I really enjoy using different modes of writing to play with words. Yesterday I wrote poetry in the notes app and played with how video could be incorporated. I see some possibility for interesting results using these methods of writing.
Anyway, here’s the poem screenshot. I hope you enjoy it.:
Here’s a photograph of a painting project that I did earlier this year. I struggle painting anything realistic. I’m an abstract guy, mostly because of my technical skill level. Also, I have unearned perfectionist tendencies that assure I’ll never leap the uncanny valley into professional portraiture. Working large like this is allows me to play with fine detail in a way I cannot do if the eyes were only a centimeter or two wide.
This piece is definitely unfinished. You’ll note in this photograph that the pupils are white. Maybe I’ll return and finish this piece someday, but for now it’s hanging in my kitchen, looking down on my visitors who attend our holiday gatherings.
Some work shadows
the wise mirrors
know the myth
often truth
Selfies work
unwise mirrors.
The truth. The myth.
Phantom me.
It’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving 2023. This is the first holiday season without my grandfather, which means this is the first year in more than two decades I won’t be awaiting my grandfather’s annual announcement: “Well, I suppose this’ll be my last Christmas.”
My grandfather lived with Parkinsons for a long time. It’s a cruel disease that allows one to live but steals away the enjoyment of life. Without medication, a person living with Parkinsons is betrayed by his own body with uncontrollable and constant shaking. The mind can slip to depression and delusion. Speech and ultimately even swallowing can become difficult. In fact, late-stage Parkinsons patients, as I’ve been told, often succumb to choking on food. As a precaution, my grandfather was served thickened coffee in the mornings, as it was less of a choke risk than fully fluid coffee.
I chose the words “living with Parkinsons” because that’s what we’re supposed to say about diseases. We’ve been trained to say that a person lives with diabetes or HIV or autism, etc. In most cases, I agree with calling people in to explain why that is a more appropriate word choice than “suffering with x disease.”
I don’t believe it’s appropriate to say this about Parkinson’s, though. Parkinson’s patients suffer. They put on a brave face.
Yeah, my grandfather lived with Parkinson’s disease. My grandfather suffered from Parkinson’s disease. It’s a cruel condition to pile on top of the typical aging process.
If you’re a new reader, the date-titled entries are my morning pages a la J. Cameron. These are stream-of-consciousness writing practice. Sometimes there are gems revealed. Sometimes I complain about things. I won’t promise it’s interesting, but it has revolutionized my personal creative process and productivity. For me, it works because I get to organize my thoughts before I do anything with my day.
Sometimes I give myself a to-do list. Sometimes I write a poem. Sometimes I sort out my thoughts related to stories in the media. Sometimes they get personal. Don’t worry about me over-sharing, though.
I skipped my pages yesterday, because it was Black Friday. National holiday celebrating consumerism. Can’t remember if I wrote on Thanksgiving, which is the day that makes more sense to take off. I think I did, though, because it’s important to me to be grateful.
I spent enough time with family that I even snuck in a nap. Technically, that is untrue:
A nap snuck unto me.
My Sister (in-law) took my niece (in fact) to the Taylor Swift movie. I’m not a fan, but I’m not not a fan, if that makes sense. I’m not a hater, and she’s an undeniable talent. And she’s a Chiefs fan these days, so she can’t be all that bad. I wonder if we’ll get pictures of her on the Country Club Plaza this year.
Anyway, they went off to the movie and my brother went up to Hollywood Casino because he likes to place a few sports ball bets.
I probably should have pulled the thread until I got an invitation to go to the casino again, but I had been there since morning and kinda wanted to go home for a nap.
And then my mother gave me a sad face about all of her kids leaving too early on a holiday, so I decide to stick around for leftovers dinner, which is always my favorite. I prefer it to Thanksgiving lunch, because we’ve release all pretense of a formal meal around the formal table. There’s something freeing about changing into fat pants, watching football, playing games and just nibbling on cold, dark turkey.
See? There’s a phrase I can use in a poem or something. Cold dark turkey
Nibbling on cold dark turkey
(And if you know you know… nibbling has a double meaning)
So that’s how a poem could start. And this one probably will. However, I like to write poetry on my 90s-era electric typewriter, so I bid you, blog reader, a fond adieu so I can get to work.
And this is a prime example of how my morning pages inspire my creative productivity.
The Country Club Plaza gets lit tonight. I could paint it, but it seems like there are already thousands of paintings of it. That’s because there are.
I did paint a Christmas painting this year – just a simple ornament. I have posted it on Facebook, so some people have seen it. I decided to get prints of it made as gifts (shh. Don’t tell.) for family. Debating whether to customize each one or just sign them. I may let the art stand and just sign them.
I’m also using the painting in our Christmas card.
I don’t know how the paintings will be received, but I hope that the recipients like them.
I made a pumpkin pie last night. One of the activities in “The Artist’s Way” a couple weeks back was to bake. I had put it off and put it off. I always make such a mess when I bake. This is, in part, because I want to be a perfectionist, even when I know my skills aren’t capable of creating something perfect. In this case, my hopes were for the perfect pumpkin pie. The actual result was far from it.
See? Doesn’t look great. HEY! This is my first photo I’ve put in my morning pages. I suppose that’s exiting.
Anyhow, the pie should taste perfect. It only took three total trips to the grocery store, as I needed more flour for the crust and then more eggs for the custard. I need to learn to read the whole darned recipe and double-check for supplies before I begin. Maybe I’ll learn that lesson before Christmas. Maybe.
Ideally, this pie should have had a beautiful crust, with some leaf and berry details on the top, but I abandoned all decorative ideas once I saw how much I jollied up the crust. I’m confident, however, that the crust will taste of perfection.
It may not be much to look at, but this is a tasty, ugly pie.
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
Morning pages. Home edition.
TV’s on, so I have distraction that I don’t normally have during my writing practice.
Thoughts this morning are focused on my to-do list. I have to bake a pie for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. I need to go to the grocery store to get fresh cranberries for its topping. I need a leaf-shaped cookie cutter to put a top crust design on it, because I like being a little fancy when I bake.
I don’t like to bake, so I insist on over-doing it when I do. It’s a character feature, not a character flaw.
I have books scattered about the living room. I’ve found time and calm enough to start several of them, but I cannot find the motivation to finish them. There are simply too many books, and in the modern era, it feels decadent to sit with one for multiple hours. I should be cleaning and organizing. I should be socializing. I should be writing my own book. Who is so selfish that they would take the time to read? Apparently not me.
I’ve found that books that have small bites are best for me. Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City were originally written as a newspaper column, so when they were published in book form, it was like reading a series of short stories that maxed out at 2.5 pages, iirc. I’m currently reading the latest book by CA Conrad. It’s a poetry book that gives insight into their process by spelling out the exercises they used to create each poem, inviting you to do the same activity and perhaps write your own.
I’m more of a prose guy, myself, but I’ve dabbled in poetry, and I enjoy it.
Creatively, I’m a dabbler. I like that about myself. I write. I paint. I make music. I garden. I write about music. I paint about gardening. I garden about writing. I sing about dabbling. And yet, I’ve never tried dabs.
I’m struggling with minor lower back pain just to the right of my spine. I’ve stretched on my inversion table, which was a godsend for a sciatica attack several years ago. It’s not really done much for this. I’ve tried my massage gun on it, but the relief is fleeting. I’m not sure that it is actually relief, as my attention is focused on the new sensation masking the pain.
I block out the news as stories of the Middle East conflicts try to draw me in. I care, but I’m aware of my own actual sphere of influence. I side with humanity. I abhor bombs and guns and violence. I obviously see the humanity of those on the receiving end of these destructive tools, and I struggle to see the humanity on the part of those using it. I must not other them, even as they other themselves. It’s not my way. It’s really difficult to be compassionate for perpetrators of violence.
And this is why I normally do not have the TV on during my morning pages. I tried to block it out, but wound up writing a whole paragraph – now two – on violence. I click the remote to turn off the television and move on.
I get distracted with the WordPress tools as I return my focus to the page. I haven’t used WordPress in years, so there are new gadgets that I’m not familiar with yet. I’m aware that my style is not optimized for SEO. I’ve continued using dates as my headline, and the wizard tells me that my headline score for 11/22/23 is only a 25. A good score is between 40 and 60, but I should strive for higher than 70.
I don’t care.
I’m here to express myself – not to serve a wizard.
Has it been 20 minutes? Maybe. Has it been three pages of text? Hard to tell on a website. The coffee has absorbed into my bloodstream. My belly is calling to be fed. My feet are asking for socks or house-shoes, because a thermostat at 69 in November is fundamentally different than a thermostat at 69 in August.
Time to start my day.