Help Haiti

Prayers for Haiti and... here's a good annotated Guide to Haiti Relief Funds


Welcome to doni_ione, carmen_tourney2, ktr2, and jsuddath.

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Bold Image

On weekday mornings, I pass this building, Unity Church of the Triangle, on the way to my office at the edge of downtown Raleigh, NC.

Every time I see it, I'm affected: by the sharp edges of the white against the sky. It seems to make the sky bluer (and I didn't fool with the color on this photo at all.) I think of it as emboldening, and am happy that it greets me on my route.

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Bold in the Face of Gossip?

A very juicy account of our most recent presidential campaign is released today: Game Change by New York magazine writer John Heilemann and Mark Halperin of Time magazine.

I've only read an excerpt and I won't burden you here with the scorching details, but the intimate material about one failed candidate's family life was pretty stunning.

I started to think about how I'd deal with such a public onslaught. I can well imagine I'd find it devastating. A lot would depend of course on whether what's said is true. But it could be pretty rough either way.

I wondered how people go on, what the principles are for self-management and care in such a situation. I found a bit of good advice on: "How Do You Deal with Gossip that Damages Your Reputation?"


"How do you deal with the gossip? That's simple - you don't. Not at least, as far as defending yourself, against those who are gossiping.

Hold your head high. Live by example and allow the gossip that tarnished your reputation, die a natural death. You don't have to defend yourself or your tattered reputation. Just let it be. Those that know you, won't believe the gossip. Those that do, have issues bigger than yours.

Gossipers can be insidious people and they can become a victim of other gossipers themselves. Gossipers feed on gossip. Today you are the talk of the town - next week it will be somebody else's turn."

I'm quite the gossiper myself these days (whereas as a teenager I was quite high-minded). I don't like the idea of the gossiped-about individuals suffering. But I do love to read scurrilous bits of news.

I thought about this matter back during the Watergate days: how would those implicated face the rest of their lives? Well, they turned out to be amazingly resilient. Getting religion seemed to help a lot. And writing memoirs. And in the case of Bill Clinton, going on heading the ship of state.

If you have other good strategies, I'd be interested in knowing. My next novel--which will someday emerge--is a trifle shocking.

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Wading Through Mud Today

I've noticed that there's a rhythm to my productivity and my get-up-and-go. Mud-wading periods are followed by flying-faster-than-light periods when most things are easy. The mud periods inevitably feel to me like a failure of nerve: as if timidity were slowing me down. This may not be true at all; it may be just a cycle, like waking and sleeping.

Today I was having my monthly cafeteria lunch with four mystic-philosophers I know (the group I refer to as Mystic Pizza). One of these wise individuals said that her theme for the year was Confronting the Resistance.

The idea of The Resistance comes from the excellentWar of Art book/CDs by Steven Pressfield. The Resistance is the great invisible force that can get between any of us and the good that we intend to do.

My friend's resolve/theme isn't to beat the Resistance every time. Instead it's to recognize when she's justifying not doing the right thing and instead make a conscious decision about which way to go.

For example, she finds herself saying: I'll go to the Y and work out after I finish this Sudoku. But she knows that what she needs is exercise and not more mental games. Her resolve is to simply acknowledge that exercise is the right decision and decide yes or no. I'll do the right thing and get moving. Or, I'm going to sit here and do this puzzle because I want to.

Her idea is to acknowledge when she's using gradual procrastinating rationalizations and instead admit that she's making a choice, on the probably correct theory that this awareness will lead to making good decisions more often.

I think she's on to a good plan. Maybe I should decide to wade through mud for the rest of the afternoon--doing easy things slowly. It would at least be better than brow-beating myself. (If I had a resolution for this New Year, it would be no berating myself.)

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Losing Mum and Pup: A Brave Book

In the last 24 hours, I've read Christopher Buckley's memoir, Losing Mum and Pup, about the deaths of his parents William and Pat Buckley.

William F. Buckley Jr., as you know doubt know, was the conservative who used big words on Firing Line and wrote several dozen books and created National Review. I long admired his intelligence and style and wit and devotion to his faith, though I disagreed with him politically almost entirely. I've tended to refer to any thoughtful conservative as Buckleyesque.

Son Christopher, himself the author of 14 books, is a writer I'd seen interviewed by Jon Stewart and knew as the author of Thank You for Smoking (saw the movie) but had never read until now. I'm soon to read the rest of him.

His memoir about the loss of his parents--his mother Pat Buckley as interesting a character as his famous father--is as loving as a story can be, though it has been criticized for how much it reveals. It is also as funny a book as I've ever read. It feels tremendously honest.

This is not a full-blown review; I'm not going back through the book finding examples to quote to prove my points. I simply want to congratulate Christopher Buckley on his courage and balance, and to say to anyone who may have so far missed the book: Read It. I'll think of him whenever, in my work, I fear I'm losing my nerve.

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Eating Dessert Instead

"Eat Dessert First" is a classic bit of tongue-in-cheek advice. I've arrived at a guilt-free variation on this for special days: skipping boring proteins, etc., and going straight for a dessert that I've long eyed.

Last night (to review: it was my 61st b'day) for dinner, I ate Oh, My God, Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie at Daniels Restaurant in Apex, NC, where I live. I've eaten there a number of times--but after a platter of pasta, peanut butter pie seems drastically unwise.

I can now happily report: this particular delectable is an excellent celebration. And I'm thrilled with my new manner of celebrating. (26th anniversary in December was Chocolate Chip Cookie Molten Cake at Chili's)



Welcome to: You Like and Qalinx.

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Rising to a New Level as a Blogger

I've been attacked!

I'm so excited!

In my reading about blogging, I've often run across the suggestion that an ambitious blogger post an attack on someone well-known to create some controversy.

So I attacked Sarah Palin--with total sincerity--but didn't see my star rise any higher as a result.

Now, out of the blue, I find that someone named Swan Fungus finds my latest post about setting up my new DVD to be uninspiring.

I believe that this means I'm a celebrity and able to boost the careers of others, which I am happy to do. Add to that the fact that today is my 61st birthday and it's obvious why I'm feeling pretty festive. Gotta think of an extra-bold celebration.

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Small Personal Triumphs

This morning I installed the new DVD player that my husband and I gave each other for Christmas. (It only arrived a couple of days ago; I haven't been procrastinating that long) It was really pretty simple to do; took only about ten minutes from package ripping to hearing the familiar ringing tones of the HBO opening sequence.

But it required venturing into the wiry hell behind our TV. We have cords back there from several earlier generations of add-ons. And tapes and other archaic information forms, as well as the dust to which they returneth.

I waited for a clear head and full daylight to tackle it.

Then presto! the intriguing Gabriel Byrne and the second disc of the series In Treatment burst onto the screen.

Getting that thing working gave me a burst of the "Outward Bound" effect: if I can plug in an electronic device, then by damn I can do most anything.



Welcome to Chic Design and awindyhill!

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The Power of Announcing a Specific Goal

Welcome to Katrina and good luck on your resolution: 30 pounds off in 80 days. http://trina-80days30lbsisitpossible.blogspot.com/.

I think that your announcing your goal as you have is going to help make it happen. I have no doubt about it: you're going to accomplish this. Keep us up on how it goes.

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Boldly Loyal to My Claxton Fruitcake

I adore Claxton fruitcake. Not everyone does. Some of my subtle, understated friends give me a hard time about this preference (also for milk chocolate over the bitter stuff.)

I have boldly refused to back down. This year I was given bars of my favorite cake by both my mother and my friend Carrie. A week and a half after Christmas, I have perhaps a quarter of one of them left.

Why do I love it so? I find it superbly dense and moist and fruity and nutty (70% fruit and nuts)and it has a faintly liqueur-like taste that I love (which probably comes from the orange and lemon included).

Also, if you hold a slice up to the light, it looks like stained glass. Tell me one other cake that can make that claim.


Sticking by my fruitcake publicly is good practice for taking larger stands, I think.

In an earlier post here "Stay Loyal to your Writing Passions", I repeated a story I heard writer Ray Bradbury tell on a crossing on the Queen Elizabeth 2. It was about his going back to the love that had gotten him so much ridicule in fifth grade. It was that enduring interest that made his career and allowed him to do his best work.

I don't know that fruitcake is going to do that for me. But who knows? And, like I say, it's good practice.


I hope you had a good holiday. I've been a nonblogger for two weeks, longest away ever, and I come back much refreshed.

Welcome to Mary, Lori, Muhammad, Harriet, Adityakiran, Edgington, and Shellelori.

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The Home-Made Too-Tall Cheery Tree

Here's the tree I posted about yesterday.

Never said I was a designer, just a lumberjack.

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"Don't Let the Calendar Kick You Around"

This was my brother Franc's tongue-in-cheek advice when I was expressing myself this morning on the seasonal frenzy. He said: "Don't let the calendar kick you around."

Hearing that bold bit of wisdom, I realized I had already taken action to beat the calendar at its game. Bob and I decided this weekend that we'd celebrate our Christmas on New Year's Eve. Two birds with one stone.

If others have ideas about how to dodge the rigid expectations of the Gregorian year, do share.

And welcome to jpartch47, rudaras, and haii.

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One Step at a Time

Alcoholics Anonymous has a bumper-sticker slogan: "One Day at a Time."

Best approach to holidays, in my view, is to have a much shorter term goal: One Step at a Time.

I just now sawed down a Christmas tree (we live in the woods) and hauled it into the house. As is often the case, my eyes were bigger than my den, and I brought in a monster whose top is now bowed by the ceiling at the highest point in the room. I plan to leave it that way. I think it's interesting. Want to argue about it?

At any rate, the Christmas-tree-in-house step is now checked off. And that is rather satisfying. It's also going to be magnificent when I'm done.

Thursday, I went to a 7 person holiday party--my writing group of 27 years--and our leader suggested that we go around the circle and each take a turn griping. It was wonderful, and got into some pretty intimate and interesting and hilarious stuff. I felt we were all closer, and that's what holidays are all about.

A paradoxical approach to holiday joy--I thought it very bold of her to suggest. Though, frankly, when asked to gripe, I had trouble doing it. Finally I managed to say that I'm working too hard; but then blew it by adding that I was enjoying the work.

So anyway, revised secret of holiday happiness: one step at the time with time allowed for complaining. Maybe at that time all the gripes will simply evaporate as mine did.

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Waking Up

Small triumphs are important to acknowledge to ourselves -- and all of cyberspace, of course.

Shining example: I got up this morning in time to get my car to the fixer by 8:45. Usually, I sleep from about 1:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m.

But maybe rising at 7 doesn't qualify as small; this is probably closer to huge and should be wildly celebrated as such.

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Sailing into Stress-Free Holidays

So how's the holiday prep going? And getting all the work done before daring to take time off? Still staying calm, happy, festive, and organized?

One thing at a time, I tell myself.

I seem to have gotten the idea this year that if I simply buy enough boxes of Christmas cards and sheets of stamps, that my part of the season's festivities will be taken care of. I'll let you know how this strategy works.


Welcome to Jasmine, Izzy Bell, and Thundercloud.

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Psychotherapy at Home

My psychologist husband Bob told me a few weeks ago that he now knew how to help me stop clenching my teeth at night.

Yesterday we took on that project, which involved first about a half an hour interview (what was the most frightening moment in my life? angriest moment in my life? etc) and then about an hour and a half of hypnotic altered state during which I was floating around in my entire history/memory/imagination.

My inner experiences ranged from a fire that occurred when I was ten days old to the current plight of Tiger Woods and a whole lot in between. I won't try to explain all that or burden you with details. But it was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.

I don't know yet whether I stopped clenching my teeth, since I do it only in my sleep. But time will tell that. And I felt so good this morning that I didn't care about that at all. It was a tremendous lightening for me. And I felt happy with us both. It felt to me like a fairly bold undertaking for him and for me.

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Brava, Paddy!!

In case you're feeling too old for an adventure, check out the salsa of 75 year old Paddy Jones, if you haven't already.

She's dancing on Tu Si Que Vales, a Spanish reality/talent/dancing program.

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Boldly Brunching --and at Length

This morning was the Christmas brunch with five other women I've been getting together with for 34 to 39 years. Always fun and this one for no particular reason was particularly so.

This time instead of getting each other bath products, etcetera, we each gave some money to some good cause. Mine was to pay for all school fees and books for a very underprivileged Indian child for a year.

In spite of having co-authored The Healing Power of Doing Good, I'm not naturally a great do-gooder, much more prone to trying to paddle my own canoe without making trouble for anybody. That has changed some since I collaborated on that book. (We teach what we need to learn.)

And I do have a special interest in India, and was so often surrounded and followed by poor kids there, wanting rupees and to know "what is your country." So I can visualize such a child. And I do find it satisfying, far more so than a more generic "good thing" I might have chosen.

My mother arranged for me to sponsor an Indian child at Christmas one year. I liked that, but didn't feel it as directly.

Anyway, the breakfast was fun -- brie crepes for me -- and I already feel the holiday is well celebrated.

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Boldness and Keeping On

I've been posting less the last few weeks because I've been working extremely hard. Didn't want you to think it was because my boldness was flagging.

I grew up in a retailing family, and December was the time of most intense work; so that feels normal. As a writer/editor/critiquer/consultant, I've found that December is either madly busy or very quiet. People either want things finished by Christmas or they don't have time to get stuff to me until the first of the year. This is one of the busy years, which I prefer.

Writers often like to talk about what a hard line of work we're in: having to figure out how to make money and strive for immortal art at the same time. Once I heard writer Tim McLaurin respond on a panel to a comment about how hard the writing career is. He said, "Well, it is, and so is driving a Pepsi truck, which was what I was doing before."

I've come to think there aren't any smooth and easy lines of work. Which is why we need to keep the boldness muscles toned. As well as the keep-going, resilience muscles. Hats off to all those who are currently in the most intense period of the teaching semester.

Welcome to new regulars, Aimee Westbrook and Sue Ivy.

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Charles Dickens Worries About His Sales

The New York Times City Room blog is carrying a story on Dickens' handwritten revisions of "A Christmas Carol." This post "A Christmas Rewrite" by Alison Leigh Cowan is a companionable reminder that we all have to revise--and Dickens made at least one major after the copy had gone to the printer.

I was mainly struck by the fact that he wrote this lovable classic, about a cold-hearted rich man who turns generous, under financial pressure himself.

"At the time "A Christmas Carol" was written, Dickens feared for his own future. He had six children to feed, a large house in London to maintain and a lavish lifestyle. Christmas was approaching. Yet the work he was then producing, a few chapters at a time, “Martin Chuzzlewit,’’ was not selling as well as earlier installments of “The Pickwick Papers” or “Nicholas Nickleby.” Bitterly, he confided to a friend that his bank account was bare."

He turned out his Christmas story just in time for the season, but in spite of its golden future, it fared dismally financially that year.

Good (emboldening) to remember these stories, especially knowing the happy ending.

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Party Time

My friend Carrie throws more parties in a year than the total number I attend in the same period. (She's the same one who started an international music festival in Raleigh.)

This afternoon I'm popping in at an affair in which she has long been a/the major sponsor: the 17th annual Boylan Heights Arts Walk. It's a neighborhood-wide juried arts fair that draws some quite good artists, including at least one represented in the NC Museum of Art (a very big deal), and a range of fine work in glass-blowing, clothing design, ceramics, photography, cabinetry, basket-making, jewelry, sculpture, weaving. Etc.

Who wouldn't go to this, you say?

Alright, I'm going at least this one more time, even though it's forty minutes from my house and I've been half a dozen years before and my leisure time impulse is usually to stay home and read and weed (or rake). And I'll have a good time and probably pick up a Christmas present or two.

But I'm still an introvert! Even though I talk a lot and spill a great deal! And that's okay!

At least it's not raining.


And welcome to Aysha Nasser, photographer and sometime student of Hindi. Is there anyone I've forgotten to welcome to the regulars club here? Let me know and I'll say a double welcome.

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An Encouraging, Emboldening Movie for Writers and Other Passionate Persisters

I was slow to go to see Julie and Julia. I'm not a cook. And the movie is, as you likely know, about a blogger named Julie who spends a year cooking every recipe in Julia Child's grand-opus cookbook.

But last night it was on at the $1.50 theatre, and Husband Bob (who is a sometime cook)and I went. And I am so glad I saw it.

It's an extraordinary movie. It shows the writing/publishing process as well as I've seen a movie do it. Even though it collapses and summarizes the years and stages involved, it's true to the difficulties and triumphs. When Julia Child finally gets her first copy of her first book in hand, I felt more intense emotion, (seemingly) on her behalf than in comparable moments in my own life.

There's a reason it was purer joy for J. Child. The movie--thank God!--didn't show all the correcting of proofs and bound galleys, etc. that come before that point. So her book seemed to rise full-blown from her manuscript.

Still...the heart of the matter was there. As well as a demonstration of her long struggle and tenacity and passion.

I was dripping tears in the theatre. And, though maybe there's no connection, tripped just outside afterwards and fell to the pavement like a rag doll. Wasn't hurt or troubled by this, and didn't bother to jump right up either. Just let Bob haul me to my feet and went on with whatever I'd been saying.

At any rate, it was all very cathartic and I felt so proud of both Julie and Julia and of all of us.

And that includes new regulars here: Hidup Lenang, annakate, and Mikki Aby. Welcome!

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Getting Rich

I just wrote a perfectly nice post on this subject with lots of links, hit Publish, and the text disappeared totally, nowhere to be found.

Here's roughly what it said. The Dallas Morning News has a story today that says: Wanna feel rich? Give.

The story cited the book I co-authored with Allan Luks: The Healing Power of Doing Good, which says that helping other people feels good and is good for your health. And you don't even have to be super-bold to do it.

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Boldly Took a Break

I didn't even blog during the second half of my week at Rancho La Puerta. That's how engaged I was in what was going on right there.

Now I'm back at my desk in Raleigh, reorienting. Feels a bit strange not to be spending the day in yoga clothes.

More later.

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Wednesday Wisdom

It's midweek here in my term as novelist-in-residence in heaven (Rancho La Puerta spa in Tecate, Mexico)and I've had several bits of personal enlightenment.

*A few months ago I posted about having a contrarian tendency, so often wanting to play the wrong card for a situation, taking some perverse delight in that. Sometime yesterday, I got a sense that that is changing. And, for a change, that would be alright with me.

*I discovered in a yoga class yesterday how little I listen. Maybe I was feeling particularly foggy but I think I heard about a third of the directions. I did a shoulderstand with my shoulders in the wrong place in relation to the blanket and the teacher came over and hoisted me by the legs as if he were pulling a tree out of the ground and moved me (upside down) to a slightly new location. As you can imagine, this experience will probably stay with me.

*I find myself taking in compliments. This is, for me, a really nice change.

*I'm not pushing myself to work out as hard as usual and I'm not troubled by this.

*The thought has come to my mind: stop fighting. This feels like a good thing, not at all a backing down from my ambitions but more of a lighter touch maybe.

*I'm older than I was in 2007 when I last was here (at 58). I'm more wiped out from a morning with a mountain hike and two exercise classes than I was then--and more wrinkled in the unsparing light of this Mexican sun on my bathroom mirror. (But I can still do the intense morning! and there's a 91 year old woman in my writing classes who is lively and vital and setting me a good example here)

It has been an excellent first half of the week.

Also, I have shot some photos, as requested, but I forgot my camera and am struggling to figure out sending from a borrowed camera phone. I hope to get them here eventually. In the meantime, the link to Rancho above goes directly to a photo-tour of the place.

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Spa Teaching

This morning I went to three exercise classes: one working out with a heavy bar, next circuit training, then an hour and a half of Iyengar yoga.

This afternooon,as novelist-in-residence for the week at Rancho La Puerta spa in Tecate, Mexico, I taught my writing class. Teaching the class took more out of me than all the hopping and hoisting and yog-ing.

Teaching is the most demanding thing I ever do that I can do. I once tried to learn how to sell mortgages and that was simply beyond me. Almost no one wanted to rely on my wisdom on the subject of mortgages.

My brand of bold is teaching. It's the thing that feels scariest of the things I actually am capable of. Which is my definition of bold.

What activity takes you to the place where possible meets demanding? Or do you have lots of them?

(Other good adventures in the last 24 hours included a concert of Tibetan sacred music which the audience of about 100 listened to lying down.

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Adventure Is What We're Not Used To

First full day at Rancho La Puerta in Mexico, the spa where I'm teaching writing this week.

Yesterday after leaving leafy North Carolina in the morning, I was on a bus by early afternoon from the San Diego airport to the Mexican town of Tecate (yes, they make Tecate beer here) Suddenly in sun and mountains and TV Western country. At least that's what it looks like to me, because I'm not accustomed to this kind of boulder-strewn brown mountain land. As I hiked this morning the mountain tops looked like Nutty Buddys rising out of the clouds. Nothing could be more exotic.

Catching sight from the road yesterday of a coyote standing out in a field was thrilling.

What I'm also not used to is how much exercise I get here. It's precisely 10 a.m. and I've already taken a 3.5 mile hike,half of it going up, and a level 2 Sculpt and Strengthen class. I'm skipping a Nia class to rest and post, mainly rest.

I love this adventure. And the feeling of pushing my usual limits a bit.

This afternoon the group I lead is Wordplay.



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Bold Benares #11

A Hindu holy man, or sadhu, is usually identifiable by orange robes. Generally such people have left home to pursue an ascetic religious life, owning only what they carry. On the Ganges bank in Varanasi (setting of my novel Sister India), a holy man or two is sometimes available, for a few rupees, to look after your sandals and belongings while you bathe in the river. Some of these holy men are considerably holier than others but it doesn't appear to be an easy life for any.


Tomorrow I head to Tecate, Mexico to teach writing for a week (and do yoga)at the idyllic Rancho La Puerta spa. I'll be there over Thanksgiving and I'm indeed thankful: Conde Nast Traveler readers have voted it one of the best three spas in the world. I'll be popping in here to report.

And a welcome to this blog to Padma Pillai. I hope you'll visit often.

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Bold Benares #10

This rickshaw in Benares, or Varanasi, India, represents a variation on "Bloom Where You're Planted." The idea is: "Splash Color Wherever You Roll."

I like to go places where decoration shows up unexpectedly, where the ordinary objects and the unsung corners are turned into something wonderful.

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Bold Benares #9

This is the mosquito net on my bed in Benares, or Varanasi (where--did I mention?--I was doing research for my novel Sister India.) My first few nights there I didn't have one of these, and so many tiny moths were darting around my room in the dark that I pulled the sheet over my head to sleep.

Then the little creatures batted against my pulled-tight sheet in large enough numbers that they sounded like steady soft rain patting just overhead. I was very damn glad to get this spooky-looking rig. Once inside I felt safe from not only moths but wall lizards and any other trials in life.

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Bold Benares #8

What, you might ask, is bold about the Indian city of Benares or Varanasi--(other than being the setting for my novel Sister India)?

It sits by a holy river, the Ganges, which purifies the sins of sunrise bathers, draws millions of devout visitors, and floods regularly high up the city walls. It is the city of Shiva, Hindu god of both creation and destruction. Since it is the auspicious place for a Hindu to die, dead bodies carried on stretchers are a steady traffic. It is believed to be a microcosm of "sacred India"and the first created bit of land, the Hindu Eden. It's the world's oldest continually inhabited city. The gods themselves bathe in the water here. That's a lot to live up to.

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Bold Benares #7

Another of my favorites from Varanasi (or Benares) where I spent a winter doing research for my novel Sister India. I like it because of the angle of the light, the feeling of motion, and again the sisterhood image of the two women. And the red.

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Bold Benares #6

Some culvert pipes are left on the street for construction and quickly turn into a market, a little strip shopping center. I love the enterprise and ingenuity of this.

This is at the market area called Dashashvamedh in Varanasi. This central site turns up in my novel Sister India. It's the point of reference for most explorations of this city. The marigold garlands are for celebration of a Hindu holy day.

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Bold Benares #5

This man, Sakhai Prasad, was my model for the character of Ramesh in my novel Sister India. Like Ramesh, Sakhai was an innkeeper; he was the cook and manager of the two bedroom guest flat where I spent my three months in Varanasi (or Benares).

I think he's the only real-life model I ever used for a fictional character. I needed that kind of help, though, to write from an Indian's point-of-view. He and I were locked up in curfew in the flat for the two weeks that Varanasi was shut down by riots during my visit. He spoke little English and I spoke only a few words of Hindi. Still I felt we'd had full conversations.

You writers among us, do your characters come to you or do you base them on particular people or combinations of people?

(Welcome, BTW, to Judy and to Jewon An in South Korea. One of my stepsons is teaching English now at a university in South Korea, so I feel a special connection there.)

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Bold Benares #4

An original mattress factory. There's something satisfying about seeing daily objects made by humans, knowing that it can be done.

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Bold Benares #3

This photo, taken in one of the wider of the narrow alleys, called galis, of Varanasi, is part of the reason I called my novel Sister India. The other reason was that my good friend Usa who lived in the flat across the stair landing from me said that I was her Indian sister, which meant a lot to me.

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Bold Benares #2

This intersection is the site of a crucial moment in my novel Sister India. Jill is riding a rickshaw that is trapped in a traffic jam beside a political demonstration that seems on the verge of erupting into violence.

I did have that experience myself at this spot. I briefly considering walking across the bars and bench backs of rickshaws to get out of there. There was no space between the wheels to walk on the pavement. But the rickshaw traffic jam broke. Violence in Varanasi, also called Benares, didn't break out until a few days later.

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Bold Benares

I shot this photo of a water taxi on the Ganges during the winter I spent in Benares (also called Varanasi) doing research for my novel Sister India.

I'm starting a series of photos here that I took during that trip, one of the bolder adventures of my life. The two-bedroom guest flat where I stayed was maybe a third of a kilometer into the city from the riverbank, where people bathed away their sins at the moment of sunrise.

This city is often considered the holiest for Hindus; to die here means being released from the cycle of rebirth.

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The Courage of Athletes

If you ever feel worn out from long effort on any project--like finishing a book--a look at these photos can put that into perspective.

They're from the ESPN sports magazine's body issue and show the wear and tear and hyperdevelopment of the bodies of athletes.

These show what trying hard looks like when it's physical. They make typing feel pretty easy.

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Sin Boldly

My Halloween costume:















Photo by husband Bob Dick.

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Bold Costume

Tonight's the night.

Here's my rig.

It's not too late for you to break out yours.

Clue: try the Goodwill. I found my ensemble at the Apex, NC, location for six bucks. I think that boils down to a millionth of a penny per shiny red dot.

And so the devil walks tonight!

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Go To O!

At the recommendation of Anonymous on the previous post, I just read a stunning article by a brave woman. "I Will Never Know Why" is Susan Klebold's story of living with the fact that her son committed murder-suicide at Columbine High School.

This is one full-time brave woman. I hope her telling the story is helpful to her.

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Why All Comparisons Are Odious

The business about comparing people being bad is a cliche.

Ever wonder why?

It's because it's always apples and oranges. There are no equivalent situations. Even identical twins growing up in the same house have different aims and different sets of problems to solve.

I think we all know that at a gut level. But it's easy to forget, especially in the case of self-judgments.

The practice of measuring is "odious" because it's always inaccurate. When I do it, it simply distracts me from doing the things I need to do while here on Earth.

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Big Courage and Little Courage

My friend with an ovarian tumor had surgery yesterday, and the news was: BENIGN.

What a huge relief, and wash of gratitude.

It occurred to me that in the challenges in life that require the most courage, we have no choice but to proceed.

It's with the easier stuff--hang-gliding, public speaking, returning tricky phone calls--that we have a choice and can get wobbly. Maybe we should remember that when it comes to courage: we're all marathoners. That very recognition could make the easier stuff easier.

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Boldly Unwinding

Seems that letting go of the usual self-imposed structure leads to some serious sleeping. Not what I expected, but entirely predictable.

I've always found that as long as I work intensely, I don't get sick. Colds, etc., happen after deadlines. And that can make a person delay in letting up.

But pressing on and on is ultimately counterproductive, personally and professionally. Right now I'm finding this going-slack business really nice.

Religion and politics blogger Doug Muder has a wonderful post on this subject called The Stages of Rest.

Note: when I glanced back at the title of this post just now, I read it as Bodily Unwinding. Of course, it's more than that.

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Boldly Taking a Day Off

Been overworking for about a year. This morning I woke up, knew I didn't have a deadline or an appointment today, and decided against doing anything terribly productive until Monday. (Email and blogging don't count)

So I'm having Ferris Bueller's day off. Husband Bob has been rambling about with me; he's half-retired and already had the day off. We've poked around in Carrboro, the Paris of the South: thrift shops, used books, a camera store, a bead store (he was patient), a run through McDonald's for sweet tea, now the Chapel Hill Library. Soon a Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant (the Fiesta Grill, which seats 13) that's supposed to be amazingly good. (There's nothing like warm gooey cheese in my estimation.)

Probably Bernanke will announce early next week that my taking a day off is yet another sign of the receding recession.

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Bold Color

What is it about orange that makes it a "bolder" color than the others? Bolder even than red. A field of pumpkins for example, is much more vibrant than a great pile of cucumbers or eggplant.

There's probably some optical reason.

In the absence of knowing what that might be, I dare to guess: orange arrives at the eye sooner than indigo? there's less orange in the typical background? it has some innate charisma?

My hope is that when I figure it out, I'll know something about forthrightness that I didn't know before.

My research turns up the following:
About.com says the color is mentally stimulating, less aggressive than red, sociable, and associated with change.

Color expert Kate Smith says orange is more controversial than any other color; people have strong feelings about it one way or another. Also, it's fun and flamboyant. (I think we know what side she's on.)

Orange is the color linked with the second chakra, which is in turn associated with creativity and sex, happiness and courage.

Got anything orange in your closet?

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This Has Nothing To Do With Boldness

This is an example of why we sometimes grind our teeth and then rush to watch Jon Stewart. This is a reminder (as if it were needed) that sometimes we are beyond the reach of caricature and satire. Here is an actual quote from an online help desk individual who couldn't answer my question.

"...Your concern will need to be taken care by the Concerned department."

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The Ultimate Adventure

My writing group is showing its age, as one of our number pointed out last week. The group has been meeting on Thursday afternoons for 26 years and we weren't kids when we started.

Recently one of the gang said she would in the future be coming only very occasionally. She has a serious chronic ailment that limits her mobility. Another has a pacemaker and continuing heart trouble. One wears hearing aids. Yet another has some surgery scheduled for Monday and I had a round of that myself a few years ago.

We range in age now from 51 to 71, and have been lucky so far. No deaths. No malignancies unless you count a wee skin cancer, which I don't (and it was mine, so I get to decide.) I'm 60 and have dodged all large bullets so far.

It's a truism that "old age is not for sissies." No kidding. Getting old is an adventure of the tallest sort. Much more dangerous than rock-climbing, for example. Harder to beat than any casino.

I don't want to rush it, of course. I do have a sense of calling here on Earth, to tell particular stories. I know that's grandiose, but it helps me plan my time. I'd like to get further along with my assignment before having to quit. I'd also like a bestseller or two, but that's a different adventure.

The important thing about the aging adventure so far is that it's a team sport, much better done with friends. My writing group, which BTW has produced quite a good pile of good books with more to come, is "in it for the long haul," including any who have to come only occasionally. I'm proud of this bold set of pals.

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A Procedural Question

I've had report that it has recently been hard/confusing/impossible to leave a comment here.

If you've had such difficulty, would you email me and let me know? ppayne51@cs.com.

Thanks.

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