The Grin of a Cheshire Cat

There is no use trying, said Alice: One can't believe impossible things. I dare say you haven't had much practice said the Queen. When I was your age, I always did it for half an hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.--Lewis Carroll

I woke this morning at 5:30 after pressing the snooze once. I woke and I knew what I had to do.
The words came easily. And then, as I walked the dog around the block it came to me: the impossible thing.

In fact, it came to me exactly as all impossible things do: as a fairy tale.

In the fairy tale I was a successful, published author of a book which celebrated the life of everyday Americans. I began every piece with the scene in which I asked them to "tell me your story". Most of the people were strangers, but I did a piece on my mother.

The quote inspired me to realize that it isn't an impossible thing. It is my dream-- and I have to pursue it.

I am still contemplating how I will get my "stories"-- an ad on craigslist? Creep around a local bar? I am bound to get some people who need to talk more than I can listen. How will I handle that?

And I am adding this project to my current memoir project of 1k words a day. It will be busy, but it will be fabulous.

It's good to dream impossible things. It's even better when they come true.

Dance! Dance!

"Whether you think you can or whether you think you can't, you're right."
--Henry Ford

On that note, I will announce that I am a writer. I have a job as a secretary that pays the bills.

I woke this morning and wrote and today the spirit moved me as I picked out my clothes.
I am rocking a gypsy look with khakis, a black shirt and great head scarf with dangly gold earrings.
You see,when you decide you are something, and work hard to become it, you suddenly just are.

What do you want to be?
How will you get there?

Henry on a Wednesday

Good Morning, World!
I started my quote project this morning. Last night I took a handful of inspirational quotes that were printed on colorful paper and cut them down into little pieces. I threw them all in this awesome porcelain tin I have that looks like a Chinese takeout box—on the front the word “dreams” is engraved.

Each day I will go to this jar and remove a quote which will guide me through my day as a creative, lively woman.

I planned to wake up this morning at 5:30 am but found the snooze button far too alluring. Despite waking at my normal time, I marched to my jar and got my quote. And guess what? My quote got me thinking, which got me writing and before I knew it I had 500 words!

So the quote did its job well.

I hope to share these quotes here with you, so that they will guide your journey as well. It is also really cool to get a briefing on the men and women behind the quotes.

Here is today’s quote:
“The ability to convert ideas to things is the secret to outward success.”—Henry Ward Beecher

Of all the quotes I found yesterday,this was one of the least tantalizing but closer observation opens my mind:

•Henry Beecher was a preacher. A preacher who was taken to court for sleeping with a married woman (ooooOOOOooo drama :)).
•His sister was Harriet Beecher Stowe, who I swore was African American, but apparently I got my Harriets mixed up?
•He believed Christians could purge the sins of society.
•He carried jewels around in his pockets which he referered to as his “opiates”. (did someone say “sins of society”?)
•He went to Amherst and a seminary school outside of Cincinnati (= dude got around.)
•He believed in Darwin’s theory of evolution (=dude was revolutionary)
•Mark Twain, Lincoln and Walt Whitman were just some of the greats who paid his congregation a visit.
•He held mock auctions where the congregation purchased the freedom of slaves
•And finally and perhaps most fascinating….. his last words were: “here comes the mystery”.

If you apply this quote to slavery, it is easy to see how Beecher attempted to convert the idea of freedom into a tangible thing.

This quote has value for my life. I have an idea of health and weight loss, and I am working to put it in to motion, so that it becomes a “thing”.

The same for my idea of myself as a writer.

What are some ideas you have that you want to come to fruition? Do you want to be a rock super star? A mother? An astronaut?

Wild, Weird, Wacky: Do the Tolstoy

Leo Tolstoy, author of Pride and Prejudice and Anna Karenina, believed removing meat from his diet was the key to becoming truly great.

So he ate this:



and this:



He stated: "The confusion and above all the imbecility of our lives, arise from the constant state of intoxication in which most people live."
Opting for a life of purity and chaste,one could reason he would not approve of this:



Have a happy and safe St.Patricks day!

Wild, Weird and Wacky Wednesday: Poor, Poor Charlie

Q:Why did this man write so many stories featuring neglected, deprived and over-worked children?

A:Because as a youngster, he was just that.

His Father, John Dickens, was thrown in to debtor’s prison when the boy was young—leaving him to slave away at a factory which put the black hue on boots. His main responsibility was to glue labels on to shoe shine bottles.
Sounds horrible, right?
This is probably what gave him all his fuel to write.

According to Wikipedia (a most trusted source of superior authority), the debtor's prison John Dickens was sent to looked like this:




It housed not only those that owed debt, but people who partook in behavior that was deemed socially inappropriate. We no longer throw people in jail for debt, unless they owe child's support, like this guy:





Desmond Hatchett, of Dayton Ohio, who has 21 children and is 29 years old. But that is a different story....

Memoir Monday: How to Walk in Heels

I should mention first, that I am an overachiever. In case you missed that memo somewhere in this blog.
I was not your typical undergraduate student. I was married, first of all, and I was older than my fellow classmates by one to two years.
I decided to apply for a part time job teaching a college success course for incoming freshmen. This is the same course that I still teach today, as a staff member of the Alma mater.
I donned a pair of heels, a skirt, and a new sweater and made my way to the interview.
I should mention that I was also a little misplaced, as my husband worked for the university I attended. So I had the experience of being a student and a spouse of an employee—which pretty much meant I had the dirt on almost everyone in the university—staff, student, faculty, and janitor alike.
So when I stumbled past the token transgender student of the university as I walked to my interview, I had the advantage of not being surprised by the way the light shone simultaneously off his beard and glinted off his patent leather heels. I simply smiled and nodded in his direction as if to say, “I accept you, friend” and “are you as uncomfortable in your elastic band skirt as I am?”
I should now give you some background on this (wo)man. He moved to Ohio from Alaska with his wife after they sold their trucking company. At some point during this transition, he decided that his true identity was actually female and changed his name to Gail. His wife was supportive, and this arrangement seemed to work well for them.
The odd thing about Gail was that some days he was female and some days he was male, keeping his beard no matter the day. He also frequented the women’s restroom no matter the day, which gave many reason to pause.

Coincidentally, it was my husband who often had to tell Gail that he couldn’t use the women’s restroom. My husband is brushing against 300 pounds and is solidly built. Gail, however, was not entirely dwarfed by my husband. I would venture to say he was a solid 250 pounds, and his beard and receding hair line made him somewhat oppositional. Gail did not like being kicked out of the women’s restroom, and my husband did not like being put in the position to ask him to leave. It was a lose- lose for all involved.
As I strolled to the front of the building, nodding at Gail, I stumbled a bit in my too-tall heels. I laughed at myself, inviting Gail to jump in for a Walking-in-Heels-Lesson.

“Oh child, you have to step on the pad of your foot, like this”, Gail demonstrated walking on his tip toes in his own worn out heels, his cigarette swinging around as if it was an extension of his arm.

I mimicked him, blushing and enjoying myself. The spring breeze swept through and ruffled our skirts.

“Where are you headed?” Gail asked me, putting his cigarette out on the bottom of his heel. I admired how gracefully he pulled his leg up towards his body, noticing the inch thick bedding of hair that covered every inch of his skin.
I told him my destination and just like that, Gail became my escort to my interview.
I caught brief glances of his side profile as we walked. His wig was cheap, and wisps of it clung around his head, creating a bird’s nest effect. His beard had highlights of lighter brown and gold and they contrasted with his red lipstick, which was slightly smudged around the corners of his mouth. I wondered why his wife didn’t help him with makeup, but then realized she probably didn’t wear it herself.
“The thing about heels is they make us women.” Gail told me confidently, between deep, desperate breaths. We were barreling down the hall, two large people on two-inch stilts.

“If you work it right, you can own the world in a good pair of heels.” He leaned in to my shoulder as he spoke and I could smell a mixture of chew tobacco and mountain dew on his breath.

I spent most of our time together smiling and nodding, avoiding the strange looks we received from others in the hall. I saw a classmate at one point, and she responded to my flippant wave with wide owl-eyes. I felt her gaze as she turned and watched us make haste down the hall.

“It’s ok though”, he assured me, “my wife can’t walk in heels either. Some women just can’t get the hang of it”. He winked at me, his short lashes caked with mascara.

When we arrived at my destination Gail squeezed my shoulder and departed as quickly as he had bonded to me in front of the building.

“Good luck, and keep working on those heels!” He chided me, pointing to my feet. He lumbered to the women’s restroom, swinging the door open wide. With a brush and whip of his ankle-length floral skirt, he was gone.

My interview went well. I saw Gail in the halls repeatedly after that encounter (he was hard to miss), but he never spoke to me again. He had given me the wisdom I needed, I imagine he reasoned, and I was on my own to apply his advice and become the woman he saw within me.

"A startled or surprised look from one of you when I spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done, and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy."-- Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

How funny, Dear Ms. Alcott, that you can write a novel of such significance to so many women when you in fact hated children.

In fact, Alcott only wrote Little Women when her editor requested (some would say forced) her to write on the topic of children, to which she replied: "I don't really enjoy that sort of thing."

Little women, as we all know, went on to sell millions and adorns the bookshelves of young women everywhere.

It took her three months to write.