Tues Ten 071310: News Headlines

Wow! A Tuesday Ten post. Yep, the last one made an appearance back in May. Ouch.

I know; I know. It’s been an unreasonable amount of time since I’ve posted anything with real substance, and to be honest, I doubt this one will qualify either. However, I wanted to update the Junksters on some things that have been going on lately. You’re not going to see George Steinbrenner or Afghanistan or BP (well maybe a touch of BP), but they are newsworthy in my world nonetheless. And since I was in press release mode for my day job recently, I decided some EJ headlines were in order. Much of this post could easily have been part of an Oh Happy Day! Gratitude Project report, but I’ve opted for Tuesday Ten since it’s Tuesday Wednesday, and I’m in the mood for lists.

So, without further ado, I give you this week’s Tuesday Ten: Top Headlines in Junkie Land. I’ll go ahead and say right away that I can’t call it “late-breaking” because, I’m, well, late. But, you know me by now and to apologize would be redundant.

1. “Tuesday is Wednesday”
At least in EyeJunkie world this week. Sure enough, I’m late and not late-breaking.

2. “EJ Discovers Guest-posting Rocks”
I was invited by my friend, Annie, over at SisterWisdom to write a guest post as part of her ReDefining Modern Homemaking series this June. I was ridiculously negligent in promoting the series or my guest post, but click on over there and read it. And read the whole series while you’re at it. It’s moms from all walks sharing about how they view homemaking. Good stuff.

3. “Baby Girl Becomes Verbose”
Yes, my planned Tuesday Ten of Baby Girl’s burgeoning spoken vocabulary will need to be bumped up to a Thursday Thirty soon. How has this happened in my brief neglect of EJ? The news of note here is that “cheese” and “sickle” read “popsicle” have been added to the list. That’s my girl! And, you’ll be comforted to know that “No, Mama!” is still a perpetual favorite phrase. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

4. “Gulf Waters Matter”
You may have seen my recent posting of a dialogue about the Gulf oil catastrophe. I submitted the essay to my friend Ann’s Blogger Monday with Ann Evanston weekly roundtable of blogs on Facebook. I was amazed to see the interest of folks outside of the Gulf region in this earth-changing event. So, click over to that article and scroll down to the comments. They are worth the read.

5. “The Queen is Relinquishing Her Throne”
No, not the Queen of England or the Queen of all Media. The Queen of Dux D’Lux, my day job home for 16 years, decided in late May to retire. She opted to close the company, and I’m very excited to see what cool creative endeavors she finds next. Needless to say, her abdication means big changes for my work situation, but I am so grateful for her mentorship and friendship over the years. Plus, she’s promised me a pie.

6. “Little Drummer Boy Steps Out”
Into the big ol’ world. In August, LDB will be starting “big school” for five-year-old kindergarten. Can I get a Kleenex, please? I’ll no longer be the mom of three preschoolers. I’ll be mother to two plus one kindergartener with a Spiderman backpack in tow. I’m sure my processing of this particular event will be fuel for several upcoming essays. At the moment, suffice it to say: “Thank God he still wants to hug me.” I wonder how long that will last.

7. “Haley Jumps Into the Deep End”
Given the advent of #5, I’m pleased to announce that I started my own company this month offering graphic design, website development and online media services. I’m calling this whole shebang Small Pond Graphics, and it’s been quite a leap. I’ve been so amazed by the support and encouragement of my Dux D’Lux clients as well as my network of family and friends. Starting a business is a scary endeavor, but an adventure I’m very excited about. So, hop over, dabble your toes a little and let me know what you think. Also, please connect with me on the Small Pond Facebook page. I’d love to include YOU in the dialog.

8. “Plop! Launches”
So, I’m spreading my writing wings a little more. In conjunction with Small Pond Graphics, I’ve also launched a new design and marketing blog called Plop! You can read the backstory in my first post there, but I hope to use it to highlight the wonderful clients who place their confidence in my abilities, to offer exposure to some of the “creative types” in my life who are using their talents to do cool things, to inspire readers with images from around the design world that are fueling my own creativity, and to share some of my experience and maybe expertise in the areas of business communications and marketing. I hope you’ll book mark it or “follow” it on Facebook and join the creative conversation.

9. “Reclamation is the New Black”
Yeah, had to work hard on that one. Obviously, the structure of my days has changed somewhat with the closing of Dux and the launch of a new business. I’m very excited that I’ve been able to reclaim an area of our house to use for my office space. Something about getting my surroundings settled always helps settle my spirit as well. So, the opportunity to make this space usable and comfortable was very cathartic during this time of transition. I’ve gathered my books, reference materials, design inspiration, crazy packrat files, art supplies and general Wacky Pack nonsense all in one spot. It’s lovingly displayed and arranged so that I have computer working space, meeting space, art/layout space and couch space (which is so important). Enjoy a quick look.

10. “Invisible Girl Returns”
With all the changes and transitions in my life of late, it’s been a challenge to find the time to write here. It’s been even more of a challenge to muster the energy for the soul searching so often required for a quality look inside. Thank you for hanging in there with me. Regardless of the new adventures ahead, I still need this blog as my unencumbered outlet for thinking, paying attention and writing about that process. I’m ready to return. I’m working on some new posts to share soon. The first will involve green flamingos and Nelson Mandela. How’s that for a teaser?

The Shape of the World

I’ve been holding on to this installment of the American Life in Poetry project in my inbox for some time now–from back in September of last year. I was so moved by the picture of hard work, of changing the landscape, of observing the motion of change. I just couldn’t let go of it, but I also didn’t know quite what to do with it.

My life is undergoing some changes right now. (Aren’t all our lives?) I hope to share more over the next several weeks, but at the moment, so many things are in that frustrating state of transition that I can barely breathe. Transition is incredibly uncomfortable. In the vernacular of Ms. Woloch’s poem, that ill-defined process of going from chunks of rock to dust somewhere between the old place of concrete and the new place of re-formed earth is frightening to watch–and to live. I like for things to be settled. I like to know what’s going on, what’s going to happen, where I stand. In real life, that’s not always possible. What do you do?

The best course revealed itself with another reading of this poem as I was clearing out the cobwebs in Mac Mail. The simple thought of changing the shape of the world with each single motion seemed powerful. In the seemingly powerless state of changing circumstances, my old friend diligence brings comfort and purpose. I want it now. I want it done. I want it really with as little effort and discomfort as possible. But, in reality, not much change happens that way, does it? The diligent and steady movement toward change may be sweaty, but it works. Simple and consistent–even faithful–acts affect change. They affect change at a pace that is manageable. With each blow to the hardened concrete or the bumpy ground to create flattened space, I grow more and more comfortable with the new form of my life. I’m more and more able to embrace the new terrain. And, I’m more and more capable of tilling it into new fertile ground. Diligent acts. They change the shape of the world. And, they change the shape of the world again.

American Life in Poetry: Column 236
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Cecilia Woloch teaches in California, and when she’s not with her students she’s off to the Carpathian Mountains of Poland, to help with the farm work. But somehow she resisted her wanderlust just long enough to make this telling snapshot of her father at work.

The Pick

I watched him swinging the pick in the sun,
breaking the concrete steps into chunks of rock,
and the rocks into dust,
and the dust into earth again.
I must have sat for a very long time on the split rail fence,
just watching him.
My father’s body glistened with sweat,
his arms flew like dark wings over his head.
He was turning the backyard into terraces,
breaking the hill into two flat plains.
I took for granted the power of him,
though it frightened me, too.
I watched as he swung the pick into the air
and brought it down hard
and changed the shape of the world,
and changed the shape of the world again.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted from When She Named Fire, ed., Andrea Hollander Budy, Autumn House Press, 2009, by permission of Cecilia Woloch and the publisher. The poem first appeared in Sacrifice by Cecilia Woloch, Tebot Bach, 1997. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Diligence

Spring in Mississippi is so fun. In a week’s span (or less) we might experience the gamut of 90 degrees to 40 degrees and all the breezy, sunny, partly cloudy weather-joy in between. While it sometimes wreaks havoc on my sinus cavities, I can still say that Spring in Mississippi is so fun. May is usually very flirtatious with Summer. It flirts with the Magnolia tree in my front yard, too. The evergreen leaves are with us year-round, but the white velvet flowers tend to signal for me the wishy-washy transition of Spring to Summer around these parts. As Spring pulls up a chair and the days get warmer and longer, the magnolia pods begin to open. I’ve been anticipating the event for a few weeks from the front porch swing.

In typical early May fashion, just last week I noticed the first blooms opening near the top of the tree where the sunshine hits most readily. Slowly the ones closer to the ground feel the pull of the heightening sun and begin to unwrap as well. I’ve been watching one particular bloom carefully for the last few days. It’s on the lowest branch on the north side of the tree–one of the few growing right in gazing distance of curious eyes and inquisitive noses. This bloom started small and tightly held as they all do. Slowly it’s been pulling away from the branch, reaching higher. And, it’s been getting whiter with each motion. Yesterday morning I noticed it at it’s plumpest posture so far, and I wondered if the intricate yellow stamens might make an appearance today.

By the time we made it home from Little Drummer Boy’s preschool “graduation” (hark!) last night, the daylight was almost gone. But, I still had my eye on that bloom. It had slowly opened throughout the day to a tulip-shaped cup. We were almost there. I didn’t get to photograph it before the darkness arrived, but I was eager to see it this morning. In an amazing twelve hours, that velvety cup of Southern goodness had completely opened, and through some crazy midnight wind gust or cardinal in flight, it had already begun to drop some of it’s pink-tipped stamens into the waiting petals. Life happens quickly with the magnolia.

The scent of a magnolia flower is fresh. It has a pungeantly clean smell to me — a sweet and lemony fragrance that seems untouched by a botanist’s manipulation. When the blooms open, you don’t have to stand very close to sense the strength of that scent–to feel the place from which it comes. The magnolia is a plant of my “place.” An environment so familiar to me that the blooms sometimes go unnoticed despite their glaring whiteness against dark green leaves and their powerful fragrance. But, I’ve been waiting for this one for some reason. I wanted to see inside of it, to see again what it was made of.

The slow and diligent process of blooming is inspiring. It is patient, but intent. It is subject to wind and weather, but resilient. With encouragement from the sunlight, the bloom slowly and methodically unwraps itself from a tightly wound cocoon. As I’ve written before, it reveals it’s core in that process.

That blooms are bent on opening is a confusing endeavor at times, given the fact that the flowers so easily fade away. But the magnolia’s diligence is perhaps most perplexing. This delicate flower fades to brown and petals fall away rather quickly by blooming standards. They don’t tarry in the elements for long. They bruise easily with the slightest touch of a person or some other ambassador of nature. Soon the stamens released into the petals’ cradle will be scattered by breezes or birds or beetles or boys. It won’t maintain its pristine white for long if plucked from the tree–only a matter of hours really. Yet, I’ve read that Magnolia fossils have been found that date the tree to the time of the dinosaurs. For all its vulnerability to bruising and brevity, this tree–this flower–has staying power.

There is a precious quality to the magnolia. Something valued and worthy of anticipation, even in this native land where it is so prolific. Perhaps it is its delicacy, its subtlety, its brief brush with the world that makes it seem so valuable. And, its unqualified diligence to expose that worth, even if only for a few moments is even more coveted. As I think about my own growth, my own life changes and my own exposure to the face of the sun, I’m recognizing some lessons from the magnolia. To remain hidden and covered is easier. To allow life’s wind and weather to deter or confine the process of flourishing. A slow–perhaps even defiant–method of diligence despite any bruising the stuff of life may offer is sometimes required to reveal that hidden amazement, that hidden desire to connect with those around me, those hidden gifts waiting to be given. The revelation is precious, no matter how briefly it is uncovered. But, as precious and revered as the open petals are, I’m learning that the greater rarity is the diligence. The persistence. The insistence. A thing all the more precious to seek. All the more precious to possess.

“The precious possession of a man is diligence.” (proverbs 12:27)

Oh Happy Day 041610: Glass

Hello Friday!

My office is on the second floor of our building in the Starkville Industrial Park, and I have a window that faces the north side. I regularly enjoy the decision the Queen made to let the crape myrtle trees next to the building follow nature’s course and grow to their hearts’ content rather than chopping them off at the fork in the branches (read metaphorical knees) like some poor myrtles endure. This particular landscaping technique (letting them grow) has often afforded me a wonderful view out of my window despite the standard pre-fab metal-sided glimpse of our industrial neighbors. “My” crape myrtle has been home to several bird families over the years. It’s offered beautiful blooms interspersed with blue sky on summer days. It’s displayed the waning colors of fall among bare branches and revealed the new growth of Spring. Right there on the other side of the glass, it’s given me a walk through the park in the middle of industrial manufacturing central. It makes me smile.

However, this week it’s brought me a touch of jaw-dropping surprise and just a smidgen of annoyance. This week I (and my crape myrtle) have been visited by a very persistent bird. And, frankly, he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) seems to be highly ticked off. At me? I don’t really know. Sometimes it seems like it. But, maybe that’s presumptuous and possibly a bit delusional.

Maybe he (and I’m assuming he’s a he) thought he saw a hot little birdie mama in the glass reflection he’d like to build a nest with among the newly sprouted crape myrtle leaves. Maybe he thought he saw another available boy bird honing in on his crape myrtle territory. Maybe it was seeing the great beyond through the slivers of light at the other end of our building. Maybe the very existence of the glass itself just ticked him off. Maybe that transparent, but obviously apparent boundary just pushed his buttons. I don’t really know.

Here’s what I do know. He had his eye on me. He scoped out the glass. He flapped his wings with everything he had. He moved back and forth from side to side right in front of the window without ever touching it. That’s the part that brought the jaw-dropping surprise. He opened his tiny beak. And he SANG. Repeatedly. Persistently. LOUDLY. Much more loudly than expected from such a tiny beak, from such a tiny bird. So much so that it got his little feathers all ruffled. And, although that’s the part that brought me the smidgen of annoyance given the disruption to my thought process it produced, it’s also the part that I really sort of respect. What a bird!

He walked flew right up to that glass wall–the one that caused him doubt and fear and maybe anger. He did what any self-respecting bird does best. Intimidated or confused or not, he sang the loudest and most defiant song he could muster. It got MY attention. He hauled off and sang. He showed me.

And he did. Show me.

Fresh on the heels of nature’s little object lesson, the report for today’s Oh Happy Day! gratitude project has me thinking about boundaries. And about singing. And, oddly, about how grateful I am for both. We all have boundaries whether internal or external. The boundaries make themselves most apparent in times of transition. When we contemplate change–a change in perspective, in thinking, in lifestyle, in action–sometimes all we can see are the boundaries. Within those walls, we feel our own limitations. It’s easy to lose our vision, our gumption, our selves there.

Yet, if we look carefully, most boundaries are glass. Humans have the unique capacity to see the transparency and the transiency of limits. God designed us with the ability to hope, to imagine, to see beyond, to see through.  And, whatever real or imagined situation we see through that looking glass, we can glean new perspective and new courage to push against those limitations–to alter and expand the space in which we live and move and breathe. Whether through the time-tested promises of faith and hope found in the Bible, or the caring words of others that often shift our perspective, or our own sheer defiance of a particular situation, we can haul off and sing. We can sing the loudest and most persistent song we’ve ever sung. We can push through a week with a sick and crying Baby Girl in need of Mommy’s care. We can juggle and act based on our own priorities, rather than those of the world around us. We can bend a creative block and make it produce something fresh and timely. We can change a situation that has caused us pain for too long. We can learn to do something new. We can choose to do what brings us joy. We can say “no.” We can say “yes.” We can say “enough.” We can say “more.” We can sing. Out loud.

This week I’m thankful for the singing lessons of that little bird. I’m thankful for the songs of faith and of faithful friends and family I’ve heard this week. I’m thankful for boundaries. And for recognizing their transparency. I’m thankful for the ability to sing.

Oh Happy Day!

Pinch Me

I’m not Irish. I just wanted to clear that up right away. However, I did wear green today for Saint Patrick’s Day to avoid the pinching. And, although I don’t think I can attribute it to any leprechauns, today was an excellent day. No rainbows, no pots of gold and no green beer, but a great day nonetheless.

It’s nice to feel like I’ve had a “great day.” I’ve been in a time of searching lately, evaluating some things in my life: what I want to be characterized by, who I want my children to see when they look at me, and other life debris like that. Searching, of the soul or the car key variety, can be a frustrating process. We are tempted to chase that elusive pot of gold that will make our dreams come true and achieve our happiness, and sometimes we think it will appear by magic like a sparkly rainbow or four-leaf clover, the product of being on the “lucky” side of chance. Searching is uncomfortable. I want to know the answers. I want to have a plan. I want to stick to it. I want it to play out the way I’ve predicted. Yeah. Good luck with that, EyeJunkie.

I had a great experience today. My friend, Jennifer Wyatt of Her Executive Coach, a business and executive coaching firm for women, invited me to be a guest by phone on her radio program, Life Coach Live, in Paducah, KY. Jennifer and I have been collaborating on a two-week-long event with Super Facebook Guy for our day jobs. It’s called the online Women in Business Forum. In the business development portion of the Forum, Jennifer’s theme has been “Spring cleaning” for your business with an emphasis on reviewing, renewing and re-imagining your business. Those were her topics today for the broadcast and I was on hand to talk about my experiences in business and the ways to “spring forward” in small business marketing efforts. I have to say that I was nervous going in, but it turned out to be very fun.

One of the questions we discussed was about strategies for renewing and re-imagining a business, especially during challenging times. A “strategy” we mentioned was flexibility and the willingness to abandon a “plan” if necessary. That flexibility often puts us in the position to recognize opportunities and to capitalize on them. Unless we are willing to question our plan, we may not be open to the fortunate circumstances that may come our way. My apologies to my Irish friends, but I’m not a big proponent of relying on “luck.” A better formula for business success might be hard work + serendipity. And, I’m keenly aware of the reality that the real life pursuit of “happiness” has a similar formula.

Happiness requires hard work. It doesn’t just happen by chance and the wave of an little guy’s magic dust. It needs our honest and diligent attention to be maintained. Sometimes that diligence requires being willing to alter a plan or let go of it entirely. We are all faced with fortunate circumstances, “happy surprises”–serendipity. You know how I love serendipity. We see it every day. All around us. If we are able to pay attention to it. Flexibility in my spirit, a willingness to search and question puts me in a position to recognize that serendipity–that blessing. It puts me in a better frame of mind to notice it.

So, bring on the searching. It’s frustrating at times, yes. But, it’s when I can say “I’m not sure,” or “I don’t know,” or “I want more,” or just “something’s not right,” that I am more open to the unexpected opportunities presented before me. Dissatisfaction is a breeding ground for possibilities. Am I willing to alter my thinking and my vision to be aware of those serendipities? Am I willing to change to take advantage of them? I hope so.

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day, and I’m wearing green. But, go ahead and pinch me anyway. I may not know many of the answers. I may be searching. I may be frustrated. I may be confused. But, often that’s a fortunate place to be.

Pinch me. Because I want to make sure I’m really here.