Dear Microsoft Word: Let's Break Up.

no.love
It’s no secret amongst my clients and colleagues – and let me preface this by saying I don’t “hate” much of anything, except maybe cheesecake (I know, I know…), and rudeness, or falling on icy steps – but sometimes I do hate Word. Microsoft Word, that is. It’s fickle. It’s not intuitive. It messes up. It can be nasty. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, I tell you!

Oh, and by the way, it is not, nor was ever meant to be, a design tool. Yet millions upon millions of people use it as if it were. I do not understand this. It infuriates me.

But I “must” use it because of those millions upon millions of people who use it, some of those millions being clients of mine and it’s a useful tool for sharing information. Note: Sharing information. Words. It was intended to process words.

Instead, it’s evolved into this messy catch-all of “things it can do”, most of which are not well done, hard to find, and tend at some point to rain on its own parade by crashing. Not crash as in “crash a party”; crash as in stop functioning. Nosedive. All systems out. As in, you’re barreling along when suddenly the spinny-rainbow-wheel pops up and begins its incessant twirl round and round and round and round, often caused by a task as excruciatingly simple as cutting and pasting a paragraph from one place to another. (Maybe it just doesn’t like Macs.)

It’s not well. It’s neither fun nor savvy. It’s a frustrating blend of “tools” that make people like me crazy. People who have worked with beautifully designed software programs that do what they’re supposed to do. People who have come to expect things to “make sense” when using them. (Personal flaw: Don’t like my time wasted, I admit it.)

Because it’s not going away any time soon, we all continue to use Microsoft Word. So we can’t actually break up. It owns the world. It’s the Big Cheese of Word Processing programs.

But, why-oh-why can’t they get it right? Why can’t they make it smarter and less finicky? Why does it try so hard to be things it isn’t, and why can’t it do the things it’s meant to do with efficiency and finesse? To paraphrase Abraham Lincoln, if you’re going to do something or be something, be a good one.

Meanwhile, I’ll now go back and ONCE AGAIN, find the saved document remnants from my computer’s trash bin. And keep “saving saving saving” every time I dot an i or cross a t in my Word document.

Vent over.

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Some Love & Literary Candy

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Two Tulips / © Patricia Saxton

 

Ah, Cupid, Roman God of Love ~ fickle, passionate, whose darting arrows don’t always hit the target ~ every year on February 14th we celebrate you nonetheless. And we celebrate love: the language of poets, songs of the heart, threads that bind us throughout time, the essence of life itself.

While I can count a few especially thoughtful, and even romantic, Valentine’s Day experiences, yea, well, those went all wrong in the end (beware the man who writes you poetry, a friend once told me…), so instead I turn to the unscathed memories of shared Valentines from grammar school, or the hand-made kindergarten cards we gave to our parents, with big red construction paper hearts and white lace around the edges, filled with unabashed adoration. And those we give our own children, marked with a thousand x’s and o’s.

And yet, despite what might seem a dose of romantic cynicism, I am a true believer. In love. Love is everything. Every task we do, everyone word we utter, every hand we shake, is made better if there’s love in it. Love is the root. Love is the cause. Love is the purpose. Love is all.

So I welcome any reason to honor love. Let sweethearts swoon. Let the day be thick with roses and chocolates for all who’ve ever felt the exultation ~ or the sting ~ from Cupids’ arrows, all who’ve felt their heart swell, their color blush, their energy soar and their selfishness cease.

And with or without a “Valentine”, fill your hearts with love. Love for self, love for others, love for your pets, for your garden, for your books, for your bicycle, for your favorite chair. Even for the guy trying to make a left turn on a busy street. Raise up the heart quotient all around, and feel the peace that settles in when tension is replaced by unbridled love.

Celebrate love. Read some poetic literary candy. Smell a rose. Give someone a cupcake. Smile because love still exists in this mad world.

Love is Not All (Sonnet XXX), Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

 

18th Sonnet, William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

 

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43), Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

 

Love’s Philosophy, Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In another’s being mingle–
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower could be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;–
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

Week #24, 52 Weeks of Peace

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A Plethora of P’s / #81, 82, 83, 84, 85 & 86

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

– ♥ –

#81: Purge

saxton.P_purgeClutter is not our friend. Clutter = chaos = confusion.

So get rid of it. Toss it. Shake it off. Wipe the slate. Clear the way. Cleanse! Have a purification ritual if you must, but do part with doesn’t serve you. “Stuff”, relationships, situations, behaviors and unproductive emotions ~ all can weigh us down or tangle us in a snarled mess.

That said, there’s no need to go for an all out, bonkers-mad purging frenzy. No need to be reckless. Even just a bit at a time feels good; enough to lighten the load.

Consider your peace of mind. We all accumulate some chaos, whether internal or external, mental or physical,  a lot or a little, and boy does it feel great to purge!

– ♥ –

#82: Plumbingsaxton.P_plumbing

I don’t know about you, but I’m a big fan of plumbing. Having traveled quite a bit, I think I can say with some confidence that here in the good ol’ USA, we have some of the best plumbing in the world. Knowing this makes me flush with pride.

It also makes me thank my lucky stars to live in modern times. Indoor plumbing didn’t come about til end of the 19th century, when its wonders were heavily promoted by London plumber Thomas Crapper. (No kidding!) According to Wikipedia: The flushing toilet was invented by John Harrington in 1596. Joseph Bramah of Yorkshire patented the first practical water closet in England in 1778. George Jennings in 1852 also took out a patent for the flush-out toilet. In a time when bathroom fixtures were barely spoken of, plumber Thomas Crapper heavily promoted sanitary plumbing and pioneered the concept of the bathroom fittings showroom.

And now you know.

 

– ♥ –

#83: Pulchritude

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Some say it was Cleopatra; some name the woman who played her part in film, Elizabeth Taylor, as the most pulchritudinous woman ever to roam the earth.

Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder and there are far too many examples of pulchritudinous women to list. And yes, the word is generally reserved for female beauty ~ but it can also apply to the physical loveliness of grand landscapes, majestic mountains, breathtaking sunrises, sunsets, and perhaps a simple, elegant rose.  …Ah, sweet pulchritude.

 

– ♥ –

#84: Pomegranate

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Move over, blueberries; the mighty pomegranate has one-upped you in the Superfruit category. Not your everyday apples and bananas, superfruits are more exotic varieties with higher than average levels of antioxidants and nutrition, and the crimson seed packs nestled inside a pomegranate’s tough skin are the latest pièce de résistance in the fruit world for both taste and nourishing goodness.

Which reminds me, I need to make some pomegranate muffins. Mmmm.

 

– ♥ –

#85: Perception

saxton.P_perception

It is not what we see, but how we view it. Not what we hear, but how we listen. Not what we sing, but how we feel it. Life is all about our perception ~ how we perceive, intuit or understand any given circumstance or subject matter. It can make the difference between a good day and a bad one, harmony or confusion, truth or uncertainty, agreement or misjudgment. If something doesn’t feel quite right, it’s a good idea to step back and check our point of view, and then decide if rose-colored glasses might serve us better on or off.

 

– ♥ –

#86: Ponder

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I ponder the stars, that I may feel part of this grand universe. I ponder the sea to soften my nerves. I ponder a tulip, to feel amazed at God’s artistry. I gaze into a fire and ponder the depths of my soul.

Sometimes I get answers. Sometimes not. But the pondering in and of itself is satisfying. Short or long, it takes one’s mind on a vacation from ordinary things, from problems that need solutions. Like meditation, a good ponder can leave you feeling inspired, energized and fresh.

Let your mind wander in wonder now and then. Ponder that.

 

……………………

(until next time, you can see the ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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The Windrow

Vincent van Gogh, 1887

Sometimes, while Willis worked a mindless task in a field of wheat, he’d make things up. Like how he might go about building a rocket ship or how to carve a baseball bat that would send a ball farther. He’d try to figure out how things worked – anything. He wanted to know what made things go; what made them tick, whir, move fast or move slow. How a kernel of wheat turned into one of his Mama’s fine loaves of bread.

Sometimes, though, he’d get tired and he’d just be there, grimy and hot in the sun, looking at this enormous piece of land he had to tend, and just like any young boy, he’d feel overwhelmed. And he’d think, ‘I’ll never get this done. I’ll never get to do anything else. Ever. I’ll be here in this field for the rest of my life, until the cows come home and go back and come home again’. And that’s how he felt today.

Seeing Will slumped unproductively, his father came by and said, “Son, you’ve just got to take it one windrow at a time, is all. It won’t be so bad.”

“But there are so many rows Dad! I’ll never get it done!”

“Willis, you will get it done and you’ll do it right. I don’t want to hear you complainin’.”

Sheepishly, Will replied with an obedient “Yes, Dad.”

After a pause, Charles sat down next to Will. He looked at him harshly. Took a deep breath. And then, in a kinder tone, Charles said “Alright. Listen now. Hear what I’ve got to say. I’m gonna tell you this, and you think about it while you work. So listen.

When you stand here and look out ‘cross this big ol’ field, you see there’s lots and lots and lots of ground you’ve got to work. It looks like it’s near impossible and it’s too much for you to do. Yes, now I know it’s big. But I tell you son, if you stop looking at how big it is, and just start right in with what’s right there in front of your eyes ~ right here, under your feet ~ and you just take care of that one spot, well right away you’ll be done with that spot and you’ll be movin’ on to the next one. Pretty soon you’ll have a whole row done. And then it won’t look quite so big anymore. If you just look at one of these rows, instead of all of them at once, you won’t get so tired before you’ve even got started. You’re only tired thinking about it, and then nothin’ gets done and it’s still just as big as before.

Now I want you to remember that, because there ain’t nothin’ in life that’s so big it can’t be done if you just start from right where you are and don’t get scared off by the size of it.

All you’ve got to do is one windrow at a time. That’s all you got to think about right now. Just this one. That’s right. Now, go on.”

Charles stood, walked away, then over his shoulder he added, “And Willis? You just might build that rocket ship one day. It might even be the best rocket ship ever made, because you’re gonna build it one piece at a time.”

……………………

 © Patricia Saxton, from “The Story”

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Why I Write What I Write (And Other Pressing Questions)

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Me

When invited by the gracious and gifted Sue Ann Gleason to participate in a “blog-hop” about writing, I jumped in with a “yes”. What could be more fun than writing about writing? (Some of you groan, but you others, you’ll know what I mean. There’s a certain satisfaction involved.)

In my enthusiasm, however, I neglected to see ~ right there in the first line of the invitation ~ that I’d also need to solicit other writers-with-blogs to do the same. (Thus the “hopping” aspect. Right!) But that got done, too, and I’m so pleased to welcome my fellow hoppers (and beautiful souls all, I have to say) at the end of this post ~ and I encourage you to check out their contributions in about a week!

Now, without further ado, my response to the four questions each of us have been asked to answer. Hope you enjoy.

What am I working on/writing?

I’m thinking this question ought to be what am I not working on/writing? But I’ll try not to break the rules right off the bat here, and answer the question as is. So here I go.

Having recently finished writing and illustrating my third children’s book, I assumed I’d re-engage with one of several unfinished pieces that got usurped by the onslaught of dragons inhabiting my world for a while ~ among them, in various stages of completion, a murder novel, a young adult novel, and a love story. But the truth is, I’ve been feeling a stronger pull back to my poetic roots. While I adore a good story, and it pains the Virgo in me to leave things undone, I truly must go where the spirit leads. That’s usually how it works for me. We’ll see then which takes the cake.

 

How does my work/writing differ from others of its genre?

True confession: When I was in high school, I realized I had a marketable skill. I could pretty much copy anybody’s handwriting. I’m not saying any more than that…  except how it relates to my answer of this question, which is that I’ve always taken pride in my ability to cross borders, so to speak.

I don’t really have one genre, but different voices for different purposes. Maybe it’s a kind of artistic cross-training. In my design work, for example, I don’t care if it’s dog food, swiss bank accounts or skateboards, I’ll “get it”; I aim to pull out the expressive essence of each. With painting and illustration, I have a few different styles. If we’re talking about writing, I guess I’d like to think I write with a kind of colorful intelligence (that phrase just came to me – what do you think?), whether it’s a marketing piece, a short story, a poem.

So I don’t know that this makes me different from others, but it’s the best answer I can think of for now ~ simply being able to play different parts.

 

Why do I write what I do?

I write because to write is to breathe. To write is to untangle my thoughts, weave them into something more lovely and meaningful. And then there are all those fabulous words, and the countless, magnificent ways to arrange them! Writing is endless possibility, and thoughtful communication, and I probably write because I’m genetically wired to adore the play and value of the written word.

There are few things I “have” to do, but along with art, writing is one of them. Bottom line, there’s really no choice in the matter. :  )

On a less fanciful note, I also write some things because I get paid to do so. The more busines-oriented pieces might not be suitably prone to prose or heart-speak, but I enjoy them nonetheless because of that DNA thing, and because they still have to do with the magic of combining all sorts of marvelous words.

 

How does my writing process work?

Get comfortable. Pause. Let it rip. Stare at page. Re-read. Let it rip some more. Flow, flow, flow. Try not to do too much self-correction; just get it out. Then……….. edit, edit, edit. (Note: the entire process is usually infused with much tea-drinking).

Sometimes I write with a pen, more often with a keyboard. I also tend to use whatever’s handy when ideas strike ~ could be a paper towel, a page in my daytimer, the inside of matchbook, a grocery receipt or yes, even the palm of my hand. (Of course, when the hand-scribbling happens people usually look at me with a ‘what, are you still, like, 3-years-old?’ kind of look. Some actually say it out loud.)

Probably the most important part of the process, though, is loving it. Enjoying it. And going with it.

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And now, my talented blog mates:

sueann.gleason

Sue Ann Gleason, creator of Chocolate for Breakfast, the Well-Nourished Woman, and the Luscious Legacy Project, is a lover of words, a strong believer in the power of imagination, and a champion for women who want to lead a more delicious, fully expressed life. Sue Ann has been featured in Oprah and Runner’s World magazines and numerous online publications. When not working with private clients or delivering online programs, she can be found sampling exotic chocolates, building broccoli forests in her mashed potatoes, or crawling into bed with freshly sharpened pencils and pages that turn.

You can connect with Sue Ann (multi-passionate maven) in a number of places. Delicious freebies await you!  joyful eating | nourished living | wise business | facebook

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bernadette

Bernadette Smith is the resident muse of MuseFusions. A writer and artist, she makes marks on paper with words and paint. Strives to be messy and playful. Casts all “shoulds” to the wind. Surrounds herself with artful and literary eye candy. Finds courage in embracing her vulnerability publicly. And, when she makes a real mess, she upcycles, repurposes and takes recreation in her re-creation.Her fidgety fascination with the power of words to heal birthed Enlightened Ink and published “Bernadette’s Pages: An Intimate Crossroad,” a book that journeys through the “I do but he doesn’t” time in her marriage. (Because life’s messy moments are invitations to love.) Bernadette also spends time in people’s homes and closets. (No, she’s not a voyeur or stalker.) She offers a holistic blend of Feng Shui, de-cluttering and organizing through her company, Enlightened Interiors.

You’ll find her blogging at Musings from the Messy Room and sharing messy gems on her Facebook page.

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ella.B

My name is Ella and I am an artist, a single mom of 2 amazing kids, and a survivor of domestic violence. I started the Rebel Thriver Blog as a way to connect to others and share my story. Being labeled a survivor wasn’t comfortable for me; I needed more. And I desperately wanted others to see that they could have it too…that you can choose to thrive in spite of your situation. Facebook followed and has allowed Rebel Thriver to grow into an online community. The support, love, honesty, and inspiration is alive in abundance on our page.

We only get one chance at this sweet life, so I encourage everyone to wake up and live. You may have been knocked down, but that story does not have to define you, for you hold the pen to the story of your life. Raise your eyes to the sky, throw your shoulders back, put on your imaginary crown and say, “Today is the first day of the rest of my life”.  Make it count.

Love, Ella
(p.s.: you can also follow Ella at her Rebel Thriver Twitter page.)
To read Ella’s post on writing is click here.

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fiona.dunphy

Irish born, but with South Africa in her heart and soul, Fiona Dunphy has recently returned to Ireland from her beloved South Africa where she now lives with her two daughters. Already a Reiki Master Practitioner, Reflexologist and Crystal Healer, she’s heading back to college to add counselling and psychotherapy to her ever growing holistic health offerings.

She has always written – both for herself and for corporate clients. Recently her writing took a very personal turn following the breakdown of her marriage. Fiona writes from the heart; filled with love, with pain, with honesty, plenty of tears, and a good sprinkling of humour. Follow her Talking Healing Blog or her Facebook page, The Healing Room,  or even encourage her very reluctant attempts at Twitter.

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Writing is an art form, a practical tool, a verbal dance, a necessity. It’s something we interact with daily ~ and something some of us delve into deeply and with gusto, where others may struggle. I’d love to hear your comments on how writing fits into your world! ~ Patricia

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The Gift of Maya

saxton_liflovestobetaken
I cried today. I’m not a particularly weepy person, but tears came unbidden and I thought, how odd ~ to not just feel sadness but to actually cry at the loss of someone I never knew.

Yes, I admired Maya Angelou ~ very much. Her words rang with truth. Her wisdom rich, humble, freeing. Her voice strong, her heart rugged and full of light. Her journey brave. She inspired countless lives. She was beautiful and completely remarkable. But when did it become so personal for me?

I think it may have been that as the daughter of a poet, and an unsung poet myself, I felt a kind of kinship. A sisterhood of prose. A “she’s one of us” feeling. I remember when I heard her speak in front of all the world, I imagined my mother applauding from heaven to see a modern day poet make such a profound mark in our world. I applauded right along. She did it. Ms. Angelou sang her song out loud and the world listened! I beamed for her ~ and I suppose I also beamed in that moment for poetry.

Famous people live for a time, larger than life it seems; through them we feel things, we learn things, sometimes deeply, sometimes in passing. And then they die, just like the rest of us. Flesh and bones, blood and breath.

But occasionally their presence is eternal. Injecting itself into our lives for untold generations. I imagine Maya Angelou’s spirit falling in that category. She was a gift to us all; her brilliance here to cherish and embrace as long as we so desire.

As much of the world mourns and honors this amazing lady, and as heaven welcomes a new angel, I send out my simple thank you, Maya, for touching my heart.

saxton_maya.quotes2

 

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thrivingiselegant

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Writing by Hand

saxton_quickbrownfox

In my late teens I had the opportunity to have my handwriting analyzed. It was the coolest thing. An old woman in a hospital, whom I never personally met, looked at my swooping p’s and looping y’s and sharply crossed t’s, the height of my h’s, the slants, the weights, the close-or-far-apartness of the letters, if they were small or large, tidy or swirly. What she discovered may well have been the best description of me I’ve heard. Her analysis also told me things I didn’t yet know, almost like a fortune, or a map. It was pretty fascinating.

Which reminds me that the physical, pen-in-hand act of writing is not only a form of communication, it’s a form of self-expression; another window into the soul.

It’s also a fabulous collector of thoughts. Sometimes a pen can’t keep pace with my thoughts, but sometimes the slower act of hand-writing keeps my thoughts in line, keeps them from running off to oblivion, balances my mood. Plus I get to make doodles on the page. (Silly? Not really – it’s actually part of the thought process.)

Something happens between the mind and the hand that’s different than what happens between the mind and the keyboard. Maybe it’s simply that hand-writing is organic. It’s breathing deeply instead of a quick lap around the track.

There’s a place for both the handwritten and the typewritten – one is not “better” than the other; in fact both are good, and both are necessary – but even without the scientific evidence at my fingertips (no pun intended), I am certain that both methods exercise different parts of the brain, some how, some way. (And yes, there are differences between printing and script to form our letters as well.) The entire mind-body-spirit is involved ~ how we think, how we process, how we sit, how we move our hands, how we feel. There’s got to be physiological implications.

And so, while this may be old news, the fact that teaching cursive writing in school is being phased out of the curriculum just blows my mind. I can’t believe it’s even up for discussion, much less already happening.

What about hand-eye coordination, thinking patterns, better comprehension when writing things down “painstakingly” by hand, knowing how to spell and use proper grammar and punctuation without spell-check tools, and yes, expression and creativity?

When it comes to writing by hand, there’s so much in the pro column here, and, as far as I can see, a big zero in the negative column. What is so damn important that basic penmanship skills get the boot?

All this really brings my inner cynic out front. Anyone interested in positive teaching, in my opinion, wouldn’t even consider taking this out of our schools.

Sure, electronic-based writing is more practical, and block-letters are easier to master than script. But there’s enormous value in writing by hand, and to imagine this capacity no longer existing is a truly disturbing thought. The very human-ness of writing by hand should not be relegated to dusty archives, hidden corners, calligraphers and ancient texts.

Please teach your kids to write! (I can hear it now… “But why do I have to do this? I’ll never use it!) Are we to be tethered to electronic devices for everything we do? (Next it’ll be paints. No more Grumbacher. Good bye Winsor & Newton! Why use real paint when you can do it with software?) Who decides the value here? How is that value measured? Will we cordon off whole parts of our brain?

There’s just too much telling people what to do, what to think, how to think, how to feel, how to be. Stop it already. And let kids learn to write. Print letters and script letters. By hand. It’s important.

And not that this is the crux of my argument, but you know, maybe they’ll even gain insights from having their handwriting analyzed one day… their own personally unique formation of words on a page, from head to hand to paper.

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Wednesday

So, I have a bunch of essays lined up, in various states of completion. The way a story comes to mind, then you get distracted by life or laundry or something, and you quickly jot down some notes so you don’t forget your brilliance – and then a few more days go by of other this’s and that’s demanding your attention, and in that span of time more ideas, more thoughts, more inspirations happen, (that you do or don’t jot down), and the cycle repeats until you realize you just want to be still for a little bit. Mindless.

Of course, this is where I might normally spew the wonders of meditation, but I’ll resist the temptation to be meaningful just this once. I don’t know why exactly – could be a loosening of the grips of an innate need to be mindful, purposeful, responsible.

Instead I’m going to share something interesting but frivolous, in that it really serves no purpose except to tickle the brain. And because it’s Wednesday and I’ve always wondered why it’s spelled so oddly. And because it’s the curse of a writer not to write, so I must write something.

And this is as far as I’m allowing my brain to go for now. (Good thing I jotted down my more impassioned thoughts, though, right? … so they can come marching forth again in all their splendor when I’m back in the mood for them … and less tired. Which, for better or worse, probably won’t be long, once I’ve meditated and such. But I’m veering towards meaningful again, so I’ll stop here and get on with simple, frivolously interesting.)

saxton_wednesday2

Why is Wednesday Spelled so Oddly?

Wednesday comes from the Middle English Wednes dei, which originates from Old English Wēdnes dæg, meaning the day of the Germanic god Woden. Associated with both fury and poetic inspiration, Woden thrived as an Anglo-Saxton god in England until about the 7th century. He also had a career in curing horses and carrying off the dead, and Wednesday is his day. Woden’s day has had various spellings – Wodnesdaeg, Weodnesdei, Wenysday, Wonysday, Weddinsday – but even Shakespeare’s quite sensible spelling of “Wensday” didn’t last. So in the end it turns out that (perhaps born from fear of his Woden’s wrath, or loss of poetry)  the “d” and the day remain. And now you know.

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Three Friends, Three Books

It just so happens that I am fortunate enough to have some gifted friends. And three of those friends recently published their own first books ~ which, also,  just so happen to be quite good. So I thought I’d give them a shout out, because I’m both proud of their work and proud to know them. (If any of you are then inclined to read their books, all the better for everyone involved!)

Paul Huckelberry / An Accidental Book

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I didn’t know Paul until he followed up on a referral to use both my graphic design and editing services ~ which he (very wisely :  ) ) decided to invest in. So, yes, I am particularly biased in my review of this book, but I do know the book intimately ~ line by line, in fact, and cover design, too ~ and my assessment is honest. (Those who know me or my work, know that I can be a demanding critic, aiming for the best possible result with the highest quality representation.) And with that I’ll say that Paul is a writer who’d been masquerading as a well-resepcted engineer for many years ~ and write well he does in this lively collection of life stories ranging from love to politics, religion, greed, food on the table, self-worth, and generally a whole lot of things that seem to matter in this life we live. Without prescribing or preaching, he shares, and through that, gems of wisdom shine.

Alice / Wonderland’s Teatray, Musings and a Few Unchallengeable Truths

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Over the past year, I have come to know and absolutely delight in this deep-thinking, witty, well-lived and wonderfully wise soul  ~ and her first book is all of that as well.  It’s a short, hauntingly real and beautifully composed sharing of life lessons learned, in ways that question, soothe, uplift and scratch at the very core of our spirit. She digs deep effortlessly and comes out on the other side brighter and wiser, refreshingly touching the reader’s life in the process.

Heather McCloskey Beck / Take the Leap

taketheleapI’m pretty sure Heather and I have known each other in many lifetimes, as there was an almost instant “recognition” of one another across the miles, well before we met in person. We also share an uncannily similar approach to life, as well as a passion for art, creativity, peace and doing what you love ~ the latter of which, Heather is on a mission to help infuse into as many souls as possible  So, when reading this lovely, thoughtful book, I nodded my head a lot, and found myself silently cheering her on, as well as cheering on all those who will undoubtedly be uplifted and motivated by her beautiful, compelling brand of inspiration.

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Dare to Dream: Week #36 / 52 Weeks of Peace

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Week #36: 52 Weeks of Peace / “Starry Night” / © Patricia Saxton

Dare to dream upon the stars ~

Dare to dream of peace,

Beaming

From life’s grandest stage ~

Unrestrained,

Where thousands

fold to millions ~

Shining. Alighting. Dancing,

Through an endless velvet sky.

Floating in layers

of patterns on patterns,

Shades of bright white

Shimmering

In the blackened pool

Of an upside down sea.

Eternity’s dream catcher ~

Twinkling,

Winking,

Silver-rimmed storytellers ~

Architects of heaven ~

A symphony of light

Plucked from the night

For all time.

Beacons,

Guides,

Galactic jewels,

Wished upon

and worshipped,

Where secrets

are surrendered

And wonders breathe ~

Bright,

Inconceivable and constant.

©  P. Saxton
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