Best Lines Heard So Far: At the end of Robert Atwan’s keynote address, after he finished talking about how he began the Best American Essays series in the 1980’s (he wondered if there were enough good essays out there for even one edition) he threw off two lines in reference to the recent spate of memoirs that turn out not to be completely true or accurate. “The rise of the memoir came at the same time as the invention of the keyboard and PC.” and “You can do anything you want in nonfiction, but if something is not true, make sure it’s not verifiable.”
Long day tomorrow so the post is short. However, I want to direct your attention to the website SecondAct. As part of this WordCount blogathonMichelle Rafter challenged those of us over 40 to write a post about reinventing ourselves in this part of our lives. I’m proud to say that my post got a mention along with half a dozen others who have compelling stories to tell. For your weekly dose of inspiration, head over to SecondAct.com and read some of them.
How have you reinvented yourself? Share your story in the comments box.
Pull up a chair at The Tuileries in Paris and read
The story of a blog.
Everybody and their dog (literally) has a blog it seems. Why would I start one if I’m not selling anything? Well, the thousands and thousands of travel photos I have stored on my computer have a little something to do with it. I had to do something with them. The rest is a bit of whim and a bit of wanting to model what I’d been reading.
Part of the WordCount Blogathon I’ve joined this month is a challenge to write a post about five movies that have influenced my blogging. Instead, I’m giving you the five books that were there at the start of this online journey. I hope you pick up one or more and read it.
I made the blog about three days before I left on an extended trip to France because it seemed the easiest way to keep in touch with my family and friends as well as share the hundreds of photos I take each trip. My first travel post actually had a dateline of Moline, IL (not too exotic). But even more, the blog was a place to practice the kind of traveling and writing I had been reading about. Although I’ve moved beyond just travel stories, all of the books that guided me at the beginning of my blog still teach me a lot about traveling through life every day.
In almost no particular order, the five books that influenced me:
1) Words in a French Life – Kristin Espinasse I was desperate to learn French and I thought this book of little essays might be the most enjoyable way. Kristin is an American who was transplanted to Provence when she married Jean Marc Espinasse, a wine maker. Her book told little stories about trying to learn the language and the culture and about raising two children who still laugh at her very Americanized French accent. Each story came with its own vocabulary you won’t learn in any tourist phrase book. It wasn’t until a second pass through that I realized all of these essays came from her blog, French Word A Day. I joined her site and the extensive conversation among strangers across the world it encourages every week. I’ve since learned about gardening, planting vineyards, dogs, French habits, and more. Kristin’s book and blog introduced me to this new way to tell little stories – the kind I like about everyday life. I had a model for the posts I would be writing for my family. Last summer had the good fortune to meet her and Jean Marc, which makes reading her blog and her subsequent “blooks” even more enjoyable. Even if you don’t plan on traveling to France soon, her stories are a great way to spend a weekend there.
2) The Art of Pilgrimage – Philip Cousineau When I asked a friend who traveled and wrote about traveling to recommend good books to read, this was one he named. Cousineau is very much about traveling with intention. When he uses the word “pilgrimage” he’s not necessarily using it in a religious sense. It tells you, in very human language and anecdotes, how to travel outward into the world while traveling inward into your heart. “We need to believe,” he says, “that there is something sacred waiting to be discovered in virtually every journey.” It’s up to each traveler to decide what that something is for himself. Rather than rushing willy-nilly through our destinations trying to see everything, he encourages the traveler to have some element to focus the trip. Since reading this book, for example, I’ve developed photographic themes for each trip. I’ve learned to look for the small moments in a day to define my visit. Yes, the mountain or chateau is grand, but the fruit tart I ate at a small restaurant nearby is the real story. Whether you’re taking your family to the Gulf Coast for spring break or taking the Grand Tour of Europe, this book teaches you to travel with real meaning.
Place des Voges in Paris, a great place to write
3) The Art of Travel – Alain de Botton This is the second book my friend mentioned. de Botton is a philosopher and writer who tells you, rather than where to travel, why and how to go. In his essays about curiosity, learning to ask questions of what we’re seeing, and finding beauty he is trying to teach us to notice while we travel and not just look. I reread all or part of de Botton and Cousineau every year.
4) A Writer’s Paris: A Guided Journey for the Creative Soul – Eric Maisel It’s a small book teaching us how to lead a writing life away from home. Maisel's focus is on writers, but it can work for anyone trying to nurture a creative streak. And it doesn’t have to be Paris. He does give advice on how you could do this if you never leave home (although he thinks the occasional “creativity” sabbatical is a trip worth taking no matter how few days). Maisel teaches us, believe it or not, that just picking up and heading off to Paris is not enough to make us more creative. It takes planning, goal-setting, discipline. I know I haven’t applied his techniques enough at home to give me blog material, but his little book points toward a creative goal of combining writing and traveling. Even if you’re not a creative type, the book is a wonderful little tour of all the neighborhoods of Paris and out-of-the-way corners of that grand city.
5) The Travelers’ Tales book series I can’t remember which book in the series I was reading, but all of these stories made me want to travel in a way that I, too, had something to write home about. I love that the stories range from the ridiculous to the sublime. Not every adventure requires near-death experiences. This is the series that gives out the awards I was recently lucky enough to win. I hope someday to make it into one of their editions.
So there you have it. My blog has expanded beyond telling stories just to family. However, because of thes books, I hope I grow better at telling stories for all of you, whether traveling to some far destination or just traveling through my own life.
Learning to notice, not just look
What book or movie has inspired you to take on a new challenge? Tell us about it in the comments box. If you have any travel stories to tell, by all means take the time to share them here, too.
Keith Urban takes time to talk to his fans after a show
Last week I made another pilgrimage to my Mecca – Nashville. I’m a huge fan of country music and swooned over Conway Twitty’s “Hello, Darlin’” way back when. But this particular visit was to worship at the feet of my guitar god, Keith Urban.
As I told you in my last post, I traveled there for the All For The Hall concert to benefit the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. Keith Urban and Vince Gill hosted the show and invited a whole passel of their music-making friends to raise money in support of programs the CMHOF takes to the community. But let’s be honest, the #1 reason I traveled there was for this:
While part of this trip allowed me to bow at the altar of books and filled my word-loving soul, going to a Keith Urban concert is like a spiritual cleanse, an emotional release. He’s a man who was born to entertain; he was born to play guitar. Three hours in the front row at one of his concerts watching him follow his passion can be as reinvigorating for his fans as a weekend on the beach. He anoints you with his unmitigated joy in making music in communion with the crowd.
Despite his country music awards, Australian music awards, and Grammy Awards he continues to bring his personal warmth and enthusiasm to as many people in as many ways as he can. After concerts he’s gone out to the parking lot of arenas to play a short set for the stragglers who haven’t made it to their cars. He’s played free shows in shopping malls and train stations even though he could just spend his time filling arenas. At every show he wades into the crowd to play in the most up close and personal way he can. He invites audience members onstage for singing contests or just for a hug.
What comes through in every performance is his sense of immense gratitude that he is allowed to play his music for us every day. The road to success was filled with hairpin turns. After all, who would assume that when a young boy in Queensland, AU says he wants to become a country music star in Nashville that it’s a slam-dunk? People on both sides of the ocean thought he was insane. Without a plan B, though, he kept writing and playing until finally people heard what he wanted to say musically. In this new American Idol culture, we forget the struggling artist still exists. He kept chipping away at Music City for almost 15 years before he had a hit record.
He shows that gratitude in so many ways. On the morning of the AFTH show his fan club hosted a free breakfast for the members who had bought tickets to the concert. The 300 or so who managed to make it there in the early hours of the morning assumed Keith would show up to thanks us for supporting the CMHOF, perhaps sing one song before heading off to rehearsal. However, after the first song, he sang another, and another, and another. And he asked who had come the farthest to the show because his fans actually cross state lines and national borders to see his shows. A woman called out that she had come from Finland. Finland, Indiana we found out. And he sang requests. And he sang songs about being an Ed McMahon Sweepstakes winner he had written before he had won the music lottery himself. His “thank you” lasted almost an hour.
Up close and personal at his fan club appreciation breakfast
The AFTH concert put me somewhere north of four dozen Keith shows since I started following him. For his fans, “following him” is a literal act, not a metaphorical one. My concert count is small potatoes compared to the woman next to me at the stage that night. She was on her 98th show. The farthest I’ve gone to see him perform is a small club in Birmingham, England. I know fans who’ve traveled to his shows in his home country of Australia. When people ask why I go so often, they inevitably follow it up with, “Isn’t it the same show every time?” No one ever asks me “Why do you go to church every week? Isn’t the service always the same?” No one says, “If you’ve heard Beethoven’s 5th once, why listen again?” or “Van Gogh’s ’Starry Night’ hasn’t changed. Why go to the museum again?” Or “Why read To Kill a Mockingbird again?”
Most of us chug along through our days surrounded by people giving half-hearted efforts, perhaps doing jobs that make us just count the hours until 5 o’clock. The atmosphere is filled with cynicism or competition. We might feel stuck. We’re not even sure what we want to do. If I feel like that, a trip to a bookstore, or a writing conference, or a Keith show is exactly what I need. They are living pictures of what persistence and a dream can achieve. When I’ve lost ardor for my own path, I want to go someplace where I can soak up the intensity of someone who might be living this philosophy:
When I surround myself with excellence and passion, even if just for a couple of hours I want to dress myself in that feeling and wear it for a week. I want to create. I want to do something with a lasting impact, even if it were only as mundane as reorganizing cabinets so that life in my kitchen works so much more efficiently. I want to pursue a goal and take it as far as I can. Yes, the feeling may fade in a few days, but that just gives me an excuse to look for the next model for living my best life. Or I can just crank up some Keith Urban music and dance around until everything that drags me down has been pushed to the back and I’m ready to move forward to something great.
What do you want to have passion about? What do you do to pump it up when you feel it fading? Get us excited about something in the comments box. Let us know what drives you and brings out your creativity. How do you get back in the game when life has just been dragging you down?
"Put You In A Song" at the All For The Hall breakfast concert
My favorite town, Nashville -- the street of dreams, Lower Broadway
Country music and books. Pretty much a perfect kind of week for me when I get both on the same day in my favorite town – NashVegas.
Last week I was in Nashville for the third All For The Hall concert. It’s a fundraiser for the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum. Two Nashville guitar gods – Keith Urban and Vince Gill – began the series of concerts, pulling in the best of country music both old and new to make a lot of music and raise a lot of money for the repository of country music history. I was there for the first two and plan to be at every one, front row, until they decide to stop.
But first let’s talk books.
Recently Nashville upped the independent bookstore ante when Parnassus Books opened on Hillsboro Pike. Author Ann Patchett and veteran of the publishing world, Karen Hayes, decided to buck the decline of independent bookstores by opening one of their own after Borders went under and a town of that size was left with only one national chain store and some used book places. So of course I had to do my part to support their endeavor by spending a small fortune.
I got lucky on that trip, though. I showed up on the day they inaugurated a conversation series with local luminaries talking about books they love. The place was packed to the gills with people there to talk about the written word and hear what the mayor of Nashville, Karl Dean, had been reading. I love the written word. I love reading it and I love writing it. I want to smell the binding and the pages. I want to scribble my comments in the margins to create a dialogue with the author. With a book I commune with the past and contemplate the future.
At the store I was surrounded by so many great books I needed to read. Over here the recommended new fiction. Over there tables of non-fiction I hadn’t read. A special display for poetry. If I had won the half-billion dollar lottery prize the previous week I could have used a wagon to haul all my book purchases to the car. Since I didn’t and I still had a stack of books at home waiting to be read, I but the brakes on and bought only two: an essay collection I knew nothing about but loved the title, When I Was a Child I Read Books by Marilynne Robinson, and a novel that got great reviews, The Song of Achilles by first-time author Madeline Miller.
Patchett herself walked in as I was paying for my purchases. She stood behind a table stacked with books, giving recommendations in abundance to customers seeking her guidance. If I had not already been so drunk on books I would have done something profound like demonstrate insights I had gained after reading her new memoir-ette, the Kindle Single The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing And Life. When she wrote, “I’ve come to realize that I write the book I want to read, the one I can’t find anywhere” I nodded in agreement because I, too, am writing to create the small stories I don’t see very often. I should have told her that when she talked about a willingness to be bored at the computer instead of giving in to distractions, it was a kick in the pants I needed to persevere because too often if I’m bored while writing I take it as a sign to give up. The point, she declares, is that you keep writing until you’re past boredom.
Oh no, it didn’t occur to me to talk to her, writer to writer. In that room, surrounded by a couple thousand linear feet of books all I could do was tell her how much I loved her store and how much I enjoyed the afternoon listening to her mayor talk about fascinating books I hadn’t yet read (but I have the list and will add them to my TBR pile). I congratulated her on stepping in to the literary void and taking the chance on the dying animal, an independent bookstore. I told her I’d be back.
And then instead of doing the logical thing of grabbing the nearest copy of Bel Canto and asking her to sign it, I did a very Nashvillean thing. I grabbed the Parnassus Hatch Show Print I had just bought to add to my collection and stuck it out for her signature. What? You don’t know Hatch Show Print? It’s a Nashville – and American – institution that puts words on paper the same way Gutenberg did with the first press. Instead of talking about writing, we had a serious discussion of where to put her autograph so as not to destroy the symmetry and art of the poster. She also added the date.
As I walked back to my car I realized I had blown the chance to start a conversation that would give Patchett an opening to say something immensely wise that was original and directed specifically at me, writer to writer. I had been so in a trance from breathing in the aroma of the pages and leather bindings and dreaming of finding my name on a similar spine facing outward to a reader one day that I had come away only with a bag of more books I don’t have time to read and her clear signature in the white margins of my Hatch print.
Sometimes when I’ve gotten all fangurl and wanted to talk to a singer after a performance or stand in line for an autograph at a book signing or wait to talk to some other notable person, I’ve had some people say (usually while waiting impatiently for me), “Why bother? They don’t care. They’re not going to remember you.” But I know that I myself don’t get tired of hearing someone say they appreciated something I put my heart and soul into, whether an apple pie or a piece of writing. And I harbor a desire to connect, even for a moment, with those that inspire me to pursue my own interests.
An art like writing is almost completely about reaching out to make a connection. Yes, I may have been forgotten by Patchett before I left the parking lot, but it was a perfect and perfectly energizing moment. It engaged my passion. That’s never a wasted moment. Nelson Mandela said, “There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” No, nothing penetrating or heart-stirring happened in an afternoon at a bookstore in Nashville. However, it’s often those small and random encounters with what drives you that can encourage movement onward to something bigger instead of sitting still.
I came home from Nashville and set to writing again. Even if I temporarily bore myself. I want to be on the bookshelf of Patchett’s store and talk with her engaged Nashvilleans. And perhaps have another chance at a conversation, writer to writer, that I missed.
Watch what goes in to making a Hatch Print
Do you have a favorite bookstore? What makes it so special? Have you had an inspiring encounter with a place or person that spurred you in your passions? Or did you have an opportunity and blow it? Inspire us all with your story in the comments box.
Come back on Wednesday and we’ll talk Nashville and music.
On this snowy day I feel like visiting the green on the Isle of Skye, Scotland. How about you?
For your weekend reading and viewing pleasure, here are several bits of wit, wisdom, and whimsy that you might have missed during the week. So put another log on the fire this snowy day and enjoy.
If you are currently single and have had it up to your earlobes with the Hallmark holiday, aka Valentine’s Day, then this poem by Kristen Lamb is meant for you. Read it before the next treacle-y Kay’s Jeweler commercial makes you go postal. Then buy your own heart-shaped box of chocolates and celebrate your strong, good self.
Bob Mayer always has great advice for writers. I never knew about the rule of 7. Read this to find out what else you need to do to keep from being invisible on the internet.
“Love Yourself” is a good theme to consider as we head toward a day that has convinced us that we’re nobody until somebody loves us and gives us a heart-shaped diamond necklace. Brenda Moguez and Kristen Lamb inspire us to accept who we are by teaching us where to look for our strengths and that we are not our thighs, no matter how many shots of Victoria Secret models make us believe that.
And for a bit of attitude read Becky Green Aaronson’s take on what holds us back, how she learned that it’s not excuses that help us climb that mountain. Read Tami Clayton, too. She reminds us that by living in the moment we can work ourselves into a state of gratitude, even when everything seems to be going in the wrong direction.
Finally, you have to watch this video that Julie Kenner found for us. Even if you’re not a writer or artist, you’ve encountered some a$$hat in your life who has blocked your vision or creative energy with his extreme a$$hatness. At least by watching this frightenly hilarious video you can reap some vicarious revenge.
Thanks to all who read my scribbles this week. Pop into the comments box to share with us the best thing that happened to you in the last seven days, or the worst. Or comment on anything these other fine bloggers offered up for thought.
Okay, I admit that I need a haircut. But don't worry. I have an appointment scheduled this week.
My son at the end of the World Series parade in 2006. I couldn't join the half-million red-bedecked fans
along the parade route this year because of my surgery
Things are good here in Cardinal Nation. My last post was just two days before the surgery on my neck and two days before my beloved St. Louis Cardinals began the improbable ride that was the 2011 World Series Championship. While I wasn’t good for much else during these first two weeks of recovery, I could at least revel in all the magic that is baseball.
I know that football is now supposed to be America’s most popular sport, with Superbowl Sunday practically a national holiday, but there can never be a football story as great as this World Series run. It’s the stuff that makes us all feel like kids again and makes us believe that our dreams can come true.
On Aug. 25, one month before the season ended, my Cards were 10 ½ games out of first place, a statistically almost impossible gap to bridge. One game at a time, though, they kept chipping away until they stood on top of their division. Then in the first round of playoffs so many thought this was the end because the other team had a better record. But one run, one out, one game at a time they proved everyone wrong. The same for the National League Championship round. Nobody believed that they could do it. Nobody, that is, except for the players and all the rabidly devoted fans of Cardinal Nation.
And then they were pitted in the World Series against the Texas Rangers, who were making their second consecutive trip to the Series. They battled like never before. In fact, during game 3 I thought my pain meds were playing tricks on me when I awoke from dozing once, twice, three times to find our favorite slugger, Albert Pujols rounding the bases on home runs in a 16-7 blowout. And then three times in game 6 they were only one strike from going home as forgotten post-season contenders when they rallied to finally win big in the 11th inning and force the final game that clinched their place in baseball history and the hearts of their loyal Redbird fans for their 11th World Series title.
In St. Louis EVERYONE is a Cardinals fan
Not only does baseball give you three strikes and three outs each inning, but because the game plays without a clock, it also gives you unlimited innings to get things right. You might lose in the regulation nine innings, but other days if you keep plugging away, coming back and coming back with hit after hit, you can play on and on until you have your victory. It ain’t over ‘til it’s over. And it’s never to late to be a hero. Just ask Lance Berkman, the Cards’ rightfielder, a veteran (some might have said “over the hill”) player whose career was seen as waning until he joined my team. Even the youngest have something to contribute. Just ask David Freese, who won the Series MVP award although he had played fewer than 200 games in the major leagues while most previous award winners had averaged about 1,200 games.
I love baseball because it reminds us how many different ways there are to win. It can be won by the hitting, the pitching, or by one diving catch in the outfield. It reminds us all that if we work at something consistently and neither sit on our victories nor wallow in our worst defeats then there is always another game or another season for us to make our own luck. There is no clock counting down the minutes to success or failure. Anyone on the field can be the hero of the game on any given day. We just have to be ready when opportunity opens the door. So now that my short period on the disabled list is coming to an end, I’m back at the computer to work at my own chosen sport of writing. Every day I’ll hone my fundamentals or perhaps get confident enough to swing for the fences this season. See you at the ballpark, er, online.
I’ve been off the computer for two weeks so I have a lot of catching up to do with comments that came in on my past posts and reading the wonderful posts written by other bloggers. While I’m busy with my make-up work, please shareany of your own “World Series”-sized successes or dreams – or whatever else it is that inspires you to keep going when you’re 10 ½ games behind and the season seems over.
Enjoy George Carlin's classic routine about the difference between baseball and football:
“People Will Come” -- Revisit the inspiring speech James Earl Jones delivers in Field of Dreams, reminding us of the eternal nature of baseball.
As I finished walking Skyler around the lagoon and Grand Basin at Forest Park and was heading back to the car, my eye was caught by bright mango yellow shirts shooting into the air in a fit of randomness in the shade of tall oak trees. Despite the July St. Louis heat, a group of grade school camp kids were all exhibiting their most energetic jumping jacks before hopping on their bikes for a spin around the park.
When did I stop jumping? When was the last time that I flexed my knees and then propelled myself into the air like a rocket again and again? Do I always have two feet planted firmly on the ground? And why is that seen as a good thing? I remember hot summer nights after dinner when all the kids in the neighborhood competed to see who could bounce the highest or the most times on our pogo stick. Onetwothreefourfive . . . onehundredandfive . . . We jumped without a moment’s thought to bad arches, or aching sacroiliac joints, or old knees. We pogoed the length of our street and shot into the stratosphere with little concern for balance or control.
We just jumped again and again for the sensation of escaping gravity and flying into the air. Even if just for an instant before we were yanked back to the reality of solid ground. Jumping jacks. Hurdles. High jump bars in gym class. Puddles. Tops of front stoops to the sidewalk. Ledges and fences. Hardly a day passed that we didn’t launch our body into space and hang there for one . . . two beautiful seconds before we collided with the earth, but then brushed ourselves off and kept moving.
Did I stop jumping because I grew old and my joints began to ache? Or did I stop long before that? Did I just get too busy to think about jumping?
The other week at the gym I tried some tentative jumping jacks. There was no mighty leap, legs and arms spread wide. It was more a shuffle and a lifting of the heels, but not quite both feet off the ground simultaneously. Before I even crouched for the attempt, the brain cringed and said, “You know this is going to hurt. This is high impact aerobics. Your feet will ache for a week. Watch that your knee doesn’t give out when you touch down. And what about your shoulder? All that swinging up and down is definitely going to inflame that shoulder again.”
It’s no wonder with such anticipation of pain that I looked like an elephant attempting “Swan Lake” instead of someone jumping for joy.
My favorite performer, Keith Urban, has a moment in every concert – just when you think the show is over and he’s about to strike the last chord – that he regroups, ups the tempo, and starts leaping across the stage on an invisible pogo stick while shredding on his guitar. Everyone in his band starts jumping like they’re twelve and it’s a warm summer evening. Pretty soon 10,000 people in the audience are doing the best they can to keep up with him. For those few seconds everyone is truly jumping for joy and with abandon.
How many other ways in an average day or week do I convince myself that I can’t “jump”? In how many ways do I hold myself back from something that could be wonderful because that little voice keeps telling me that some pain will surely follow any leap into the air? I let the landing mean more than the flying.
As you read this, I’ll be on my way to France. I can predict any number of opportunities to leap. For one, I have a car and a map and will navigate a solo trip to the Loire Valley. And I can imagine the hurdles and cliffs I may trip over on the way, considering I speak very bad French. But it seems as good a time as any to start focusing more on flying and less on landing with a painful thud. “Just jump,” I’ll remind myself every time I encounter a fence or a puddle. As my French friend Martine said to me, “C’est l’aventure!”
Keith Urban and Friends
When was the last time both of your feet left the ground (literally or metaphorically)? Share your best "jumps" in the comment box.
I’m a Midwesterner who’s developed a desire for change as a woman reaching her midlife point. I still suck at French, but I’m working on it. I take thousands of photos (hooray, digital cameras!) but don’t always know what I’m doing. And I’m starting to write again. My goal is to keep moving in as many ways as I can until my time is up. Why don’t you join me?
![Grace [Eventually]: Thoughts on Faith](http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1166504427s/12542.jpg)
