Archives

PAN-ick!

So things are getting wild. People hoarding….toilet paper and bottled water? Going to the grocery store has become an olympic event. The problem is, some are not competing, we are just trying to survive.

I am going to ask a favor of you. It’s a big favor, too.

I am sure you can do it, though.

I have faith in you. In us.





Be kind.



Unfortunately it needs to be said. When the police have to be called to protect the employees at a grocery store— we need to remember who we are. We need to thank those poor cashiers and stock persons, not attack them!  We are not the United States of Anger. We are the US. We are US.

Do you remember getting yelled at by the neighborhood grandma to get your butt back home? Those neighborhood grandmas and grandpas need us to step into being neighbors. To being US. To asking if they are ok, if they need food. Keep the social distance, but please check on them. If you are at a store and know they have an endcap by the frozen food with sliced bread, and you see a woman staring at whats left in the bread aisle, trying to figure out how she is going to make it work, open your mouth and tell her. Tell the lady who asks where you got the flat of eggs. Go online and figure out who has toiet paper for your friend with Irritable Bowl Syndrome. Write letters to your friends and family, to strangers. Pick up a phone and call someone.

Be helpful. Be kind.

Be US.

Year of living dangerous/ Year of stupidity

So many things happened this week. One of which was I watched part of Shonda Rhime’s Ted talk about her year of saying yes. And I thought about that a lot. About saying yes to things, conquering my fear and doing things anyways.

My sister, niece & her family were here for a week. They went to Santa Cruz (my happy place!), San Francisco (I haven’t been in sooo long!). And I worked. The green eyed monster reared its ugly head. Which led me to some ugly truths.

I don’t do what I want to because at some point my fear outweighed my desire. I became paralyzed by it. I didn’t work on Thursday, and I did mostly the things I wanted to do as it was my birthday. I turned 48.

Friday, I went to pick up Ray from my brother’s house. My sister and her family were over there and she had shaved the back of her head and done a few blue streaks. My sister, who is a SENIOR CITIZEN, has been having courage all over the place. She just decided to go back to college. She shaved the back of her head and got blue streaks. She’s AMAZING.

I long for my amaze-ball self to come shining through again, too.

I don’t know if it was all things leading up to the moment, or if I was just so sleep deprived from trying to stay up and visit and still being on my regular schedule. But I had my niece L (my brother’’s daughter) shave the back of my head and give me a reverse bob. She keeps calling it some anime cut, but I just call it hot flash heaven! I was going to finish getting the tips pink, but it hasn’t happened yet because Easter.

Then yesterday, Saturday, I did a few things. Scheduled a trip to Stanford’s Pow Wow in May. Because its something I want to do and it is doable.     Came home, took a nap. Napped some more. Went to go pick up a few things and get gas.

Drove away from the pump with the nozzle still in the car.

Just so you know, apparently it happens more than you might think. They had a little form to fill out, along with costs broken out. It can be anywhere from $13 plus tax to $400.

HOLY CRAPOLA

Suddenly, it no longer felt like being fearless, conquering my fear. Suddenly, it felt like I made one bad decision after another. Exhaustion? Perhaps. Mid Life crisis gone wrong? I felt horrible, humiliated. Too old for this crap.

So I did the only thing I could. I came home and called the friend who would make me laugh about it. I think she may have wet her pants she laughed so hard. But she got me to laugh too.

And suddenly it’s just a scene in the life of. Not the plot, not a plot twist. Just a scene. I can work around that. It doesn’t have to turn my year of living dangerously into the year of stupid mistakes.

I just got the first one out of the way really really quick.

Shifting Sideways: Daydream Believer

Hello, my lovelies. This post took a surprising turn for me at the end. Let me know what you think.

As writers, we spend a lot of time in our own heads. Daydreaming, star gazing, muse courting in a thousand different ways. Some have rituals that have to be precisely followed in order to start writing. But even before we as writers, as artists, as creators, begin to start actively start our project…we are daydreaming our creations into existence.

But what happens when the daydreams stop? How do you get it back? Still writing letters, still sketching things out… until you aren’t. Until it’s you and blank paper and brain.

At first, I told myself I needed a rest. I’d been writing this and that, poems and micro essays, cranking them out, filling up the spiral notebook. And then I wasn’t.

A week. Then two.

Then I got bored with the talk radio I had started listening to. I’d been listening to it because it centered me, made it easier to get through the day at the real job. With all that was going on in my personal life, I needed it. My writing was all over the place, emotions rocking through me. I had to have something to get me through the day without loosing it.

But then I didn’t.

It wasn’t until I switched back to music, music that I love, that I realized the mistake I had made.

Often, while driving to work and rocking out, I get lost in a daydream. The music tickles a spot of creativity and I’ll go off on a tangent. Sometimes singing along, pretending it’s my song. Sometimes letting the story of the song move through me, morph, become a totally different story.

Bon Jovi is my favorite, but there are more coming up strong. Hoozier. Fun.  Ozzy Osbourne. P!ink. Sam Smith. If I start hitting the same daydream notes during a song, I’ll put it on repeat (all of the above are on my hated iphone) until I shake it loose.

And I’ve started shaking it loose again. Playing with the poetry in my last post, tuning it to say what I meant –even though the subject matter is heart breaking—filled my heart with joy. Joy, tenderness, grief, love and despair all rolled into three little poems and a blog post.

I don’t know where I’m going as a writer anymore. That daydream is loose. Even though I know what I want to do, I don’t know how to get there. I am off the map that I carefully drafted all those years ago while daydreaming my life as a writer. Since I didn’t get a bestseller and a mansion at the age of eighteen (without having written a novel), I was already off course.

So.

Hello,

My name is Wynelda Ann Deaver.

I am a poet who didn’t know it.

I like micro, macro, flash writing.

I am still finding out who I am as a writer, and trying to become.

I may be lost, but I can enjoy the journey all the same.

But I am always, always a believer in daydreams. You never know what stories they’ll whisper to you.

Have you taken a turn off your carefully planned route? Enjoying the new ride, or scared? Let me know how you’re doing!

©2015 Wynelda Ann Deaver, All Rights Reserved.