Posted by: renaissancerebecca | November 20, 2013

Belonging

“I don’t think you’ve ever felt like you belonged anywhere,” a friend told me the other day while we were out on a walk. I paused and looked at him, “Tell me why you think that,” I said. As he outlined his reasons, I was stunned. He was onto something.

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | November 13, 2013

Giving: Reimagined

After he spent two weeks volunteering at a hostel for pilgrims along the Camino, a friend returned with a gift for me. I was surprised he bought me anything as he knows I’m a minimalist who is on a seemingly neverending quest to live with less “stuff”. He smiled as I opened the bag. It contained a bar of soap. He proudly declared, “I know you don’t want any more ‘stuff’ but this is something that you will use up and it will disappear.” Indeed he was right. A perfect gift for a minimalist. Even better? It wasn’t purchased. It was among the items left behind by pilgrims wanting to lighten their load. Recycling at its finest.

Accepting gifts has not been easy for me in recent years. Yes, I like the thought with which they are given. And I love surprises. But I’m at the stage in my life where I prefer “experiences” to “stuff.” Friends have adjusted to this:

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | November 6, 2013

A Note of Thanks

I came across a greeting card this morning that made me laugh. The front shows a Mom driving a car with a couple wild kids in the back and says, “Mom, you took us everywhere…” The inside says, “And even brought us back home! Astonishing!” It made me think back to the road trip my family took to Illinois. Five kids, two adults, one car. And this was 1992 — long before there were televisions to watch from the backseat. From Illinois, we headed north into Canada and, after a stop in Niagara Falls, headed back to New York. At the border my parents were asked for our birth certificates. “We didn’t really plan to come back this way,” they explained, “So we don’t have them.”

The officer said, “We work very closely with ChildFind. How do we know you didn’t kidnap these children?”

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | October 16, 2013

Watching the Past Go Up in Flames

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” my friends asked.

“I would love to, but I already have plans,” I told them. “I’m going to a ceremonial burning.”

Their eyes grew wide with alarm and humor. “Who are you burning?” they asked.

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | October 11, 2013

A Living-With-Less Challenge

The pilgrims of the Middle Ages didn’t carry much of anything. Images depict them in a long cloaks and simple sandals, a walking stick in one hand to which a drinking gourd was attached. No backpacks. No headlamps. No hiking shoes.

I realize they probably didn’t have nearly as much to take with them anyway. I’m guessing they didn’t own 10 cloaks and five pairs of sandals. Plus five more summer cloaks, and two more for the “off-season.”

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | October 6, 2013

And For Her Next Stunt . . .

The book was called First Time Around the World. As if there might be a second or third time I embarked on such a journey. I could barely fathom planning a year of travels, let alone actually making it happen, so once would definitely be enough for me.

Having lived with myself for thirty-six years now, I don’t think my love of “big” trips is a fad. “Maybe one day you’ll travel for a week at a time, like most people,” my mother said after I returned from my most recent travels. “Mmmm,” I responded, wondering if one week in a place would ever be enough.

It surely doesn’t help that I have a proclivity toward travel-based memoirs. And people don’t tend to write about their week-long sojourns. My heart speeds up when I head into the travel writing section of the bookstore. Tales of a Female Nomad, Vagabonding, One Year Off. On this balmy Saturday I spent more than an hour on a beach towel with my nose tucked into An Embarrassment of Mangoesa couple’s tale of their two year hiatus sailing the Caribbean. I read with great interest the money part–how they figured out what it would cost. But then I realized they took this trip nearly twenty years ago.

Speaking of outdated numbers, my copy of First Time Around the World is seven years old. Yes, me, the girl who loves getting rid of stuff, has actually held onto a book for seven years. Thanks to the wonders of the internet, though, I can now find more accurate figures for this supposed trip. And just today it hit me: the money my father has saved for my wedding could fund an entire year of traveling. One day versus an entire year. Need I say more? Yes. I probably need to say, “Oh Daddy dearest . . . about that wedding money . . . “

I called him just now. “That would be a little drastic,” he told me.

But here’s the thing: I’ve got three years. I’m thinking a year around the world will be my fortieth birthday gift to myself–not from Dad, but from me. So my plan is to save that chunk of money.

Or I can look at it this way: I’ve got three years to convince my father that visiting places he’s probably never heard of is going to make his first-born a lot happier than spending all that money on a one day event that, most brides say, goes by so fast they don’t remember much of it at all.

Posted by: renaissancerebecca | September 27, 2013

Home Sweet Home

A couple Sundays ago, 500 people walked through my house. I — or more accurately my home — was part of the 2013 Tour of Homes. These sorts of things usually showcase large, meticulously decorated places. I, however, live in a 780-square-foot log cabin. There’s a taxidermied rooster on my mantle.

So how is it that this proponent of simple living and small houses finds herself and her abode on a home tour?

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | September 18, 2013

A Mess of Words

The flowers left by the property manager were a nice touch, but they stood stick-straight in a vase. I decided to pull them out and arrange them into something more decorative. The only problem? The house we were renting had no scissors with which to trim the stems. I was not yet so desperate as to use a knife, so I left them as they were.

Soon, though, the lack of scissors would become a problem.

I was on my semi-annual writing retreat. After writing over two hundred pages about my Camino last year, I had all but abandoned the project, overwhelmed by the prospect of turning it into something with structure and purpose that others might want to read.

Wandering Malaprop’s a couple months ago, my eyes stopped on the book “Blueprint Your Bestseller.” I had no intention of writing a bestseller, but I was definitely curious when I saw the author would be speaking at the store next week. I skimmed the first few pages of the book. It was written for people who had a minimum of a hundred pages or so and didn’t know what to do next. I love when I come across books written just for me. So I bought it and dug in.

Step 1: Make a list of every scene in your book without looking at your manuscript. Ha. This should be good.

Steps 2 & 3: Highlight the “good” scenes on our list in green .. . Highlight the “bad” scenes on your list in pink. Okay. That was hard, but I did it.

Step 4: Go back through your manuscript and identify your “forgotten” scenes.  Ugh. Are you kidding me? I’ve got two hundred pages here! And every time I start looking through them, I want to hop a plane to Spain. So much for this idea.

At some point, I read that you don’t really have a book until you print it out. So I determined I was going to face those two hundred pages–in the flesh. Which required me to buy some printer ink. And some paper. This was turning into quite a project. So as not to make it feel like burdensome homework, I bought purple paper–printing black on white brought back too many memories of college lab reports.

Soon after printing I was able to answer the question, “What’s more intimidating than knowing you have two hundred pages to read through?” Seeing those two hundred pages in a huge pile on your coffee table. There they sat.

I determined I would continue the steps in the book on my writing retreat. And here I am. Yesterday, I listed every darn scene (since I seem to have misplaced the first list I’d created months ago). I lost track of the number of times my mind wandered to thoughts of doing another Camino. Would I walk the route from Le Puy this time? Or from Oviedo? And I want to volunteer at a hostel while I’m there. Or should I volunteer at the Pilgrim office in St. Jean? If I walk in France first, I can get my French back up to speed so I can use it at the Pilgrim office . . . 

The next task, once I pulled myself away from thoughts of planes across the Atlantic, was to literally cut my manuscript into scenes. Oh. My. God. Seriously? Crap. Now I really needed scissors. Lois and I headed to Wal-mart. She wasn’t going to let a lack of office supplies stop me.

Mission: Procrastination

Mission: Procrastination

Upon our return, I did an excellent job of procrastinating and now have two lovely flower arrangements to show for it.

Eventually, though, I dug in. And guess what? Cutting up a manuscript means reading through the whole darn thing again. Well, okay, skimming, but still. It has taken me hours. I was nearly finished when I came upon the blog posts I wrote while on the Camino. Thirty pages of them. Single spaced. Seriously Rebecca? Who knew one woman could write so much. (Yes, I know. I have a blog with years of writing on it. That still shocks me, too.)

So here is the state of my room. Purple pages cut into pieces, labeled with scene names. Part of me is eager to finish this step. Part of me doesn’t want to for fear what’s next!

Scene from a Writing Retreat

Scene from a Writing Retreat

Posted by: renaissancerebecca | September 11, 2013

Expectations

Before I left for the Camino, I’d read about the Cruz de Ferro: an iron cross that stood atop a pole that reached high into the air. Around its base pilgrims left stones they had either brought from home or picked up along the way. I read that the stone I carried was to be symbolic of my fears, worries, and expectations and that by leaving the stone at the base of the cross I was leaving those things behind.

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Posted by: renaissancerebecca | September 4, 2013

Walking Faster: Living Longer or Living Less?

I heard about a study the other day that showed the speed people walk is related to the number of years they will live. Faster walkers live longer. If this is true, my father may live forever. He is the man who doesn’t take cabs when we visit New York City. Nor do we ride the subway. We walk. This is no take-your-time-see-the-sights walking; this is man-on-a-mission walking. I thought of him Saturday as I sped by the throngs of tourists on the streets of downtown Asheville, attempting to get to the Fine Arts Theater in time for a movie.

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