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The Ultimate Blog Challenge

It’s February 1st, and you know what that means … it’s time to begin my quest and rediscover my voice in the Ultimate Blog Challenge. (UBC for short.) Those of you who have read my blog for a while now know that I attempt this challenge quarterly. But, really… what is this challenge? Let me break it down for you.

Ultimate

There are two definitions for this word. It can be used as an adjective, like the ultimate – or final – goal. It can also be a noun – like this blog challenge is the ultimate – or the best of its kind. For me, both of these definitions are true. My ultimate goal is to post a blog 31 times throughout the month. Ideally, I will wake up each day and prioritize writing over everything else. As you may guess, life will get in the way at times, but I will do what it takes to reach the end successfully.

It’s also the “ultimate” because it is one of the best writing challenges I’ve participated in. This is thanks to our fearless leader, Paul, and all of the bloggers who write posts and offer praise and comments. Any writer will tell you that they need a community to lift them up and support them. When I write and post, the ultimate compliment is when someone comments with their own stories and thoughts. And I encourage you, dear reader, to do so.

Blog

This blog is important to me. It’s an extension of who I am as a writer and a person. I keep saying that someday I will string these blogs together into a book of essays. Creative nonfiction and essays are big sellers right now. We all want to connect, and I believe that these types of posts and books create community. I just need a little more confidence and a big push to turn this dream into a reality.

Writing also helps me think. Some people like to run great distances to clear their heads. Others like to take long showers and sort out their problems. I write.

Challenge 

While I’ve been writing for years, the process does not come naturally to me. It can take me half an hour to write a post, or it can take days. Sometimes, I wake up and think I have nothing to say. Years ago, my writing coach taught me when that happens, I should put pen to paper anyway and start writing – “I don’t know what to write.” over and over again. And guess what, it works every time! Eventually, a topic will come to me out of nowhere. Like magic.

Speaking of magic, there was an article in the latest issue of Poets and Writers called “The Button Chair.” In it, the author writes about a workshop she attended with this title. She wondered what this magical chair was and did it have superpowers that enticed the right words to come out on paper. Spoiler alert – it wasn’t that at all. There is no such thing as a button chair. There is only “butt in chair.” Meaning, sit down and do the work. Don’t be distracted by laundry, dishes, and errands. Put your butt in your chair and start writing.

This is exactly why I need UBC in my life. It is where the magic happens. UBC gives me a place and a purpose to discipline myself. I’m held accountable by my fellow writers and readers. And in time, I establish a regular writing habit.

So, I’m ready. I have everything I could ever need – my favorite pens, pristine notebooks, a good laptop, my button chair, and you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is Ironing My Superpower?

The other day I said to myself, I don’t want to cook anymore because I don’t want to do the dishes. But that’s silly, isn’t it? I can’t say I don’t want to wear clothes because I don’t want to do laundry. Food and clothing are basic needs, and I suppose the chores that come before and after are unavoidable. And these things need to be attended to immediately otherwise they just pile up until I can’t take it any longer and resign myself to the tasks at hand.

I went downstairs this morning and there were Halloween candy wrappers and empty cans on the counter. And I ask myself, does anyone know where the trash can is? The answer, it’s right underneath the same counter.

And then, I turned around and saw clean and folded clothes on the table that need a home. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t walk their way up to their respective drawers by themselves.

When I was little, we spent Saturdays cleaning the house from top to bottom. We wiped down our bureaus in our bedrooms, vacuumed the floor, wiped down the kitchen, dusted shelves, and ironed clothes. Back then, we ironed EVERYTHING. I may have learned to iron right after potty training, tying my shoes, and looking both ways when I crossed the street. We had a seemingly bottomless pile of clothes to iron on the floor right next to the ironing board. Afterward, we neatly folded the clothes and laid them all onto the couch so nothing would wrinkle. And then, we carried everything upstairs to hang them up neatly in our closets.

One of my good friends sells small appliances and asked me to help him demonstrate some items at a trade show. He asked me if I knew how to iron. I laughed and told him I was born to iron. But, I rarely do it now. I don’t even think I own an ironing board. I prefer to throw the clothes back in the dryer, and let them unwrinkle from the heat. Or hang them on the towel hook in the shower because the steam will do the trick. But, when it is deemed necessary to do so, I will throw down a towel and clear off my dining room table. My kids ask where I’m going like it’s a special occasion.

I don’t need an immaculate house. I need a house that doesn’t have clutter in every room. My modest wish is to walk into a room and not have to do anything to clean it up.

And I hope no one reads this and believes this is a put down to my family and a not so subtle hint of some kind. I think I have a sixth sense about these things. Maybe it is my superpower. I look around and see what needs to be done, and I can’t walk past it. I see the clothes piling up in the laundry and the dishes in the sink, and it drives me crazy enough to do something about it.

Yeah, I’m the Wonder Woman of house cleaning. Lucky me.

Did I Smell The Roses?

On March 12, 2020, me and 50 of my colleagues met in the back of our office. Our executive director had an announcement. The room is a nice size for meetings and eating our lunch, but when all of us are there, standing shoulder to shoulder, we fill it up.

When I think about it, this may not have been the best place to congregate during a global pandemic. Statistically speaking, at least one or two of us were likely exposed to the virus unknowingly.

But, I digress…

“We aren’t sure what is going on with this virus, but we want to be responsible. So, we want everyone to work from home until further notice. We don’t know how long it will be but go back to your desks, take what you think you might need for the next two weeks, and head on home. We will stay in touch,” said the man in charge.

That was seven months ago, but it seems like a lifetime. Since then, I adjusted to working from home, managed a full house since everyone was sent home, got furloughed, networked my ass off to find a job, and started a new job. And in the midst of all that I ate a lot of salmon for dinner, ran many loads of laundry, and cleaned out closets.

Did I stop to smell the roses during the lockdown? I’d like to think so. We bought fresh flowers every week to brighten up the place. Does that count?

I definitely did more than my typical number of jigsaw puzzles. We all sat down to dinner at the same time every night because we had nowhere else to be. Jenna taught me how to apply eye shadow since that is the only part of my face people will see while wearing a mask. Andrew was in charge of family movie nights. We played Cards Against Humanity with our teenage children – that was a fun night!

Looking back, I wish I had done more. This pandemic definitely gave me the gift of time with my family. But, it was still stressful. We didn’t know what we were dealing with and everything was scary. Something as mundane as grocery shopping was scary. Someone coughing nowhere near me was terrifying.

And not only was it stressful, but every day I tried to bring some small element of normalcy back into our lives without feeling guilty. I let the kids hang out with one or two friends on occasion. I forgot to put my mask on when I went to drop something off at a friend’s house.
I hugged my parents.

Did I stop and smell the roses? I hope so. I honestly can’t remember. All I can say is that in five years when Facebook memories remind me of the mask-wearing, social distancing, and family bonding, I can say I was grateful for our time together and I’m glad it’s over.

 

 

 

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