Category Archives: writing

If Time Can Bend

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If time can bend
then you are still here
and we are together
we live on a star
on Orion’s belt
or maybe we sit
on the edge of his sword
we gaze at the heavens
and watch falling stars
and say look! there!
let’s make a wish!
and you whisper I wish
that we never will die

If time can bend
then there are no lines
from point A to point B
and the constellations
are mobiles in motion
spinning in time
over make-believe cradles
stellar examples
of human design
only existing
in linear minds
and maybe the truth is
we’ve already died

If time can bend
then we are all dancing
the dance of a lifetime
caught in a cobweb
of cosmic proportions
with strings made of atoms
and light beams and laughter
and you are my partner
and we’ll go on dancing
just as we have been,
and are now, and will be,
brilliantly bending
refusing to die

© Lori Bonati, 2017

Badge 2017

Mistakes and Misgivings

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While waking one morning from a forgotten dream, I found myself thinking about the mistakes I’ve made in my life. Why was I dwelling on my failures so early in the day? I had no idea. It probably had something to do with the dream I’d been having. I lay there for a while, torturing myself with negative thoughts. Every foolish decision or act, long submerged in my subconscious, came bobbing to the surface like debris surrounding a capsized boat.

I got out of bed, but I was still down on myself, and I couldn’t shake it. I thought about that word, “mistake.” What did it really mean? A mis-TAKE? Something wrongly taken? I thought about one of my old mistakes, at Company X, when I’d screwed up on the job. It was my first decent job, and I’d taken something — that something being initiative. Yes, I’d taken initiative, and my boss hadn’t liked where I’d taken it, so I got called on the carpet. Never wanting that to happen again, I started taking less initiative. Later, someone there said I wasn’t taking enough initiative. At Company X, it was hard not to make mistakes.

But don’t stop now, I told myself. Let’s get this over with. What other mistakes can you torture yourself with? So I amped up my pity party, reliving one old mistake after the other, starting in childhood. Why hadn’t I stood up to that bully? Why had I stood up to that other, bigger bully, the one who then knocked the wind out of me in front of the whole class? Why had I believed those scary stories in religion class – the ones that traumatized me for an entire year?

Why had I been so worried about being popular? Why had I believed that I was ugly? Why didn’t I keep trying out for school plays after I didn’t make the cut in seventh grade? Why did I give up the violin? (Answer: to be popular.)

Why had I been such a lousy judge of character? Taken so many chances? Taken on too many projects? Dropped out of college with only one paper left to write? Allowed mean, manipulative people into my life?

Why had I spoken without considering the impact of my words? Why had I said no when I meant yes, and yes when I meant no?

Why had I let down my loved ones?

Looking back on my mistakes, and on my life as a whole, I don’t even recognize my past self. It’s like some other person inhabited my body back then and made those poor decisions. (And maybe that’s accurate. Probably all of my old cells have been replaced by now.) So why not forgive my (former) self?

I’m not that person anymore, I think. But is that true? Have I really changed, or am I still making those same mistakes? Am I too close to see them? Will I look back in five years and have misgivings about the mistakes I’m currently making?

And what, exactly, is a misGIVING? If a mistake is something wrongly TAKEN, then I guess a misgiving is something wrongly GIVEN, like giving one’s trust to a sociopath who takes advantage of you (yep, that happened).

My mistakes and misgivings have caused several misUNDERSTANDINGS. Now there’s another mis-word. Does it imply that to understand something, you have to dive deep, get under it, at root level? Ask questions? I think I’ll try that. I’m hoping that someday, while swimming beside this capsized boat I call my life, I can look back upon my mistakes, misgivings, and misunderstandings, and see them for what they really are: tiny specks in an ocean of understanding and forgiveness.

Badge 2017

Daylight Saving Time

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Last Thursday night, I got only five hours of sleep. I blame Nano Poblano. All of those impassioned opinions, perfect word choices, and gutsy poems – you peppers really know how to inform, inspire, and interrupt a good night’s slumber. I was awake until 3 a.m. reading. Your titles were compelling and your photos so interesting. Even your badges were calling my name. I think I dreamt about peppers that night (er … morning).

Later that day (at 8 a.m.), I pulled myself out of bed because I had company coming over at 9. I rubbed my tired eyes, stumbled to the coffee machine, and pressed “brew” without putting water in first. After a couple of tries, I finally got everything (water, coffee, cup) arranged and ready. After my success making and drinking my first cup of java, I decided I was capable of vacuuming the living room rug.

All was going fine until I decided to try connecting one of the attachments. I couldn’t get the hoses and attachments to fit together. Everything seemed to be the wrong size; nothing would fit into anything else. Five minutes, four failed attempts, and three expletives later, I finally managed to figure it out. But then I tried turning the vacuum on again, and I couldn’t remember where the “on” switch was. (I’m not making this up.) This is not my normal operating mode. I do not have early onset Alzheimer’s. I just wasn’t running on all three bike tires.

I’m not complaining. I’ve always been a night owl, but lately I’m starting to see that maybe it’s not that healthy to skimp on sleep. I read an article about this the other day. The article said that you can never catch up on lost sleep. Once lost, it’s gone forever. If that’s the case, I figure I’ve lost 20,160 hours of sleep since graduating from college. That’s more than 2 years’ worth of lost time. Does that mean I’m really 2 years younger than I thought? Or am I older? I need another cup of coffee to figure that one out.

In the United States, we have something called “Daylight Saving Time” for part of every year. This government-imposed fiddling with our biological and actual clocks came about during World War I in an effort to save energy. In most parts of the country, clocks “spring ahead” one hour in the spring and “fall back” an hour in the fall. They are about to fall back this Sunday, Nov. 5, at 2 a.m. The rationale behind this widely accepted (but unpopular) practice is explained here.

I happen to live in Arizona, where Daylight Saving Time is not observed, unless you live on the Navajo Nation, where they do observe it. But then, if you live on the Hopi Reservation, which is completely surrounded by the Navajo Nation, you don’t observe Daylight Saving Time, which must be especially confusing. Arizona seems to celebrate confusion. After all, we have towns named Why, Surprise, and – believe it or not – Avenue B and C.

Since I live in Arizona, I won’t be “falling back” one hour this year. But while the rest of the country celebrates their extra hour of sleep, I’ll make myself content in the knowledge that even if I’d gotten the extra hour, it would not have made up for the 20,160 hours I’ve already lost.

Badge 2017

 

Thought Bubbles

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On January 22, 2017, I was standing at my kitchen sink doing dishes. It was Inauguration Day. I scraped, I scrubbed, I scoured (I don’t own a dishwasher), and for some reason I started thinking.

Maybe it was the inauguration that made me want to wash something. Or the news about Monsanto bidding on some farmland just west of here, so they could build a seed research facility. Or possibly, just the sight of all those suds in the sink had set my mind to wandering. It was as if my head were full of thought bubbles.

Just as one popped, another one would form. I was thinking about pesticides, and the election, and my children’s future. I felt a sudden urge to scream, but instead I quietly turned off the water, dried my hands, and walked down the hall to my office. Sitting at the keyboard then, I felt a faucet turn on in my consciousness, and my thoughts dripped out through my hands and onto the screen.

Here’s what I wrote that day, word for word:

———-

“So here is what I was thinking while I washed dishes:

I was thinking that some of the world’s biggest problems can best be solved if we do just one thing: simplify.

Break them down into their bare bones.

Start thinking like a child.

Now I know very little about Monsanto, and the science, which makes me feel like I’m not qualified to write to the newspaper expressing my opinion about Monsanto. I’m sure I would get shot down or receive hate mail due to my ignorance. But then I realized that I actually know quite a bit. Here is what I do know about Monsanto:

Aren’t they the company that produces Roundup?

Isn’t Roundup responsible for the decline in the bee population?

Isn’t the decline in the bee population something that threatens our crops and all manner of life on this planet, eventually?

Isn’t Monsanto turning a blind eye to that despite scientific evidence?

Isn’t Monsanto also responsible for creating special seeds, genetically modified, which they are forcing farmers to grow, and isn’t Monsanto prohibiting farmers from growing their own seeds?

Isn’t all of this crazy?

Then I realized that, even though I don’t have too many scientific facts in there, I do have an even more valuable commodity … common sense. Well, maybe just as valuable. And science is, in fact, predicated on common sense, logic if you will.

I was thinking much as an innocent child would, who is often times even closer to the truth of the matter than we realize.

Then I started thinking about politics. Uh-oh. Don’t get me started. It’s inauguration day, after all. But now I am started. And I just can’t stop.

I just can’t stop thinking about how a child would see this whole Donald trump thing. A child would probably say, why would we want to put a bully in charge of anything?

And isn’t it bad to grab, and point, and make fun of people?

And why does he call someone “my African American” … he doesn’t own him.

And why is Donald trump so rich, and all of his friends so rich, and why are only the rich people in charge? And isn’t it better to share?

And why do people want to hurt each other?

Why do they argue so much?

Isn’t it better to get along, to be nice and kind and friendly?

Why do people vote for someone who says he grabbed someone? Or that he could shoot someone and that people would still like him? None of this makes any sense at all.

And why do people think that war solves problems? We have been having wars since forever and they haven’t stopped yet. Maybe adults should try something new instead of repeating the same things over and over again.”

———-

So there you have it – recycled thought bubbles from a little over nine months ago. Unlike regular bubbles, thought bubbles can be saved in special places, like notebooks and hard drives. I take them out sometimes and I shake them like snow globes just to see what happens. Sometimes the scenes come to life, rearranging themselves in newer, smarter, or more interesting ways. Other times, it just snows.

Either way, it’s a much better way to spend my time than doing dishes. And who knows, maybe January 2018 will turn out better. I might have a dishwasher, at least.

 

Badge 2017

 

Wasting Time with Words With Friends

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I’m infatuated with words. But lately, I’ve been spending an unhealthy amount of time with them, thanks to my latest addiction, Words With Friends. I have to break it off soon, but how? What’s the best way to tell Words With Friends that it’s over, especially when it constantly demands my attention with that insistent buzzing noise coming from my iPad?

“Buzz!” it purrs, seductively. “Somebody played a word — don’t you want to come over here and see how many points they made?”

“Buzz!” again. It sounds so needy. “Someone else just took a turn. You don’t want them to feel ignored, now, do you?”

“Buzz!” (Is it my imagination, or is it getting louder?) “You’ll never guess who that was! Come on, it’ll only take a second!”

I give in to my basest impulses, gingerly perching on the edge of the living room chair for what I tell myself will only be a minute. Before I know it, I’m hunched over, my neck is killing me, and an hour has gone by. The wet clothes are sitting in a lump in the washing machine, and whatever it was that I was cooking is permanently stuck to the bottom of the frying pan.

Currently, I’ve got six Words With Friends games going at once. I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s true — I’m not at all monogamous when it comes to Words With Friends. I started out that way, but it was too easy to get involved with other people, especially when the sneaky little matchmaking devil-game matches you up with equally addictive personalities. As of today, I’m playing two games at once with my husband (I’m beating him at both), plus one with my nephew, two with my sisters, and one with a total stranger. We are having unprotected Words.

I really don’t have the physical stamina for six games at once (my neck will need a chiropractor soon) and the mental strain is wearing me down. Not only is it frustrating when I have all vowels or all consonants, but think of my anguish when I have the letter Q, but no U! The only Q-word I know of that doesn’t require a U is QI. I once tried to cheat by placing Q next to L (it looks so much like an I), but the nasty little program was on to me in a nanosecond, spitting a damning indictment across the bottom of the screen:

“QL is not a valid word.”

“Says who?” I spit back, but it was pointless. You can’t argue with its stupid little dictionary (which, by the way, just let my sister play “FE”). According to the game, FE is a word because it’s the periodic table symbol for iron. Well, if I’d known that chemical symbols were allowed, I would have played LSD a long time ago.

Then there are the moral dilemmas. Do you let your nephew win? Do you play the word “dildo” against your mother? Do you cry foul when your sister makes the word “Texas”? And why does the program allow Texas, but not Iraq?

And think of the hours I’ve wasted! I could have been doing something more productive today, like taking a shower, but instead I sat around and made ridiculous overtures with non-words like “da” and “bal.” I tried looking “bal” up already, so save yourself the time. It’s supposedly short for “balmoral,” a Scottish hat. Did you ever hear anyone, Scottish or otherwise, refer to a “bal”? If someone collects hats in Scotland, do you say that they have a lot of bals? I don’t think so! But Words With Friends gave me 14 points for making that dirty little word. Against my sister! I felt guilty pressing “play” after I made the word “bal,” but I couldn’t stop myself.

I can see why Alec Baldwin refused to give up his phone while playing Words With Friends on that airplane. It’s hard to hang up on your friends. OMG, I just realized how ridiculous I sound. I think I need an intervention.

Do you suppose if I just switched addictions — say, to blogging — I’d be better off? Because I think I’m getting addicted to that, too. In fact, right now I’ve got a daily habit, and I think it’s going to be hard to cut down. Speaking of which, I have to come up with an idea for tomorrow’s blog post. But first … I hear something buzzing at me. Gotta go!

Badge 2017

So Many Questions

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Dear Cheer Peppers,

What’s all this talk about Nano Poblano?

Why am I hearing about it just now?

Who are these peppers so chatty and cheerful?

Where do I upload my writing, and how?

One post a day for a month – are you crazy?

How can I manage to fit all that in?

What if I’m stranded on some desert island

Or dressing a turkey, or driving? What then?

Do I sound anxious? A bit apprehensive?

Am I afraid I’m not up to the task?

Yes, yes, and yes are my own honest answers

(To say otherwise would be too much to ask.)

Don’t get me wrong, I admire your focus

Your writing commitment is stunning and brave

But me, I’ll admit that I’m often quite scattered

Besides, I don’t think I have that much to say.

But hey, what the heck. I’m a sucker for challenge

Just dare me to do it and do it I’ll try

So I’m dipping my toe in the great Nano River

I’ll sink or I’ll swim but I won’t come out dry.

The water’s refreshing! I feel so much better!

Is that my reflection? And is that a smile?

I’m wading in now on the first of November

Please throw me a pencil; I’ll be here a while.

Badge 2017

Happy Nano Poblano Eve

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Hello Halloween, goodbye sanity. Starting tomorrow, and for the next thirty days, I’ll be immersed in Nano Poblano. Wish me luck!

What is Nano Poblano, you ask? I asked myself the same question after stumbling upon it on the blogosphere about a month ago. Turns out, it’s a thing. A blogging thing. And it’s been going on for at least a few years. The short explanation is that bloggers challenge themselves to post every day during the month of November, instead of every once in a while when inspiration hits them. (The longer explanation by rarasaur, is here. It’s an interesting read.)

Nano Poblano is meant to help writers connect with other writers, hone their writing skills, and maybe — just maybe — attract a few interested readers who love reading their blog. That sounds good on paper, but writing thirty posts in thirty days may kill me (or destroy my marriage). I’m not sure I’ll be able to produce the goods. But, to quote Stuart Smalley (a.k.a. Senator Al Franken): “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and – gosh darn it – people like me!” At least that’s what my husband tells me. So If I’m still alive and married on November 30, I’ll just post a big smiley face on December 1.

What will YOU be doing in November?

Badge 2017

Your Sneak Preview

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Go on … admit it. You’re curious about my new e-book, Standing in the Surf, available at Amazon.com. Well, look no further. What you see below is none other than the Introduction, in all its introductory glory! And just because you’re here, and I like you, from now until November 30 I’ll send you a link so you can view the entire book for FREE in the hopes that you’ll write a review. To get your free link, just fill out the contact form at the bottom of this post. And please don’t forget to leave a review on the Amazon page, here. THANKS!

AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO … the INTRODUCTION:

Recently, I retired. Wanting to give my friends at work a parting gift, I wrote an amusing (to me) song called “Just Retired.” At my retirement luncheon, I handed out the lyrics and invited everyone to stand up and sing along with me. The melody was vaguely familiar — in fact, I might have stolen it — so my kind co-workers humored me by joining in. They even gave me a standing ovation, since they already were standing. (I recorded the song and put it on YouTube. You can listen to it right now.)

Did you like the part where I sang about how I’d soon be sleeping till nine or ten every day, and then I’d sit around like a lazy bum collecting Social Security? Well, I lied. I’m not one to sit around for very long. In fact, just one week after I retired, I became a traveling fool.

First, I visited my family in upstate New York, and then I flew to Seattle, where my husband Chuck was visiting his family. He’d rented a cabin on nearby Whidbey Island, in the area known as the Salish Sea. We thought it would be a great place to unwind. Ocean waves and hiking trails were just what I needed to get back in touch with life’s natural rhythms after years of Monday through Friday routines. We spent three weeks exploring the area. This book is my attempt to capture what I experienced at Whidbey Island, Camano Island, Stanley Park, and Vancouver Island during that time.

Speaking of rhythms, Chuck and I used to play music in a band called Pacific Buffalo. (You can read about us and hear our music at pacificbuffalo.com.) The reason I’m telling you about our band is so that I can explain how I came up with the title for this book.

“Standing in the Surf” is a combination of ”Standing Still” and “Old Man in the Surf,” two songs that Chuck wrote and that Pacific Buffalo recorded (as I’m sure you already know if you wisely decided to listen to our music). I was having a hard time creating a book title on my own. Since plagiarism had worked so well for me when I wrote my retirement song, I just borrowed a few words from Chuck’s song titles and told him about it later.

Although this book does contain actual photos of surf (most of which I took while standing), there are even more pictures of other things, like flowers, trees, people, and animals. To me, it’s all connected — just my way of expressing what it felt like, finally, to be free of the ringing alarm clock and to listen to nature’s heartbeat instead. It’s there in the pounding of the surf, but it’s also in the hiker’s footsteps, the squirrel’s chatter, and the petal’s unfolding.

This book can be read in either a standing, sitting, or lying down position. I don’t recommend reading it while surfing, though, unless you’re reading the e-book version and your device is waterproof.

Lori Bonati-Phillips, 2017

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Standing in the Surf

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For those of you who stayed tuned from my previous post (Trials and Tribulations of an E-book Author), I’m here to tell you that I was finally successful in formatting my photo book (Standing in the Surf) and uploading it to Amazon as an e-book. It went up on their website two days ago as a pre-order option, and went “live” today. So far I have sold 3 copies, one of which I bought myself just to see if the system was working, and one was purchased by my husband. Whoever buyer number 3 is, I wish I could hug you and buy you dinner, but I don’t know who you are.

I’ll get this out of the way right now:

If you want to buy the book, click here!

The “Look Inside This Book” feature also went live today, but wasn’t formatted correctly for an iPad or iPhone. It did look okay on my desktop computer, though. As far as I can tell, there’s no way to disable that feature or fix it once it’s been added. I decided to just be thankful for the little progress I’ve made and move on.

Being the masochist that I am, though, moving on meant trying to make my e-book into a paperback. I’ll spare you the nightmarish details of what I’ve gone through today to make that happen. Fingers crossed, the paperback will be available soon!