Apr 19, 2015 |
Are you often amazed at the plethora of Monday-haters on social media? Sundays are an infestation of draggy, please-don’t-make-me-go-back posts and photos of closed eyes or weekend-recovery moments captioned “One more day!”
With the humans away, the Cats will play…
I understand. When you need that break to refresh, ending it can seem, well, horrid. I typically clean Bedford Manor after work on Friday night, leaving Saturday as my To-Do List and Play With Friends Day. That makes Sunday my day of rest. My I-Can-Do-Anything-Or-Nothing Day.
But here’s where I admit a dark secret: I treasure most Mondays. Those are days when the work week starts over. It’s the beginning of new opportunities to fill the board with great accomplishments, rack up some goals, and share ideas on making at least our corner of the world a better place.
To-Do List
Mondays are a chance to start over, or continue. There’s nothing quite so nice as knowing I’m earning my paycheck, and starting the week means I’ve five solid days to do just that.
When I’m done with my day job, I get to come home and work on writing, editing and social media publishing for my freelance clients. On Tuesdays and Thursdays you can find me in critique groups or working on their submissions. Wednesday evenings I’m in the online chat room for Aaron Gansky’s Firsts in Fiction Podcasts. Yeah. I’m busy. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
And for those weeks when Mondays are hard to appreciate, there’s always the Pollyanna approach.
“You can be glad because it’ll be a whole week
before (it) comes around again.”
I challenge you today to make a list of five things you have to look forward to this week. Just five things. It can be as simple as a quiet cup of coffee before work, or a smile from a coworker. It can be as complex as making it through the day when you don’t feel good, or paying a bill when you’d rather put food on the table.
Start a Glad List. Next week, come back and tell me how your week went. We’ll both be glad you did.
MoJo Glad List
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
Dec 17, 2013 |
It’s been a month since I’ve posted. I’ve never gone this long before; and I apologize. I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you. No, far from it. But I really have been Just.That.Busy.
I turned my focus to amplifying my Amazon Author’s Page as well as finishing The Penny Parable for eBook publication. I’ve been attending my monthly Writer’s Club meetings, and I’ve joined a critique group. Every other week, nine of us gather to review our works. We email them out a week before each meeting and go over notes and suggestions in the group. It’s quite a great experience, and if you are a serious writer I strongly suggest you find such a group.
Last weekend, the High Desert chapter of the California Writer’s Club was honored to hear Aura Imbarus speak. I was lucky enough to meet with her during the break. She is someone I want to know: She is inspirational, comical, truthful, adventurous, enduring and most of all, a writer.
Aura and MJ
Her story is captivating and thrilling. And she’s nice. She’s one of those people who make you feel you’ve been friends forever, even if you’ve just met. Her energy is just so positive! Yeah. I want to know her.
And yes, that’s me on crutches. I have no dramatic story to tell. I got into my car. I got out of my car. I couldn’t walk. Okay, it’s not quite that simple. But it is. You’ll remember I’ve been in ten car accidents and hit once as a pedestrian? Never my fault, honest. But still. A knee can only stand so much trauma before it starts to fail. And every once in a while, my knee likes to remind me. Which it did last week. Normally I can just ice it and kick back in the recliner for the weekend, but there was no way I was going to miss my Writer’s Club meeting and subsequent Christmas party. So I did the only logical thing. I hobbled into CVS and bought a pair of crutches!
You would think with my prior injury history I’d have a pair around here somewhere. Well I did for a while. But then I got cocky and figured I wouldn’t need them again, so out they went. That’ll teach me.
As each day passes, I find myself wanting more. More time. More energy. More money to do/fix/buy/go. My wish list is getting greater, yet simpler. I want to be a writer. A well accepted, published, known, respected author. I want to have a beautiful yard. A healthy, colorful, desert-enduring yard. I want to fix my house. Bedford Manor is lovely, but in need of some repairs. I want better health for me and those around me. Too many people are suffering with so much. My heart aches every day to see it.
I’m not sure what the New Year will bring. But I already have my word picked out, and I can’t wait to share it with you!
Just today a dear friend reminded me that whatever comes, whether it’s in my plans or not, it’s going to be okay. All I can do, is all I can do. She reminded me to hold firm to what I already know, which is my Faith. It was one of those Kismet things, thrown in my face from many angles. I was reminded of what I have often reminded others. That God is in control and it’s okay that I’m not. As long as I still have Faith, Hope, and Love.
Jeremiah 29:11
And someone else gave me this tidbit of wisdom a week or so ago. I asked if I could share it, and he said yes. So here’s a great thought to get you through those times that we’re all going through:
Sitting Around
And it hurts. And it feels like failure. And it doesn’t work.
So I try again. To make ends meet. To write something blockbustery. To breathe.
And it still hurts. And it looks like failure. And it doesn’t always work.
But sometimes it does.
So I keep moving. And working. And writing. And breathing.
And living.
And smiling.
Because I’m alive. And breathing. And working. And writing. And feeling.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
More or Less: 29 Words
What’s Your Writing Style? Creatively Overcoming Writer’s Block
Why I Write. Every Day.
Doing Something. Good.
Poverty: My Story
TGIF
May 9, 2013 |
There’s a plethora of news articles discussing poverty as it relates to society as a whole. There are Government studies, prejudices, and surveys. There are misconceptions, stereotypes, classes to educate those in the throes, assistance programs that help (or don’t), and people fighting every day to overcome the odds.
Let me be very clear at this point: I am not a statistic.
My Social Media brand states quite simply, “I’m a Christian. Writer. Mom. Single. Daughter. Friend. Worker. Chef. Believer.” I’m also a baseball nut, coffee drinker, Disney lover, cat owner. I’m sympathetic, empathetic and at times extremely temperamental. At no point have I ever been a statistic.
I am a person. My home is where I live and where I raise a family. We are not charts on a piece of paper or a spread-sheet column.
The very first thing you should understand about me is that I am blessed. I believe in God, I have felt His hand upon my daily moments and I know without Him I would be lost. I am poor by the world’s standards, but definitely not by His.
Trying to live up to the world’s idea of how my life should be is utterly exhausting. Working long hours while running a household can be overwhelming. And so rewarding.
I am deeply bothered by the stigma that my life brings to me and my daughter. I’m often overwhelmed at the inconsideration pushed upon us for lack of funds. I’ve prayed and thought long and hard about writing this post. There are some things that private. And then there are times when my voice may be the only voice someone hears. For others who can’t speak for themselves.
Poverty is not One Size Fits All or even Most. Poverty is deeply personal, intimate, and unique to each person. Not each family. Each. Person.
This is my story.
This is by no means a complaint against the world. Nor is it a cry for help. It’s not meant to take away any other person’s individuality or be thrown to the masses. This is simply My Story. Or at least the parts of it I can share.
I can’t say I was born into poverty. I think maybe I was, myself and my brothers. But we didn’t know different. Dad worked hard for income, Mom worked hard at keeping a home. At some point in my youth, both worked. We all came together for dinner around the table. We went to school, did our homework and worked our chores. We played games. We talked. We went to Church. We were a family. When my brothers were each old enough, they found part-time jobs to supplement their own pocket cash. I babysat the kids across the street. We didn’t know what poverty was.
We had a clean house. Home cooked meals. We didn’t know we were poor. We knew we didn’t always have as much as the kids down the block. But we always had more than we needed. And we were okay with that.
When I was 13, my dad passed away. Mom chose to move us closer to her sister, also a widow. Thus we transplanted from Michigan to California. My mom has always been an extremely strong, hard worker. If we were in Laura Ingalls’ days, she’d be known as a Pioneer Woman. When there’s a problem, she finds a solution. Even though the word “No” is often a part of our vocabulary, the word “Can’t” rarely is. Her home is immaculate. Her yard is landscaped. She’s always found a way to take care of what needs taking care of. I am very proud of my mom, and just as proud that my daughter inherited that same “Can-Do” spirit. We are not poor people. We are just people in poor circumstances.
We live in the largest county in America. Currently, our unemployment rate averages between 12 and 14%. That means one in seven people who used to work or can work, is not working. That doesn’t take into consideration the dependents that person is responsible for: a spouse, child, or other dependent. I don’t like the game people play with these numbers.
I’m blessed to have a job. I work 35 hours a week. It’s not much, but it’s honest work. It feels good to have a job I can go to. A place where I can contribute back to society and be a part of the outside world. I enjoy paying bills. I do! I like the feeling of writing out checks and buying my own groceries and putting gas in the car. I don’t like knowing that the payments I make aren’t always enough. I don’t like the calls I get each day asking me for money I don’t have.
But I like that each week, the calls are fewer. I like that each payday, I can afford to put just a little more money toward paying off the smallest debt. And maybe next payday, a little more. It’s not easy and there are often times when I’m unable to do anything more than the minimum payments… and sometimes not even that. It’s embarrassing. And that’s a stigma I face a lot. The stigma that being in poverty carries an attitude of apathy.
I want to be self-sufficient. I’m not there yet. I don’t know that I ever will be. But I’m learning a lot on this journey. I’m learning every day. How to cook differently. How to juggle a budget where the outgo always exceeds the income. How to get by for less than what society tells me I need. And how to ask for help when I really need it.
I’m blessed with a wonderful support system. I have family and friends and church and community. I’m not alone. I have people. My people. People who come alongside me to lighten the load however they can. A grandpa who constantly teaches Dot maintenance and farming. My mom who shares cooking secrets. My boss consistently trains me to be better at my job, and gives me opportunities to grow and not be just the stagnant front-desk person. I have people who see me through my struggles. And, yes. I have struggles. Who doesn’t? But I don’t struggle with life. There are worse things than not paying off debt in a timely manner.
For my family, Poverty is a matter of perspective.
My yard is still 90% dirt. That’s not because we’re poor. That’s because I live in the desert. That’s because I don’t know gardening. But I’m learning. Some day, my yard will be completely landscaped. For now, we’re taking it one square foot at a time.
I still treat Dot to the occasional pizza or Starbucks. We need that treat once in a while. When I was growing up, Mom had this saying on a bookmark:
“If, of thy mortal goods, thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves
alone to thee are left,
Sell one & from the dole,
Buy Hyacinths to feed the soul”
– Muslihuddin Sadi,
13th Century Persian Poet
I remember asking her what that meant. She smiled as she told me, it’s another way of saying “Man cannot live by bread alone.” There must be more to life than physical needs. We must also take care of our spirit, our soul, our emotions.
Imagine my delight when in the first Spring of my somewhat fixer-upper home I discovered Hyacinth growing in my front yard.
Grape Hyacinth
We all need a time of refreshment. Being in poor circumstances no longer allows us the luxury of Disney passes or even a weekend getaway. My mom has another great wall hanging in her kitchen. It reads
Do What You Can
Where You Are
With What You Have.
And that’s why I still try to make time for Family Game Nights. Why we scrimp and save for our Girl Dates to Starbucks or McDonald’s. That’s why a 40-minute drive to Casey’s Cupcakes and the Mission Inn every few months isn’t indulgent ~ it’s necessary!
Because I refuse to let my daughter think she lives in poverty. Because she doesn’t. Because poverty is a temporary disposition that I refuse to settle into comfortably, and I will fight tooth and nail to make sure she doesn’t know what she’s missing.
I believe this poverty is temporary. I refuse to be a societal statistic.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
There’s Hope for Bedford Manor
“Be Not Afraid”. Yes, I’m talking to YOU.
How To Eat For Free And Have Fun Doing It (Or, How Printing Coupons Gave Me a Really Great Weekend!)
WinCo Wins: Lunch for a Dollar!
Dear God, I Owe You An Apology (Quit Helping Me!)
Winco Wins
Feb 22, 2013 |
I can’t begin to express how I feel writing this post. It always feels good when I write. But this one… Because I’ve been fairly absent in the Blogosphere since January… it feels good to Blog.
TGIF says it all. February has gone by so fast for me. Although my Kickstarter Campaign wrapped up on February 1st, I can’t believe how very busy I’ve been with the post-campaign work.
Ordering product, final editing, and, this weekend, sending the Cookbook to the printer.
I feel as though I’ve three jobs. My day job, which helps pay the bills. My writing, which helps feed my soul. And taking care of my house, which means bills and budgets and meal plans and family time and everything else.
I’ve so much on my plate that right now my thoughts won’t settle down enough to be productive. How I miss the days of the writing and the typing and the photography and the planning… now I need to remember to catch my breath every few hours.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. I really do have a wonderful job. And I am working on the writing. And my home life is great. But my days are running together so often, that I have the hardest time keeping track of what day it is.
So I’m glad I know it’s Friday. For a slew of reasons, this one is going to be great. It’s payday. Always a great start. And through winter storms and a bout of sinusitis, I managed to work without taking time off.
Joshua Tree
I even drove to work over black ice and through storming snow! Bonus on the Confidence Scale!
Today is my co-worker’s birthday so the Boss is treating us to lunch. Can you say, delicioso?!
After work is Bible Study followed by our much needed Game Night with the Second Family. Have you ever played Hand-and-Foot? It’s a crazy card game that for some reason, my daughter tends to score very well on even when it looks like she’s losing. I, on the other hand, give the impression of being the Big Winner only to be, well, not.
Earlier this week I treated myself. The planets aligned with sales and discounts and after ordering supplies that I thought would cost much more, I had enough savings to allow me to finally purchase my own Kindle Fire.
I. Am. In. Love.
There are so many wonderful books on sale. My reading list holds Sherlock Holmes, the Oz collection, Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austin, and others. I’m currently reading Silver Linings Playbook. Have you seen the movie yet? I highly recommend it. Highly.
And then of course there’s my newfound love of Kiefer Sutherland in 24. Netflix has opened up an entire new world for me, and I wonder how I ever could have resisted such glory.
My weekend is going to be full of family, fun, writing, and dreaming.
I’m waiting for my brain to settle down enough to write more than just a paragraph or two. But since that’s not happening any time soon, I guess I’ll just watch Jack Bauer save the day… again.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
Nov 5, 2012 |
It’s been a long time coming. I haven’t been able to tell one day from the next. But now… Now, I’m (almost) ready. Now, I’m less anxious and more amped.
My Bento Lunch is packed. My purse is gathered. My clothes are hanging neatly. Did I miss anything? After my emotional vomit on TGIF as well as the outpouring of encouragement and support that followed, I can say I’m faced with a renewed emotion today: Excitement.
It started out as anxiety as I prattled off a list of “What If’s” to my brother, who immediately assured me those thoughts are natural… But I’m not so sure how natural it is to contemplate being the sole survivor of a catastrophic event the first week I start work and having to run the office alone amidst a deficit of knowledge and working skills… Just sayin’…
Faced with the ridiculousness of my writer’s brain, I already informed my new boss that I think a little differently than most. I promise (or so I told her) that it won’t affect my professionalism. I mean, really. I’m back in the Insurance industry. My creativity won’t affect that. [I do hope I get to use the word, defenestration, at some point… but I highly doubt it.]
As I filled out documents last week, I broached the subject of Identity Fraud. My new boss questioned me, “Why would someone do that?” To which I promptly responded, “I have no idea. But I watch a lot of crime drama so I know it happens.” Yeah. Cuz my reality really should be a TV movie.
What started as trepidation as I perused the 300 page “Office Bible” quickly turned to confidence. I’ve done this job before. I can do it again. I loved it once. I’ll love it forever.
I am now, again, officially a Nine-to-Fiver.
My boss asked me a great question during our initial interview: “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I responded, “The same. Only… better.”
That which I have prayed for has arrived. And whatever comes of it, I’ve been here before.
So I know it’s going to be alright.
I’m turning a new page. And pretty excited to write a new chapter.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
