Take the Next Step

Are you a planner? Do you have to lay out all the steps to whatever goal you are working on and tick them off one by one? Do you create lists and spreadsheets for everything?

Or do you tend to jump into a project and see where it leads? Go with the flow? Do you find yourself saying things like “Let’s see what happens if I do this?”

Does this sign make you want to try it to see what happens? Or do you need to plot how to avoid the consequences?

In writing we often use the terms plotter and pantser (someone who flies by the seat of their pants). A plotter carefully plots their story, creating an outline to follow, setting up benchmarks, planning chapters and scenes, sometimes in extensive detail. A pantser, on the other hand, may have no more than a sentence or a phrase to start with, and some idea of how the story ends (even if it’s only “they live happily ever after”).

I am sure there are analogs to these styles in almost any creative pursuit. People who follow recipes with the precision of research chemists, and those who pick up a spice bottle, shrug and toss in a spoonful, or a handful. Knitters who read a pattern and carefully replicate the tools, supplies, and stitches, and those who grab a random pair of needles, some yarn in an interesting color or texture, and dive in.

I love making these tiny bags. I pull out far more embellishments that I can possibly use and just play with them until I have something I like. The results are a surprise, even to me.

Both approaches have their adherents, both work for different people, or for the same person at different times, and there is certainly room between these two extremes for all sorts of variations on a theme.

Personally, when it comes to creative pursuits, I am mostly a pantser. (Confession time: I have published seven murder mysteries and in every one I wasn’t sure who the bad guy – or girl – was until late in the story. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t start out with the idea that person X was the killer and work toward that conclusion, I just kept going until I figured it out.)

I know. I hear all you plotters out there reacting as though I just ran my fingernails down the chalkboard, a la Quint in Jaws. You need your plans and outlines; that’s how you roll. Believe me, I understand. I feel the same way when someone talks about character bios, or maps and charts.

But sometimes, even for you plotters, there comes a point where you get stuck. When you can’t see your way to the end of the project even though you know where you’re headed; when you have figuratively or literally painted yourself into a corner.

You do not know how to reach your goal.

What you do know, however, is how to take the next step.

Some next steps are more dramatic than others, but they all lead to the future.

One step.

One sentence.

One sequence of stitches.

One cut or join of lumber.

One note of music, or stroke of a paintbrush.

A single step.

And after that step? You know how to take one more.

It’s like taking a long car trip at night. You can’t see the whole way there (well, unless you’re in one of those flat Midwestern states that ends in a vowel) and even if you could it’s dark and your headlights don’t reach that far. But you can see the next little stretch of road, or the next curve, and with each foot of road that passes under your tires you can see an additional foot into the distance.

Sometimes that is all you can do, and that is enough. You work your way through the dark stretch one simple step at a time, trusting you will find your way, until you can see a clear stretch ahead. The road straightens out for a bit, and your high beams illuminate what’s ahead.

Driving into the dark you accept that you can only see a little way ahead. Learn to trust your creativity the same way!

You may run into another dark and twisty stretch of road, another point where you can only see one step ahead, but each time that happens you can take a single step and work your way through the darkness.

And the best part of doing this? (Aside from the obvious fact that you are still moving forward, of course.) You are teaching yourself to believe that you can trust that single step to bring you closer to your goal.

I still have moments of doubt, lots of them. Places where I have written myself into a corner and have no idea how I will get out, times when I am absolutely certain I am going to fail and expose myself as a complete fraud.

But trust me when I say that each time you do this, each time you trust yourself to take a single step, you will move ahead and you will be able to take another step.

This is a lesson every creative person has to learn for themselves, over and over again. For me, even knowing I can do this, even when I can look at the shelf of books and stories that prove I can do this, the moments of despair continue to haunt me.

I just have to remind myself that I have done this before, I have faced these same fears time and again, and I can do it again.

All I have to do is take the next step.

Travel Tales, Part 2

It's Saturday, and I am sitting in an AirBnB in Southern Oregon, just a couple hundred miles from home. We have our kids with us, and a couple dear friends. Tomorrow morning we will repack the car for the last time and head home to our own house, our own bed, and the relatively cool temperatures of the Oregon Coast. When we get home we will have been gone just a few days short of 8 weeks - longer than the original estimate of 6 weeks - and driven in excess of 8,000 miles. We have had many adventures, and there will eventually be more reports on the trip - after I've had some time to assimilate the last few weeks and sleep in my own bed!

It's good to be back in Oregon!

I promised you a Vulcan post, so today I will try to share our visit to Vulcan Park with you. On Tuesday the 18th we rolled into Birmingham, Alabama and stopped for the night. Although we were only a few hours from our ultimate destination in South Alabama we had planned this stop so I could finally get a look at the famous statue of Vulcan. Additionally, stopping early in the evening meant we wouldn't arrive at the family home late at night and exhausted.

Vulcan has been on my "bucket list" for a long time. You see, several years ago I read the Southern Sisters mystery series by the late, great Anne George. Her main characters live in Birmingham, and there is a lot of discussion of the statue. 

So Birmingham was our goal when we left Arkansas and crossed the Mississippi River.

The obligatory "Welcome To Alabama" sign. We saw a lot of these kind of signs on this trip!

On Wednesday morning we checked out of our hotel, grabbed some breakfast, and set the navigation for Vulcan Park.

The entry walkway, with a sign on the right that reads "Picnic Tables" at the top of a short stairway that leads to a terrace with public picnic tables. Beautiful and shaded, the picnic area looks like a good place to spend your lunch hour.

The first thing that struck me about the park was just how beautiful it was. The trees were green and shady, the lawns well-tended, and the shrubs were carefully-trimmed. I just kept staring at all the gorgeous pieces that made up this amazing park.

As you pass along the walkway you get your first view of Vulcan, his pedestal, and the tower that houses the elevator that provides access to the observation platform.

Entering from the parking lot you find a wide walkway that curves past the rise at the top of the hill. As you follow the path you are greeted with a view of Vulcan standing atop a stone pedestal, next to a tower that houses the elevator which provides access to the observation platform that surrounds the pedestal.

At the end of the walkway you find this view of the city of Birmingham from the foot of Vulcan's pedestal. There appear to be several small terraces scattered along the hillside below the main plaza.

Follow the path on around the hilltop and you come to a large plaza at the foot of the statue with a view across the city to your right, the Visitor's Center directly ahead, and Vulcan to your left. It's hard to know where to look first!

The Visitor's Center is a lovely structure with spectacular views of the city. This shot was taken from the lobby of the building.

We didn't have a lot of time this visit, so we didn't take the time for the museum or the elevator, but we did make a visit to the gift shop (of course!) and promised ourselves that on our next visit we would do both.

There are several signs explaining various parts of the exhibits in the park. I thought this was one of the most interesting, showing Vulcan's head in 1937, waiting to be installed in his new home atop Red Mountain.

Brief history lesson: The statue was built in 1094 as Birmingham's entry to the 1904 World's Fair (The Louisiana Purchase Exhibition) in St. Louis. Cast in 29 separate pieces and connected internally with flanges, the statue weighs about 100,000 pounds, with his hammer, anvil, block, and spearpoint adding another 20,000 pounds His head alone, the heaviest single piece, weighs 11,000 pounds. After the Fair the statue came back to his "temporary" home at the Alabama State Fairgrounds where he stayed for the next 30 years.

Eventually he moved to his new home in Vulcan Park in 1936, thanks to the WPA. The statue, his pedestal, the tower, and the park have undergone repairs and maintenance over the years; the latest was in 2004 for his 100th birthday, when the park and the pedestal were restored to their original 1938 appearance.

I could go on about the statue and the park, but these pictures really speak for themselves. Enjoy the photos, and I will see you next week, from the safety and comfort of my very own office!

The plaza between the statue and the Visitor's Center includes this map of the local area which is made from local stone. Note the stone pillars at the front of the Visitor's Center, they will show up again later.

Looking up from the plaza to the top of the pedestal where Vulcan stands silhouetted against the sky.

Remember those pillars? This is taken from between a set of the pillars, framing the view of Vulcan and his pedestal from the front of the Visitor's Center.

This is the famous set of iron buns that moon the Homewood neighborhood. Over the years this bare backside has ignited controversy, but the citizens of Birmingham have chosen to leave Vulcan in all his unclothed glory.

Roll With the Punches

Within my writing community we have a name for those unexpected events that throw your world into chaos. We call them "life rolls."

The phrase came from a career simulation we used in a series of workshops designed to model a decade of a writing career. Participants tried to manage a variety of careers, with certain variables controlled by dice rolls. It wasn't perfect, but it did manage to mimic a lot of what went on in publishing at that time and it provided insights on how, over time, certain behaviors and decisions could affect outcomes.

Early on we realized we were missing those random, lightning-strike events that could derail even the most carefully-planned path. A sudden illness, a death in the family, marriage or divorce, natural disasters, the unforeseen consequences of a windfall - all of these can cause turmoil that has far-reaching consequences.

I didn't plan on looking at this view, from the window of my hospital room, for nearly two weeks while on deadline, nor the weeks of recovery afterward. A definite life roll!

It's pretty easy to see that disasters could cause trouble, but so can success or good fortune, and it's something we need to keep in mind as we navigate our creative retirement.

We can all imagine, and have probably experienced, the disasters. By retirement age most of us have been through the death of a parent, maybe even a spouse, or a sibling. We understand, because we have been there, the months or years of disruption that loss brings. We can easily imagine the chaos that comes from a fire, or a flood. Even if we haven't experienced it first-hand we likely know someone who has.

That isn't fog, it's smoke. This picture was taken from our hotel room when we fled the wildfires last September. We didn't lose our house, but many of our friends did.

Less obvious, perhaps, are the positive events that disturb our plans and schedules and force us into new roles and patterns.

Earlier in our lives some of those are pretty clear. We got married, changed jobs, had kids. We might have moved across town or across country to follow a job, or a spouse's job.

I know it happened to me. My first husband came home from work one day when we were living in Los Angeles and announced that he had accepted a new job and we were moving to Seattle. I was a full-time student with a 5-year-old and an infant, and it was the first I'd heard of it, but I rolled with it and a few weeks later the kids were staying with my folks and I was house-hunting in Seattle. (There is a reason he became my ex-husband!)

Retirement is another of those watershed moments. Everything is up for consideration. Moving is possible, now that we aren't tied to a day job. The kids are grown and on their own (mostly), and our time is our own. The possibilities are sometimes overwhelming.

Eventually, though, we settle on a new normal. We choose where and how we will live, we reset our expectations and our relationships, and we find our new roles.

So now that you've found your new life you should be all set, right?

Did you really expect it was all going to be smooth sailing from here on? Really??

Not so fast. Do you really think the universe isn't going to mess with you? Do you think you'll be free to indulge your creativity without interference from capricious fates? Yeah, not so much.

Disruption, whether good or ill, is a given in life, and retirement doesn't change that. There will always be interruptions and it's a good idea to simply expect and accept them, and manage with as much grace as possible.

Life rolls are going to come at you from unexpected places. I hope it won't be something like a spouse announcing a plan to move 1,200 miles. It's up to us how we handle them, how they impact our creative lives, and how we treat ourselves while we are dealing with them.

I have watched people ignore problems, or try to continue with their normal routines while in the midst of a crisis. I continued to write during the 13-month period when both my parents passed away and I had a major health crisis. For me it was an escape from the immediate pain and darkness, but eventually I had to deal with the losses and it took a toll on my writing. It was several years before I realized what had happened - for a long time I was proud of the way I had soldiered on despite the pain - and how pain delayed was not pain defeated.

It was my coping mechanism, and it got me through the worst of that horrible year, but there was a price to pay. For many months during the aftermath I beat myself up about not writing. After all, if I could write through all the hard times I had faced why couldn't I write when things got better?

The answer was that I had just postponed the reckoning. I had pushed it back until I was in a place where it was safe to mourn, to feel the loss and the grief. Even now, years later, I miss my mom and dad and the pain is still there, though muted by time.

This is the lesson we need to take away from the recognition of life rolls.

The turmoil will come.

It will overwhelm you.

It will affect your creativity.

However you handle it is the right way for you. Grieve or celebrate immediately, or delay until you have the necessary distance. Dive into your creative pursuit as a safe and comfortable space, or drop it entirely for a time. Change your focus, your genre, your style as needed to accommodate your emotional landscape.

Do what works for you, and be gentle and generous with yourself.

Don't let your creative endeavors become a burden, but do let them become a respite if you can.

Whatever you do, try to remember that you can always come back to the creative outlet that you love when you are ready.

It will wait patiently until you are.

Recommended Listening, Ty and That Guy

We are still on the road, and I am hoping to have another Travel Tales for you soon. There is a LOT to tell, and a ton of pictures. But today is a recommendation day. Instead of the post I had planned, however, I am writing a quick new post in my hotel room in Arizona. I hope you will forgive any errors that slip in!

Greetings from Kingman, Arizona! We are still two weeks and at least a thousand miles from home. One of the fun aspects of this trip (one of many) has been long hours in the car that have given us the opportunity to listen to podcasts, and today I want to recommend one that we just heard a couple days ago.

Ty Franck, the Ty of Ty and That Guy, is a writer - one half of author James S. A. Corey, the creator of the best-selling science fiction series The Expanse. That Guy is Wes Chatham, military veteran turned actor, and one of the stars of the hit TV series based on Corey's books.

Together these two friends have created a highly entertaining podcast. Their conversations usually start with an Expanse episode behind-the-scenes discussion and then range far afield as they talk about movies, television, and books and the processes behind them. They are total film geeks and their breadth of knowledge is frankly astounding.

Before I go any farther I want to issue a language warning. These are two dudes and their language can get quite salty. The F-bomb is pretty much guaranteed to be included. You have been warned.

As I said, most of their content includes a lot of conversation around The Expanse, and if you aren't a fan of the show, or of science fiction in general, it may not be for you. But Episode 19. which features special guest Jason Patric, is an exception to that rule.

Patric is an actor, the son of playwright Jason Miller (That Championship Season), and grandson of Jackie Gleason. His background gives him some unique insights into what creativity, commercial success, and critical acclaim can do.

Chatham and Patric are friends and their familiarity with one another gives this episode a depth and character that is often missing in "celebrity" interviews. Chatham talks about meeting Patric and the two share stories of working together and learning from one another.

This two-hour episode covers a great deal of territory, focusing on Patric's career but with side trips and detours that cover many topics. The time flies as you listen to three talented and deeply creative individuals talk about their life and their work.

It is well worth a listen!

The Cost of Creativity

How much is your creativity worth?

In addition to writing I have several other creative outlets, including knitting and crocheting. One of the things within the “maker” movement for which I am extremely grateful is the recognition that – while these are valuable skills in a purely practical sense – these are also creative and artistic pursuits.

Part of the reason these, and other textile arts, have been dismissed is, I am sure, because they were seen, primarily or entirely, as “women’s work,” but that is changing. (Thank you, Rosey Grier, for sharing your love of needlepoint!)

For reference, that is a standard ballpoint in the lower right. The needles in this picture are about the thickness of a pencil lead.

But much as I love to grab some yarn and needles I have some serious limits on the type of projects I take on.  And one of those limits is, frankly, financial.

Creative pursuits cost money, sometimes serious money.

We all define for ourselves what “serious money” is, but let’s be honest here. If we are retired, or planning our retirement, we will generally be living on less than we have been during our working lives, sometimes a lot less. True, there are expenses we will no longer have: professional wardrobes, commuting, meals away from home, perhaps fewer visits to the barber or hair salon, and maybe less help with household or yard chores that we haven’t had time for. But those generally don’t offset the reduction in income.

We have (or will) talk about those considerations as we go along here. However circumspect we are about discussing finances – and we were all taught that talking about our income is rude – this is something we all thing about, worry about, obsess over.

What started me down this line of thought was a recent post from a knitting newsletter I subscribe to. I get an email once a week with tips, tricks, and tutorials, as well as promotion for the shop that produces the newsletter. This is a serious LYS (yes, this is an actual acronym for Local Yarn Shop, used by knitters in chat rooms and forums), and they carry fabulous, beautiful, and expensive yarn. In this week’s newsletter there was a promo for a small rug kit. The rug, about 30”x40”, was gorgeous, and the kit came with all the needed materials and a pattern – for $130.00.

Now, I don’t know about you, but $130.00 represents a respectable percentage of my monthly income. It is a not-insignificant amount of money for me. I know people who regularly drop that kind of money on supplies and more power to them, but it really isn’t within my budget.

Which brings me to me point.

Materials, supplies, tools all cost money. They represent a real, tangible cost of doing what you love. Some of those things come in a wide range of costs, and can be more or less affordable depending on your own financial situation and comfort level. Deciding what is a reasonable cost is a personal decision, and it is going to be different for each person. But whatever you decide is right for you.

Honestly, I find this a kind of elitist gatekeeping, and one that raises my hackles. Is the work the maker puts into a blanket less worthy because it’s made of less-expensive yarn? Is a painting less beautiful because it was done with inexpensive brushes? Do words carry less weight because they were written in a $2 notebook with a cheap pencil?

I don’t think so. I think each person’s creation is valuable simply because it exists.

You made a quilt from blue jeans you bought by the pound at a thrift store? Good for you! I bet the person that sleeps under that quilt (whether it’s you or someone you know or a complete stranger) is grateful for the time you spent creating that piece.

This shawl, a piece I am immensely proud of, was made of leftover yarn from many pairs of socks. In essence it was made of "free" yarn, yet I think it's one of my favorites!

You created a small table from scrap lumber you had in your shop? That’s great! Someone has a place to set their coffee cup while they read a book or watch TV.

You drew a sketch on a napkin while sitting in a coffee shop waiting for a friend? Fabulous! I’ll bet there is someone who will keep that piece as a reminder of you and your skills. As a matter of fact, I had a co-worker who often added cartoon-y sketches to phone messages left on my desk. I still have those notes, tucked away in my mementoes, nearly 40 years later. Many were drawn on scraps of paper where he scribbled those messages and they make me smile every time I see them.

Don't let financial restrictions keep you from making the things you love. Work with what you can afford and take pride in what you make.

Do what you love, at whatever cost is comfortable for you. If you can afford that $130 rug kit then buy it and enjoy it. But if you can’t, if dime-store yarn is what fits your budget, don’t feel like your work is any less worthy.

The same goes for tools. Buy the best you can afford because they are probably worth it in the long run, but don’t discount what you are able to do with less-expensive ones. This is especially true if you aren’t sure you will get enough use out of a tool – buy a low-end model, one that doesn’t strain the budget. If you find it worthwhile you can always upgrade, as long as it’s still affordable for you.

Where that line is will be different for each person, and sometimes for the same person at different times or for different projects; I have splurged on yarn for a special project when I could afford to do so, but I refuse to feel “less than” when I’ve made a project from inexpensive materials.

There’s a secret about gatekeepers: They can only enforce their limitations if we let them.

So ignore them, walk right through that gate with your affordable tools and supplies, and live your creative life by your own standards.

Travel Tales, Part 1

Today’s post is coming to you from the road. Alabama Highway 27 to be exact. Steve’s family lives here and we are in the middle of an extended visit - the retirement road trip visit that was delayed by the pandemic.

We have seen and done so much that I could fill a month’s worth of posts or more. You don’t come here to read a travelogue, but today is the 5th Sunday of the month and that’s the week that can be just about anything I want it to be.

 We have already driven nearly 4,000 miles through 10 states - Oregon, California, Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Mississippi, and Alabama. We missed Tennessee because the I-40 bridge was out in Memphis and we had to detour to cross the Mississippi River.

For today, though, I want to talk about a little bit of family history we stumbled upon in Oklahoma City. Stumbled upon isn’t exactly the right description; we sought out the place we went to verify the information we had already stumbled upon.

Interstate 40 runs through the Southwest along the route of Historic Route 66. There are places where you can get off the highway and find remnants of the old “Mother Road” and little towns or small businesses that have somehow survived.

Outside the gift shop where we bought souvenirs and a couple great Route 66 shirts. When you have an iconic sign you have to take a picture!

One of those small towns is Seligman, AZ, where we took a loop off the highway to see one of the original travel stops along Route 66. Of course we had to take pictures and buy souvenirs, because that’s what keeps these little places alive. We stopped at a small shop that had recently reopened after being closed by the pandemic for many months, and we made sure to drop a few bucks into their cash register.

Down the road we made a second stop; a requirement for those of us of “a certain age.” We stood on the corner in Winslow, Arizona, took pictures for other tourists and had them take ours, and admired the statues and the truck that commemorate the Eagles song that jump-started the revival of Winslow as a pop icon.

Standin' on the corner with faded denim and guitar gurus. We may be retired, but that doesn't mean we've forgotten how to rock!

We took several pictures, but I have to admit I have a soft spot for this one of me with the iconic "flat bed Ford" in Winslow.

We got back on the highway and drove through some rather spectacular thunderstorms in north Texas to our destination outside Oklahoma City where we stopped for the night.

The next day was going to be the Big Adventure for this leg of the trip (this was before we knew about the Big Detour Adventure to come).

Back in the 1930s Ray York, Steve’s grandfather, had a bar-b-que stand on Route 66 in a small town named Britton, Oklahoma. Steve’s dad was just a toddler. We have a picture of the stand with Daddy Ray standing our front, and it has hung in our house for many years.

The hand-written note on the back of this photo says it was taken in 1939. The man in front is Steve's grandfather, Ray York, who was a business owner in Britton, Oklahoma, when Steve's dad was a toddler.

Some years ago Steve got curious about the stand and started looking around online to see if he could find any record or remnant of York BBQ. He had a picture of the original building and a general idea of where it had been on Route 66 outside Oklahoma City, but that was about all he had to go on.

What he found was a closed property known as the Owl Court Motel at the location where he thought the BBQ stand used to be. Comparing pictures of Owl Court with the picture of York BBQ he began to suspect that the motel office, though remodeled and added on to, was the same building where his grandfather sold BBQ to locals and passing tourists in the late 1930s.

By the time he was searching, Oklahoma City had grown and Britton had become a suburb of the larger city. The empty lots in the picture of the BBQ stand were filled with homes and businesses, and the two-lane road out front had become a four-lane thoroughfare with traffic lights and turn lanes.

We weren’t able to visit Oklahoma, and for a few years it looked like the Owl Court, now abandoned and shuttered, might get torn down without Steve ever being able to see if it really was the old York BBQ.

But as luck would have it, someone decided to try and make something of the old place. After several changes of ownership it ended up with someone who is dedicated to the revitalization of the Britton area, and to the revival of the Owl Court. There was still a chance we could check it out, even if it seemed like a long shot that it was actually the York BBQ.

So, carrying our expectations and potential for serious disappointment, we left our motel and headed for Oklahoma City. 

The stone front was added on, as well as the little dormer and the roof was raised in the back, but seeing the Owl Court in person was an instant shock of recognition. The front windows have now come full circle as serving windows for Brew Brother coffee.

We knew that the new owner had opened a coffee shop in the former motel office and that it was only open until about 1, so we made sure to get on our way with plenty of time for the drive into the city.

I was actually getting very nervous as we approached the location. I knew this had become a big deal for Steve and I was afraid he might be very disappointed if it turned out he was wrong. Somehow, finding Daddy Ray’s BBQ had become a Big Deal.

Well, we were coming down the street, checking the GPS for the distance to our destination, when I spotted the building.

My instant reaction was recognition. Even with the remodeling, an addition, a bright paint job, and 80 years, the bones of the place were clear: This was Daddy Ray’s old BBQ stand.

I have to admit I got a little choked up. We had wondered about this place for years, and only through the use of online research did we have any idea that it even might have survived all these years. Steve’s parents had visited Oklahoma City and the places where Jim had lived as a boy, but they never even looked for the BBQ stand because they assumed, as we had initially, that a little food stand would have been torn down and built over decades ago.

Finding the place was amazing, but meeting Sierra, the woman running the place, was pure joy.

Imagine you’re working at a tiny shop, the only person in the place. A large man starts looking the place over, examining where the doors and windows are, and studying the pitch of the roof. You likely would be a little wary at the very least.

She leaned out the service window and asked if she could help us, did we want some coffee?

Steve is kind of a big guy. Fortunately Sierra at Brew Brother was very friendly and offered to show us the whole place. If you're anywhere near Oklahoma City I can highly recommend their coffee!

Steve answered that I might want some. Then he told her he thought the place used to be his grandfather’s BBQ stand.

She lit up like a kid at Christmas. Turns out she was a huge fan of local history, wanted to talk about what he knew and was delighted to look at his picture. She also confirmed that the building had been in that exact spot since the 1930s.

She invited us inside and let Steve take tons of pictures. Looking at the interior, at the details of the roof construction and the dormer that was added to the front, it was clear that this was indeed the same building. 

We spent a couple hours there, taking pictures, talking to Sierra, walking around the property and looking at the other buildings on the property. 

Steve tried to recreate Daddy Ray's pose from the 1939 photo. As you can tell, he's a bit taller than his grandfather was.

Daddy Ray had an auto shop in addition to the BBQ, and Steve thinks one of the buildings may be a remodel of the original shop building. Since we don’t have any pictures of that shop we can’t be sure, but we have lots of pictures and information and an exact location which we can research if we want to learn more.

For now just knowing that this was the site of the original York BBQ stand is huge. That picture is back on the wall of my house and carries even more meaning after having visited the spot where it was taken.

Leaving Oklahoma City there was still a long way to go, many hours of driving, another hotel, more sights to see - including the statue of Vulcan in Birmingham, Alabama. 

Mighty Vulcan and his buns of iron. He features prominently in the Southern Sisters mystery series by the late Anne George (some of my favorite books!). The statue is more than 100 years old and stands in one of the most beautiful parks ever.

The story of Vulcan and of this statue deserves its own post and will get it one of these days.

That stop is worth a post of its own.

Oh, and the coffee was good, too!

It Costs Nothing to be Kind

It Costs Nothing to be Kind

In the creative world there are always newcomers alongside the more experienced creators and the seasoned veterans. Sometimes there are even a few, or more than a few, professionals in the group.

Often this can lead to an imbalance that leaves one group or another feeling slighted. I have seen this in writing workshops and conferences many times. The gathering – whether an informal local workshop or an expensive multi-day international conference – sets an agenda and it can never meet all the expectations of a diverse group. It’s too advanced for the beginners who feel overwhelmed, or it’s too basic for the experienced members who have seen it all before and are bored, or it’s flawed in yet another way. Or all of the above.

There seem to be two basic solutions to this problem:

1.   Split the group up into sub-groups, based on their interests, experience, and expertise; or

2.   Accept that you can’t please everyone and stop trying (this response is much more common in volunteer-run groups where burnout is frequently a serious issue).

Splitting the group can work, if it is large enough to support several sub-groups, but that opens up another level of problems. Who decides which creator gets placed in each group? What if a newbie wants to listen in on the veterans’ group? What if a timid-but-accomplished veteran is more comfortable interacting with newcomers?

I think there is another way. A way of grace, humility, and kindness. A path of inclusion and generosity. And it costs nothing.

Just be kind to the new kids.

It’s what we told our children when they were growing up and learning social skills. Be nice to other people. Be tolerant.

Kindness and acceptance will go a long way toward making a newcomer feel welcome within the creative community. Whether you’re a writer, a painter, a costumer, a musician – whatever your favorite flavor of creativity – welcoming new people into your community costs you nothing.

It isn’t just the newcomer who will benefit either.

There is a satisfaction that comes from knowing you helped someone, even if it is something as simple as showing them the best way to hold a particular tool, or where to find basic information.

That isn’t all. There is also the chance that you will learn something in the process of helping someone new. Talking to someone who “doesn’t know any better” may bring up questions you never thought to ask, or ideas you never considered because you knew the “right” way to do something.

Gatekeepers of any sort limit access to “outsiders” and almost inevitably this leads to insular thinking, tribalism, and stagnation. Without the addition of new people and new ideas organizations wither and die, and creative endeavors are the same.

We can all think of examples from history, ranging from fine art, to literature, to architecture, to science. We can look back and shake our heads at the censure of Galileo and Copernicus, at the condemnation of “modern” music, at books like “The Seduction of the Innocents” that condemned the comic books we grew up with. In each of these instances someone (or some institution) appointed themselves as a gatekeeper, an arbiter of what was “right” or “proper.”

It is far too easy to fall into that same trap with our own creativity. To set ourselves up as the experts and to snub those who haven’t reached our lofty heights.

If you have developed some expertise, if you are an experienced artist of whatever stripe, I hope that you can remember what it was like to be the new kid. Remember those first tentative steps into the space where the experts sat. The feeling of being out of your depth, of being an intruder in a space where you did not belong.

Remember those feelings, acknowledge them in the new creatives who may approach you for advice, encouragement, reassurance – for inclusion.

Remember the lessons your parents taught you about grace and kindness, about treating people with respect and tolerance. Remember trying to pass those lessons along to your children.

Remember all those things, and remind yourself of them as you help those who want to follow your path into creativity. Be patient, be encouraging, make the newcomer feel welcome, just as someone, somewhere, made you feel welcome.

And remember one other thing:

It costs you nothing to be kind.

It's A Plan

Each of us has a vision for what our retirement should look like. If you’re like me you have planned and worked for the day you will no longer be a slave to an alarm clock and someone else’s schedule. You have a list, at least in your own head, of the things you want to do, the places you want to go.

Then something happens and that plan gets shredded. Maybe it’s one of the “life rolls” I’ve talked about, or Mother Nature (she sent Hurricane Katrina to scuttle my plans for a trip to New Orleans several years ago), or a pandemic such as is trashing plans for the entire globe right now.

These two look like they know where they're going. Except that they're trapped in a vehicle that won't move. We've all had times like this!

Whatever it is, your plans will get messed with, and you will find yourself having to deal with the aftermath.

The idea for this came to me when my husband and I went for a drive in the middle of July. Because of the pandemic, all our plans for my retirement had gone right out the window. At first we had stalled, hoping things would get back under control quickly, but as time went on it became increasingly clear that wasn’t going to happen soon and we would need to make some adjustments. That drive was a one-afternoon substitute for a planned cross-country road trip. Yeah, plans change.

This is not what I planned to see. Instead of driving across the country we had to settle for scenery within an hour of home. Fortunately there's plenty of lovely places to see nearby.

While this relates to the discussion of “life rolls” and sick days, those are part of a larger picture: In retirement, as in our pre-retirement lives, we need to maintain flexibility. The good news is that in retirement we don’t have to plan around a work schedule, or the demands of a day job.

Flexibility should come much more easily when we become out own bosses, though it doesn’t always. The habits of a lifetime are hard to break, and we have trained ourselves to internalize whatever goal we are given and to strive toward it at all costs.

But we need to keep that flexibility in mind as we approach our creative pursuits as well. Your plans will get butchered, in ways you can’t anticipate. Right now I have a friend whose ceramics studio has been closed by the pandemic. Another friend lost their dance rehearsal space and their competitions have been cancelled. More friends can’t attend the conventions where they normally display their costuming efforts.

For every one of these people and many more  creatives, the pandemic has brought about major disruptions in their creative pursuits. But none of them have abandoned their creative pursuits. They have drawn on their own flexibility and ingenuity to find ways to continue their creative lives.

I would argue that in times of disruption and crisis your creativity is more important than ever. I hope you’ll indulge me while I get a bit metaphysical. Finding an outlet that feeds your soul and brings you joy is critical when your world is in turmoil. Losing yourself in the feel of clay in your hands, in the concentration on a particular brushstroke, or the focus on a passage of composition can soothe the anxiety when things go wrong.

Finding a way to continue the thing you love when your plans are thrown into disarray, staying flexible and open to new ideas and new processes, giving yourself permission to change plans, those are all positive ways to weather the crises that will arise.

You can always find a way out. You just have to stay open to the possibilities.

We have all had those times on the day job where someone else set an agenda, a schedule, and remained inflexibly dedicated to that plan, even when it was falling apart. Their inflexibility not only created problems in fulfilling the original goal, it created new and sometimes intractable difficulties. All their strict adherence to The Plan did was make things worse.

We are no longer bound to someone else’s agenda and schedule. Where we previously were held to The Plan,  we are now able to make A Plan. We can always change A Plan; it is, after all, only one of many options. But when it becomes The Plan, when it is the only one, we lose all flexibility.

In a greater sense, The Plan, the lack of flexibility, puts limits on our creativity. If writing novels becomes The Plan, then we remove the option of writing short stories, or poetry, or non-fiction essays.

Stay flexible. Be willing to explore your creative options and open yourself up to things you might not have considered if you were following The Plan. This is one of the beauties of retirement; we have the ability to give ourselves options. No one else can impose The Plan on us, and I believe we shouldn’t impose it either.

Flexibility is a gift we can give ourselves, and it is one of the most precious. It is permission to explore, to try and fail or succeed, and to adjust our plans and goals accordingly. It is the gift of setting our own rules, our own expectations, and our own plans.

It is the gift of Another Plan whenever we choose.

Recommended Watch: Tested "Imposter Syndrome

My husband and I watch a lot of creators on YouTube, as you may have figured out from the number of those I recommend. Thing is, there is an amazing amount of creativity on the internet and it comes on many forms, and since we “cut the cord” with cable when I retired we consume a lot more video via streaming services.

One of the people we have been watching for several years, long before the aforementioned cable cutting, is Adam Savage. We have watched, or listened to, several incarnations of his work: podcasts The Adam Savage Project  and This Is Only a Test, several YouTube channels, and of course his work during the 10 seasons of Mythbusters  on the Discovery Channel.

Savage is a leading proponent of the maker movement, something that I hope I am as well (okay, not so much ‘leading’ but we’re working on that!). He produces several segments on YouTube each week. He has also been working primarily solo since the pandemic and as a result his segments have often been more personal and revealing over the last months.

I know I have talked about imposter syndrome before, but sometimes it takes hearing the information from several sources before it fully sinks in.

We recently re-watched this episode of “Ask Adam Savage” because it somehow popped up in our recommendations (Who knows how YouTube selects the things it recommends?) and we realized that it contained some good insights to the creative process. Savage is entertaining and often has stories to tell, so it is well worth watching the entire video, about 40 minutes.

But if you are short on time, or don’t find him nearly as entertaining as we do, or if you just aren’t interested, I recommend you at least skip to about the 16:35 time and listen to him talk about imposter syndrome.

I enjoy Savage’s content in general, and I urge you to explore his Tested website https://www.tested.com/ to see what he’s doing that may speak to you on your own creative journey. I get something out of almost every segment he releases, and even when I don’t have a lightbulb moment I have a good time listening to his stories and watching his creations come to life.

I think you will too!

Polymath Possibilities

In the smash musical hit Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda as the title character brilliantly describes himself as "a polymath/a pain in the ass/a massive pain." My husband in an incredible polymath, and I can attest that the description of polymaths is accurate.

All of the music is brilliant, and that's mot just my opinion, but also that of the Tony Awards. Alexander Hamilton was, indeed, a polymath, though perhaps not the most famous.

The dictionary definition of a polymath is "a person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning," and I would add interests to that definition. A polymath might not know everything about a subject (though it's entirely possible), but they will know a little about a lot of things, strive to learn more, and be interested in even more. Polymaths are beyond curious, they can become obsessed with acquiring knowledge and skills.

This hunger for knowledge can apply to a lot of creative people. Many of us have more than one outlet for the drive to create. While I call myself a writer, I also do needlework, mess about in the kitchen, and create beaded jewelry. I even combine the love for beading with needlework and create tiny bead-knitted amulet bags.

The tradition of the polymath goes back centuries. DaVinci spanned the disciplines of mathematics, engineering, science, drawing, painting, sculpture, and more. Not a bad role model!

Painter, sculptor, scientist, mathematician, inventor, engineer - DaVinci set the example for polymaths for all time.

Perhaps some of the best modern examples of polymaths are costumers, prop makers, and cosplayers. While cosplayers' passion is creating or re-creating costumes based on their fandoms (movies, books, television, games), they use an enormous range of skills to accomplish that goal. Do you think of sewing when you think of costuming? It's far more; leatherwork, resin casting, welding, painting, sewing certainly, quilting, beading, the list goes on and on.

These creatives are devoted to the project, not the process, and are willing to consider multiple processes to reach their goal. They may sew a fabric base for their costume, but their efforts often include leather or metal armor and shields, cast appliances to alter their face, head, hands or body, and make-up that runs the gamut from simple to spectacular. They may build robotic prosthetics involving mechanical and electronic movement and control.

Additionally they may choose to create (or recreate) props and accessories from a variety of materials. Everything from a simple wooden staff to a forged steel sword or a meticulously-constructed space helmet can come from their devotion to the project, and these objects can take a wide variety of skill to produce.

How, you might ask, does this apply to retirement? Well, in retirement (as I've said before) we no longer have to limit ourselves. While a day job consumed many of our waking hours, and children claimed many more, our creative time had to be rationed. We had less time to experiment; when the kids grow up and we retire we have many more hours available for our creativity. Time is no longer a limiting factor, and with an "empty nest" space may not be either.

With more time we are able to explore ideas that we might have dismissed because we didn't have time before. We have the freedom, the time, to try things. If we have thought about something that was multi-disciplinary but didn't pursue it because it meant learning another skill, now we can take a second look. We have the opportunity to experiment, to find out if our curiosity is a fleeting question or a lasting passion.

In thinking about ways we might implement a multidisciplinary approach, the idea of joining a community theater company seemed like a perfect opportunity. Carpentry skills are necessary to build sets. Stage design incorporates skills in painting, upholstery, interior design, and a variety of decorative skills. Costuming, as I discussed above, combines many skills. Lighting and sound bring in technical and engineering challenges. And that's just some of the needed skill sets. There are also actors, singers, musicians, writers, directors, and many more.

Getting a production ready for an audience requires an entire troop of creators in a variety of fields.

I have a sister who is an accomplished seamstress and has found herself in demand after she retired from teaching school as a costume mistress in local theater. Her skills were already excellent, but even more important was her ability to improvise when necessary. Her already extensive knowledge of materials, tools, and processes has grown tremendously in the last few years.

Podcasters and vloggers also need a range of skills. While they make it look effortless, it's far more complex than pointing a camera at something, or at yourself, and talking. It requires an eye for composition, the willingness to record for hours in order to get the right take, and the skill and patience to edit those hours into a finished 'cast that may only last a few minutes.

(I'm sure I will have more to say about this last one when I start recording the audio version of these posts. Patience, as my husband will tell you, is not one of my virtues.)

We can all become polymaths in retirement. In fact, I encourage it. Let your imagination and curiosity take you down as many paths as you care to explore. Who knows what you might find in one of those paths you never had the time to explore before?

That is one of the luxuries of retirement. We have all those polymath possibilities laid out in front of us, like a creativity banquet, and we can take as much as we want.