Love Is All You Need

I attended a wedding this past weekend. The reception took place in the gymnasium of an old combo church and school turned art museum,  transformed into celebration perfection.

As we flooded into the vintage venue--complete with tables, table clothes, candles, wedding favors and snacks all lined up and waiting for us--glorious sunlight (thank you, Mother Nature!) streamed through the partially clad windows and began to celebrate and play right along with us.

Before this portion of the par-tay began (Crank up the music! Pour the drinks! Turn on the disco lights!), we'd been blessed by the ceremony held in an intimate room with colorful paintings on the walls. We received a word from the man referred to as the "Internet pastor" (he did a terrific job!) and the couple read their personally created vows (tender and tear-inducing). Then, the kiss. A GOOD kiss, and you know what I'm talking about. There was even a short follow-up dessert kiss.

As the couple turned to face us, All You Need is Love blasted into the room. Mr. Internet Pastor closed his eyes, held out his arms benediction style, threw back his head and saaaaaaaang right along with the lyrics as the new Mr. and Mrs. high-beamed their way down the aisle.

I can't stop thinking about that electric moment in time when I had no doubt it's absolutely true: all we need is love. If we loved with our whole hearts, minds and wallets, how much better would the world be?! (Hello, starving people! Hello crazed dictators! Hello lost and forgotten! Hello forgiveness!) I will forever carry that bright spot in an easily accessible corner of my heart.

After dinner, toasts, dancing and making merry, the sun began to wane. As natural light faded, the mellowness of fairy lights, candles and dance-floor illumination settled the room with an ambient glow--just perfect for yet MORE dancing and merriment.

When it was time for us older folk to depart, the bounty of love and love light continued to spread its radiance far beyond the festivities.

And the entire world felt just a little bit LOVE-lier.

Encouragement

I started pulling together this recent issue of the TwinkleGram back in February. I love writing TwinkleGrams, and yet, they are a task. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. When I don't get one done in a timely fashion, the "fun thing" weighs on me.

But life happened. FINDING OUR WAY HOME released. There were guest blog posts to write, radio interviews to blab, book stores to get to (still are). All the while, I just about melted down my Google Calendar by grabbing the TwinkleGram task and drop-and-dragging it forward (boy, that describes the emotional weight!) another day or two. Another day or two. Another day or two.

But finally--FINALLY--I finished the TwinkleGram, complete with survey and all. This after changing the original topic of Today's Message to The Joy in Second Chances because Hard Things came down in my extended family, and I write as a way to process. To file. To circle my wagons around hope.

Often, after finishing such a time-consuming task, I ask myself, Why do you bother, Charlene? Who really cares anyway. Nonetheless, two main goals were accomplished: 1) Writing Today's Message (the heart of the TwinkleGram, complete with a survey to help readers process the gist of the message in their own lives) and sharing news about the new book.

Then, like the small green shoots pushing Spring's compact crusty earth aside, something wonderful sprouted in my email INBOX. I received cheery notes from TwinkleGrammers who appreciated the message, spoke of its timeliness in their lives.

And there it was, today's word: Encouragement. This is why you "bother", Charlene, because encouragement is a circle. You pass it on, and somehow it returns twofold, energized to spin forth again.


I don't mean to suggest we encourage so that we can be encouraged, for where would the genuine giving be in that? But offering encouragement seems to spawn a magical cycle of begetting. More encouragement begets more encouragement. Pay it forward. Pass on the feel-good. Who else needs a lift?

When you encourage someone, next thing you know, YOU have more energy and your burdens seem lighter. Neat-o.


It's always fun for me to check the survey results, see how people are processing. So many of the TwinkleGrammers post fun pithy answers that make me laugh out loud--yet more surprise payback for my investment. But this more serious message inspired people to think on their past, how they process it. How often do we look back, consider where we've come from, what we've survived? Some of their answers tugged at my heart.


Fueled by the encouragement of thank-you emails (thanking me for my encouragement in the TwinkleGram) I felt especially "right" about personally encouraging two survey respondents whose hearts seemed heavy. Although I've never sent e-cards to people I don't know, today I did.

Encouragement. Think it. Live it. Give it. Pass it on. Catch it when it returns. Fling it out again. 

Who doesn't need a good dose of ENCOURAGEMENT.

Buffering (spinning icon) Buffering (spinning icon)

Buffering, the dreaded word, or sometimes just an animated symbol, one that tried to hypnotize me a few times this week. (You will watch the twirling icon. You are getting sleepy ...)

I don't usually see this word on my Big Boy computer. But my traveling laptop, which I've been attached to for a couple weeks, and which is now kinda old and lacking today's zippety-do-dah, likes to hurl this one at me.

Buffering. I had a general idea what the word meant: My machine is taking time (taking IT'S TIME!) to "get something" before it happens. When I looked up the definition, I laughed out loud. I laughed because, I'm told,

Buffering means that your device is downloading a video in advance to avoid delays in playback. I noticed in another definition, the word "hopefully" was tactfully applied.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Avoid delays! BWA-HAHAHAHAHA! Because here's the deal: when things are not as zippety-do-dah as they should be, one buffering delay seems to beget another. Sometimes I only see a few words (okay, maybe a word and a half) before there is a LONG DELAY to BUFFER AGAIN.

When I'm in a hurry, this whole buffering thing is tormenting. When I'm just dinking around on YouTube, the freeze-frames during the buffering can be quite entertaining. Who knew mouths do those types of gymnastics midst their words?!

(pause while Charlene freaks out) 

As a speaker, I just gave myself chills. I've been video taped on many occasions. I've even uploaded a few "fascinating" videos to my own YouTube channel. (Charlene pauses again, prays about HER buffering increments should any of you take a watch.)

The more I think about buffering (see spinning icon while fingers pause before more typing), the more relatable the concept. At my age (spin), my brain seems fond of buffering. Like when I'm trying to remember a name (whiirrrrrrrrr), or what I was going to say (spin, spin, spin), or when I'm taking a moment to stop myself from saying that! (DANG! Not enough buffering!)

And (slight pause), there you have it. Today's lesson from and for Charlene on buffering.

Seeking Perspective

My eldest grandgirlie is Star of the Week in her first-grade class. It's quite the honor which offers her, as well as any student whose turn it is, the opportunity for lots of cool things, like bringing special show and tell. She invited me to come read a book to her classmates, a humbling honor, which I gladly and gratefully accepted.

I asked her to pick out the book, but she already had one in mind. It's a book I keep at my house, a book purchased at Paperbacks and Pieces, my favorite used book store of all times. Barely a visit goes by when the girls don't ask me to read The Piggy in the Puddle.

The class loved hearing it as much as I love--every single time I read it--the way the illiterative language (nice, eh?) rolls off my tongue.

But before I was up on the docket, and while the teacher gently and with great patience and humor put the kids through their morning routine, I walked around the room and absorbed the creative energies.

Profound Perspective 

How profound are those words?! I got out my camera and snapped a photo. What if every single day we asked ourselves to define those three short lines using a single word.

• Yesterday was ... busy. That's one way to put it.
• Today is ... grace filled. I'm here with my grandgirlie!
• Tomorrow will be ... Hm...Pleasurable. 

It is good, I thought, to find kindness and perspective, to filter our mental filing, and set a tone for the future of positivism. To be honest, it was a deeply profound interior moment for me.

It wasn't until later I noticed the days of the week beneath the lines. I only noticed them then because the teacher asked one of the children to come correctly place the days of the week next to the lines.

Perspective: through a teacher's creative spark, a child's learning curve, and an aging woman's goals.

Perspective.

What Inspires Our Best Work?

Alan Menken

Before the Oscar gala, I watched a piece on Sunday Morning about the person--a person who's alive--who has won the most Oscars. Many possibilities flicked through my mind, a few I thought might be sure bets. But when they said his name, my response was Alan who?

Then they cued the music. OH! THAT guy!

Alan Menken, a composer, has won eight Oscars and been nominated a remarkable 19 times. I've been singing along with the fruits of his creative genius for years. First hit musical: Little Shop of Horrors. And wait till you see a list of his other credits, which includes the music for Beauty and the Beast.

If you already knew all of this, YAY, YOU!

During the interview segment, he described his musical style as "infectious, vulnerable, unguarded, joyful ... basically kind of childlike, in a way." Then he added the line that caused me to grab a pen and write it down.

"I do my best work when I'm serving something bigger than myself."

I felt like he strummed the harp of my writing heart with those words.

I've watched the CBS piece a few times online. Each replay, I am more filled with Menken's enthusiasm, and I am singing louder.

• Childlike
• Vulnerable
• Infectious
• Enthusiastic
• Something people want to share
• Serve something bigger than yourself

Seems like a good set of inspiration for any creative type to me.
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Bonus link for your perky pleasure: Little Shop of Horrors - Dentist Song
Bonus fact: Norman Menken, Alan's dad, was a dentist.

Tongue Piercing Steers Wheelchair

While scrolling along my Facebook stream I came across this photo. At  first glance, I assumed it was the latest teen rage: Punk My Mouth. I almost skipped right along without giving it another thought.

Then I saw the headline, the words that stopped me. Tongue Piercing Steers Wheelchair. 

Whoa.

I clicked through and read about an amazing breakthrough for those who need it.

Next I went Googling. I wanted to know more. Why a tongue ring? Because "the tongue doesn't tire easily and is usually not affected by a spinal cord injury because its connected to the brain through the cranial nerve."

The tongue doesn't easily tire.

Countless times in my life, my tongue has gotten me in trouble, made me a fool, embarrassed me and spewed venom. My tongue also spoke words of affirmation, made people laugh, calmed a crying baby and sometimes entertained even me.

To learn what scientists can now train and equip the tongue to achieve apart from words sheds a whole new light on this small flap in our bodies. May we guard our tongues well, for lots of reasons.

Words We Underline

Once in awhile, when it's time for a new read, I close my eyes and pick a title from one of my many stacks of books. Noting The Ice Chorus was an Advance Reading Copy, I knew I'd snagged it at a booksellers convention somewhere along the line. The release date on the cover announced  "February 2005". This should give you some idea about the organization of my "stacks."

The opening line in The Ice Chorus (wonderful book trailer here), a novel set in Ireland, set a sensuous tone. "An ocean-hued piece of silk rests over her hand like a landed butterfly." I use the word sensuous in its broadest and most lovely form, which is, according to Dictionary.com,  something perceived by or affecting the senses. Although I'm not quite half-way through yet, the lushness of the writing continues in wonderful ways. Sarah Stonich, the author, renders visual and emotional details, helps us see through the lens of a camera, witness the fluidity of movement in an artist's brush strokes, and feel the power of human touch, no matter how faint. Publisher's Weekly said about the book, "Midlife renewal and the power of art to transform life are celebrated in this bittersweet tale." 

Then I came to a line that caused me to get up out of my chair and grab a pen. A line on page 122 of my ARC, one I just had to underline, then star in the margin, then tell you about .

"Of all the stories she's ever been told, watched on screen, or endeavored to make herself, she understands that only those that unfold naturally endure."

It is a line that could have changed by the final edition. No matter to me. This is the copy I own, and even though I wasn't sure why, the power of  that line grabbed me.

I don't have a library card; we don't live in anyone's district. I buy books. Lots of them. Most read "keeper books" on my shelves are marked up in this way. Underlines, stars, exclamation points, an occasional "OH!" ... If, shortly into the pages, I've already noted several lines, I begin making a list of said page numbers in the front of the book. That way I can just flip from one to the next when I want to savor them.

I feel pretty certain that the novel on my shelves containing the most notations is A River Runs Through It. It's a shorter story filled with lines that caused me to stay with them, return often, even during that first read. They captured me, ensnared me, owned me. I'd read a paragraph, a page, then have to go back and read those lines again. How does an author do that to me?

The first time I received reader mail from someone I didn't know who shared she'd underlined many lines in my books, I wept. I have no idea which lines she referred to. It's hard to imagine any that worthy. I'm not a "literary" author. I can only attribute such a remarkable event to the power of the reader's spirit bringing to light that which needs to be noticed.

The only thing I know for sure is that if I ever try to write those types of lines, they suck. Pure and simple. Perhaps that's why the above quote from The Ice Chorus resonates. Only that which unfolds naturally endures. Amen.

Tricky Truths

‎"A scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it." -- Max Planck

My dear friend Donna posted this quote on her Facebook page yesterday. First I laughed. Then the too-often dark sorrow of that sad truth set in.

In reality, Planck, most famous for his work on the quantum theory, could have been talking about the publishing industry too. Historically, it is not uncommon for an author’s work to be seriously undervalued, or even noticed, for a generation or three.

• Why is that? 
• Does it have anything to do with quantum physics? 
• What makes someone’s words more potent when they can no longer generate new ones? 
• Will my books be more popular when everyone reading this, including the one writing it, is dead? 

Gheesh. Happy Fat Tuesday, Charlene!

Just when this dreary spiral of thoughts was about to sink my usual optimism, I Googled Mr. Planck and found an entire page of his Brainy Quotes. When I got to the following, I cheered. 

  

Anybody who has been seriously engaged in scientific work of any kind [and here Charlene adds, or WRITING] realizes that over the entrance to the gates of the temple of science [keyboards] are written the words: 'Ye must have faith.'

Sign made. Mood bolstered. Writing. I'm ALIVE, and these here blog words LIVE! All I can really control is the moment. I'll be dead a long time, so whatever with thoughts of immortal famousness.

HAPPY FAT TUESDAY everyone, although I will also welcome what is hopefully a skinnier Thursday.

A Word I Cannot Tame

My entire life, I cannot remember how to spell the word desperation. In fact, within the last five minutes, I spelled it incorrectly elsewhere, which triggered me to blog about it. Perhaps with some concentrated effort, I can correct this problem with my memory chip.

ADMISSION: My first attempt to use the word desperation in this blog post, I spelled it incorrectly too--and always incorrectly the same way. I have no idea what this means, but I'm thinking something!

Okay, I took a short pause after that last paragraph to look up the meaning of the word, to further explain how desperate [Keep typing it, Charlene, for that repetitive learning curve] I am to get it right. I had no idea a synonym for the word desperate is despair.

Great, so now I've learned I don't even use the word correctly! WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN? I often feel desperate, but almost never, ever, never despairing, which feels like a totally different thing to me.

For instance, if I'm desperate (GADS! I just had to correct that spelling--and I am not making that up!) to get somewhere on time, I don't feel despairing. Just acutely concerned, clinging by my fingernails, plowing full bore. Know what I mean? That doesn't feel like despair to me, which I thought meant hopeless, as in facing the reality that whatever you're trying to accomplish is not going to happen. There is no longer hope. Not desperate [OMY, Charlene! Not another correction!], which I thought meant frenzied, back-against-the-wall, but still hopeful, still possible, likely achievable through a frenzied attack.

Anyone else like me have this wrong in their heads?

But now the worst part is this: since learning I not only spell incorrectly, but don't know jack, I now DO feel on the very verge of despair. Will I always be this lacking???

Stupid words.
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For your inquiring minds, here is the way I always spell desperation (or desperate) before I am corrected. Desparation. Anyone else? ANYONE?

Misreads, Wrong Perceptions

I just read a lovely piece in Shelf Awareness about columnist and author Jeffrey Zaslow, who recently passed away in an automobile accident. Soon after notification of his death, I'd noticed the Twitter stream fill with kind words and expressions about how much his voice would be missed.

When I got to the second from the last paragraph in the article, there appeared a link referring to his expensive obituary in the New York Times. I clicked, read, felt the celebration of his life and the sorrow of his loss, added a couple of his titles to my to-be-read book list. It was clear that his shining words, which often focused on people searching for meaning in their lives, were worthy reads.

By the time I finished the article, and the info at each link, including the obituary--each affirming the power and effect of Mr. Zaslow's printed words, left behind as a testimony to his heart and talent--I realized my feathers were good and ruffled. Why would someone writing such a lovely tributary piece have the bad taste to mention the expense of an obituary! I looked again at the obit link, just to purse my lips, shake my head.

And there is was. The word wasn't EXPENSIVE, it was EXTENSIVE.

The power of words and meaning. A good reminder that all words, whether spoken, read or written, should be carefully considered.