Unsolicited Advice – Page 2 – Earth and Midnight

Junk in the Trunk

For my birthday several years ago, I asked my aunt if I could look through two wooden trunks she owns. I knew my grandma’s keepsakes were in them, but I had never seen what was inside. A few other family members came over to my aunt’s house that day. The trunks were in a spare bedroom. People hung out in the kitchen or living room when they wanted, and came into the bedroom at intervals to see what was being unearthed.

Some of the treasures:

– a wool shawl with a note pinned to it, saying it belonged to my great-great-grandparents in 1872, the year those relatives sailed to America

– an antique curling iron. It looks like a modern curling iron, only thinner and with a wooden handle. And of course, no cord or plug.

– crafts my grandma and other family members made: needlepoint pillow covers, crocheted afghans, latch hook rugs, wood burned pictures

– Easter eggs I had decorated decades earlier. I had no idea that hard boiled eggs, if left alone, dry out and can be preserved! The innards sounded like they’d dried into a ball, and when I shook the egg (gently), I could hear that ball hitting the thick, heavy shell.

– decorations I had made by wrapping latex balloons in papier mache and then painting them to look like Easter eggs

– handmade cards my brother and I had given my grandparents when we were kids

– my aunt’s curly hair. When she was young, my aunt’s hair was naturally curly. I had heard that my grandma saved some of it once, after giving my aunt a haircut, because it was so pretty. I was thinking she’d saved a ringlet or two. There was a whole bag of hair- enough to make a wig out of!

– clippings of my dad’s hair when he was a little kid, when it was blonde. And clippings of my grandma’s red hair from those same years.

– assignments from my dad’s art classes in college

– notebooks from classes my dad took in the army

– newspaper clippings featuring family members (usually in group photos relating to their workplace or civic organizations they belonged to)

– lots of old photos

There was so much stuff we didn’t even go through everything. If we had spent the whole time only looking at photos, I don’t know if we would have made it through them all!

Digging into the trunks ended up being a memorable and satisfying way to spend a special day. The activity encouraged people to share their memories, and I learned new information about my relatives.

I’m not telling everybody to spend their birthday the same way I did. But I would recommend asking older family members if they will show you some of their souvenirs, keepsakes, and photos while you have the chance. I would also take notes because when they’re gone or if they lose their memories, how much will you know about the items left behind? In a pile of jewelry, would you know which pieces held sentimental value and why?

I was thankful that my grandma had labeled some of the items in the trunk, noting a date, where it came from (especially if it was handed down), or other pertinent information. You might consider labeling some of your own belongings that hold special meaning.

Do you know who all the people are in old family photos? It’s even better if you can find out not only their names, but what was happening in the pictures and the stories behind the pictures. “That’s Mildred and Harold. They had just gotten engaged. They were on a picnic by Whitefish Lake with another couple they were friends with. Harold’s buddy was a real jokester- that’s why he’s making that face.” That kind of thing. The stories you hear will probably be worth more than any of the antique furniture or knickknacks.

I would recommend writing names and dates on the backs of at least one group photo in each era. For example, gather pictures that include your grandma with her family when she was a baby, kid, teenager, adult, and senior and label everybody. This will help you recognize her family members at different stages of their lives when you see them in other photos later.

If you’re looking for destination to celebrate a holiday or your next family get-together, you might consider a trip down memory lane.

An A for Effort

One student at the community college where I used to work had some issue where his legs didn’t work normally. He walked using crutches attached to his forearms, and even then, he limped down the hall, swaying and staggering, as if he were a marionette controlled by someone continually being stung by bees. Just seeing the amount of time and effort it took him to get to class put other students to shame. I’d see him studying in the hall, the tutoring center, the library, and the computer lab. This was while some other students skipped class and didn’t bother to do their homework.

He came to mind recently, and I used him as a measure of hard work and dedication. I had to take a look at my goals and ask myself if I showed up every day, if I was putting in as much time and effort as I could, if I kept going even when things weren’t easy, if I was living up to my potential. Not at all.

Some days, the most challenging part of working on a project is getting started, getting in the flow. My new trick is that I vow to put the same amount of effort into my project as I imagine it took for that student to get to his classroom. After that, it’s usually smooth sailing.

Better Living Through Haiku

When I notice I’m living in my head too much- for example, if I start getting emotional about imaginary situations- I find that writing haiku is a good remedy. It brings my attention back to my senses and into the present. What do I see in front of me? What do I hear? How does the air feel against my skin? What’s happening right now? Write about that. Haiku is a good medium for capturing the immediate. Working on a haiku makes me feel more real.

I start by writing down what I notice. All or most of these lines are dull. “lots of clover on the lawn,” “wet cement,” “white blooms.” But if I keep at it, a line or word might spring into my head that surprises me. A poetic phrase might appear. I might not even know what it means. Those are the rewards of creativity. Or work. The magic of thought. It’s what makes the sometimes excruciating writing process worthwhile. Poetry is the heat that transforms ordinary, mundane sand into stained glass.

Fine-Tuning

While the perfectionist in me cringes, I have to applaud myself for publishing stories that could be written in more captivating language, that don’t have an ending, that I’m not satisfied with, that could be better. The desire for perfection can lead to inertia and writing blocks. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, it can lead to constant tweaking, the story not seeming “ready” or “finished” or “good enough” to publish. I’m finally learning that an unpolished story is more valuable than no story. Wouldn’t you rather be told “I love you” by someone you care about than be told nothing because no words seemed special enough? A song tuned to the key of “fine” can be the most beautiful song somebody’s ever heard.

Making Magic

In moments when you feel hopeless or defeated, it helps to think of the power you do have in the world. Writing is creating something from nothing. It’s creating a story from a blank page. When you look at it like that, it seems almost magical. If you can do that, think of what else you can do!

Perfect Timing

A lesson that kept recurring on my long road trip was: Do it while you have the chance.

You plan to hike later in the day, but it may rain later. The employee you were going to talk to in the afternoon may leave early. The attraction may be closed when you pass it on the way back. You only have one set of clean clothes left, and you may not be in the vicinity of a laundromat tomorrow. Your internet connection may go on the fritz tonight, and those websites you were going to look at may not load. So, write down those driving directions now. Pay that bill now. Look up that information now. Visit the attraction when you first come to it. Hike while the weather’s decent. Wash your clothes while you have the opportunity. Do it now, while you’ve got the chance.

Of course, I translate this into a major life lesson. Don’t wait. When is it going to feel like The Perfect Time to move, start a family, take up a new sport, go back to school, switch careers, take a vacation to Paris, or whatever else you want to do in life? Sometimes, never.

Heck, even if it is raining, if you want to get a hike in today, go for it! [One of my favorite lessons related to this topic is mentioned in this post about Badlands Petrified Gardens in Kadoka, SD.] You’re alive now, you’re here now, you have the chance right now. Even if the conditions don’t seem “perfect,” you’ll have an experience that shapes your life.

It’s Your Decision

Several years ago, I wanted to write more poetry. Luckily, I had a job where I could usually eat lunch while I was working at my desk. Then, on my half hour lunch break, I’d sit at a picnic table by a pond or at a table in the library and work on poems. To try and help keep me motivated, I entered a few poetry contests online. The prizes for these contests were publication and sometimes money. One submission was to a well-known [to those familiar with the genre] haiku magazine.

It seems normal to not get any response to a submission. Well, I got an email from the haiku magazine, where one of the editors figuratively hacked apart all my poems, threw them on the floor, and suggested I read some of their issues to get a sense of what they’re looking for (which, of course, I had done before I sent anything in). Some people may have appreciated an editor taking the time to give them feedback, but I didn’t. (My thinking is, art is subjective. If you like it, then print it; if you don’t, then don’t. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean the poem is bad or that I need to change it. I know- diva!)

I had been vaguely considering starting a blog for a while, although I hadn’t seriously looked into it. That incident became one of the stones in the bridge that eventually led me to create a blog. Why was I waiting for someone else to determine that my poetry was worth publishing? I would decide that it was worth publishing. That was (and is) an important lesson to take forward in life in general. If you want something, claim it and make it happen. [The poems that I submitted to magazines (plus more) have since been published on this blog.]

For anyone who has a fantasy of “being discovered” by someone with power or authority, just look in the mirror. Decide for yourself that you’re beautiful, talented, smart, strong, have a good idea that’s worth pursuing, have a skill that’s useful, or whatever else empowers you. And then live like you believe it.

Garden Variety Heroes

When I was growing up, my grandparents grew a vegetable garden every year. Two, actually- one on either side of the driveway. In the small space left for flowers, my grandma planted zinnia and marigold seeds.

When I’d visit their house in summer, colorful bunches of zinnias in glass jars brightened the kitchen and living room.

I always assumed that my grandma really liked zinnias, but when I mentioned it one time, her response was basically, not really, but she planted them because they always grew well.

When I got into gardening in my teens, I saw what she meant. Whenever I planted a packet of zinnia seeds, at least some of them always sprouted, survived, and bloomed.

Now that I’m living in an apartment, my garden space has been downsized to one large pot on my patio. Last spring, I planted four different types of seeds in there- something edible (Swiss chard), a vine (morning glories) to hopefully grow up the patio railing, nasturtiums (because I have a special regard for nasturtiums), and flowers for cutting (zinnias). Although I did get one vine and some tiny chard leaves, the nasturtiums quickly took over the pot. I buried more nasturtium seeds into the bare patches of dirt and let them take over the show.

In case you aren’t familiar with nasturtiums, they do well in mild seasons, but fry in summer. By July, most of the nasturtium leaves had turned as dry and tan as potato chips. I dug out the nasturtium plants and replaced them with petunia plugs. I’ve grown petunias many times in the past, and they always seemed easy. These petunias lived and flowered, but they never got any bigger, and never vined or spilled over the edge of the pot. After a couple months, I stopped paying attention to the flower pot. A few weeds grew between the petunias. I hardly ever watered anymore. Eventually, a hard frost killed most everything. I cleaned the dead vegetation out of the flower pot.

As usual, winter weather teased the landscape, sometimes warming, sometimes frosting. In November, I looked out the window one day and saw pink. A zinnia bud in my flower pot was just starting to open. I watched over the next few weeks as the flower matured and another stem produced another bud. On Thanksgiving, I saw that a tiny rust orange zinnia flower had opened.

I have to give those zinnia seeds a lot of credit! After being crowded in spring, shaded out, tilled, planted over, and frozen, they took it all in stride, growing and flowering as if it were business as usual. Some of the “weeds” in the flowerbed turned out to be zinnias, outperforming the plants who got preferential treatment.

Zinnias didn’t start out being my favorite flowers, either. Possibly because they’re so common, and their look is coarser than other flowers. I was lured by the delicate, feminine appearance of other petals. It was only in time that I learned to appreciate the beauty in longevity and a strong constitution. These plants put me to shame. They don’t complain- the stems always stand strong, and the flowers are always colorful, always happy! Loyal soldiers, zinnias remind me to keep living and blossoming to the best of my ability in whatever circumstances I happen to be in.

I ran errands yesterday and saw that seed packets are back in stores. I bought only zinnia seeds for this year, short varieties suited for growing in pots. I picked them for the same reason that my grandma did: they work!

Made in the Shade

I’m fair-skinned. Although I freckle, I had so far never tanned between freckles. One summer in junior high, my friend Kristen and I decided to get me tan. I have no idea how the subject came up, who took charge of the plan, and I can’t explain why it seemed like a good idea. My guess is pure optimism. Just because it’s never happened in the past doesn’t mean that it can’t ever happen- right? I ignored that little voice inside reminding me, You’ve gotten sunburned in the shade.

As far as I know, neither of us looked up directions on how to tan safely or consulted an expert on the most effective way to tan fair skin. I don’t know why I thought the results would be different from any other summer. We seemed to put our faith in tanning lotions.

I had a subscription to Teen magazine, a magazine geared toward pre-teen girls, packed with ads for the latest beauty products. Kristen proposed going in on a product together and sharing the bottle. I agreed. That summer, some of the compelling new sun-related products included a clear serum with flecks of blue glitter, and sunblock in a range of colors, apparently to be applied to the face in the style of either warpaint or clown makeup. I just looked on the internet, and both of these products (the concepts, if not the original brands) are available for purchase right now. I don’t know if they’ve made a comeback or if they’ve stuck around this whole time.

The product we ended up buying promised to expedite your tan. We both applied it on a trip to the lake with Kristen’s family. I can attest that the lotion did seem to accelerate the effect of the sun’s rays on the skin. I have never gotten such a horrible sunburn so fast. But that could easily be due to the fact that I lay in direct sun, and without coating myself in SPF 50 first- not my normal practice.

That evening, my skin had developed into a shade pretty accurately described as “rose.” It was the kind of burn where it hurts to go to sleep, because it hurts to lay down and have your skin to press against anything, even a blanket. I don’t think I even took note of Kristen’s outcome with the tanning lotion because I was too focused on my own suffering.

That was the first and last time I messed around with getting a tan. What is the lesson here? There’s a fine line between optimism and foolishness. The quietest voice-the one that only you can hear- is often the wisest voice in the room, and it would be wise to listen. Otherwise, you might get burned!

A Matter of Course

When I worked in the grocery store flower shop, I would occasionally lend customers a bucket so they could more easily transport a vase of flowers in their car. I asked them to return the bucket the next time they came back. We had a tall stack of cheap buckets, so I didn’t keep track of how many I’d given out or who I’d given them to.

A customer who I didn’t even remember returned a bucket one day and apologized for the delay. She said it took her so long to return it because she was staying with her best friend who had died a couple days earlier. They met in first grade and had been friends for 66 years! That sounds so rare nowadays. She told me how they were there for each other over the years and during each of their divorces. Her friend got cancer. After the customer left, I was thinking how that’s the kind of friend I want to have. Of course, that’s the also kind of friend I would have to BE. I don’t think I would qualify right now.

My last post talked about celebrating both large and small milestones in the lives of your friends. I have to admit that, besides birthdays and holidays, I don’t know when any milestones or special occasions are coming up in other people’s lives, because I haven’t been keeping in touch with them often enough or having deep enough conversations to learn what’s happening and what’s important them.

The good news is, we always have the option to course correct.