HOW WE SPEND OUR DAYS IS HOW WE SPEND OUR LIVES

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"Even when we read physics, we inquire of each least particle: What then shall I do this morning? How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

When I read that line in Annie Dillard's "A Writing Life", it grabbed me by the wrist and held tight. It still won't let go.

There are no words to describe our days on the Mexican Riviera that aren't cliches: azure and turquoise seas, foamy waves that look like lace. Seagulls and osprey cry out while they swoop into the bay trying to grab breakfast. And I wonder: How will I spend today?

I want to write, I want to sketch, I want to paint, I want to swim, I want to read. So I reach into my bag of seductive choices and do whatever my hand first touches...in this case, writing. But as soon as I sit down, the lure of my paint box calls. And I know that if I succumb to that, it won't be long before I'll opt for hunting shells along the beach.

"How we spend our days is how we spend our lives." I've spent too many of the days of my life on a carrousel of options. I’m not unlike the eight-year-old who can't decide which painted horse to choose and therefore rides on none.

My problem, I think, is that any choice I make requires time, and that scares me because, when I truly get "into the zone," large blocks of time fly by. I come out of that magic place, look at what I've created and say to myself, "Wow. I wonder how I did that." I look at the clock -- an entire afternoon is gone and I'm left with no awareness of its passing. At 66, that's a little alarming, for if I'm not aware of the passing of time, am I aware of my life? I don't want my life to pass in a state of unawareness.

(I wrote this a couple of weeks ago during a vacation in Puerto Aventuras, Mexico. We’ve been home for a week and I still seem unable to focus on just one of those options, but at least I’m aware of the dilemma!)

THAT OL' INTERNAL EDITOR

A Question of Control
by Judy Westergard
oil on canvas
all rights reserved

I’m curious. Do you work with an internal editor? I ask because it’s a concept I’ve been aware of and fascinated by for a long time. For instance, during my years as journalism advisor for Coon Rapids High School’s newspaper, my students and I often held discussions about the extent to which they were self-editing. One such discussion I recall moderating was between the editor-in-chief and the music critic who intentionally pulled back a scathing review of a rock concert he believed was considerably less than the $125 ticket warranted. The reason? He feared the put-downs from his peers that his comments would provoke. Like the kids I, too, find myself aware of internal editors. The strongest one has the most critical voice: “You don’t know what you’re doing. That stinks. What right have you got to put that out for public viewing?” I can usually work through this one by sternly saying to it, “Shut up now!” But there’s a scarier voice that’s harder to silence. That's the voice that tells me I should paint only work that will sell. This would make sense except that when I heed this voice, the work that evolves is almost always trite and contrived. What works for me...the only time that editor is silent...is when I’m learning something new. And because that editor is silent, I let myself go. The result is almost always good -- maybe not technically perfect, but fresh and alive. “Oh!” someone says; “that’s great! You need to do more like that! They’ll sell for sure!” And of course, that’s when that nagging voice of the sales editor kicks in again. Now, I’ve read enough pop psychology to know the sources of these imaginary admonitions, but that knowledge isn’t enough to silence them. So I repeat my question: Whether you paint, write, cook, knit, carve...if you, like me, have an internal editor that gets in your way, how do you handle it? I’d love to hear from you.

THE MAID, THE PAINTING, AND ME

Philodendron
all rights reserved
by Judy Westergard
Watercolor on Fabriano 300# hot press
5" x 5"

My husband and I returned recently from 11 days in Puerto Aventuras, Mexico. We suspected a great trip when our 1/3 full Delta flight afforded us a change from row 43 to the bulkhead. (Gotta love that extra leg room.) Our pre-arranged driver met us promptly at the Cancun airport with a brand new Peugeot van. (Gotta love a clean new car.) When we arrived at our condo, Dive Aventuras, which manages the condos there, upgraded us from the small one bedroom/one bath unit we’d rented to a three bedroom/four bath condo. (Gotta love a place that’s larger than our house.) Maid service was included regardless of which unit we were in. We unpacked and headed for a walk around the small village to see dolphins, yachts, and one gorgeous ocean view. Day 2--I pinched a couple of plants from one of the myriad and lush gardens that surround the area and readied them for a small water color. Got the lighting just right. Paper was prepped. Paints and brushes were laid out. The basics were blocked in. I was excited and ready to dive in for real when the maid came. No problem, I thought. I’ll leave this for tomorrow. The light will be the same 24 hours from now so, per custom, we left for a walk while she took care of her duties. We returned to sparkling patio windows, a shining shower, and the one water glass we'd used washed and put away. But my painting? my paints? the brushes? All closed up and carefully replaced in the kitchen. And the plant? There it was in a glass of water, no longer in its just-so, eye-level arrangement. Significant Other and I laughed hard when we saw the unit, sans still life but once again looking like a potential photo shoot for "Better Homes and Gardens." But I really cracked up when I relayed this story to good friend Roz: “OMG! A maid with OCD...now that’s my idea of heaven!”
Puerto Aventuras addendum:
For the hands-down, Olympics gold-caliber brownie, it's Cafe Cafe. That, along with a cup of their Illy cappuccino, enjoyed on their patio under their cheery red umbrellas, will be the perfect start -- or end, or middle -- to your day. What the heck; why not three times a day? Chocolate prevents dental caries; make your next check-up a great one!
There are lots of fun shops in the area, but my favorite was Flamingos Crossing. Recently opened by a woman from Boston, this airy, friendly place held just the right collection of great looking summer wear that would look just as good in the upper Midwest as it did on the Mexican Caribbean. Looking for a good "how I reinvented my life" story? Ask her about her reasons for moving from Boston to P.A.
Significant Other and I aren't divers but our daughter and son-in-law are. They've been down there many times and speak highly of Dive Aventuras. "Great dive shop, great diving area." Their under-water photos are so good that I'm tempted to try a test dive myself when we return next year, and return we will.