Back to Basics and a Look Book

Tags

bookblock.com, lg pocket photo printer, look book, staples optiflow, writing

Hello my friends! This week I was reminded of some basic truths about being organized and focused: write stuff down. As I’ve mentioned my new job is challenging; there are a lot more things to keep track of and I have at least three times the amount of email to wade through. I tried using the Task feature in Outlook but I found that when I got super busy I ignored it. Then I tried creating an Excel spreadsheet but found the same thing: when busy I felt I didn’t have time to type up the task. And too often I was missing critical things in my email. So I grabbed one of my journals (the alphabet notebook discussed in this post) and on the bus on the way to work did a brain dump of all the things I could think of that needed to be done in the office. I didn’t stop until the bottom of page 2. And once I was done it felt great! So much lighter. And throughout the work day I could focus on one thing on the list at a time. I highlighted the ones that needed to be done right away. And marking them off as they were completed was awesome! Such a simple concept but so powerful. We have blank books at work for notes and such but I thought using one of my own would make me more invested and it seems to be working. Hurray!

Another area where I needed focus and organization was picking out furniture for our new house. We sold or gave away most of our furniture before the move. Seems pretty straightforward but we have a limited budget and I wanted to make sure we spent the money wisely. So we started looking at furniture in different places: Pier 1, Wicker Emporium, Structube, Bombay Company. I took pictures of pieces that appealed to us. I made notes of what we agreed upon, what we loved, hated, were indifferent to. I had lots of photos on my phone and wanted to transfer them to a notebook where I could make notes. So I created what I call a Look Book.

I chose one of the Bookblock Original notebooks (blank pages) and got my LG Pocket Photo Printer out. Remember that gadget? It still works great. I love how small but clear the pictures are. Perfect for my journal. In the picture above I’ve created a simple index on the left and pasted my pictures on the right. I can then put model numbers and dimensions next to the photo, as well as where we found it and how much it was. A great way to compare prices and the photos really jog the memory.

Here you can see in closer detail the notes I’ve made about a certain piece. After viewing the piece in person I would look it up on the internet for the specifications, as well as any other pieces available in that line. I like furniture that matches!

I used a black Staples OPtiFlow pen.

Here’s a bunch of photos from another store, ready to place in my Look Book. I even printed a couple of photos of the cats, which will go in my regular journal. Love that little pocket printer!

You don’t have to start a separate journal for a project such as this; I could have added these pages to my regular daily journal. But I wanted to keep these separate because I don’t know how long it will take us to a) find all the furniture we need and b) agree on what to purchase! It’s also a nice keepsake of one of the many house projects David and I will undertake together. How wonderful to be able to look back on the process a year from now, or 10 years from now.

Update: we went shopping in yet another furniture store yesterday (Ashley Furniture) and bought furniture for the TV room, kitchen and dining room. Because we had already done some research I think it was easier for us to pick a style we liked and to know that the price we paid was a fair one. Of course we had to order everything so having the Look Book will help us greatly as we continue the search for furniture and accessories for other rooms, so we can keep the general style consistent throughout each room.

Just one more great use for your journal!

Monday Miscellany

Tags

afoolwithapen.com, chiku-rin, leila martin, mrporter.com, pilot iroshizuku, smythson, writing

Here’s an excellent video posted by Leila Martin on her writing process. Simple but effective; excellent advice.

I had fun perusing this article on mrporter.com about desk setups. I think my favorite is the Misunderstood Genius, for the single, iconic Smythson notebook included in the display. Lovely.

And finally this excellent review of Pilot Iroshizuku’s Chiku-Rin (Bamboo Forest) ink from afoolwithapen.com. The ink is a little too olive for me but still a beautiful colour.

Journal Writing Wednesday: 20 pages

Tags

online, reid's stationers, staples, sushi, winnable executive journal, writing

What I’m currently using: the Paperblanks Blue Filigree journal, Winnable Leather Journal, Winnable Executive Journal and the Believe In Yourself journal

Total pages written since last JWW post (Apr 29): 20

Total pages to date since project inception (Dec 11/13): 965

Total pages written in 2015: 225

Monthly Pen for May: ONLINE in Black

Next monthly pen will be chosen on May 27

Purchases:

I reviewed my Nanami Paper purchases in this post.

The first pen from a seller on FP Geeks arrived today. Review this Sunday I’m hoping.

I am still waiting on my ebay pen (coming from China) and a pen from another FP Geek seller (coming from The Netherlands).

Some points covered this week in my journals:

• Using my pen of the month, the ONLINE pen, is a bit of a challenge. I cleaned it before inking it up because it had not been cleaned in a while, and now I find it leaking at the section. I hope that is not a permanent condition. I will persevere.
• I went into Staples the other day for post-it notes and I couldn’t find any Winnable Executive Journals! I panicked. I’m almost finished my existing one and I really want another; I love the paper, and how flat it lays, and how I can stick all my paper stuff into it and it still looks good. I just might have to make a trip to Reid’s if Staples can’t help me out.
• I had a fantastic sushi dinner with friends on Saturday night. This particular group is precious to me; I have known them for a very long time and we have the absolute best conversations. You know who you are; love you guys. And yes let’s start a writing group!!

Until next week, happy writing!

Writing Through the Pain

Tags

believe in yourself, healing, health, journal, peter pauper press, therapy, writing

I’ve written before how journalling can be healing, can be a form of therapy. It’s a safe place to dump thoughts and feelings, and explore your emotions and hopefully learn from your experiences, and grow as a soul. This past week I found myself under doctor’s orders to stay home and focus on my health, on returning it to “normal” (whatever that is) as fast as possible. I started writing in both of my current journals (the Paperblanks Blue Filigree and the Winnable Leather Journal) but I wanted a dedicated space for research and observations. I found myself reaching for a journal I’ve had for a long time, so long in fact I no longer remember how it came to me. But it was perfect and I started writing down all the information I could about my condition and pain levels and how I was managing (or not, depending on the day). The activity focused my mind on something other than the pain, which was exactly what I needed.

It’s made by Peter Pauper Press and contains 160 lined pages. There is a beautiful quote on the back cover:

You don’t need a loud voice to be heard. All you need is something worthwhile to say.

The cream paper is lovely and takes fountain pen ink with no feathering or show through. I also used gel pens for different sections. The journal closes with a magnetic flap. I’ve numbered the pages and started a Table of Contents at the back. I should have left a few pages at the beginning for this but I didn’t think of it. It works just as well starting from the last page.

Yesterday I started including diary entries in this journal, as it was just easier than going back and forth between my everyday journals and this one.

I want this journal to contain articles I want to copy out, lists of the fears I have for dealing with this condition, plans of attack for how I will change aspects of my life to meet the treatment goals, and strategies for how I can stay committed and motivated to carrying out those plans.

Just as a book finds its reader at the right time, this journal found me when I needed it most. And I am very, very grateful.

 

A Soulful Conversation

Tags

janet conner, my soul pages, writing, writing down your soul

I’ve been reading Writing Down Your Soul by Janet Conner, along with her companion book, My Soul Pages. Janet walks you through getting in touch with “the Voice”, which is whatever you conceive a higher power to be in your life. Essentially you ritualize your journal time, committing to journaling at the same time every day for a certain period, and following the same steps every time, to “tune in” to the Voice and have a soulful conversation. Her theory is that everyone needs someone to listen, to really listen, while we speak about what’s on our mind, what’s worrying us, what’s holding us back. And that is extremely difficult to find in conversation with friends and family. Even if we have a professional listener in our lives, they cost money and usually are only available for a short time.

Despite our deep human need to connect, we stop speaking our truth because the price for expressing ourselves fully and completely is too often the reduction or removal of love or the heartbreaking experience of watching it slip through our fingers before it’s even begun.

And when we feel we are being listened to, amazing things happen. Through our writing we will not only get in touch with the Voice but we will have a conversation; answers to our questions will come through in our writing. Janet’s steps are very specific; you must commit to:

• where you will write
• when you will write
• statement of intention, which is essentially your opening statement to the conversation, usually a prayer or a blessing
• prewriting reading material (optional)
• chosen salutation
• opening writing ritual

I’m only halfway through the book and already it has inspired me to follow the program for a month, and I am choosing the upcoming month of September to do this. The commitment can be as little as 10 minutes a day. I think it will be very interesting to see what happens and what I can learn. Due to the personal nature of this exercise I will not be sharing the journal pages/topics here, nor will I be including the page count in my weekly journal writing post. But I will give an update at least once during the month to let you know how it’s going. If you are interested both books are available on Amazon.

 

Finding Our Courage Through Journaling

Tags

cancer, healing, journal, knock knock, writing

Tonight I went for a long walk with a friend of mine, whose son has just received a cancer diagnosis. He is in his early twenties and has an inoperable brain tumour. It’s difficult for me even to type this, and even harder to contemplate how the family must be feeling.

Cancer is big and ugly and overwhelming, even for those indirectly affected by it. My friend needed to do normal things, to talk about normal things, even for just an hour. Mixed in with the normal we did talk about her son’s diagnosis, the treatment plan, what the doctors are saying, what they aren’t saying, next steps, how on earth to cope. I felt powerless to say or do anything that would ease her pain but really, she wasn’t looking to me to do that. She just wanted to go for a walk and feel the sunshine on her face. We did that and it felt good.

We were standing in her driveway after our long walk, watching her dogs pant and look up at us with grateful grins for taking them along. I asked her if she ever found comfort in writing things down, in writing about her feelings, her fears, her hopes, her dreams. She said she did when she was younger but just recently her son had mentioned he wanted to start writing things down, to process what he is hearing, seeing and feeling in the middle of this diagnosis. I raced into my house and grabbed a journal for him, and a pen, so grateful to be able to do something tangible. I chose this one by Knock Knock:

From Chapters.ca: Use this Inner Truth It’s Gonna Be Okay Journal to reassure yourself when you’re overwhelmed by the creeping sense of impending disaster and the all-encompassong fears both specified and vague that colonize your mind, body, and soul, all of which, from the completely far-fetched to the sometimes probable, do you no good to contemplate and in fact make you miserable, and even though optimism may be unself-aware and ill-placed, you know you’ll be happier as a blind fool than as a clairvoyant apocalyptic.

I didn’t want to make light of his situation but I also wanted to reassure him that we all feel overwhelmed and scared sometimes, and he has more reason than most to feel that way right now, but there is a way through the darkness, and he will find it. I told him to write in it when he felt like it and throw it against the wall when he felt like it. His mother joked that he might throw it at her but we agreed he was not allowed to throw it at someone – but he could write pages and pages about how he might want to throw it at someone!

I did some googling and found three links that support journaling with a cancer diagnosis:

http://www.cancer.net/navigating-cancer-care/cancernet-feature-articles/finding-comfort-through-journaling

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/laurie-nadel/cancer-journal_b_2612961.html

http://nancyspoint.com/twelve-tips-to-journal-your-way-through-cancer-or-anything/

I believe in the power of positive thinking and the power of words to heal. Making a chronicle of a journey such as this can help in sustaining you on that journey when the going gets tough. Just like Winston Churchill said:

If you are going through hell, keep going.

It’s gonna be okay. Even if it isn’t.

642 Things Thursday: Her Grandson

Tags

journal, writing

This week: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

She woke to the sound of a woman shouting. “Living room!” “Kitchen!” That new family must be moving in next door. Rose, her neighbor across the street, knew everything about everyone, and had informed her just last week that it was a family of five moving in. She was worried how much noise three children would make. Rose didn’t know their ages but thought the oldest was a teenager. She liked the quiet street; it was a big reason she chose this home, 10 years ago now. But she found herself wondering about them too, what they looked like, how they acted with each other, who was boss, who was baby, who was daddy’s girl or mommy’s boy. She hoped the family were clean and didn’t like to party too much. She would turn 67 in two months time and didn’t want or need any disturbance in her peaceful existence.

Coffee on her front porch sounded good. Then she could observe without being too obvious.

The big moving van was parked in front of their house, and she noticed with approval, was not blocking her driveway. It looked like bedroom furniture was being unloaded at this point. She rocked herself in her porch swing and watched through the leaves of her big oak tree. I hope they like my tree as much as I do. The tree was firmly on her property but it did cast a shadow onto theirs; she suddenly panicked as she thought of how she could bring herself to trim it if they asked her too. Best not to worry about such as hasn’t happened yet, she sternly told herself. Still she drank and watched.

About half an hour later a minivan drove up and three children tumbled out of the side. She could just make out two girls and one boy, through the green leaves and the various legs and torsos of moving people. She thought the boy looked to be the youngest. A man got out of the van, presumably the dad, as a woman, presumably the mom, had been directing the furniture and box traffic all morning. Mid-40s, she would say, looked like a professional. The kids were standing around, trying to figure out what they should be doing. Dad ushered them inside. And it was time for her to go inside too. The pies for the church sale wouldn’t bake themselves. She didn’t hear much of anything from her new neighbors for the rest of the day.

She made four pies that day and towards noon the next she made the decision to give the blueberry one to her new neighbors. It wouldn’t hurt to make the first gesture of friendliness, to set a good example. She wrapped the pie in a tea towel and headed across the lawn. Their house wasn’t so very different than her own; the same wide front porch, but without the swing. That will change, she thought. In her experience children couldn’t resist a swing.

She tried the doorbell but didn’t hear the reassuring tinkle within, so she opened the screen door and knocked three times. The door opened and a woman was standing there, a wine glass in one hand and a towel in the other. “Hello! My name is Charlotte, I live next door. I don’t want to bother you but I made this pie and thought you might like it.”

The woman’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “Omigosh thank you so much! Please come in.”

“Oh I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Not at all! The place is a mess but come in and meet the rest of us.” So Charlotte crossed the threshold. Boxes everywhere, most still unopened. Dishes on the drying rack in the kitchen. “I’m Dana and this is my husband, Bruce.” Bruce said hello through a mouthful of nails and put down his hammer to shake Charlotte’s hand. “And these are our girls, Laura and Natasha.” The girls were mini-versions of Dana, with some Bruce thrown in. Golden haired with big blue eyes, Charlotte judged Laura to be about 12 and Natasha 8. “Please sit down. Look Bruce, Charlotte made us a pie! Oh it smells like heaven. Won’t you have a cup of coffee? We just found the mugs. Only took us half an hour and three boxes!”

So Charlotte stayed and met the Webster family. After about a half hour of talk about the schools in the area, and being shown the craft project that Laura and Natasha were working on, a tiny figure wrapped in a blanket softly padded his way into the kitchen. As he climbed into Dana’s lap, she introduced him. “Charlotte, this is Tommy. He is our foster child. He’s been living with us since he was 6 months old.” The 6 year old stared at Charlotte with big brown eyes. His dark hair contrasted sharply with Dana’d blonde curls. When Dana encouraged him to say hi she was rewarded with a barely audible “Hello.” Charlotte, on the other hand, couldn’t speak at all. In fact she was having difficulty breathing and there was a furious pounding in her ears. She mumbled something about getting back, left something on the stove, sorry to cut this short. She stumbled out of there, embarassed and gasping for breath. Dana called out, “Thanks again for the visit. And the pie!” but Charlotte was halfway across the lawn, almost running into her house. Once there she collapsed onto her sofa and burst out crying. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t, the boy was only 6, just a baby. But that face! Those eyes, even his ears, exactly the same!

She glanced at the piano in the corner, where a single photo stood in an ornate silver frame. “James, oh my beautiful James, what is happening?” Charlotte whispered. The photo, taken when her only son was 6 years old, could be Tommy’s twin. Charlotte moved to the piano, picked up the photo, tears streaming. She studied the face so intimately known to her, and it was as if James had just run out the front door, of that long ago house on Maple Street, so excited on his first day of school, never to return. He had been abducted at the age of 7, on his way to school. She and James had practiced the route so many times yet she was so very reluctant to let him walk alone. But he insisted. The school was only around the corner, so Charlotte would watch until he disappeared and then phone the school to make sure he got there. That was how she had found out so quickly that terrible day 40 years ago; she watched him turn the corner, waited 10 minutes, then phoned the school. He hadn’t yet arrived. She called back 10 minutes after that and by then she was panicking. The school secretary started walking toward Charlotte’s house and Charlotte also started walking; they met at the corner and both knew something was wrong. James had disappeared. The police dogs were called in, alerts were put up on the television, groups of volunteers canvassed the neighborhood for clues. No trace of her beautiful baby was ever found.

Forty years missing was a very long time and she had given up ever learning anything about her son’s disappearance. Until today. Tommy looked so much like James it was frightening. Dana had said he was their foster child. Could he somehow be related to her James? And therefore to her? They must have records of his birth parents, where they were, what their situation was, alive or dead. The thought brought another fresh set of tears that left her gasping. Could it be possible that after all these years there was a clue? That he might still be alive?

She knew she had to try.

Next week: A man giving a speech to a crowd of thousands is suddenly caught in a bald-faced lie.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

 

 

642 Things Thursday: The Best Thing That Could Happen

Tags

journal, writing

This week: the best thing that could happen

I still feel like I dropped the ball with my post last week, the worst thing that could happen. Because I don’t have anything in mind for this week either. The best thing that could happen is that everyone sees the bright side of every hardship and rises above it. But that is a very simple and naive way to look at the world. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called naive; I guess I can’t help it. Good things do happen and they have happened to me throughout my entire life; conversely I have never gone through what some others have gone through, namely abuse of any kind, trauma, disease, financial ruin. It’s easy for me to say “Look at the bright side” because perhaps I have never really seen the dark side of humanity. So in that way am I even qualified to talk about the worst and best things that could happen? I can feel some of you rolling your eyes at such a self-indulgent post. Sorry. I should put my writer’s hat on and write a piece of fiction around the topic. But for some reason I just can’t do it. 

It may sound trite but the best thing that could happen already has: my life, with all of it’s joys and sorrows, is the best thing that could happen to me. I wouldn’t be me without the people in my life, my family, the job I do, the friends I have, as well as the enemies, the stress, the aches and pains, the challenges I face every day. I am the best thing that could happen….to me.

Next week: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: The Worst Thing That Could Happen

Tags

journal, writing

Next week: The worst thing that could happen.

I’m stumped by this. When I start thinking about this topic I think about the worst thing for me, or for my family, or for my city, or for the country or for the world. Which one to focus on? And I don’t want to think about the natural progression of the worst thing that could happen for any of those situations. For me it might be losing one of my limbs, or my sight. For my family it could be financial ruin or debilitating illness. For the city it could be a natural disaster or an unrelenting crime wave. For my country it could be dire economic crisis or an act of terrorism. For the world it could be global warming or the extinction of dozens of animal species. So when I was thinking through how I would write even one of those scenarios, all I could think about was the positive side of each of them. There is always a positive side, even to losing a limb or having a fragile species finally disappear from the world (although it’s hard to see the positive side of that – survival of the fittest maybe?) I just keep concluding that any “worst thing” can be overcome, can be adapted to, can be survived and made better by the experience. 

Maybe I’m wimping out on the topic for today. But the worst thing that could happen is to become incapable of seeing the bright side. 

Next week: The best thing that could happen

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂

642 Things Thursday: No Longer a Child

Tags

journal, writing

This week: The moment you knew you were no longer a child.

Losing a parent is never easy, no matter how old or young you are. I lost my mother the year I turned 30, and during her illness and after it, I found strength I never knew I possessed. I am the baby of the family, with 13 years between my only sister and I. She is older and wiser and stronger than I will ever be; and I’m not just saying that because she might read this. I have put my sister on a pedestal my entire life, often when that was the last place she wanted to be. But in the middle of our mother’s last illness my sister had to be out of the country, so I was left with Dad and my aunt. The prospect of life without Mom was devastating for all of us. A husband and lover grieves differently than a sister, as a daughter grieves differently in turn. When the phone rang no one ran to answer it. When the doctors spoke of arrangements that would have to be made, my father refused to listen. So when the end came we got word to my sister and she came as fast as she could. In the meantime I found myself having to answer the phone, to choose the last outfit my mother would wear during her wake, to order flowers and food for the inevitable out of town guests, to find the perfect photos to display at the funeral home, to help Dad choose his final gift for her: pink mother-of-pearl rosary beads to wrap around her fingers.

My mother and I had talked about what might happen during this time; the events that caused her death were swift and unexpected but the winter before we had discussed at length how I would function after she was gone. We didn’t usually talk about such morbid things but I had become convinced that I was going to lose her soon and the prospect terrified me. This is the only time in my 43 years that I had a sort of premonition. She assured me she was not about to die; she had high blood pressure and diabetes but they were under control. She told me that when she died, in the far far future, I should not be sad; I would always have her with me. She jokingly said I would never be able to get her voice out of my head and by golly she was right about that. I think it was during this conversation and of course the terrible events that happened just six months later that I realized I was no longer a child. I couldn’t just run to my parents or my sister and have them solve my problems for me. For they might not always be there. 

I would have to listen to their voices inside my head and forge my own path.

Next week: The worst thing that could happen.

This is the latest exercise in my 642 Things to Write About Project. Click on the link to find out more, or click on the category 642 Things to Write About Project to read past exercises.  🙂