20 FOR 20

I've been tagged twice via Facebook to participate in this exercise. Today I felt pensive enough to respond. I'd like to share with you the 20 random items I posted. Happy reading.

20 FOR 20 by Michelle Witt

1. I have never been skiing or camping.
(In the eyes of my fellow Coloradans, I might have well said, "I eat aluminum foil" or "Breathing? What is this 'breathing' thing of which you speak?"

2. I love a simple breakfast.
(Not a huge eggs and potatoes person. Just give me a bowl of healthy high-fiber cereal, some 1% milk, maybe some fruit, and a small glass of OJ, and I'm pretty happy.)

3. Someday I'd like to build a little studio for myself made from as much salvage material as possible.
(I used to see small abandoned shacks by the road while driving somewhere with my parents when I was little, and used to dream of fixing them up so I'd have my own cozy little nest. Probably the same urges at work.)

4. I sleep with a teddy bear.
(When I'm not with Charlie, that is. It's a habit I picked up after a devastating break-up about 8 or 9 years ago and it just stuck.)

5. I *love* writing implements.
(Sharpies, full-size and ultra-thin. Mechanical pencils. Fine point ballpoint pens. Metallic gel pens. Sparkly gel pens. Highlighters. And...oooooh...fountain pens.)

6. Someday I'd like to do some sort of project that involves interviewing lots of people.
(I love hearing peoples' stories, and I have a deep desire to use stories to bring people together in some way.)

7. I recently had a horrifying experience--visiting the Denver Regional Landfill.
(Depressing, desolate eyesore of a place. If you are not overly concerned about the environment, please visit your local landfill. You'll never want to use a plastic bag again.)

8. I'd like to see the handwritten letter make a comeback.
(It may not have the immediate gratification of e-mail, but does anything match the thrill of going to the mailbox and finding a letter from a friend? **If you send me your postal address, I will write you your own handwritten letter!)

9. Someday I'd like to finish my undergraduate degree.
(Third time's the charm? I just need to figure out if I really need a $20K pat on the back in order to fulfill my dreams, or if the personal satisfaction I'd get from attaining that goal is worth it in and of itself.)

10. I can't stand to watch the animated Rudolph Christmas special.
(Everyone is so *mean* to Rudolph. Santa chastises Donner for being the sire of a buck with a shiny nose. Donner treats Rudolph like crap. Oh, but then they find Rudolph can be *useful* to them! How nice! Let's watch Santa suck up to Rudolph! If I were Rudolph, I'd just tell Santa to take his toys and stick 'em up his...uh, no, I'm not taking it personally. Why do you ask?)

11. I enjoy temp work.
(The technical work is not rocket science; I often say that the key to my success is the client's low expectations. The challenge and the fun comes from constantly changing scenery, having to make quick work of assessing the job and the people, finding areas needing improvement and implementing changes. Then you get to leave before it gets too boring, having saved the day or week or month.)

12. I love fuzzy socks.
(I'm not a clothes horse--Charlie has a larger wardrobe than I--and I don't own 10 pairs of shoes. No, my weakness is a nice pair of soft, velvety/furry socks.)

13. Someday I'd like to move back to Beverly, MA
(I lived there after the devastating breakup, and fell in love with the place. It felt like home.)

14. I have had my tonsils removed.
(Scheduled during February vacation, circa 1984. Mom told stories of Mark and Mike getting their tonsils out when they were little and eating hot dogs the next day. Oh, to be so lucky. I was in agony and subsisted on Popsicles for a whole week. The only good thing about the experience was a hospital visit from a boy I liked--Ed Cope--the night before surgery.)

15. "Strange conveyances" was a popular motif in my childhood dreams.
(Often, a rectangular piece of cardboard that would glide across pavement like a skateboard. Most notably, a rolling typewriter case that unfolded into a motorcycle.)

16. I will begin an annual tradition this year: celebrating Groundhog Day with a viewing of the movie by the same name.
(It's one of my favorite movies of all time. It also brings up a great question: what would you do if you had the same day to live over and over again?)

17. I own three thriving plants.
(Yes, they are the hardy kind--two of them are ivies--but it's a major accomplishment for me. I have traditionally been something of a plant-killer in the past.)

18. Someday I'd like to visit France.
(Dust off my extremely rusty French and visit a small area, moving from town to town, following the market days.)

19. High school track saved my life.
(I was profoundly depressed, and joining the track team gave me another place to focus my attention...then there's the camaraderie, endorphins, and the joy of a challenge.)

20. I'd like to facilitate creativity groups again.
(This is something I did back in MA; it was a wonderful, juicy time. Helping people exercise their creativity and their "courage muscles" helped me do the same for myself.)

NaNoWriMo, here I come

That's short for National Novel Writing Month, a yearly event in which people sign up and strive to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. I've registered. Writing starts at 12 PM on November 1st. Yes, that's tomorrow.

Does that strike you as ironic? Perhaps it should. I've only managed 10 posts in the whole of 2008. I'm gonna do it anyway.

It's an exercise in quantity, not quality, according to the NaNoWriMo website. "Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down."

Hey, that's kind of Julia Cameron-esque. Akin to Morning Pages. Just write. Don't edit. Just keep your pen moving. OK, I can do that. At least I think I can do that.

Am I allowed to put in a disclaimer so that when I'm tearing my hair out in two weeks--or two days--these words won't be coming back to haunt me?

"You're the Anti-Christ!" "No, YOU'RE the Anti-Christ!"

I have had it with politicians—all of them—who demonize their opponents to gain supporters. And the political ads, in print and on TV? Gaaaaah! Utterly unhelpful, woefully short on useful information, with more spin than a bottle in a basement full of horny teens.

Is this necessary? I may be an Obama supporter, but that doesn’t mean I think John McCain is the devil’s spawn and needs to be stopped before he threatens to wreak havoc on the free world—nay, our very mortal souls.

Here are two items I’d like to share with you, food for thought:

1. A comment made by my friend Stacy (an excellent critical thinker) on another topic but which applies here: “Wouldn’t it be refreshingly honest for someone to say, ‘I want you to do the same thing I do, believe the same thing I believe, because then I will get my way?’ ”

Indeed, it feels so much cozier to be surrounded by like-minded people, and to see our beliefs reflected in our little universe. As much as I try to live up to my credo, “Let’s all try to get along, or at least agree to disagree”, the latter part is a challenge. When I’m talking to a person with a different opinion, am I really allowing them their own view, or am I subconsciously plotting ways in which I may change the person’s mind? And changing one’s political beliefs is near impossible, which brings me to…

2. An article I posted yesterday called “Political views ‘all in the mind’ ”; here are some tidbits:

“Their research, published in the journal Science, indicates that people who are sensitive to fear or threat are likely to support a right wing agenda.

Those who perceived less danger in a series of images and sounds were more inclined to support liberal policies.

The authors believe their findings may help to explain why voters' minds are so hard to change.”

Does this not make sense, that our world view dictates our political leanings? I don’t agree with pro-lifers and those against gay marriage, but I can understand how their beliefs are formed.

These random thoughts all point to something worth practicing: seeing people as people, and not running headlong into black-and-white thinking.

Try this: As you’re walking down the street, or standing in line at the grocery store, when you set eyes on someone, think…

“…that’s someone’s son/daughter…”
“…that’s someone’s father/mother…”
“…that’s someone’s brother/sister…”
“…that’s someone’s aunt/uncle…”
“…that’s someone’s cousin/best friend…”

I used this little experiment as I was walking out of the Boulder Public Library. The results were interesting. When I saw a teenage boy pass by, smoking a cigarette, I felt love and concern, thinking, “Don’t do that to yourself!” I felt compassion for the homeless guy with none of the flight response I normally experience. I began to feel connected to everyone.

It was amazing. And short-lived. Going about the world with that kind of openness is difficult and tiring. It requires practice, this loving kindness. But isn’t it worth the struggle?

Something, Anything: A Place for Everything

Yes, yes, yes, it has been a long time. Figured I ought to just post something to keep the wheels turning. And this is going to be a quick one because I’ve got to go to work and eat breakfast. Not in that order; I’m ready to fall down because of low blood sugar.

Why the long wait? There was a few weeks in which Charlie and I were traveling—Boston for Walter’s wedding, and Austin for the Kofax Transform ’08 Conference—and since then it has been all about catch-up. Getting the books in order again. Getting my home in order again.

Do I hear a snigger? All right. The truth is I’ve been saying that I need to organize the place ever since I bought it in March of 2006. This time it’s different. Perhaps the more accurate description would be that I need to put the house back together after (a) the HOA’s plumber’s work on the building required that I move everything out of the laundry room and out from under the kitchen and bathroom cabinets, and (b) the travel, where the only time I was here was to unpack and repack. The good news is that I put all the displaced stuff on those industrial strength rolling wire racks, so moving it around was easy. The bad news is that the only place to put the racks were in the living/dining area.

So. The last week has been processing stuff. Finding homes for things that didn’t have homes even before the plumbing work started. Sorting through a mound of mail. Deciding what goes and what stays and where the hell do I put the stuff I need to hang on to but I’m not ready to act on yet? Like the care package of CDs for Piper and Laurel. There’s room in the box, but I haven’t had time to assemble the rest of the items to go in the box and bring the box to the post office. If it goes in the garage, I may never remember it again. If it stays in the living room, it just clutters the place.

All that being said, I’m finally down to the home stretch of phase one: almost everything is generally where it’s going to stay. Then the wire racks can go into the garage and I’ll have my home back. Woo-hoo!

Little Voice

Never ceases to amaze me, the way someone can take an already outstanding song--like Stevie Wonder's "Golden Lady"--and perform it in a totally different way that's just as enjoyable as the original. Jose Feliciano's version sounds effortless, organic, and fresh. The only thing I'd have done differently is remove the strings; less would've been more.

I unconsciously mimic the vocalist of whatever song I'm singing. "Summer Highland Falls": Billy Joel's flattened vowels. "Don't Fence Me In": Ella's bright, forward tone. "Superstar": Karen Carpenter's warmth and depth. The inflections, the pronunciations--those qualities feel like part of the song. Changing them is like changing the words, to my ears. How can you sing Ethel Merman and not imitate her brassy, trumpeting sound? But people do it, all the time. Listen to Jose. Listen to Angelique Kidjo's take on "Voodoo Child". Jimi Hendrix is not rolling over in his grave; the cover is vastly different. And great.

Question: Why am I so attached to singing like other people?

Theory: I'm recreating the joy I have felt as a listener. And that has nothing to do with a desire to put my own spin on anything.

Nonetheless, Liz, my singing teacher, is nudging me to find my own voice. Whatever the heck that is. She made a suggestion to that end: learn something entirely new. Then there's nobody to copy. Do you know Some Enchanted Evening? she asked. Only from the few bars that Don Ameche sang on bended knee to Gwen Verdon in "Cocoon". Not enough for it to be imprinted on the inside of my skull. She gave me the sheet music with a request that I please-please-please refrain from looking it up on YouTube. The translation part was kind of fun. I've never done any sight-reading. Matching the dots and squiggles on paper to actual sound was like solving a puzzle. I color-coded the notes to get a better visual grasp of the melody. Then I sang it at our next lesson.

Same Question: Why am I so attached to singing like other people?

Another theory: I'm afraid that my real voice sounds like crap. Or mediocre at best.

And that's kind of how I felt. It was OK. Not great. I tried to console myself by thinking of other singers who are not stellar in the traditional sense.

Bob Dylan! He's not exactly a crooner. But he is a songwriting pioneer. Jimi Hendrix! Guitar innovator. Donald Fagan! Engineering genius. And that concludes our little foray into existential agony.

What then? I love singing with other people. I don't want to be the weak link. That would be so...

Embarrassing? Oh. Yes.

The memories start flashing past. Suggesting to a vocalist friend of mine that we put something together to sing at an open-mic, and her refusing. Singing backup during a laid-back jam session with my boyfriend's band, and the boyfriend's bandmate scowling at me. Singing a harmony (under my breath, or so I thought) to the song a classmate was singing as part of an oral report, and the teacher saying, "I guess someone else knows that song."

A core truth has come out of this searching. Singing has been the deepest desire of my heart for decades. It's also the thing I've most consistently put on the back burner. I see the pattern now. (1) Dream of singing. (2) Afraid of sucking. (3) Keep dream bottled up. (4) Pressure builds. (5) Act on dream at inappropriate time. (6) Use shame to bottle up dream. (7) Repeat. Now I'm letting the genie out of the bottle. Maybe it will help me move forward.

On a different yet related subject, Liz loaned me a great movie called "Little Voice", which features Jane Horrocks. You may recognize her as the voice of Babs, the slightly obtuse character from "Chicken Run", the movie: "I don't want to be a pie! I don't like gravy..." Horrocks--who does her own singing, by the way--plays a pathologically shy young woman who can imitate Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland, Shirley Bassey and others perfectly. I think Liz was trying to tell me that, in it's own way, what I do isn't wrong. It's a gift.

P.S.~ I'm toying with the idea of tracking down my ex-husband and leaving him this brief message:

Contrary to what you told me in 1993, Liz thinks I might have perfect pitch. HA!

"That wouldn't make me a...shallow person...would it?"

More than a thousand words, perhaps

I do love me some religious statues.


Here I am hanging out with Madonna, circa late 90's.

I asked one of my best friends who's also a photographer to take some pictures of me as a present to my then-boyfriend. The Blessed Mother was living in her backyard--not on the half-shell like so many in that neighborhood, but under her own trellis--and we just hit it off.

This me today, spending quality time with the Buddha, who lives in Charlie's backyard.

I've been immersed in the world of pictures over the last three days, inspired by a high school friend who posted a photo of a group of us on our way to a punk-themed party.

That snapshot was a delight on all sorts of levels. The clothes. The poses. The memories, especially. I remember laboring over the jeans I was wearing: bleaching them to remove some black, dyeing them to add some red, cutting them off below the knees. (Why did I think that was particularly punk? Not sure.) I remember dancing around and singing while we walked down the street, loving that it was night and it was fall and I was in the company of my tribe. And, coming back to the here-and-now, it was nice to know that someone I hadn't seen in 19 years remembered my name.

It was such a great trip that I wanted to share some of my old print photos. Give someone else the chance to go back in time. I scanned a staggering number of pics, and created my first two albums on Facebook: one for high school, one for college.

Problem #1: I've become an amnesiac. There are so many people whose names I can't recall, particularly in the college photos. All that remains are general details. This girl was the roommate of a girl who lived in my boyfriend's dorm. This guy was in my Greek civ class. They were people I saw nearly every day. It never occurred to me that in the not-so-distant future I'd be puzzling over images saying, "Now, didn't she date the guy with the mullet? Was his name Mike?" Note to self: from now on, label every picture.

Problem #2: One of the subjects requested that I remove his pictures. He was concerned that his image would be tarnished in the eyes of his clients, should they happen to see the photos. I immediately did as he asked. I said that I just didn't think.

Not entirely true. I had actually considered leaving out his pictures. He has lost quite a bit of weight since college and he has maintained a healthy weight for several years now, but it was hard-won and I think he's understandibly sensitive. Perhaps, I thought, he wouldn't want to be reminded of a time when he didn't feel very good about himself.

On the other hand, what message would I be sending if I omitted those pictures? "You don't belong in my memories because you weren't perfectly svelte"? I didn't give a good goddamn what he looked like. I loved him then, and I love him now. That's why I landed on the side of posting the pictures.

Now the can of worms is open.

Should I try to contact all the subjects and ask how they'd feel about having their pictures included in my album? If I ask, does it imply that I think there's something wrong with their appearance?

God only knows that I struggle with my body image. Trying to take a decent self-portrait was a formidable exercise in patience. Fifty duds before getting two that were...acceptable. And one of them is just plain funny. In an effort to disguise what I perceive as the early onset of a wattle, I leaned forward, elbows on knees, and glanced up at the camera under my brows. Great! Now I need to print a disclaimer explaining that the look I was trying for was not "uber-vamp" but "less chin."

In the spirit of acceptance, I've decided to post two pictures taken today. No special camera angles. No sucking in of the gut. Just 100% me. Here's to learning to love the skin you're in, allowing the image to exist as long as the internet lasts.

First Post Amendment

A wonderful friend of mine read my first post and wanted to know if I really, truly thought my life is a mess. Then she suggested that I do "The Work" (byron katie) around the statement, "My life is a mess."

Good catch, S.A.C. I myself asked the same question shortly after publishing and rereading those words. A condensed version of my check-in:

• Husband and 2.5 kids? No, but I have Charlie, the love of my life and husband-to-be. I have Hannah and Shae, Charlie's kids, who surprise, amaze and challenge me all the time.
• House? No, but I own my own condo, which is more than I ever thought I'd have.
• Fabulous career? Well, I work with Charlie, keeping the financial wheels turning. Now I believe that I can be both artistic/creative and detailed/analytical. That's worth a lot, challenging those self-perceptions. (Although I spoke with someone a few days ago who, when I told her what I do for a living, exclaimed, "Oh, you're one of those people." But the rest of our conversation will have to wait for another post.)
• Multiple acronyms? OK, I still feel a little insecure about not having a degree; it's a work in progress.

When I started this blog, I wasn't doing a lot to nurture my wild, creative, solitary soul. When I alluded to my life being a mess, what I really meant was, "I haven't been doing much for the care and feeding of my spirit, and I feel kinda crappy as a result." When that happens, everything else tends to look a little bleaker. Things are shifting now, starting with singing lessons. What next?

Some ideas:

*guitar/piano lessons
*solo road trip
*collage night
*dancing
*hiking

Thank you, my friend, for reading my blog in the first place. Thank you for indirectly encouraging me to amend the original post. And thank you for your comments. They mean a lot.