What I Learned at the National Steinbeck Center
John Steinbeck photo mural, National Steinbeck Center
The craft or art of writing is the clumsy attempt to find symbols for the wordlessness. In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable. And sometimes if he is very fortunate, and if the time is right, a little of what he is trying to do trickles through – not ever much. And if he is a writer wise enough to know it can’t be done, then he is not a writer at all. A good writer always works at the impossible.
-John Steinbeck
I visited the National Steinbeck Center in Salinas by myself on a Thursday afternoon when almost no one else was there. I wound around the exhibits, wandering in his life and words.
When I came to the photo you see above and looked into his eyes, I stumbled backward from the force of his gaze. The time and space between us disappeared with the recognition of what he was.
He was a writer. An odd misfit, a sensitive soul, someone unwilling to follow a normal path. He made his own way, taking up with all kinds of nutty people – drunks, prostitutes, biologists, soldiers – yet always writing. He told small stories and big ones. He sided with the underdog, over and over, even when he was called a Communist and denounced by religious leaders.
I looked into his eyes and I saw him…and I also saw me. I’m no Steinbeck – he worked harder and more seriously than I ever have, and he was more talented than I ever will be.
I also saw you, my fellow bloggers and writer-friends. We are all a part of a grand proud tradition of truth-tellers, of outsiders – the quirky people who just can’t stop themselves from writing, no matter what anyone else says to them.
I sat at the display that represented his writing desk in his little writing gazebo and I wept, awe-struck at this knowing, this gift that John Steinbeck gave me.
We are writers, and that is good.
The 10 Stages of Packing
1. Careful Consideration
Ponder the duration of upcoming trip and all possible activities.
2. Cool Determination
Make a decision to stick to a few classic pieces that can mix and match to make many appropriate outfits
3. Cruel Realization
Notice that my wardrobe contains neither classic pieces nor clothing that is appropriate for many of the things I am about to do
4. Steely Resolve
Make decision to forge ahead and use my cleverness to create a travel wardrobe without buying anything new
5. Immediate Capitulation and Utter Delusion
Desperate run to the outlet mall to make ill-thought, high-speed selections, only a few of which will actually fit or ever be worn. Convince myself that I am the type of person who wears cargo shorts
6. Momentary Relief
I can do this thing! I am woman! I have much clothing! It is all perfectly organized (Lies. All lies). I DO need 16 shirts for a 3-day trip. I JUST DO.
7. Complete Panic
None of this will work. I will look like a schlub or a lunatic. No one will talk to me and everyone will snicker.
8. Random Motion
Jam many things in the suitcase to assuage rising panic. An orange scarf that I have never worn before. Nylons not seen since a wedding in the 90s. Warm gloves. Flip flops. Jaunty hats.
9. Sudden Leave-taking
Realize I am out of time and must GO GO GO because I am already an hour later than I had planned. Pray that the zipper on my suitcase holds. Run out the door, forgetting nothing except my comfy shoes, underwear and all of my charger cables.
10. Euphoria
I’m going on a trip, y’all!
Travels with Goldie
Warning: sentence fragments ahead.
It pains me, what I am going to have to say in this post. Because you KNOW I hate to talk about All Things Fecal. But I can’t hold it in any longer. And apparently, neither can my dog.
My dog. My dear, dear old dog.
So.
Ok, here I go.
Just like Goldie did in the car.
Three times in the past week.
WHAT?
Yes, she did. In the car, people.
Three times in the past week, Goldie has pooped in the car, her area of which is fortunately protected with sheets or blankets.
Some of which are now in a trash can on Main Street.
The first time it happened, it was just a tiny thing, and I thought she might have some digestive problem.
The second time I sensed a disturbing trend and bought pet diapers. Which I could not figure out how to put on. I have never diapered ANYTHING and the whole tail/legs/wiggly dog interface made it all the more difficult.
Time number three of Number Two was the Full Monty. A literal pile o’crap on the way to mom’s before church. Nothing says a blessed Sunday morning like getting gassed to death in your own vehicle.
It didn’t bother HER. I’m hanging out the window gagging, and she’s bouncing around like a ping-pong ball as I yell “DON’T STEP IN IT! DO NOT STEP IN IT!”
The only good part was I had something to meditate on during meditation. WHAT AM I GONNA DO ABOUT MY DOG? THE DOG WHO TRAVELS IN MY CAR WITH ME EVERY SINGLE DAY??
God gave me the answer: take her for a walk before you take her for a ride. So far, God was right on. Two walks, two poop-free rides. Now I just have to leave 15 minutes earlier than scheduled and stock up on plastic bags. I hope that takes care of it.
Because the next step is a U-Haul trailer behind the car.
Update: the walks are working so far. Three days, zero incidents. Whew.
Hope
Hope is not closing your eyes before difficulties, risks and failures. It is knowing that if you fail now, you will not always fail and if you suffer, you will recover. It is knowing that life is good and love is powerful and the future is full of promises.
A little shoeshine stand in Oxnard. I thought this hand-painted philosophy captured the essence of hope perfectly.
Talent
File under: things I didn’t even know you could do until now.
Last night I was getting into bed with a book in my hand (“La Seduction,” an ironically tedious examination of all the ways the French fill their lives with pleasure).
At the same time, I was attempting to pull the covers up. Can you see where this is going? Neither did I!
The book slipped from my hand as I pulled and bashed me in the bridge of the nose. Yes, I came damn near to breaking my own nose with a book. In bed.
It takes skill, people.
Talent
File under: things I didn’t even know you could do until now.
Last night I was getting into bed with a book in my hand (“La Seduction,” an ironically tedious examination of all the ways the French fill their lives with pleasure).
At the same time, I was attempting to pull the covers up. Can you see where this is going? Neither did I!
The book slipped from my hand as I pulled and bashed me in the bridge of the nose. Yes, I came damn near to breaking my own nose with a book. In bed.
It takes skill, people.
In memoriam: W. David Bauer
Once again, I am re-posting a tribute I wrote five years ago (and have edited as I found more information) as part of Project 2,996, a blogging effort to honor each of the people killed on Sept. 11, 2001.
It is the least I can do. Each year, my stats show that, on this day, many people find this blog by searching for “W. David Bauer,” so I know that they still remember and have him and his family in their thoughts every year on this day.
I think, however, this will be the last year. It has been ten years since the attacks. We always say “Never forget,” but I know Mr. Bauer will live on in the lives of his family and in the memories of his friends.
I collected this information from other articles and obituaries found online.
**********
The victims. We hear it over and over again about Sept. 11, 2001. The 2,996 victims.
The person that I am writing about, W. David Bauer, Jr., may have been a victim for one short moment of his life. But for the rest of his 45 years, he was clearly a winner. From what I have read about him, he was a player and a competitor, someone who took to the field of life with gusto and determination and who gave it all he had.
In the NY Times tribute article, it mentions that he competed in a triathlon on the weekend of Sept. 8-9, 2001 before coming home to watch his sons play football and then to grill steaks and to drink good red wine with his family and friends.
He also played football in college at Villanova and was inducted into their Hall of Fame. One of his friends from college said “His nickname was “Superman” because he could catch the bullet passes of our starting quarterback, Brian Sikorski, with one hand, either hand!”
He also had a lifelong love of basketball and volleyball. His teammate Tom Dooley said “I knew David as a competitor on the basketball court when we were both well past our prime playing days…[He] was a gentleman of the highest caliber on and off the court.”
Mr. Bauer played professional football as a linebacker for the New York Giants and another team before being sidelined by an injury.
In business he competed and thrived. He climbed up through the ranks at Merrill Lynch, Lehman Brothers and Credit Suisse First Boston before becoming head of global sales for eSpeed, a division of Cantor Fitzgerald located on the 105th floor of the North Tower. He was one of 658 Cantor employees who died in the World Trade Center.
He also contributed to his community. He was a past President and Founding member of the Villanova Financial Club. He served on the Board of Family & Children’s Services and he and his wife were honored with the Helen Hoffman Award for Community Service. He was a member of Holy Cross Roman Catholic Church in Rumson, N.J., where he lived.
Mr. Bauer, who was 45 years old at the time of his death, was married to his wife Virginia “Ginny” and had three children, David, Steven and Jackie, who were 16, 14, and 12 when he died. He and Ginny had met in third grade.
So this is a man who lived, who really lived. He was someone who made good things happen for himself, his family and his friends. The type of hard-working, hard-playing family guy who is the backbone of our country and whom you would probably love as a neighbor.
Since Mr. Bauer’s death, his wife has become a leading advocate for the families of victims of 9/11. His children followed in their father’s footsteps, becoming championship athletes in their own right.
My very best wishes to the Bauer family. I am sorry for your loss and I hope this tribute did Mr. Bauer justice.
Here is a link to the 2,996 project.
Things I Learned Playing “Minute to Win It” Tonight
Photo by Bianca Armonio under a Creative Commons license
Why do I let myself get involved in activities that I am unconstitutionally suited for? Oh, because I have to get up and out of the house at some point in time? Ok then.
Tonight. Church. “Minute to Win It.”
Why does church not have “Jeopardy”? I would ROCK at that. But no.
Blowing up balloons. Stacking 3 golf balls. Shooting rubber bands at aluminum cans.
Ok, so what did I learn?
My hand-eye coordination is average. Not as bad as some, not as good as others.
I hate having people watch me while I do pretty much anything.
I hate having people coach me.
I hate having people encourage me.
I hate people yell at me from the sidelines.
I hate having to pretend I care when I don’t.
Oh, lord, I’m just not a gamey cheery encouragey person.
All those years I forgot to try out for team sports? Best decision of my life.
Playing at Puzzles
Photo by Andi.vs.zf from Flickr. Used under a Creative Commons license.
For some people, the pieces snap together right away and stay snapped, perfect, snug, that little bit of the picture finished, a corner of relief in a jumbled world.
For others, the bits seem to fit but there’s something just not right and when any force pushes or pulls the puzzle, they pop apart.
Other times, it takes longer and one of the little outies gets ripped off in the process, leaving a chunk behind, filling a gap it wasn’t mean to fill and a making a piece that will never be whole again.
I have forced myself into the wrong-sized gap. I have also been the willing space, allowing myself to be filled and desperately trying to ignore the discomfort of a match that takes up too much room in some ways and leaves empty edges in others.
I have played the puzzle over and over but I’ve never completed the picture. Sometimes I say it is complete the way it is. Sometimes I think that the missing piece will never be found.
Pulling back the curtain
Photo by 2fs from Flickr. Used under a Creative Commons license.
What your autofill in your browser tries to send you to when you type in the first letter reveals quite a bit about you. Mine, I think, says I’m pretty typical. I like the news, I like my friends, I speak Spanish (or try to).
a = abc.go.com
b = blogher.com
c = charitynavigator.com
d = dooce.com
e = etsy.com
f = facebook.com
g = google.com
h = hulu.com
i = imdb.com
j = jonniker.com
k = klout.com
l = latimes.com
m = mail.google.com
n = npr.org
o = overflowingbrain.com
p = pinterest.com
q = queenofspainblog.com
r = redstapler23.blogspot.com
s = search.twitter.com
t = thebloggess.com
u = univision.com
v = vcstar.com
w = writegirl.org
x = xtranormal.com
y = youtube.com
z = zappos.com
I showed you mine. I dare you to show me yours.
Suebob's Red Stapler 