[2023-03-25] Saturday Synopsis #36
As I was reading posts from this week in 2021 and 2022 to compile today's Saturday Synopsis, I was surprised to read that in March 2021, my backyard deck was already open for the season. On March 20, 2021, I wrote in Special moments: "Today, my daughter and I spent an enjoyable hour absorbing the warmth of the first day of spring, listening to music, and discussing all sorts of fascinating topics." The high in Ottawa on that day was 10ºC and would stay at 10ºC or higher for the five days that followed. I found that interesting. As I write this, I'm snuggled up in my cozy house while a wintry mix of snow and rain pelts my window.
Coincidentally, my mom and I were talking today about things we write down. She noted that her mom used to write all sorts of things, just ordinary happenings. By contrast, my mom has been more of a one-and-done writer. My view is that when loved ones read what their elders wrote five years or 50 years before, it's captivating. The stuff of life written by a grandmother or mother says something about what was important to that person on that day. It could be about an extraordinarily warm day or how many turnips they took out of the garden or the home perm their daughter gave them that day. It's a link to the past and a glimpse into the experience of someone significant.
When we reread our own writing, it's a glimpse at the person we were at a moment in time. On March 19, 2021, in my post Happiness and spring, I shared a montage of photos showing my baby fine hair. It had been just over two months since my final chemotherapy treatment, and I looked happy and healthy.
3 Ideas From Me
The effect of his criticism, even if founded, was to make me conclude that I wasn't a poet and never would be. His comments didn't motivate me to want to apply his critique in improving my poetry. And I'm not a shrinking violet. Just a month after receiving the poet's letter, I started a four-year program in journalism, where harsh, unvarnished critiques were the norm. In the latter case, however, I took the feedback and used it to make my writing better. In the former case, I took the poet's response as definitive, and I never wrote poetry again.
In my experience, positive comments are like statements whispered in a dream. The words are fleeting and the details are forgotten far too quickly. Often, I'm left with only a general impression of the observation—a warmth that makes me feel good about myself and the person who uttered the comments.... Negative remarks, by contrast, are like a bee's sting. I remember the exact words, who said them, where I was, and the hurt that I felt. I remember the insults or careless statements—word for word—months and years later.
It can be hard for the newly diagnosed to imagine that there is an "other side" to cancer or for the cancer patient early in their treatments to envision the end of active therapy. And then, one day, they are ringing the bell, and soon after, they are welcoming others coming behind them.
2 Quotes From Others
I tell you all this because it is the way you are to feel when you are writing—happy, truthful and free, with that wonderful contented absorption of a child stringing beads in kindergarten. With complete self-trust. Because you are a human being all you have to do is get out truthfully what is in you and it will be interesting, it will be good. Salable? I don't know. But that is not the thing to think of—for a long time anyway.
~ Barbara Ueland
Before starting, our brain visualizes the hardest parts to come, and instead tries to simulate real work by focusing on small mindless tasks. Luckily there’s a construct of the mind known as the Zeigarnik effect, which compels humans to finish a task that they’ve already started. The Zeigarnik effect shows that when we don’t finish a task, we experience discomfort and intrusive thoughts about it.
~ The Science of Productivity
1 Question For You
Start more books. Quit most of them. Read the great ones twice.
~ James Clear
What book would you include on your list of "great ones"?
Photo
The beautiful calf in tonight's visual is Kringle, born December 25, 2022, at the Central Experimental Farm in Ottawa. This tender moment between Kringle and my daughter, Melanie, warms my heart.
