?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Saving Kandinsky

Posted on October 29, 2014

Earl and I visited the Milwaukee Art Museum last summer and saw a spectacular special exhibit on Wassily Kandinsky, the Russian painter who is credited with painting the first true abstract art.  We saw his early work and could recognize buildings, fields, and trees.  But as the years passed, however, his work changed to the point where all I saw were dots and lines and color. He clearly saw otherwise, and as I read the commentary that accompanied his work I was duly impressed.

So I purchased an historical fiction about him titled Saving Kandinsky in the museum’s gift shop.  Written by Mary Basson, it tells Kandinsky’s life story from the point of view of his mistress, Gabriele Munter, an excellent painter in her own right.

Neither Kandinsky nor Munter had an easy time of it, partially because of the times in which they lived. She followed him from place to place, while he promised he was working on a divorce. When it came through, he married someone else; and he and Gabriele went their separate ways. But Munter kept many pieces of her lover’s work, against his objections, and managed to save them when Nazi officials came calling at her home during World War II.

As far as I’m concerned, Kandinsky might be a significant artist; but he was definitely a cad in the personal relationship arena. He reminds me of Frank Lloyd Wright in the historical fiction, Loving Frank, and makes me realize that mistresses of well known men, regardless of era and circumstances, rarely end up in a good place.

I’m posting this today, because tomorrow four friends and I are visiting the Russian Tea Room in Chicago, and I wanted to get in the mood.

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Embracing Social Media

Posted on October 28, 2014

My friends all know I’m one of the last holdouts for signing on to Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and the rest of the social crawl that’s constant on today’s cell phones, tablets, and other devices.

My friends have also shared their reasons for using these phenomena; and, while I understand them, I’m still not convinced. Still, I recently decided to jump into the twenty-first century by signing up for the sites listed above as well as Good Reads and Amazon.

Why this sudden change of heart?

Because I’ve written a middle grade novel that I am committed to, and the agents I’ve queried all recommend building one’s “platform,” as it is called. They want to know how many people “Like” you; how many of them visit your website; and — probably more to the point — how many would love to buy a middle grade novel.

As part of my “homework,” I signed up for a newsletter by one Dan Blank who offers “valuable advice on how to grow and engage your audience.” I haven’t received the first issue yet, but Mr. Blank wrote me a thank you for signing up with the following request.  “Reply to this email and tell me one challenge you are trying to work past . . . “

I responded: “My challenge is to embrace Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, etc., as I find these outlets elevate the trivial, attempt to create bonds where there really aren’t any, and take time from what I am truly passionate about . . .”

I asked for suggestions on how to change this attitude, and (with his permission) I’m reprinting the salient part of his answer here.

Anne

My gut is that you have to find your OWN motivation here. Just feeling that you HAVE to do this because agents require it will be nothing but frustrating . . . 

Social media is much like email, or a telephone, or a public event. YES, there is a lot that is trivial, but it now encompasses nearly everything. Years ago, I found a way to use Facebook for something deeply meaningful to me: 

http://danblank.com/blog/2010/01/26/how-i-used-facebook-to-unearth-a-towns-history/ 

I did this out of joy and enthusiasm, not obligation. That is a key distinction to finding moments of serendipity on social media. Thanks,

Dan

I went to the link he sent me, studied it thoroughly, and see his point.

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Beautiful Day

Posted on October 25, 2014

Autumn in her generosity has bestowed a gorgeous weekend on us.  Even though the colors are past their prime, even though falling leaves are a nuisance and we all know what’s coming, it’s impossible not to acknowledge the weather.

“What a beautiful day,” I’ve exclaimed more than once, since waking.

It’s the last weekend before we turn clocks back, which means it’s also the last weekend when the sunset lingers until around seven o’clock. Next weekend we’ll be shocked into the realization that darkness comes swiftly and early. I know there’s a trade-off at the front end of the day, but somehow it never seems like much to me.

And why do we celebrate Daylight Savings Time anyway?

I’ve heard various reasons that have now become urban legends:  That farmers need to set their schedules with the sun. That DST saves energy. That everybody does it (with the exception of Hawaii and Arizona in our country). That even the Romans had a version.

But I’ve never seen documentation for any of this.  Have modern farmers been polled? What do they think? What amount of energy has been saved? And just exactly who is “Everybody”? But I digress.

For this weekend, I don’t want the pending time change to darken my mood, because . . . it truly is a beautiful day!

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Two Months and Counting

Posted on October 24, 2014

Earl, who loves Christmas, reminded me this morning that it’s only two months away. But then he’s been counting down every month since last Christmas. Still, it struck a chord, since my two sons and their partners are coming to celebrate this year.

It’s been at least six or seven years that my side of our family has all come for Christmas. This is special.

So tonight Earl and I are going on “Date Night” and discuss the upcoming holiday.  I’m hoping that because he loves it so much, he’ll have some good ideas on what would work.  Maybe even the possibility of creating a new tradition.

I imagine he’ll want decorations on steroids, a full recipe of his famous egg nog instead of half a one, perhaps a new Christmas tree, gifts.  Me?  I’m trying to recall what I did when my sons were little and wondering if there’s anything in the past worth re-creating. Perhaps I’ll check with them and see what they remember.

Homemade Christmas cookies, handmade gifts, a dinner menu that accommodates vegetarians and carnivores, snow, music . . . good grief!  Two months might not be enough time to get organized!

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Mental Health Day

Posted on October 18, 2014

I woke in the middle of the night instinctively knowing the salmon I had for supper didn’t like me as well as I had liked it.  So I dragged myself to the bathroom to wait for the inevitable.  I won’t detail it here; suffice to say, I was relieved of the salmon by 2 AM.

The rest of the night was a loss in terms of sleep, which is saying a lot because – as Earl notes – I can pretty much sleep standing up, in cars, on the floor, you name it.

When morning came, I felt achy, rumbly, and sore. My throat was scratchy too.  So I scrapped my day’s plans to baby myself.  Went back to bed. Got up and showered and went back to bed again. Soon 3 PM made its appearance.

In other times I would have soldiered through these low-grade feelings, but not anymore.  I have learned that when my body exhibits these symptoms, for whatever reason, it wants a time-out.  I call it a “Mental Health Day.”

I’m not always aware of why my body needs this; but I do believe that there is some psychological reason that needs to be honored.  I’ve also learned that if I check out of the fast lane for 24 to 36 hours, I’m rejuvenated and ready to go again.

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Pea Soup Is Like That

Posted on October 17, 2014

I love split pea soup, with or without ham.  It’s comfort food at its best. And I particularly like it made from scratch instead of from a Campbell’s® can.  Still, there are issues.

They’re not about finding the ingredients (dried peas, broth, onion, ham, salt, pepper.) or owning a pot big enough or having time to monitor the cooking.  Instead, it’s all about the peas. Or rather, the cooked ones.

In its warm condition, split pea soup is creamy. But let it dry and scum – this isn’t a technical term – appears.  For example, I make the soup in a crock pot.  When I’m ready to store it in containers, I make sure the crock pot itself soaks as soon as the soup has been packaged.  I didn’t do this once, and it was a challenge to clean the pot.  It’s also a challenge to get of dried soup spots off counters, sponges, and napkins.

This isn’t in the same category as the currently crashing stock market or the Ebola crisis or the upcoming election; still to some degree it affects me more than any of these things on the day I make split pea soup.

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My Oncologist

Posted on October 16, 2014

I went to the appointment with my oncologist yesterday only to receive great news. I am deemed relatively cancer free and put on the one year schedule to check in.  It’s five years out from my surgery and the risks decline from here, so I am grateful.

Still there was tragic news. The physician who saved my life is now battling his own form of cancer.  He is on medical leave, and I knew that.  I also knew I would see his assistant for this visit.  But before my appointment, there was a phone call that told me she had resigned and was already gone.

It caught me off-guard, and I began to sob.  This was the team that had been with me from the beginning.  It was the surgical team, the post-op team, the follow-up team. I didn’t realize how much I relied on them to tell me I was well.

I went to the appointment anyway and met with someone new.  It’s not as if I’m a struggling survivor, so I understand that I need to give other patients precedence. Still, I’m grieving, and I’m not sure why.

I only know I’m here, and I’m not sure where Dr. Michael Rodriguez and his associate, Sheila Fleming are.  I hope they are in a good place.

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Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Posted on October 15, 2014

I visit my oncologist this afternoon; the one I credit with saving my life from the probable death sentence of ovarian cancer.

That’s what ovarian cancer usually is, because typically there are no lumps, no warning signs, nothing to suggest there is a problem until it’s too late.

I am one of the lucky ones.

This is probably why I believe Breast Cancer Awareness has done its job and October should be released from pink balloons, pink lemonade on airplanes, pink shirts at the office, and pink cupcakes.

Don’t get me wrong.  Anyone who has survived breast cancer is a heroine in my book.  A hero too in certain cases. But Susan G. Komen and her associates have done their job.  We know the risks.  We know what to do.  And many have taken appropriate steps to care for themselves in this situation.

The thing is there are many cancers that get no air time.  Is it because breasts are a big deal (No pun intended) in our society?  I hope not.  Cancer of any kind is shattering.  Which is why I want to lobby for Breast Cancer Awareness Month to be called simply Cancer Awareness Month.

Wouldn’t we all want to be in this fight together?

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Pond Life

Posted on October 14, 2014

Earl and I have a condo that fronts a lovely pond.  It’s not ours alone (The pond, not the condo), as other homes ring the entire perimeter. It cost more to build your home on the pond, but we believe it’s been worth every penny.

There is drama, however . . .

The goldfish saga:  Someone put goldfish in the pond last winter.  I’m not sure why, but the result has been an explosion of the goldfish population. Some evenings, when the sun tilts just right, you can see a golden hue shimmering immediately below the water’s surface.

The thing is goldfish multiply like rabbits, leave their waste in the water, and ultimately pollute the pond if there are not other species to handle the balance of nature.  We don’t have any of those species yet. We do have one blue heron, who loves goldfish, but it can’t possibly handle the number it would have to eat to help the situation and still be able to fly.

Then there are the geese: Let the record show I do not like geese.  They are arrogant, self-centered food processing machines that leave their waste on land.  Two geese have plagued our pond all summer; they are huge and loud.  And one even came to our front door, begging. I’ve heard geese mate for life, and if this is so, we have the avian answer to “The Bickersons” residing on our pond.

There is also one sole goose who’s arrived recently.  It doesn’t bond with The Bickersons; rather it keeps its distance.  And while I don’t like the species, I’m saddened that this one is alone. I would feel the same way about a human I knew and didn’t like but would never wish ill toward that person.

Pond life is just a microcosm of the human condition.

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Chicago Marathon + One

Posted on October 13, 2014

Yesterday dawned gloriously perfect for the 37th running of the Chicago Marathon.  It was cool, sunny, and dry.  For months my son planned to run with the other 45,000 contestants, while the rest of his immediate family cheered him on. He had qualified to be in the first wave.

Originally Kevin ran the Chicago Marathon when he was twelve years old, and such races were not well known.  Back then, he and I drove from Libertyville to downtown Chicago, easily found a place to park the car, and walked to the starting line on Dearborn.  I don’t remember how many runners there were, because I was focused on only one. I met him at the finish line and we learned together that he’d placed second in his age division.

Fast forward to yesterday.  Both Kevin and the marathon are different.  He is 46 years old, and the marathon has gone big time. Big names, big money, big security all dominate the sport, especially since the bombings that occurred at the Boston Marathon in 2013.

Still that didn’t deter us.  We made hotel reservations months ago. He launched a training program and looked forward to coming home, so to speak.  But it didn’t happen.

Instead Kevin recently fractured his right pelvis and is on crutches. He watched the marathon from his home in Fargo, ND, while I watched from mine in Benton Harbor, MI.  We commiserated and tried to keep a brave front.  But I know my disappointment was nominal compared to his. I only hope he can heal, both physically and mentally, to run Chicago next year.

We still want to come home.

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