Tag Archives: diary

london calling

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m wood london here we come

carried out enormous family reunion. check.

feted darling daughter for her 20th birthday. check.

encouraged & oversaw issues related to son finding new apartment in the city. check.

dealt with new kitty, behavior management (spray bottle of water), and several vet visits. check.

aided and abetted daughter with new apartment furniture & fittings acquisitions. check.

hosted fab gals weekend with dear college friends. check.

worked, despite the continual interruptions provided by life. check.

it’s been an over the top summer with one moment clogging the next: kind of unusual for me.  maybe it’s the ages of my children, and the transitions that are vying for their attention, and subsequently, my assistance.  maybe it’s the hellish hot weather that kept most of us indoors rather than sprawled and relaxing on the deck or in the pool or garden.  or perhaps it’s just life itself: spinning madly, sometimes on a tilted ‘faster than normal’ orbit.

whatever.  frankly, too tired to consider anything beyond the check list that means that, officially, with less than a week to go, my main focus, my big to do list, is all about london2012, the english countryside adventure, a mini-tour of scotland, and 5 days in paris, all swaddled in the enthusiastic and kookie company of my three big kids.

the last time i was in europe, i had two tots and was on an excursion to research a famed italian violin maker.  a business trip, it was filled with a zany cast of characters that included a violin maker from nebraska, the first violin chair of the tokyo symphony, his girlfriend (his wife stayed behind in japan), an italian guide, and her kookie italian friend.  a good time was had by all, and i returned with bags filled with italian leathers, colorful clothes for the children, and two mini-espresso cups to use as i trained my children to love coffee.

the first time in was in europe, i had a new boyfriend, a backpack, and a fresh diary.  the trip lasted a month, the boyfriend became a husband and father of my children, and europe became the end all of all to me: haven’t spent a day since, in those 25 years, wishing somehow i lived across the pond, and adopted as close to a european/british/italian/french joie de vive in my lifestyle.

so i’m heading back.  years of dvd’s and subtitled movies, anything with hugh grant, pouring over agatha christie mysteries, smelling good italian leather whenever i’m out shopping, gulping espresso by leaps and bounds, cooking up exotic and non-american feasts in my country house, the whole bridget jones stuff keeping me focused on the places that i long for and that hold such mystery and infatuation for me.

i’m a planner, so i’m a bit freaked at the moment as i haven’t read all 54 books that i stacked on my ‘travel table’ last winter. i haven’t poured over every map gathered to earmark our itinerary.  haven’t really uploaded enough apps to follow the olympics, the travel options, the train fares and ferry tables.  haven’t copied passports or cc information.  haven’t even decided what to wear.

it’s daunting, at 52, to do all of this as the head of the familia, with 3 enthusiastic college/high school travel companions. i somehow feel responsible for providing them with a sure-fire fun and informative first ever trip to europe. i panic that i’m not prepared, or haven’t planned and researched enough.  i’m worried that i’ll get there and just become a noodle of absolutely no-good as tour guide.

so my choice is to spend these next 6 days going in circles around my house staring at my millions of lists.  frazzled and thinking i’m forgetting something.  thinking i’m not prepared enough, not informed enough, not ready.

granted, we have our experts in the field readily waiting: a savvy designer friend & her brit husband to host us in chaotic london; a goofy wonderful college pal set up in surrey to drive us around quaint towns and a few castles; a hired car awaiting us and an actual scotsman to point us in the right direction on the wrong side of the road as we scour scotland for it’s myths & wonders; and a cozy, gorgeous apartment in paris that will afford us soft slumber and a place to hang our hats.

so, with the above trajectory of padded locales, hosts and accommodations, i think i’ve planned just about enough.  leaving room for surprise, i’m done thinking and will now just relax and pack my bag. like the trips of old, not unlike that wacky old movie, ‘if it’s tuesday it must be belgium’, i can just throw care, planning and caution to the wind, throw things into a bag, pile the kids into the car, line up and board the plane, and see where it takes us.  no over-planning, no agenda, no big feats to check off our list even before we land.

i think the expression, go with the flow, is what i’ll embrace.  soak it in, see where the river (thames, dee, seine) take us, and come back stuffed with the newness of the old, the saturated in history, culture, language, olympics, souvenirs, beer, food, friends and a reinvigorated love of the world.

to diary?

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m wood diaries

i’ve been a bit stymied lately.

somehow i feel wedged between two folds of time: longing for some sepia-esque vintage-shrouded existence not unlike the one conjured up by woody allen in ‘midnight in paris’…or perhaps a decade, two later, and the time-tricking interconnected today world that zips and flips and is just somehow so smart.

i spotted a joint called ‘the coop’ while i was twittering around on twitter, and did some internet stalking, which unveiled this again, cool-o-cool world where creatives, entrepreneurs, free-wheeling people can hang out, rent an office, network (overused word, but fits here), guzzle espresso, tinker at their laptops, all the while surrounded by like fish: inspiration in a neat, coffee-scented human&machine partnership. where was this when i was archaicly starting my little business, tucked into the land of maternity?  the days when i had to wake up little sleeping baby to dash off to the nearby ‘facsimile machine on premises’ copy shop in order to respond to a client?

back in those days, the early 90s, nothing was cool or hip about running a business in ‘the home’….and trust me, with one, two and then three little tots wandering around, thank goodness the cordless phone magically appeared in my world so that i could hide, literally, in a closet, to take a notecard order from a big shot client in new york.  in no way did you want to show ‘what’s behind the curtain’: just wasn’t something to brag about, but rather, to sort of hide!

by the end of the 90s, all of that fuss of running my own business in and around motherhood, a stove, and a pile of laundry, was being embraced.  what a relief and vindication when oprah herself, when talking about my little boxed notes, blasted out her praise of a mom working at home with her children…”and we like that!” she said to wild cheers from the studio audience.

my how time changed.

so this wedged between one world and another hit me tonight as i looked over at my diary, stacked on a pile of other goodies that have been gathered carefully to get popped into a suitcase at months’ end for a trip that my children and i are taking.  i would never  travel without one, especially on the sort of once-in-a-lifetime vacation that we’ve cooked up.  but as a part of me is clearly enamored with tech stuff, especially this iphone that i seemingly can’t live without, i realize i’m about to travel back in time, in just a couple of weeks.  and it’s a struggle.

the issue, of course, starts with roaming charges.  spend time out of your at&t zone and just forget about affording the regular text/phone/linkedin/twitter/fb/etsy/pinterest/huffpost/nyt addictions.  can’t afford to maintain my daily (hourly, minute-by-minute) addiction to invisible, intangible communication once our trip starts.  so what to do?

the phone issue has been resolved, ingeniously, by my youngest.  bring the old, retired 3g’s and zap into wifi and do a bit of the old magic on the cheap and free side of things.  brilliant!  meets the budget, and still lets me post photos on instagram…like a junkie, lining up my next ‘hit’, i instantly felt better with this solution.

but…

it did strike me, looking now at my diary, glancing over at my juiced up digital camera, leaning behind a stack of books to see pens and fresh sketchbooks that hope to make the trip, too: how much have i changed in the way i see the world.

my daily bread, here at my funky cool house, comes to me only because of the gadgets that link me to the rest of the world.  i couldn’t do what i do, and still hang with my kids and work in ridiculously ripped jeans at all hours of the day or night, without all of this interconnectedness.

but…

my trip isn’t about that. and my trips, before all of this gobbledegook arrived on the scene, were never, ever without pens, camera, diary, sketchbook, paper map, guide book, backpack.  silence.  asking for directions.  asking for advice.  striking up chats.  making new friends.  taking a risk.  seeing into someone’s eyes.  wandering without first knowing where i might be going, or where i would end up.  sketching vistas, rooflines, turrets and shores.  flying through ink like oil to a ewing, writing, writing, writing in diary after diary.  my impressions, traveling at the speed of my pen as it matched my mind and my imagination.  inspired, listening, watching, tasting, feeling, learning, longing.

so, there it is. one foot in two worlds, and rather than quarrel with myself over which one lures me more, i’m going to tip my had towards the vintage me this time around.  it suits the destination, stepping over to lands that make me shudder with the wonders of the ages, the history of anglos, the roots of my people, the whispers of all that came before all that i know: yes, decision made.

scratching pen to paper, lugging a bit of extra weight of that long-lens camera, and some fountain pen refills, i’ll be traipsing along, three curious, bright, hilarious offspring as my most wonderful companions, we’ll be going the woody route: step back in time in slow motion and soak up another world.

i’m just amazed sometimes, thinking of this zap world and how mind boggling it’s changes really are.

anne morrow lindbergh

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m wood stack of books

i just read a nyt book review of anne morrow lindbergh’s final book, “against wind and tide”: a posthumous printing of diaries from the last 40 years of her life.

years ago, when i was in design school, i’d fritter away my paltry tax refund on a people’s express airline ticket to washington, d.c.  staying with a great pal in her apartment which featured a view of the washington memorial, i fancied myself a bit of a lone artistic wanderer.  while she spent her day working at george washington university, i set about on foot to discover the city i would come to love. sketch book, 1978 pentax camera, a good pen and my diary in hand, i wandered about, soaking in the history, architecture, and poignancy of our capitol city.

at the same time, i was tentatively stepping into some form of adulthood, whereby everything felt illuminated, each sensation, thought, discovery, awareness, like lightning rods inspiring my creative self at each turn. sitting beside the newly unveiled vietnam memorial, i sat quietly on a bench, shaded by those iconic blooming cherry blossoms, watching somber vets lean against the reflective black wall. flashing back to memories of watching the television news, anchored by walter chronkite, who read from a piece of paper while the images flashed by of newsmen interviewing young men dressed in camouflage.  i didn’t get it then, and i don’t get it now: you mean, they stop shooting long enough for the interview sequence?  i pondered: if they can control it for that, why can’t the just stop shooting altogether?

but i digress. my trip went along these lines: sit alone, observing, and then consuming the emotions and reactions as though i, myself, was the camera, tape recorder, dictaphone, and witness to both the centuries of history that that town magnifies, as well as the present day world as it witnesses that history for themselves. deep stuff!

one day, i wandered into a great dusty old bookstore.  rows and rows of books stood patiently as i sauntered down the rows, taking my time in the air conditioning for a bit of a respite from that powerful sun.  always a sucker for an intriguing jacket design (i buy my wine for the same reasons), i reached for a book a bit on the top shelf.

anne morrow lindbergh.

huh.

my zeal for history assumed that she was somehow related to lucky lindy, the hero who flew across the atlantic during the great depression. the flower and the nettle.

huh, again.

catchy title, further intrigue. my curiosity firmly at attention, i opened the book and read the liner comments.  it sounded really good.  hobnobbing with the expats, a literal history of the u.s. during a pivotal time of national, international, technological and social change, i was hooked.

luck followed this first find and i noticed a few more of her published novels: tomes that held her very own personal history awash in a time that has always fascinated me.  what better way to get my history groove on than by learning and getting to know this woman at the same time?

my days continued much the same: solo wandering, sitting on a park bench, sketching and writing. but more and more of these hours were spent falling eagerly into her world.  somehow, that sweet shy young woman sent me on a vast journey as i read each entry, each year, each triumph, each horrifying loss, each moment of her savoring, reflecting, recounting, reliving a gloriously complicated life. i found her simple in her needs, delightful in her love, grateful for her family, protective of her solitude, eager in her curiosity, and solemn in her awareness and clarity. i finished all four novels on that trip.

i probably wasn’t the best company after hours, rushing off to my bed to gobble up more of her words. when i finished, i felt like i’d had more epiphanies than i could count: certain that i was much better armed in a sensory way, for the life i was just setting out on.  i’d found a companion for life, a safe, sturdy, wise mentor to keep on each and every bookshelf for the 30 years since.

and glory be, what news to discover this week: a posthumous collection of her diaries from the last 40 years of her life has just been published.  there’s more, more, more.  and ironically, my age when i first met her was nearly the same as she was when she wrote her first volume.  and now, at 52, if i get the math right, we’re a comparable age now: her final 40 has come into my life as i set out on those of my own.

my friend. found again.

diary

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how fascinating is this?

it’s a big saturday night, 4th of july weekend, the pulse of fireworks exploding outside of my window (although, it’s the 2nd, NOT the 4th, people…).  the world is out and about, merry making and carrying on and consuming large amounts of liquor.  and why not?  it’s a big birthday.

when the u.s.a. had it’s bicentennial, (that’s 1976 for those of you who ditched american history class),  i remember being called to duty by my friend kim.  big stuff, 200 years old, and we had to go to the village hall to blow up balloons.  hopefully, not by draining our lungs, but with one of those creepy clown helium things.  that was the same year that all of the fire hydrants in town were painted to resemble the founding fathers.  as i said, it was a big deal.

now we’re toasting another birth of our version of freedom, which, as far as i can say, is a pretty fine bit of living.  granted, the stores are too big, the billboards too plentiful, cars lacking the right amount of chrome, the road rage building at an alarming rate, and politics?  lol, don’t even get me started!

but, it’s the big 4th of july weekend and in-between festive goings on, i’m also hanging around at home doing a bunch of work.  tonight finds me wrapping up my day by dealing with writing my blog.  i took a sip of courage by pouring myself a lovely glass of mouton cadet, cozied up in bed with my laptop and piping really loud music into my ears (don’t tell my kids).  sorry, but i have to drown out those crazy firework boom boom booms to focus.  as i’ve said before, writers have it tough: where does this inspiration come from?  look at me: turning to liquor and b.j. thomas to get this done.  pretty crazy.

so, before i tear off into a fascinating bit of fluff centered around the theme per the above title, i wanted to report that i’m fully aware of how cool this current way of electronic life is.  as i was beginning to type away, i remembered that i have to upload an appropriate m. wood illustration to headline this blog.  without getting up!

i dug around on my laptop for a good sketch.  came up zero.  almost uploaded a repeat drawing (not good, no excuse for that, after all, i draw for a living and that seems cheap), and almost uploaded another one of my five million architectural sketches.  i couldn’t figure out how to ‘tie’ that in to what i’m going to write about, and then remembered: omg, it’s 2011 and i have all of these neat gadgets!

i grabbed a pen, always sitting on my bedside table, whipped out a sketch, grabbed a few markers and threw in some color, and THEN, (this is so brilliant), i took a photo of it with my iphone, emailed it to myself, (didn’t catch the retro “you’ve got mail!” announcement), opened the email, downloaded the file, cleaned it up on my laptop art program, and just now, uploaded it to this blog.  without EVER leaving my cozy bed!

so, now that we’ve established the amazing bits of the hear and now, i will get to the point.

i’m going public.  not in the way that linkedin and that fb game company are…this is a much smaller poof to the stratosphere of our crazy information hungry people.  no, what i’m about to do is just a blip, but to me, really sort of amazing, exciting and terrifying.

my diary is going online.

now, this isn’t just my diary, as in, current.  at this point, let’s say that this blog is kind of a daily reportage of my fascinating life.  no, what i’m talking about is that i am going to take every single one of my diaries and transcribe them entirely onto another blog.  well, actually, i’ll probably be paying my youngest daughter (fastest typer in the family) to do the work, or at least some of them.  whoever and whichever of us is willing, it’s all going to live in the kookie world of the internet.

spare the drum rolls.  really, it’s not that big of a deal, so i don’t mean to lead you astray.

starting in 1972, right up to the here and now, the minutia of my daily life as reported earnestly in each journal!  can you even imagine the laughs?  i mean, just the bit about blowing up the balloons for the bicentennial parade is sure to have top billing from the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school.  along with a bunch of crushes on boys (nothing exciting there for the high school years: i couldn’t get a date to save my life!), fascinating details such as picking my dad up at the train station, doing chores during commercials, and intricate reportage about the health of our five dogs will all be in there.

i’ve been thinking about this for a long time.  i’m not entirely sure why i’ve kept diaries for so many years (do the math: i’m 51).  they’ve come along for the ride, from childhood bedroom (a plot twist to come was the life-changing move from one room to another, overlooking the pool!), to college dorm, back home (couldn’t get a job after college), to all four apartments, houses….i’ve lugged them all and each year the stack grew by one.

i guess they’re a big deal to me, lucky to have fabulous friends throughout my entire life, but let me tell you, the only friend who knows it all, well, is that big fat stack of diaries.  purging my angst-filled teen emotions in a ruddy nasty penmanship, launching off to college thinking i was such a know it all, those single years in the city, omg!  (that reminds me, i’ve made a note on my new blog splash page that the names will be changed to protect the innocent bystanders of my life, so no one worry or freak out.  you are safe.) and then on to marriage, motherhood, divorce, ridiculous adventures after all of that, oh, and then there’s this whole work thing.

look, my mom is an anthropologist.  i’m looking at this as a sort of historical, sociological, emotional, cultural dig.  i grew up surrounded by curiosity and studying cultures and human behavior…pretty fascinating stuff!

i think i’m the most curious of all.  after all, i’ve lived with me every single day of my life, i can’t shake myself!  but i don’t think i have a sense of my own evolution.  it’s fascinating to think that, by laboriously typing out day after day after day (except for when i skipped) for nearly 40 years of my version of my life, i can see it all in one place.

granted, there are some doozies that i don’t want to read, much less remember or acknowledge.  i’m far from perfect.  there are a few diaries, i know their covers this moment without blinking, that i’ve avoided re-reading.  painful stuff.  stupid stuff.  or embarrassingly emotive stuff.

now, we all know that i have three children.  and i’ve also said that, chances are, they all might help me type this stuff out, or at least, dictate to me while i type!  who knows, i haven’t worked out the nuts and bolts yet, and am stalled on my july launch (i love using that word) as i loaned my first diary to my old grade school pal who’s mailing it back to me from wisconsin, and it hasn’t arrived yet.  but, back to the kids.  you may think: why on earth would i want to share my mistakes with them?  why do i want them to see steps in the wrong direction, going back in time, their understanding the consequences already just by living through many of them?

well, i am an open book kind of a mom.  i mean, i use discretion and have only let them tinker in my diaries that were written at their same ages (the deal was: don’t make fun of me, and of course, how could they keep that promise?  i’m still getting teased about the rock necklace…).  i don’t have any purpose for those books.  they just sit there.  why not share the wealth of my meandering through life, and especially in the painful parts, why not let my kids see?  why not teach them to see the big huge scary pot holes, the hazard signs, the jubilant victorious moments, the vulnerability and insecurities i’ve carried with me always?  why not let them see that this is just what life is: one day after the next. some better than others, some the kind that you wish you could erase, others the best that life offers?

so, i’ve set the challenge and i’m going to do it, even if i type with my eyes closed, laughing at my total nerdy adolescence, blushing at my first enormous crushes, shuddering at each red flag that i missed. or at least, the me before.

that’s my big question i think: have i always been me?

if you promise not to tease me too mercilessly, i’m inviting you along for the ride.  we can figure it out at the same time.  oh, and be kind when you see the accompanying music mix, per year, of the soundtrack to my life.  it’s way cheesy.  i said i was a nerd….

so, coming as soon as the postman delivers #1:

http://www.rememberyourwhimsies.wordpress.com