone who may have ever followed me way, way back in the day:

I got divorced.
I had some massive health issues.
My kids grew up and are sprouting families of their own and scattered around the globe.
I married fellow journalist and BFF Michael Hardy.
We live in Falls Church City, VA and are crazy-stupid-happy.
Life is good.
(discounting the whole 'omg, what did we just elect?!!!' thing.  I'll probably leave that out of Hollidailies - for that, find me on Facebook.

Our plans for December are to head off to WV to visit my youngest, her husband and my brand new granddaughter for a week, and we've be heading off somewhere -we've not decided yet - for Christmas.  I expect to fill my days with trivialities, and that's ok.

Nice to see you!  Onward!

Thursday, April 2, 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 2: Creativity & Pain

Thu, Apr 2nd – Creativity and Pain
This poem should explore creativity as a healing salve, as a shield, as a weapon, or as a negotiation method to use when dealing with physical and/or psychological pain.



An Imperfect House

When you live in a creaky house
You learn its personality.
Its exhalation and sighs
And how, when you step here,
it will groan in protest
And how there its warmth
Always attracts purring cats and babies.

A new house - a good house that
Hasn't yet experienced aging or running children
Or joints that no longer quite line up right
Is hard to get to know.

It's the chewed up doorframe
From when a now-grown man was two,
It's the chimney that whistles in storms
And the crack in the ceiling
That always inspires stories - remember that day?
Remember? Remember? We were so scared!
Said laughing around the table at fear now past
And fear that can be faced again if needed

A creaky house has lived,
has been stuffed full of life
Of pain, and joy and terror
And making do and getting by
And it knows
And you know
It will be ok, even if not all of it works
The way it used to or 'should'. 

You can't trust a new house, a perfect house.
It hasn't survived anything yet. 
If it is very very lucky,
it will one day be less perfect
And more strong.

~ Lynda Hardy, 2015


I'm not sure this bit of ramble actually gets at the topic - except that my chronic pain stems mainly from rheumatoid arthritis, which means that sometimes it is pain - at other times it is swelling that reduces mobility with or without pain, and there is also an element of deformity.  My hands particularly are  "joints that no longer line up quite right".  These various issues, except for the last, vary from day to day so that every task comes with a few questions:

  • Can I do this the way I usually do, or do I need to find a creative alternate way to do it?
  • Can I do this in a new and alternate way or is it just beyond me to deal with it alone?
  • Can I / will I ask for help - is there someone who can nearby, that I trust, that understands that asking is tough?  Will they let me live in my imperfect house and still allow me my dignity? 
  • Or shall I just let this task go for now?

In terms of 'creativity and pain' they are totally tied together - creative problem solving is the only way to be functional in a shifting world where one day your hands don't work and the next day your knees are screaming and a third day your elbow may decide to dislocate while in a really awkward position.

My imperfect house handles all that - not without damage and not without a lot of quirks, but it has been tried and tested and that is enough to put me into 'ok, what new way can we do this thing' mode instead of falling apart when things get hard.

Not that a little howling angrily up the chimney at the storm isn't a part of my arsenal!



Wednesday, April 1, 2015

NaPoWriMo Day 1: The Birth of Your Art

Prompt: Base your first poem on the first work of art that inspired your creative addiction.

Synesthesia

there was a time i remember
before teachers
and rules
when numbers were magic
and lived and danced and breathed
colors that were fluid like watercolors
that danced in a liquid ballet

in that time seven was a graceful purple
and three a dignified blue
fours were brash shades of yellow
and fives bold reds that demanded attention

and everything made sense to me
numbers multiplied by blending their colors
and subtracted by growing more pale
and i loved them
and cared for them
and knew one must show great caution
before putting a nine with a genteel two.

but then came those rules and lessons
and important and serious math
i did not understand
and don't make up stories
numbers are not colors
memorize this table
and show your work

and all the numbers were pinned
to a multiplication board
like butterflies that could no longer fly
and the colors bled out of them
until

2x2=4 
5x7=35
9x9=81

the numbers died on their specimen board
but...

the colors still live
and sometimes still I can remember
when numbers danced for me
alive and enchanting.


~ Lynda E. Hardy, 2015

Hello, World

I find I need a container for the odds and ends interests of my life - needlework, tarot, forays into art and writing and personal nonsense.

For the moment at least, the motivation is so that I can play along with Magaly Guerrero's NaPoWriMo for April 2015 - can I really write an entry every day for a month?  Who knows!  I want to try - a little creative muscle stretching sounds like a good thing.

The title comes from a quote:

"All my scattering moments are taken up with my needle." ~ Ellen Birdseye Wheaton (1851)

Actually, you can substitute 'needle' for 'and books, and crafts, and Facebook, and SQUIRREL!!" and it'd be a bit more accurate.

So... off we go!