Kathy compared my writing to Marisha Pessl, and that reminded me of this awesome/funny/not likely to be accurate website someone forwarded to me years ago called I Write Like. At the time the site said I wrote like E. L. Doctorow after analyzing a blog post, but I can’t recall which one I pasted in the box. I did it again just now using my plant doctor post and it says I write like David Foster Wallace. Hmmmm. Interesting that they are both males. I wonder if I have male voice, these men have feminine voices, or the system has more male authors that female.

I haven’t read either author, though Foster Wallace taught at my university (after I attended) and is on my unread library list. Frankly, while I hate to speak ill of the dead, Foster Wallace always struck me as the kind of professor who would party with his students. The headbands and desperate ponytail didn’t diminish the creep factor for me.

I love sites like this, though I put little credence into the results. They’re fun, and only fun. If you try out the site, leave your badge in the comments so I can see who you write like. The site will give you a long code that you can just copy and paste in the comments.

Yay! Procrastination!

p.s. Because it’s a code you are inserting in the comments, I’ll have to manually approve your comment. If it doesn’t pop up right away, that’s why.

[image source]

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like. Analyze your writing!

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Teddy Roosevelt, speaking at the Sorbonne in Paris, April 23, 1910

The entire time I read this book today I was reminding myself that I am not a loser for failing to have this post up first thing this morning. Yay me for picking a book on point!

What a difficult, nerve-wracking book for me. Reading about shame and vulnerability was about as fun as writing this post is now: not at all. I struggle with shame and find it difficult to be vulnerable. I’m in a writing club and have yet to turn in anything for critique. In fact, I have yet to write anything! I think about it, but the few paragraphs I’ve written have all been horrible (in my mind) and don’t get me started on finding something to write about.

I knew about the increased incidence of suicide among attorneys because I did a paper on it in law school. They are also 20% more likely than the general public to become substance abusers–alcohol in particular. It became so prevalent that at least one hour of continuing legal education in the state of CA must be on substance abuse. I stepped away from the practice of law because I was a Viking all the way.

The parenting part was a little easier for me to stomach. I feel I’m doing an okay job there, especially after Mikey’s near constant baseball woes last season. I panicked a bit when I got to that part where Brené Brown said our children could only become as Wholehearted as their parents, but I figure all the work I am doing for myself this year counts for something. They see me trying, and that’s what counts.

Did you like Toni Morrison’s advice about expressing your joy when your child walks in the room? I did. I don’t do that all the time, but I’m pretty good about it, probably because my parents were more of the “fix your collar/brush your hair” sort. When it’s my turn to pick up all the kids (mine and carpoolers) I almost always roll down my window in the drive-up line and wave at them like they are passengers of a boat sailing into Ellis Island. They seem to like it, and the teachers get a kick out of it, too. Of course, then they usually tease me about all the boys in my car and one of them has to mention something Nico did during the day…it’s fun.

The book wasn’t as foo-foo-la-la as I feared. The Kindle version of it was a bit of a mess, but overall I liked it. I was inspired to take down all my parenting books (listed in my unread library) and start reading them.

Being a mother isn’t for everyone. I have friends who are childless by choice, and others who love their kids but really don’t find much fulfillment in mothering. That’s okay; it’s not for me to judge. I do think I’m a pretty good mom, and I love my role as Mikey and Nico’s mother. A part of me feels like shepherding these boys through life is what I was meant to do. That corny little bit has been hard for me to admit coming from such a career driven background, but it’s the truth. The over-educated woman with the razor tongue was meant to raise two boys joyfully and imperfectly. There is no shame it that.

Body, Mind, Spirit

Summer vacation is here! Yay!! The boys are home and already staying up far later than they should. I’m walking 2.5 miles almost daily, and if I don’t I walk around 1.5 miles. On Father’s Day I put on a pair of shorts I couldn’t fit into last summer and on Friday I did the same with a pair of jeans. Okay, sure, the waist was a little tight. Not tight enough to give me a muffin top (my body isn’t shaped that way) but tight enough that my lower back felt ever-so slightly uncomfortable after a few hours. You know what I mean?

My weight is sort of the same–more on that on a later day–but what I’ve realized is that I need to up my game as far as my upper body is concerned. My legs are getting stronger, more tone. My stomach, arms, back, and stomach still look like something that has been sitting in a proofing basket.

I’m looking for are upper body exercises I can do every day after or before my walks. Whatever I do has to be low intensity since it would be a daily exercise, and just like my walks, I’m perfectly okay staying ordinary. I don’t need magnificent arms or a washboard stomach or shoulder blades I can use to crack walnuts. All I want is for my upper half to match my lower half. My goals and expectations are low, but I honestly think that’s why I’ve been able to go as long as I have. Sunday was day 167, in case you were curious. I’m only a couple of weeks away from the half-way point!

I was talking to May about our link-up last week after I announced my decision to reduce the number of posts I publish for The William Morris Project over the summer and possible the fall. She offered to keep the link up going on her blog, but I told her that wasn’t necessary. I can easily set up the link-ups to go live on Thursdays for those who have projects they want to share. I wasn’t going to post anything that wasn’t simple living related on that day anyway, because anything else–like, I don’t know, a round up of my favorite art supplies from Europe and Japan–after the last 18 months would be a little disingenuous.

So, the link-up option will still be here every Thursday. I know a few of you enjoyed reading everyone’s posts and keeping up with efforts to create a more intentional space, and I hope those of you who were participating will continue to do so.

I know I will, because guess who doesn’t have the boys’ room done after a kabillion years and dozens of empty promises?

This girl!

This week was the third 1-week block of traveling for the Mister and I think I got a little cocky. I really thought I had it in the bag. I don’t know what happened, but it’s like on Monday my life turned into a partially inflated, untied balloon right as it slips out of a clown’s mouth. I felt like some rubbery thing making loud noises and moving chaotically.

I just typed out a long paragraph detailing the many little things that drove me nuts this week and prevented me from working on the room the way I wanted to, but: whiny. Short version: many annoying things on top of the boys behaving terribly. Just terribly. I think they have summer vacation on the brain and when I open my mouth all they hear is the ocean or a soundtrack of people having fun at an amusement park. Whatever it is they are hearing, it surely isn’t go to bed, clean your room, get dressed, let’s go we are going to be late, I said no.

Motivation to finish their room: TO THE LEFT OF ZERO.

I did finish their quilts, so I still somewhat love them.

[Aside: do you see the bandaid Nico has on his left elbow? I didn't notice it until I was taking his picture and when I asked him he explained that during Water Fun Day he tripped over the fire-hose the firemen brought and landed on the nozzle. I stared at him for a minute and said, "Nico, buddy..." and Mikey just closed his eyes and shook his head.]

These are the quilts that my friend, Larissa, and Anne of Green Gables (I and II but not the WWI special sequel), Pretty in Pink, Footloose, North & South, Like Crazy, and Daniel Deronda built. I didn’t realize it until just now, but if you add the running time of every movie/mini-series we’ll know how long it took me to tie both quilts.

I tied them every 4 inches because my batting called for every 4-6″ (did you know the batting package will tell you the minimum spacing you should use for best results? I didn’t) and I chose 4″ because Nicholas is a thrower-upper. These quilts–particularly Nico’s–will see plenty of wash time. I erred on the side of caution and it’s a good thing. He threw up Tuesday night.

Okay, it was worth it. Nico was excited. Mikey was, too, but in his more subdued Mikey-way.

Both of them were tired from Water Fun Day. Who knows, Nico was probably recovering from the effects of a concussion he “forgot” to tell me about. They both wanted to snuggle under Nico’s quilt since it was the newest.

Of course, once I told them they could settle in and take a little nap they were wide awake and ready to goof off. Here they are trying to recreate this picture of them at just under 3 years old (Mikey) and 4 months (Nico).

I think I want to do another quilt. Or maybe try some cross-stitch or needlepoint. I find the whole thing very relaxing, and it’s a good hobby for me. I can read forever, which tends to eat up my sleep. I can’t tie a quilt forever. Any experts out there?

One more picture, just because.

Now it’s your turn! Feel free to share how you have lived according to the William Morris quote, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” Made a plan? Cleaned a drawer? Bought a sofa? Tell us about it with a link or comment. A few guidelines:

• Please link to a specific post, not a general blog address.
• Your post must relate to your efforts to create an intentional home. I have a delete button, and I’m not afraid to use it.
• No links to giveaways, please.
• Let’s use this weekly link up as an opportunity to gather inspiration and motivation. Click links. Discover new people. Say hi and good job and all that stuff.

I don’t have a set route when I walk. I pretend my sneakers are divining rods searching out photos instead of water. At the end of my walk I play Rorschach with the aerial map of my walk on endomondo. I have walks that look like donuts, infinity symbols, squares, and lap pools. One day, when I got home and the Mister asked me where I walked I said, “I walked a route that resembles the ovarian system!”

I also have a route that resembles a gigantic kidney bean. It’s a little over 2 miles with a fair amount of hills. Depending on how fat I want to make the bean, I also walk by a house where people may sell drugs from the garage.

The house by itself looks like one belonging to an elderly couple. Grandmotherly clutter dots the porch and planters. An unstable wrought iron fence supports an assortment of cottage flowers and roses. Some of the flowers aren’t real. It is a brick house with enormous white shutters and a long time ago I did see an elderly couple puttering.

The cars, the frequent visitors that come and go quickly, and the garage makes the house look like one belonging to a different generation. I would frequently see the same couple of men chatting in the garage, sometimes with a woman. They didn’t appear to be typical fans of English country gardens.

One day on my walk I noticed bags and bags of topsoil next to flats of flowers ready for planting. The woman and both men were standing in the front yard looking at the lawn, obviously planning something. Over the coming days I saw them dig up the front lawn in a way that didn’t seem to make sense. By the end of two weekends, the flower-filled holes had borders of white rocks. I didn’t know what to make of it, until one day I walked by–very slowly–and realized one of the rocks spelled out a word. Now.

As quickly and discreetly as I could, I tried to make out what the rest said. I was only able to make out the bottom line. Goodbye for now. The rest of the sentences were a jumbled mass from my spot on the street. You’d need to be airborne to read the whole thing, and for the briefest of moments–less than a second, really–I debated the wisdom of bringing a ladder on my next walk.

A few weekends later there was more planting. I took the kidney bean route again and noticed the new line was numerical. 1920-2013.

Goodbye for now
1920-2013

A memorial garden, then.

We drove by it one day on the way to one of our final baseball games.

“I’m pretty sure they sell drugs from that house,” I mentioned to the Mister as we drove past. He agreed. “And that’s a memorial garden. It says Goodbye for now and then the dates.” He made a sympathetic face followed by some generic sympathetic murmurs. “I’m going to find out the story behind that garden.”

The way I figured, anyone who inspires a memorial garden must be at least a little interesting.

One day I was walking the kidney bean when I saw the woman crouched over the 2013, pulling at old petunias. She looked my age, though it’s possible she was younger. It was obvious we had lived different lives. Her shirt rode up her back while she pulled, exposing the soft flesh that folded over the waist of her shorts. She had her hair pulled back in a messy knot near the top of her head. Pieces of hair kept hitting her eyes; it bothered her. She didn’t wear gloves.

I walked past her and headed home. I stopped after 10 yards. Debated. Looked back and watched her pulling some more. Started walking again two steps forward and then turned on my right foot and started walking up the hill again. I stopped when I was in front of her and smiled. I said hello. She seemed surprised. I can imagine. She smiled back, unsure.

I introduced myself and complimented her on her yard. I asked her if it was a memorial garden for a loved one. She said it was. Her grandfather died and she planted the garden for him because he loved flowers so much.

“He was a plant doctor. A botanist, you know? He couldn’t get enough plants and flowers.”

I looked around the yard with a new appreciation for the overflowing birdbaths, potted plants, and overburdened trellises and arches.

“So, anyway, he was my best friend. He’d been sick the last few years and I moved in to take care of him. I guess I got a little emotional when he died. He’s probably so pissed off at me for tearing up his lawn. You can’t even read what it says unless you’re in a plane. I wasn’t thinking about that when I planted it. I wasn’t thinking how hard it was going to be to keep up, either.”

“Well,” I said, “I bet he appreciates the sentiment. And you can read at least some of it, or I wouldn’t have stopped to ask you about it. Besides, the message is for him and I’m sure he can read it just fine from Heaven.”

I took a gamble with that last sentence. For all I knew, she was an atheist. My rambling seemed to mollify her anxiety about the garden somewhat, so I didn’t offend her too much with my–admittedly juvenile–resort to talks of Heaven and afterlife.

She talked a little more and I listened a little more–her grandmother likes to come out and look at the garden–and eventually I turned to go back home. I once again gave her my condolences; she once again started crying. She thanked me for stopping because it made her happy. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, feeling guilty because I stopped partly because I was nosy.

Two weeks later, after having walked some spaghetti, a couple of donuts, and an infinity, I made my way past the plant doctor’s house. The woman was outside talking to the men. From across the street our eyes met. She broke into a huge grin and stood on tip-toes to wave at me as if from a very long distance. I did the same even though we were only, physically, 25-feet apart. Then she turned back to the men and resumed her conversation and I kept walking the round side of a kidney bean.

Body, Mind, Spirit

I can’t resist taking a picture of jumbles and cracks on my walks, so I thought I would make them the subject of my pictures this week. They’re easy to find in an older neighborhood with mature trees. I heard once that the canopy of a tree above ground mimics the root pattern below ground. I don’t think that’s entirely true, because we have a very tall, 50+ year old Liquidambar in our front year with a tight canopy, and those roots criss-cross the yard like highways all the way down to the street. They’ve torn up two sewer lines, a planter, and an entire sprinkler system. That tree is a hoodlum.

The trees around our neighborhood are just as thuggish. Cracked sidewalks, busted streets, lawns in a rolling state of upheaval–nothing new, move along. There is always someone, somewhere, repairing cement. Everyone else is hosing down their jacaranda petals. There is one street where there are tree roots cracking through the asphalt, jacaranda petals cover the only sidewalk, and the across the road stands a row of Bradford pear trees. You know, the trees with an easily identifiable and memorable smell. If the elms are the thugs and the jacarandas are the strippers, I suppose the row of Bradford pears makes sense. It’s my little red light district in suburbia.

Song of the Week

Ruby — Kenny Rogers
(The end of the video has interesting trivia.)

I saw this last week on one of my walks. It made me laugh, especially because the sign is high up on the light pole to discourage vandalism. Whoever did this did it at night with a very tall ladder. I know I should be outraged by my wasted tax dollars thanks to today’s irresponsible youth!, but the angriest I can manage is a poorly hidden smirk.

Monday

I decided to make Mondays our vegetarian night. I made tofu, brown rice, and kale–sounds vulgar, but it’s not–and it was delicious. Nico was thrilled because he loves tofu. The Mister ate it because he is a garbage disposal as long as it’s homemade. Mikey acted like he was approaching the guillotine, which is why I never make it. But you know what? I don’t like pizza and I have that every single Friday night. He survived one night of tofu. Barely, mom.

Tuesday

Larissa and I got started on Nico’s quilt! For whatever reason everything went faster this time around. I bet I could be done by Monday if I work hard on it through the weekend.

Wednesday

It was Mikey’s birthday. His first complete sentence upon waking up: “Today I am 16 days older than Emma.” His second complete sentence: “That better mean I’m prayer leader.”

Leading prayer is a big deal. I guess. I remember doing it as a kid and I dreaded when it was my turn. The honor goes to kids who are celebrating birthdays, getting good grades, and just all around behaving. Because of all the summer birthdays, the competition for prayer leading towards the end of the year can get heated.

On Monday, June 3rd, the teacher said the prayer leader would be the child with the nearest birthday. Emma raised her hand (June 21st, a date forever burned in Mikey’s brain) and was elected prayer leader. For Mikey, this was an outrage. He stood up and in what I can only imagine was bossy, arrogant but endearing Mikey fashion, presented an oral argument why Emma should not be prayer leader. He outlined their birthdays, the prayer leading assignment rules, the whole thing. Honestly, the class is lucky he didn’t demand a recess to put on court dress. I don’t know if he presented his case to the entire class or to just Emma. I do know that Emma listened to Mikey, gave him one of her famous withering stares and said “Too bad, so sad.” Then she lead prayer.

Mikey lead prayer on Wednesday, though he had to share it with another girl. Kids arguing about who will lead prayer? Could be much worse.

Thursday

Thursday was a half day at school. Mikey went to the front office early in the morning and asked them to call me to make sure I knew it was a short day and that I had to pick them up early. I can only assume that because short days always fall on Fridays, Mikey felt this information would be too much for me to process, and that I would be wandering the halls of our home at noon just staring at the string tied around my finger, wondering how it got there and what it means.

His serious, responsible personality makes me happy. So does his excellent memory. It means I don’t have two Nicos, who on Wednesday “forgot” to tell me he dropped his slice of pumpkin pie on the kitchen floor.

Friday

Tonight we are going to play Ticket to Ride as family! I’m building up the game closet. I took the list of board game recommendations with me to Target, and Ticket to Ride was the only one I found, which is fine because I think it’s the one that works best for Nico’s age. I’m excited!

The Weekend

My niece is in a production of The Little Mermaid. On Sunday we are celebrating his birthday at my inlaws. And all the while, I’ll be hand tying Nico’s quilt.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

p.s. Thanks for yesterday. <3

Next week will be my last William Morris Project post for a while, possibly the summer. I may extend my hiatus into Fall or longer. If I do something over the summer I will post it, but there is no set schedule. There are a few reasons for this. First, the summer is a time for fun and relaxation. I want to spend it with the boys as much as I can. Second, after almost 2 years, I’m reaching the point where projects need to be redone. Reorganizing a drawer I organized last year is a legitimate project, but it’s not an interesting project. I don’t want to bore you or myself. Third, the untouched projects I do have left are labor intensive and expensive. It’s not in my budget to gut remodel three bathrooms, and I won’t do a cheap or poorly executed remodel for the sake of blog content. Fourth, the boys’ school asked me to volunteer 2-3 days per week in the library next year. This is where the “extend into Fall or longer” comes in.

I have never committed to another hobby the way I have committed to blogging. My blog began as a gift from a friend, and I never thought I would stick with it–hence the stupid name.

[Quick tip: if you ever consider blogging but can't come up with a name, then for the love of everything holy, use your name until you think of something better. Or not. Just don't pull a name out of thin air because years later you'll hate everything about it. This probably sounds obvious, but 6 years ago it wasn't. Clearly.]

Almost six years later, here I am! I still love it, but this year was weird. I started getting frustrated and feeling intolerant towards the industry. I disagreed with and was disillusioned by some common business practices. I had no desire to keep up; I still don’t. I’m getting annoyed and when I get annoyed my go-to response is to sharpen my tongue on the flank of those whom I find annoying. That’s no good. I want to make sure that what I put out there serves a positive purpose to someone, even if it’s just myself. No one likes a know-it-all jerk.

The volunteer position at the library is a huge time commitment. I won’t be paid for my time, at least not initially. I haven’t decided what to do, although I’m leaning towards taking the job. It will be good for me to be around the students and books, and so long as the parents and school value enthusiasm and passion for reading over actual library experience, I think it will be good for the students, too.

I debated whether I should stop blogging come Fall, but several people–including the Mister–said it was a terrible idea. A reduced or reworked blogging schedule is one thing, but stopping altogether is unrealistic and most likely impossible. I’ve thought about it, and they’re right. I enjoy the community we have here too much to stop.

Over the summer I will figure out what the next year will bring in terms of what I write here. Of course, my 365 project will keep going strong. The William Morris Project will continue, perhaps at a slower pace. I guess everything will remain the same with the exception of the more personal stuff. The boys are getting older. There are so many wonderful stories I want to share, but I don’t. What I find cute today, the boys may find humiliating in high school. I err on the side of caution because I don’t want to be that mom, the one who posts pictures of her kids on the toilet or naked because they look so cute. (#flank)

I’ve reread what I’ve written here several times, and it doesn’t look like I’ve done a good job being honest without sounding whiny. You’ll have to take me at my word: I’m not a despondent mess rocking gently in the corner bemoaning that no one understands me. I didn’t write this in hopes of getting pinned/tweeted/commented/stroked and I’m not starting a movement with a hashtag. (#flank) I started this post thinking I would leave it to one sentence, but my brain had too many words and they had to come out. I’ll end with the sentence I planned to use as my beginning:

Hey, I’m going to William Morris my blog.

“If I had a lot of money, I would by a mansion and get a Lamborghini and build Iron Man suits and have lots of parties.”

“Mom, never underestimate the power of a potato chip.”

“Really, Nico? You got another yellow card because your brain ‘went cuckoo’? Yeah, well, you know what type of brains go cuckoo? Brains on drugs. Are you on drugs?”

“Nico, I have the perfect solution. When your brain has a lot of words that want to come out, DON’T LET THEM COME OUT UNTIL RECESS. It’s kind of simple, really.”

“Mom, tonight when you go to Target after I fall asleep to buy my birthday present, I would like for you to get me an N-Strike Nerf gun and an extra pack of bullets. You’ll find it on the end-cap next to the bikes.”

“Today is my last day of being 8. I’m a little excited, and a little sad because I’m never going to be 8 again, and I have a lot of great memories of being 8.”

1. What was the best thing about being 8 years old? Having my first sleep over and playdates.
2. What are you looking forward to about being 9 years old? The 4th grade
3. What is your favorite color? Green
4. What is your favorite song? Black and Yellow (News to me. –Mom)
5. What is your favorite TV show/Movie? Anything on the History Channel.
6. What is your favorite book? The Shark Wars series
7. What is your favorite food? Tacos
8. What is your favorite dessert? Pumpkin pie
9. What is your favorite thing to do? Play video games
10. What do you like to do with your family? Watch dinosaur documentaries
11. What do you want to be when you grow up? A Paleontologist
12. What do you do really well? Read
13. What do you wish you could do better? Math. I only got one 100% on a math test all year. The rest have been 90%-93% and that kills me.
14. What is something new you would like to learn? Paleontology (Is there anything left for him to learn? –Mom)
15. If you could have one wish, what would it be? Tons of money to do everything I want to do, like make Iron Man suits
    
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    ]]> http://pancakesandfrenchfries.com/2013/06/stuff-mikey-says-vol-12-9th-birthday-edition/feed/ 16 http://pancakesandfrenchfries.com/2013/06/stuff-mikey-says-vol-12-9th-birthday-edition/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/PancakesAndFrenchFries/~3/XiYByyyjA5c/ http://pancakesandfrenchfries.com/2013/06/daring-greatly-and-the-book-club-summer-session/#comments Tue, 04 Jun 2013 07:00:11 +0000 Jules http://pancakesandfrenchfries.com/?p=11442

    I am so confused! I believe Daring Greatly is the book club pick for May, which we were supposed to discuss last week or early this week. Well, that’s not going to happen! I’m putting the discussion for this book (that looks dangerously foo-foo-la-la to me–I haven’t read it yet, so I’m hoping it isn’t!) for June 18, which is a Tuesday. That should give everyone, including me, enough time to read it. Hopefully it’s not too tap into your inner goddess/write power words on your chest in eyeliner. We’ll see.

    As for the rest of the summer, here is what I think will work.

    

    Eleanor & Park. I’ve read this one and if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook you know I have a Great Many Opinions on this book. This is the kind of book you will read in one day. Perfect for summer. Mark your calendars for the July 9th discussion.

    

    Life After Life. I’ve heard great things about this book and 75% of the people I’m friends with on Goodreads have this book in their To Read pile, so I thought I might combine a few goals with one book. I’ve marked August 6th as the discussion date.

    

    Beautiful Ruins. Yes, the cover is breathtaking and it would appear I selected it only because it screams August, but in my defense, it’s a critically recognized book and 99% of you have it on your To Read list on Goodreads. So there. We’ll see if the critics were right when we discuss this one on September 3rd.

    So there stands the summer session of book club! I already have some books picked out for fall, if you can believe it, and that’s thanks to all the great suggestions I get on a weekly basis. Keep it up, please. I’m always paying attention to what you’re reading and recommending–heck, two out of three of these picks were recommendations.

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