No thought for plot

My quest as a wannabe writer led me to the Creative Writing department at University of Houston. I had a 2 o’clock meeting with Professor Serpas to find out about their masters program. Leaving work a bit early, I sailed to the UH campus, heart beating wildly as I, in typical fashion, got lost on campus and called Austin in a panic for directions. Parking in a lot without permit, my nerves soared at high altitudes as I crossed to the building. I was petrified of being late, making a bad impression. Entering the building, knocking on the prof’s door, I discovered she was the one running late. So, I sat down to wait.

After a few minutes, Prof. Serpas walked by and, without looking at me, mumbled something like “yes, come in.” I sat across from her and instantly felt dumb. There’s something about professor’s offices, all filled with books and stuff, that really causes someone like me to internally convulse while simultaneously hyperventilating. Looking professorial (aka smarter than me), she asked why I wanted to meet. Come to think of it, that was the thesis of the whole day. And, I blanked. Incoherently, I told her I was almost thirty and in search of a career I felt passionately about. Maybe, ”this thing” for me was to write. She stared. So, I stared. And, instead of breaking the silence, I waited for her response.

She wanted to know more. I told her about my continuing ed class I took, how the prof commented on my “gift for description” and that I didn’t feel confident telling the story. Instead of finishing, I just ended it. “So you have a problem with plot” she said. I felt some hope, we were communicating and, maybe just maybe, she would diagnose me as a talented writer, with a simple, minor plot problem. I imagined this would be similar to a doctor telling someone with a cough they are allergic to dust and they don’t have swine flu afterall.

Hope still lurking I said “This plot problem is probably pretty common, right? I mean, you probably get that a lot.” She didn’t say anything. Rather than affirm I was like other writers, struggling in my craft, she responded with a prescriptive solution. ”You need to read…” (and then began to list names). Continuing, she said “The best way to learn to write literature is to read it.”

Great. I read already. This was not the simple solution I hoped for. All I wanted, really, was to open a fortune cookie. The message would either read “God wants you to write” or “Stop writing. You are wasting God’s time.” But, as we all know, life and God don’t really work that way.

Leaving the prof’s office, she congratulated me on my pursuit. “Most people just get comfortable in their jobs and don’t question what their passion is” she said. I thanked her for her time. Walking back to the car, blue sky overhead, I wondered whether some people are destined to search for their passion throughout life. Maybe that was my destiny. Or, maybe I’ll open a fortune cookie and, in typical fortune cookie fashion, it will tell me something like “If you want the rainbow, you must put up with the rain.” It’s a good thing God communicates outside of fortune cookies.

Urban beauty

As I began to blog I also began to follow blogs. One of my favorites is Nest Decorating & Designs by Tamar. Tamar is a jewelry designer who has a site on etsy.com. Her stuff is really fun, antique inspired and always romantic and feminine. Although her grammar and writing is majorly “without”, her blog is very “real”. Often, she shares pictures of her land in Vermont and mentions her children and family. While sharing photos of her latest jewelry creations she also posts inspiring photographs of the terrain around her. Especially during fall, I am struck with a feeling of envy as her photographs reflect a landscape littered with jewel-toned trees changing their leaf wardrobe in preparation for winter. To put it mildly, the area she lives in is beautiful. 

Now, as many of you know, I hail from Houston, TX. Houston is home to many things like the largest suburban sprawl ever, an ethnically diverse population, restaurants and plenty of Tex-Mex (yum). But, what Houston lacks is the beauty I see in Tamar’s Vermont. You won’t find a ton of jewel-toned trees and rolling farmland in Houston. It’s urban to a fault. But, even in urbania, there’s beauty. Here, for your viewing pleasure, is some of the urban beauty I found in Houston, during a rare moment of snow. Take that Tamar’s Vermont. 

Snowy Houston from 12 floors up.

An Oopsie Nest

The only living tree in the hood, next to a warehouse.

What a special moment: To see REAL snow in Houston, TX.

Strangeness: Hibiscus covered in snow.

List of Thanksgiving

My mother always said I was a grateful child. Taught to express thanks by my parents and disciplining Southern aunts, I’ve always been at least mostly thankful for all I have. As I notice more laugh lines and increased patience, my sense of gratefulness is directed to smaller pleasures. In a sense, life becomes simpler each year, redefined by some hardship and God’s love.  In honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I’d recount some things I’m grateful for. They include (and are not limited to):

A husband who knows me, understands me most of the time and always loves me.

A family who disciplined and always loved.

My co-worker who sings and jams to music all day. She consistently lifts my spirits.

My friends, Karen and Libbie, for their encouragement.

My little brother, Austin, who is becoming a wonderful young man. 

My church.

Other people’s dogs. I get to love ‘em and give ‘em back.

Books. After Charlotte’s Web it was true love.

Blogs and the people who read them. Thank you.

Susan Issacs and Donald Miller, two authors who put themselves out there.

The rose bush down the street. I don’t have to tend you and you smell divine.

 

I hope your list of thankfulness includes small pleasures as well as more important aspects of life. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving– gobble, gobble to everybody!

Dear Hallmark, your cards are boring

Speaking of getting creative, I’ve always thought it would be really cool to write and/or design my own greeting cards. To me, there’s something special about stationary. Whether giving a special card or receiving it, I always love the written word and appreciate the time it took to send a personalized greeting.

Recently, one of my closest friends suffered a big blow: A breakup of giant proportions. She told me how there aren’t any cards to give a person saying “hey, I’ve moved on” or “hey, I think you suck but, deep down, I still love you.” As humans, we have such thoughts. Although they may seem contradictory, they are completely normal. So, why don’t companies make greeting cards like that?

Another example is my family (and countless other families). With parents married several times, ex-step parents and step siblings dangle like chads from previous elections. How do you greet these folks? There’s no existing card or stationary to say “hey we’re not related biologically or by marriage anymore but I still think you’re cool”. Or, what I’d like to say: “hey, thanks for doing a good job to help raise my half brother. He’s a great kid.” I think there should be cards to communicate such things.

Maybe, with a little encouragement from friends like you, I’ll design cards with clever messages depicting real feelings in every day life. 

Back2U: What kind of greeting card message is missing in the market? If you have one, give an example of a greeting card company creating clever/unusual messaging.

You are creative and, gosh darn it, people like you

A few of my favorite people claim they are “uncreative”. Though they are on my list of favored folks, when they say this, they are liars. God does not create people who can’t create. Simply put, it wouldn’t make sense. So, I am challenging everyone to try something creative. It could be basic, cooking a new recipe, designing your Christmas card, taking a photography class, learning (and using) Photoshop.

Some of my favorite ways to create or get in touch with my creative side include writing, listening to music or seeing an art exhibition. I’m a horrific drawer and I habitually made straight C’s in my design classes but I can sew (sort of), cook (most of the time) and write (at least for basic communication).

Here are some fun (and creative) ways to get funky with your inner creative side: http://indiefixx.com/2009/11/16/10-things-10-ways-to-be-everyday-creative/

Back2U: What are some creative activities you enjoy? How do you get in touch with your creative side?

Kandinsky: Inspiration for your creative response.

Things I don’t get (but like): Crafty people

Have you ever known someone who’s truly crafty? You know, the kind of person who makes things. Maybe it’s jewelry or socks or curtains or hair bows. Whatever it is, this individual probably leaves you feeling inspired and a bit lazy. Because, if you don’t make things, you wonder how in the world someone has the time to do it.  This is the exactly how I feel about my sister-in-law, Kristi. Kristi makes things. She knits, crochets, sews and probably makes her own soap (or aspires to). And, as long as she sticks to store bought deodorant, I’m thinking her hobbies are pretty cool. Her latest creation includes a store on etsy.com.

Etsy is a place where crafty people converge. A watering hole (if you will) for the folksy, artsy, hippies, design-freaks and shopaholics. On etsy.com you’ll find some of the coolest (and most odd) items including an entire section of purely handmade stuff. Now, simply because it’s homemade, does not mean it’s in good taste. Some of this stuff is straight-up strange but most of it totally tickles my fancy. Kristi’s stuff is in the latter category.

Check out Kristi’s etsy site: http://www.etsy.com/shop/sugarandcaffeine

Kristi makes baby hats which can be made for bigger adult heads too. At some point, she plans to expand her store. So, if you like what she does, check back periodically to see the latest. Or, feel free to contact her. She likes yarn and people too.  

God makes a joke

Praying has become a game of sorts. It goes something like this: “Dear God, please provide me direction in my job search. I want to find a passion that honors You.” Time and again the answer back is silence from the cosmos as I beat my head against a desk five years too long in my possession. But the other day, I got the joke. Of all places, God’s answer came to me on a treadmill.

While walk/jogging I watched an episode of “My name is Earl.” Earl was attempting to resolve a karmic issue while Randy, his really dumb and child-like brother, discovered he had no purpose in life. Realizing this, he sets out to find it. (Hmm, sounds familiar.) In search of purpose, he decided to try different jobs. He signed up to sell cleaning products, test cosmetics and bus tables at the Crab Shack. Meanwhile, Earl continues to right the wrong he’s committed by jumping through hoops to provide the “perfect day” to a guy in prison. Every day, he misses the drop off time at the prison because of all the difficulty he has coordinating his day. Finally, Randy has a day off and helps Earl. He helps him with the wheelchair of a man, getting him downstairs to get a paper. Then, he helps him pick up donuts and finally helps Earl bring the grandmother to the prison inamte for a visit. All of this is achieved quickly, with time to spare. At the end of the show, Earl turns to Randy telling him he needs him. If he’s going to complete all on his list, he needs Randy’s help. Finally, Randy has purpose.

My answer/prayer back to God is this: “I get it. Ha, ha, I am like a really dumb guy on Earl. I am silly and have middle income white girl problems.” Since that moment, several sermons and conversations have highlighted my misguided search for purpose. 

Not to leave with a Ghandi moment but, in case you wanted to know, I feel God did answer the question of purpose. It’s pretty simply (saw that coming, didn’t you?). To love and serve. That’s all. It was good enough for ol’ Randy and it’s good enough for me.

Boss’ day and freed toes

I have one of the coolest bosses. Although, she doesn’t let us run her over or get away with much. And she has some strange preferences. She hates toes and abhors open toe shoes. After riding up to the twelfth floor on the elevator, she comments on the work dress of individuals sharing the ride. The fellow colleague with a giant dragon tat on her breast, low-cut top and heels with laces up her calf unsuspectingly goes about her day as my boss peers at her, judging her wardrobe as tacky and, rightfully so, completely inappropriate. Nevertheless, with all my boss’ quirky behaviors and opinionated opinions she is one of the most effective leaders and best team builders I’ve had the pleasure of working for. To thank her for the hard work, we decided to bring a card and kolaches for boss’ day.

After she read the card and hugged everyone she asked us to come to her office. Being the super perceptive and very slick individual I am, immediately I asked with a smile “well, I hope this is good news for boss’ day.” That made things awkward because, of course, she had crappy news to relay. Shutting the door, in her ever cool and collected way, she broke it to us: She’d be leaving in two weeks for a job near her home and children. For months, I’d been waiting to hear this news. My boss is not only completely talented but our company (which shall remain unnamed) has struggled in the past year. Looks of shock akin to lost sheep were traded amongst my co-workers. But basically we were happy for her and bummed for us.

Fast forward to my shopping “spree” today (I use this term loosely because anyone who knows me understands my aversion to shopping). While organizing my closet with the few new items and old stuff, which had made a home on the bedroom floor, it occurred to me. Now that the very cool and highly effective boss is gone, I can wear open toe shoes again. My toes are free. Finding my petty and earned silver lining, I felt a bit better. Maybe I’ll ask my co-worker if I can borrow the lacy shoes…

Plight of the bad teeth

The thing was big. Whatever it was, it was huge. And, it hurt. Grinding and pumping, the thing forced its way in and would not retreat. I tried to push it out to no avail. All the while a light shined brightly in my eyes. Beyond the grinding noise, I could hear Ellen talk to Mary Murphy; Mary’s voice came out much less piercing than usual. Dr. Johnson conversed with Donna over the sound of the drill. My neck stiffened and shook against the chair. Drool flowed from my mouth, avoiding the many cotton balls shoved between lip and gum. Suddenly, a cold familiar sting jolted my hands forward. Purposely concealed, a muffled mouth responded soothingly while administering another shot. My heart pumped harder and I clasped my hands more firmly. Imagination drifted as I wondered whether I’d have any teeth left. Perhaps I’d go back to work to make a presentation and, when my lips opened to expose a giant black gap, I’d run out the door, the audience’s horrified looks gawking at my back. Eventually, this embarrassment would cost my job. My husband, repelled by my freakish mouth, would choose to leave me for a woman with teeth. And, myself, forced to face reality’s harsh truths, wouldn’t blame him for leaving.

Laughter from Ellen’s talk show woke me from visions of an empty mouth and abandonment.  ”And we’re all finished here” Dr. Johnson said. “You’ll be numb for a while but you should be fine in an hour or so.”

The next day I returned for an adjustment. Such is the plight of the bad teeth.

ACL Fest Recap

Each year, Oopsiehubby and I are dinged by Austin City Limits. We receive an e-mail telling us: “Come to our festival. You know you want to.” Once we receive the message, we debate whether we’re getting too old to stand in the rain, sit in the mud or take the abuse of the heat and sun to hear exceptional live music. Perhaps due to our brain cells dulling with time, each year we’ve decided “what the hey” and purchased our three day ticket. What can we say? We’re suckers for live music by artists like Ben Harper (my favorite), Phoenix and Pearl Jam.

This year, on Friday, the weather was decent. Saturday, the heavens opened and unleashed their vengeance in the form of steady, wet droplets soaking my pants. It rained so hard that even my umbrella leaked. (That was fun.) Sunday, we were rewarded with hot heat and a sunburn. The ground was covered in thick mud with similar consistency and smell to diarrhea. Nevertheless, we rocked on. A recap of our ACL fest adventure:

For us, ACL Fest represents a chance to prove “we still got it”…whatever “it” is. 

Oopsiehubby and Oopsiegal banded and ready to rock out. 

The second day, I was forced to sneak a bag of kettle pop corn under my poncho. And, I looked pregnant. 

Oopsiehubby enjoying the fruits of my labor. 

Yeah, they’re back! Jammin’ to the B52’s. 

Ben Harper: Whether you’re with Relentless or the Criminals you rock! 

One sunburnt Oopsiegal sits next to a mob of muddy hippies. 

Heads or tails? ACL provides some of the best people/fashion watching.