That Voice . . .
You know that little voice inside your head?
The voice behind the wagging finger?
The one that tells you want you should be doing…or should have done? Well, my little voice was talking all kinds of trash.
It may or may not have been why I was doing the OJ through JFK Thursday morning. (By OJ, I don’t mean perhaps stabbing "my" woman or high-speed racing cops down the freeway with the world watching. I mean sprinting through the airport jumping over suitcases ala Samsonite commercials from back when OJ was a rock-starish football hero.)
I was flying from JFK to Burlington, Vermont. My flight was scheduled for 9:10 am. My friend and fellow #VCFA UN (Unreliable Narrator), Cindy Faughnan was picking me up in Burlington.
Looking into the mirror can a dive into the Black Hole…
Excited about the trip, seeing friends, being back with writing friends, I was packed up, alarms—3 of them—set and ready to go with plenty of time, I thought . . .
But. . .
I may have pushed snooze
May have started daydreaming in the shower
May have used the high-magnification side of the make-up mirror—even though I hadn’t allowed time to apply make up at all—which showed a few errant eyebrow bristles that had to be plucked before I could leave. . .
(Where, I ask, was that darn little voice during all of that? It should have been warning me, telling me, hurrying me, but NO. . . )
So, I left home a little later—only 18 minutes—than planned. Big deal, I thought . . .
But. . . a highway lane was closed
Traffic was horrid
There was no gas station after the JFK exit . . .
So, I'm turning off the highway, onto the rental car return street, with about an hour to go before my flight was scheduled to leave. That’s when the little voice pipes up:
“You’re going to miss the flight.”
I’m trying not to listen but . . .
. . . That voice is loud, incessant:
“Why bother?” It’s telling me. “Turn around, find another gas station, fill up your tank, maybe get some breakfast cause there is no way in hell you’re making that flight, lady.”
That niggling little voice was persuasive. I could feel my foot lifting off the accelerator, could feel my arm muscles flex, ready to crank a U-Turn and go back to a gas station.
“La-la-la I don’t hear you,” I said, resigned to not refill the tank. “So, I’ll have to pay the rental car company premium for those few gallons,” I reasoned. “It’s less expensive than missing the flight.” I gunned the engine, roared into the rental car lot, pulled into the car return line. But. . . Where was the attendant? The shuttle bus was pulling away and there was no attendant!!!
“Told you!” said that little voice. “You’re too late. No way can you make the flight, now.”
Oh, yeah? Leaving the keys in, the car idling, I grabbed my suitcases, ran for the shuttle, tossed them inside and was about to ask the driver to call someone, when the attendant ambled out. “I’m going to be late,” I told him. “Please, check me in. Do I have to wait here?” I must have had that look on my face, because he kicked it into high, checked in the car and handed me the receipt before the shuttle door closed. (No questions about the lower fuel—I’m sure I’ll get an email about that soon.)
“Terminal 5,” I said.
The driver said: “You know we don’t go to the terminal. We stop at the Air Train.”
The little voice said:
“Give up already. No way you’re going to make this flight.”
“Yeah, but I can try.”
As that shuttle pulled up to that long, white tunnel leading to the escalator rising up to another escalator, to the Air Train station, with the huge Flight Board where all the flights, terminal numbers, gates, times and flight status posted overhead. And that little voice kept niggling, louder, as I searched the board for my flight where the status column was blinking, flashing in green: BOARDING.
So? So maybe I will miss my flight. But. . . maybe I won’t.
On the Airtrain, I tried using my phone to check-in for my flight, again. (I’d tried checking in 23 hours earlier, but hadn’t been able to.) But this time it did. Which bought me some time—and gave me hope—All I needed to do was get to the gate before boarding closed…
But . . . The Airtrain stop at terminal 5 is a long corridor, 3 escalators, and another long corridor and an escalator down to Check-in and Bag-Drop and there were all sorts of slow-walking, weaving, lagging people not in a hurry between me and checking-in.
And the clock was ticking inside, and my guts were twisting and that little voice was saying:
“You screwed up bad. You are not going to make this flight. Why did you put on make-up? You hadn’t planned for it. Why did you even bother showering? Why did you go to sleep at all? No way are you going to make this flight. . . ”
But . . . Maybe I can.
And maybe out of spite, when I tried to check in for my flight, the check-in kiosks couldn’t read my passport. “Told you,” taunted that little voice.
Shut up, I told it, and tried again, using my name. It worked! But a notice flashed saying it was too late to check bags and asked if I wanted to proceed without checking bags.
“You can’t do that,” said that little voice. “You have 2 bags and a purse. Besides, you probably have liquids in that bag you were going to check, too. You’re gonna get beeped…”
Maybe. Maybe not.
I completed the check-in, took my boarding pass and sped to the TSA pre-check line. The TSA guard was very nice and smiley as he told me my bag was too big, and I had too many, and he didn’t want to lose his job. And that little voice laughed and laughed.
Go on, laugh… I thought, and I didn't budge. I waited, with my eyes, urging the TSA guard to have pity. “Ask one of them to give permission for you to proceed," he said, directing me to the airline counter.
It was minutes until the Gate closed. The security line was long. The little voice was probably right: I was going to miss that flight.
Still, I did as directed. I walked—did not run—over to the Check-in desk. When the attendant asked what I wanted and I started tattling:
“That TSA guard wouldn’t let me go through,” I tattled. . . . “And now I’m going to miss my flight—” If I wasn’t actually, physically pouting, I was mentally, and that Jet Blue agent, may have been somebody’s mother, because she took my boarding pass. “Follow me,” she said, and started toward the long security line. And the now smiling “I’m on your side” TSA guard, waved me through.
“You’re still not going to make it,” that little voice was saying as I hoisted my 3 bags—which included the one I had planned to check that may or may not have liquids inside—onto the security belt.
“This is taking way too long,” that little voice taunted as my purse and boots went through the machine, then my first bag, but stalled with my 2nd bag, my may-have-liquids-or-a-corkscrew-inside-should-have-been-checked bag inside.
“GIVE IT UP!” that little voice hollered, as the security guard hauled my bag over to the machine for manual inspection and to be swabbed for explosives.
That little taunting, niggling, needling voice was making me crazy. But . . .
Even when I looked up at the Flight Status sign and saw a bold, all caps CLOSED sign next to my flight, even though the gate my flight was leaving from was—through the tangled Starbucks line—farthest away, I kept going.
“It’s gone!” that little voice said, “You screwed up. You are a mess. You blew it, sister!” as I passed Starbucks and the Gate sign came into view, and beneath and around it I saw a huge crowd gathered, and my spirits began to lift, my hopes soar: Maybe I hadn’t missed it! They’re still boarding.
“Yeah right…”said the little voice.
And it was right. It wasn’t my gate. The crowd wasn’t for my flight. My gate was the empty gate next to it.
I slowed. Excused my way through the crowd and walked toward the attendant at the empty check-in desk at my gate. She was talking with another woman who might or might not be a passenger—please be a passenger. The gateway door was still open. As I approached with my 2 bags and purse, red-faced and out of breath, cursing that little voice, the attendant motioned that other woman aside. She looked at me and said, “Mrs. Bennett? We’ve been waiting for you.”
That’s the thing about that little voice: It’s gonna talk.
There is not one single thing we can do about that. There’s no way to silence it, either. (At least I can’t. And I’ve tried.)
But, there is something we can do . . .
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION #1: Decide not to listen.
Little Voice Playlist:
Something to Talk About by Bonnie Raitt
Leaving on a Jet Plane by Peter, Paul & Mary
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What Inspires Me? #7 My Go-To Scroll-To
Confession time: What do I do to recharge when my C-Battery is out of juice or way low? What do I do when I’m standing in check out lines? What do I do when I don’t know exactly what to do? Or how to do it? Or just plain don’t want to do it?
What Inspires Me #7
Pinterest is my Go-to Scroll-to for Inspiration, Recreation & . . . Procrastination.
With the holidays over, the temps in the teens and a list of to-dos, what do I do? (Ghostbusters!)
I click over to Pinterest, click on the magnifying glass search button. Input: “vacation with tiny umbrellas” (caps or no caps, spelled correctly or not) and PRESTO! I’m here: Thank you Still Playing School!
When I’m looking for recipes, especially when I have limited ingredients I search: broccoli recipes kids and Presto: It takes me to pins like this from Super Healthy Kids:
When it’s freeeeeeeeezing outside and I’m laminting our should-be-cozy home’s lack of a fireplace I search: Fireplace ideas . . . Presto!
When I’m looking for books to read, share, gift, study (and maybe, just maybe needing affirmation) I go to Pinterest, input Books about fish, don’t find what I need so begin a new search “Books about Pets” and am rewarded with pins like this Vanessa Pre-K Pages
Instagram is inspiring but it goes away or gets buried in new posts. As Deb Gonzales: author, teacher, coach and Pinterest Master says, “Pinterest is evergreen” once a pin is posted, it stays posted. Save it and it stays saved. And dang, Pinterest creators spend zillions of hours creating these inspiring, helpful posts—I know because I try! Here’s my Pinterest page. Go-To Scroll-To!
What Inspires Me? #6 Paper Sculpting
Calvin Nicholls is an artist, a sculpture. His medium of choice: paper.
Paper is my medium of choice, too. I click away on a computer, sure, but as a substitute for paper (and slave to technology) not by choice. Paper is my happy place. I scribble on it, print on it, stack it, cut it, tear it, crumple it—toss it into the recycle bin, too (rarely score a 3-pointer), and while sometimes my paper scribbles inspire art. My paper is not art.
Calvin Nicholls shapes, molds, cuts, transforms paper into art. Just look:
Here’s a cardinal.
Here’s Calvin Nicoll’s cardinal.
What’s so appealing about creating paper sculpture? Here’s a snippet from Calvin Nicholls:
I still recall working on my first bird sculpture and marveled at how my interest in drawing, model making, sculpting and photography blended so beautifully with my life long interest in wildlife and the natural world…Every piece is a discovery of sorts too. I’m always learning with each
new sculpture.
To see more about Calvin Nicolls and read about his process—and see more of his paper sculptures, click over to his website: Calvin Nicolls
What Inspires Me? #5 Flower Bulbs
What comes wrapped in a plain brown wrapper, stirs anticipatory longing, brings lasting smiles but will not prompt a raid from the vice-squad or disapproval from the noisy lady around the corner?
Flower Bulbs!
Flower bulbs are Mother Nature’s winter gifts. When the holidays are over, it’s time to bust out the bulbs!
Amaryllis, hyacinth, daffodils, tulips, grape muscari, paper whites are some tried-and true indoor bloomers. Here’s the link to Holland Bulbs—which are all on sale NOW!
One tiny hyacinth bulb sprouting in the window is a bright spot on the darkest day.
Flowering Bulbs are the most forgiving, best performers of all! I mean it—no matter how black your thumb!
Buy Bulbs: Buy them when you see them…especially on sale! Spring blooming bulbs sold for fall planting are fabulous winter inside bloomers.
Sprouted already, no problem. In a box with a pot? Sure! Without a pot or dirt or directions? Yes! If they are shriveled or squishy? NO
Make sure the bulbs you buy are firm like a crisp apple, not withered, not soft, not moist.
Chill Bulbs: Spring blooming bulbs need to be winterized for 6-8 weeks before planting. So put them in a cool dark place at white wine temp, chilled but not freezing 40-45 degrees. You can plant them and then store them in the dark or you can store the bulbs in a brown paper bag into the fridge. The unused veggie drawer in your fridge is perfect—but not—repeat not—with fruit or they will not bloom. (I keep them away from veggies, too.)
“Plant Bulbs: Hah! More like set them in dirt or dirt substitute such as a bed of rocks, marbles, glass chips, on in a bud vase with water. (Bud vases can be any vessel with a top narrow enough to hold the bulb in place above water.
Teachers! Parents! Grandparents! Plant at least one bulb in a clear long-necked vase as shown in these pictures. The kids, and kid in you, will love watching the roots develop as the bulb sprouts.
ONE is all you need. One bulb in a vase is a focal point. Even one tiny crocus, 2-inch crocus makes a statement. Otherwise, plant in groups—odd numbers 3-5-7
Some Now; Some Later! Just because bulbs come in packets you don’t need to plant them all at once. Pull them out a few at a time for a pop of color. When one begins to bloom, I pull out a new bulb and start it.
Not my manicured nails; not my bulbs either but, definitely daffodil bulbs.
Rule of thumb: Think light bulb in reverse when planting: pointy end up, globe side down.
Daffodil bulbs and others sold in the fall/winter for spring blooming (Like these pictured) NEED to be winterized for 6-8 weeks or they won’t bloom. Take them out of plastic, put them in a paper bag or box and pop them in the wine fridge.
Bulbs sold in box stores as gifts (amaryllis & paperwhites) have already been winterized. If you want to stall blooming, store them. Or plant and watch now!
Teacher Tip: I have teacher friends who use bulbs as a math and science measuring unit—they have the kids measure and chart the growth—especially of amaryllis which, like these shown have 4-foot-long stalks. Amaryllis grow inches in a day…INCHES! Such fun!
Amaryllis coated in wax, like these from TulipWorld, don’t even need water! That’s how forgiving bulbs are!
Plant Bulbs: Hah! More like set them in dirt or dirt substitute such as a bed of rocks, marbles, glass chips, on in a bud vase with water. (Bud vases can be any vessel with a top narrow enough to hold the bulb in place above water.
MIX bulbs if you’d like. The size of the bulb corresponds to the size of the plant and flower. Plant tiny bulbs on the outside, largest on the inside.
Water is huge. Water is key! Water can be the enemy: If planting in soil, moisten the soil well, soak it and stir it and make sure it’s moist all the way through.
If planting in anything else, nestle the bulb into the medium so the base of the bulb is just barely, maybe 10%, below the surface. A reverse iceberg.
At first, you want the tip of the bulb, the fattest part, to be damp because that stimulates the bulb-saying wet=spring=sprout. But not soaked, not wallowing. Do not submerge bulb.
Scroll up or down and zoom in close on one of those amaryllis. Notice how those thirsty greedy roots are reaching into the water. The water is not touching the bulb.
Beyond that initial planting, DO NOT WATER SO MUCH THAT THE BULB GETS WET. Repeat: DO NOT LET THE BULB SIT IN WATER. Repeat: IF THE BULB SITS IN WATER, IT WILL ROT AND STINK.
VODKA: The trick to keeping bulbs from growing too long and leggy—and having to be staked—is vodka. Once you notice root forming or green tops growing, add a bit of vodka to the water. Vodka stresses the plant and stops it from growing too tall. I mean, a bit—not a jigger—think 1 part vodka/7 parts water. Gin works too, tequilla might—but who has extra? Rubbing alcohol is good too but use less—1 to 10 ratio. Never tried mouthwash…let me know.
Climate/Conditions: Nobody cares where you live! If the inside temp is good for you, the bulbs will love it!
Place bulbs in a sunny spot—by a window, think bright! Watch and wait for it. . .
Christmas-blooming Amaryllis are sold everywhere from October-December (on sale from mid-December. Leftover amaryllis bulbs are on sale now—Google it!). But check to be sure they are still firm and not slimy.) Plant them whenever you want knowing it will take several weeks for them to bloom—but dang it’s fun to watch! This amaryllis was planted the beginning of December and just look!
Note: the water level in the vase—just a bit at the bottom and those roots are slurping it up!
See how my amaryllis are planted in tall clear vases? That’s because I’m lazy. Many spring flowering bulbs get top heavy and may need to be staked. No big deal, chopsticks tied with string, ribbon or twine work great to shore up droopers. And VODKA (reread note above).
First the bulb will sprout, YEAH! then green tops will grow, YEAH! Then the flower buds will begin forming—some bulbs get leaves first; some grow flower buds no leaves first, some get both flower buds and leaves at the same time. Just watch it and wait!
Paperwhites definitely tend to get leggy. Yep. vodka—can you say Martini?
Just so you know, these paperwhites are planted in a plastic-lined box with about 3 inches of dirt and some moss and grass on top that I dug out of my yard. 3 inches of dirt—truly. And they wouldn’t have cared if I forgot the dirt all together. Bulbs don’t care!
Once the flowers begin to bloom, move your bulb anywhere—no need to worry about light, sun, anything except heat. Keep your bulb away from heater vents. Move that bulb any place you’d like a spot of color. In fact, away from light is best as flowers will last longer away from light and warmth.
When it’s finished blooming, cut off the flower. Cut it close to the base of the bulb. If you like the look of the leaves, keep the bulb watered and enjoy them. Some, like Amaryllis will stay leafed out as long as you’ll let it. Other bulb leaves will slowly whither and yellow. When this happens. . .
If you have a yard: Dig a hole and toss the bulbs in. Don’t worry about right-side up or wrong-side down, just toss them in. Dig the whole about twice as deep as the bulb is big. Maybe they’ll bloom next year, maybe they’ll rot, maybe a squirrel will dig them up. Who knows? Who cares?
If you don’t have a yard, toss the bulbs in the compost bin.
Now for the tough part, 3 choices:
wash well—I’m talking soapy water and mild bleach soaking for stones—then plant more bulbs you’ve stored in the fridge. Hurrah!
wash well—same as above—store the stones, vases, containers to use again later.
toss the whole mess—dirt & bulbs in compost! Good by bulbs! See your friends next year!
Yes, there is more to it than that. But, going deeper into bulb cultivation and storage doesn’t inspire me. If it does you, here’s a good how-to for keeping and storing Amaryllis.
What Inspires Me #1-Family Photo Collage
The holidays behind me, I went to bed last night with a feeling of “Tomorrow back to the same-o?” Soooo…? We all thought by 2022—all those welcoming curves and 2 two too me toos—the world would be all sunshine and light, but… Thinking maybe, like me, you too “22” need a little boost, I’m returning to a practice from those darker days of Bird Flu and empty nest syndrome: Collecting inspiration.
Each week, along with my regular posts, a 7-Minute Poetry Challenge each Wednesday & Ask Norman, response to a reader’s letter each Friday, I’m going to post What inspires Me. Here’s #1
What Inspires Me #1
Collage Art by Sharry Wright
You know all those old family photos—the ones of people you know and most especially those you can only wonder about? Sharry, a friend and fellow classmate from VCFA uses them in collage art. And her captions are the best! Check it out!
Here’s a bit of what inspired Sharry to begin creating these delightful collages:
“…found myself pouring over photos of my grandparents and great grandparents, great aunts and uncles, cousins in various categories of removal and my parents in their youth, wondering about their hopes and dreams and all of the “what-ifs” and forks in the road not taken.”-Sharry Wright
To view more of Sharry Wright’s art (and perhaps snag some of her notecards) click over to her website: SharryWright.com
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