HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT

Last week I was at the mall, walking through the busy corridor, looking in shop windows. I passed a children's clothing store, idly glancing with disinterest, when something caught my eye. Nothing moved, but there was something.

Colorful boy's and girls' outfits were displayed on headless child-size mannequins, approximately five in a row, facing the window. But one display of a boy's pants and shirt had a head on it. I slowed to take a closer look. A cute little seven- or eight-year old face was looking back at me, with a make-believe robot look.

The instant he saw that I noticed him, his eyes widened, he giggled, turned and ran back into the store. I laughed out loud, causing a shopper coming my way to veer around me with raised eyebrows.

I've thought of that experience a few times since, always with a grin. Then I figured there must be a message in so vivid an incident.

After pondering, I wondered: how often do we see people as faceless stick figures, without noticing their essence? Do I look into a stranger's eyes and glimpse a unique soul? I hope so. From now on I surely will. Vibrant life and intelligence is all around us, hiding in plain sight.

The Lady In Spokane

I stopped for gas in Spokane a couple of months ago. I don't like buying gas there. They make you pump it yourself! And you have to pay more for the privilege. What an insult. But, it's what you have to do, so I pulled in to the Fred Meyer station, and attempted to figure out how to put my card in, and do the other things it took to make the pump work. But I couldn't get it to work.

I approached the window where a woman was sitting, taking cash and selling stuff inside there. I smiled, letting her know I was a yokel from Oregon, and asked for help. She barely spoke to me, refused to do more than glance up, and stiffly told me what to do.

Well! What's wrong with HER? I wondered. A little courtesy would have been nice. But I'm not the type to raise a ruckus. So I filled my tank, then went back to her little glass cage, and paid. Before I walked away, I said, "It would be nice if you'd smile." I hoped she wouldn't get angry; rude people usually don't like to have it pointed out.

She gave her head a slow shake and said,"I'm sorry, but the person who came in just before you was nasty, rude, swore a blue streak, and called me every name under the sun, because I didn't have what he wanted." She attempted a weak smile for me.

Oops! I'd totally misread the situation. I thought she was unfriendly and rude. I felt sorry for bringing the situation up, maybe even making it worse by my remark. "Oh no!" I said. "That's awful. I hope that doesn't happen often. Most of your customers are probably nice people."

She agreed, and I saw her mellow out a bit. I smiled and thanked her for helping me, and left, thinking I totally misread the situation. How often do we think someone is unfriendly, when they've actually just been hurt and are trying to keep a stiff upper lip and not cry? Of course, there are mean people out there, too. But this lady wasn't one of them. I hope I learned something from that encounter. People working with the public don't have an easy job, and I will compliment them every time I get a chance. It just might make a difference for a few minutes.

Things that make me smile

The other day I was walking outside in the sunshine,in one of my favorite shirts. I stopped, closed my eyes, and remembered the day I bought it. In Paris. Yes, France! I bought that shirt at a little shop across the street from the Notre Dame Cathedral. The shirt has a colorful sparkly facsimile of one of the rose-type windows.

I continued walking slowly, a smile on my face, remembering. I was in Paris! I actually was there! It was wonderful. Just thinking about the lovely city, with ME in it, made me smile.

I thought of other things that make me smile, just to remember. Sometimes I'll come across a bunch of movie DVDs. Once I was going through some on the library shelf, and came across Ferris Bueller's Day Off. That made me smile. So does Singin' In The Rain. Makes me smile every time I think about it.

Sometimes I think of something outrageous or extraordinarily cute one of my children did, and that makes me smile. Sometimes the thought of a friend makes me smile. Thinking of the swell folks in my Monmouth class makes me smile. They are all so cute. Groucho Marx makes me smile. Remembering some of Carol Burnett's routines make me smile. Driving my Corvette made me smile. It was a fun car to drive.

I have a lot of happy things in my life to ponder that make me smile. Thinking of all the benefits of being a Christian makes me happy enough to smile too.

I must remember to think of these things when things seem to be going wrong. Maybe I'll just put on that Paris shirt. That always works.

Yesterday I went to a women's church conference with a friend. While sitting and listening to a speaker tell of things going on in their denomination, my mind wandered, and I wrote a poem. I find that sitting in church is often a fertile field for writing ideas. Why is that? Perhaps it's because the atmosphere is quiet, you are using your imagination (to "see" what the speaker is portraying), and the channels are open.

I've gotten some pretty good plot ideas, character flaws or strengths, from just sitting in the pew and letting my mind wander. I used to wonder if that was sacreligious, but I got over feeling guilty. I still hear what is said, and get the added bonus of letting my creative mind tell me some things I might not be still enough to hear otherwise.

Besides, I tell myself that since God is the utlimate creator, that He is happy to see me using a gift he has given me, just as any parent is when her child delights in the gift he or she was given. Of course, we want them to pay attention when we're speaking to them. . . and I do, especially when I pray. There's another subject for thought: Getting quiet and focused in prayer also is productive in many, many ways.

Sitting in the pew is good for ideas. If you're writing them down, the preacher may be flattered to think you're trying to save his excellent points, so you're doing him a favor. Sort of.

Maybe going to church is a good remedy for writer's block!

Today is a much better writing day. I thought long and hard about why I was avoiding writing, and I think I was afraid it wouldn't be very good; not good enough to send to the agent. I gave myself a pep talk, and said all the things I'd say to someone else who was stalled, asked God to give me grace to get over the fear, and decided to get to work on it.

Well, when I decided to get to work, I found other chapters I'd written a long time ago, that I'd forgotten I wrote. I see that the story is actually pretty good. I edited the past writing, included it in my current story, making it stronger and better.

So, what made the difference? The attitude that "I can do this." Of course, having done it before helps, but each new book is a brand new life form that needs to be birthed and delineated. Plots and characters are in their own world, and often pull away from the strings I attach to them. That's good, though. I like to follow the characters to see where they will go.

I think tomorrow is going to be a good day writing too.

I was talking with a friend the other day about writing a journal. She said she has journaled for years. I've read of people doing that, and have tried it from time to time. When I was a child I got a little blue "Diary" with a teenage girl on the front, wearing a full skirt with a poodle appliques on it. The diary came with a little key (which I knew would never keep my brother out if he wanted to peek).
But I never had much to say. I wrote words like: "Went to school. Had cheese sandwich and orange for lunch." Or "Nothing interesting today." The book was filled with empty pages, and the ones that had something written weren't all that interesting. So, I gave up on writing a diary. Maybe it was because I was such a motormouth as a kid, and said all I had to say orally.
Later in my life, I came to some hard times, and since I'm not one to whine and complain, I felt I couldn't worry my friends with them. So, I began to write -- not necessarily a journal -- in a notebook: somehere I could get the swirling dark thoughts from my head and onto paper. Anyone finding those jottings would think I'm a very negative person. Not so! I'm very positive and give a happy outlook to the world. Negative whining is reserved for that special notebook.
So ... is a blog like a journal? Seems so. But I'll still keep those negative thoughts where they belong, in a dark, hidden away little notebook. But my friend who has kept journals for years probably has a wealth of nifty information worth re-reading and remembering. I wish I'd done that too.

Last night I got over that awful inability to get the words onto paper. I wrote about ten pages on my latest novel, and that felt so good. I'm writing a historical, and need to get my facts straight before I go any farther. But it was so good to get those pages done. I'm hoping to do some more tonight.

Still, my reading time is about three times more than my writing time. Not a good balance. Not good at all. I'll need to start thinking about getting some articles ready for handouts at the class I teach. Every week a handout. I feel I owe it to them to have something to take home. And I do enjoy finding interesting things to engage their minds about our language, and how to write it.

"Sometimes I feel like a motherless child ..." Oh. I AM. Well, that's why.

LJ