State of Mind

The Uses of Imagination

When one of my nearest and dearest is running late, I immediately assume they’ve been kidnapped and chopped into pieces. Because that’s usually what’s happened to people, right?

I wish I were kidding. I have an amazing imagination, just mind-bogglingly fantastical and out-there. I begin thinking through who needs to call whom to spread the word of this person’s death. I berate myself for not having bought a newish funeral outfit and having to wear something dowdy or tight. I wonder how I’ll feel years from now…

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Christmas Live and on TV

How much of your Christmas is live? How much is on television? Of course it’s all live even if all you are doing is watching television.  Except if you are the Steelers fan who was laid out dead in the funeral home as if he were at home watching football on tv… because he was actually dead, which hardly qualifies as “live.”

So back to “live” television. There was an interesting article in the Washington Post a while back entitled “Chestnuts roasting on the high-def screen.”

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Risky Business

What sort of risks do you take? And are they really risky? I mean, what will the consequences be?

A couple of years ago I took a solo road trip around the country for several weeks. And I can’t tell you how many people said, “Wow; what a brave thing to do” or something like that. Except it wasn’t really that risky; it didn’t require that much bravery. In an era where we have GPS navigation, cell phones, rest areas or business establishments every few miles,

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The Sound of One Hand Clapping

My brain got a little wacky over the weekend. I’ve had far too much time alone lately, much of it sitting at a computer. And when that happens, I get crazy. I feel despair. I decide I have no friends. I am certain my life is not worth living. I’m positive that there is nothing I’m involved in that will come to fruition or prove valuable. I globalize (“Because I’m discouraged today, I’ll always feel this way.”) In short, I lose it.

All it takes to return me to some degree of normalcy is human contact —

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The SPACIOUS State Playlist

If/since SPACIOUS is a state of mind, it needs state symbols like any good state has — a state reptile, a state protein, or perhaps the more common state flag, state bird, or state dog.

We’ve already chosen a state dance, and I wrote about it here.

We’ve already chosen a state meal, the potluck, and I wrote about that.

Today we’re celebrating a SPACIOUS playlist that my partner Joey and I have co-created.

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One-Trick Ponies and Sailboats

Sometimes there’s something we become known for, and no one wants us to change. The relationships and worlds we inhabit just work with us playing our little roles.  In fact sometimes we don’t allow ourselves to morph, change, or move on because we think of ourselves as the gal who totally __________ or the guy who always _______________.

What’s in the blank for you? Are you the one who always…

 

  • wears red?
  • drinks Yuengling?

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An iPod, an Hour, Walking Shoes and 63 Degrees

63 degrees and windy. Spring. iPod. Sunglasses. Time. A feast for the senses as I walk through the neighborhood.

What I learned:

It takes an hour to go about a mile if you stop and smell every flower.

Peonies have a riotous smell that brings tears to my eyes; I want my life to be like that flower smells.

Songs can feel like colors; Barbara Streisand’s voice is golden-salmon stucco. She nails “Can’t Help Lovin’

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The Myth of Sisyphus & Email

What are we all DOING? Checking our computers and phones with Pavlovian urgency, while cursing the fact that we can’t get away from our desks or phones or tasks.

I sat down to write today and soon felt a vague anxiety. Nothing had been bugging me a few minutes before. I traced the feeling to a sense of being overwhelmed that emails just come in faster than I can get them out. It’s the myth of Sisyphus for a modern age —

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It Had to Be You.. Didn’t It?

I met my husband 32 years ago today. The story involves a raccoon coat, a mud puddle, a five-minute conversation, and then a call to my mother to tell her I’d “met the man I’m going to marry.” To which she replied, “What about your boyfriend?” (but that’s another story!).

We talked about soccer (not exactly a passion for either of us), and that’s the only topic I remember. We laughed about something, and it seems that we forged some connection over finding the same,

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