write frame of mind

Last night I discussed Marilynne Robinson's Home with some lovely, thoughtful women. I forgot how much I enjoy deepening my understanding of literature through conversation. It was a friendly game of ping-pong, where ideas were served out, morphed, bounced back for further inspection and another go-around.

In an attempt to prepare myself for the discussion, I read a transcript of an interview with Robinson in The Paris Review. It was delightful, and I ran across this quote:

I really am incapable of discipline. I write when something makes a strong claim on me. When I don’t feel like writing, I absolutely don’t feel like writing. I tried that work ethic thing a couple of times—I can’t say I exhausted its possibilities—but if there’s not something on my mind that I really want to write about, I tend to write something that I hate. And that depresses me. I don’t want to look at it. I don’t want to live through the time it takes for it to go up the chimney.

When I started this blog, I quietly set a goal to write once per week, but I've detected an ounce of drudgery in my attitude (and writing) more than once. In addition, I found myself tabling excitement for topics and mentally adding them to next week's agenda to discover those same topics shriveled and desiccated after days of neglect.

Maybe it's my sense of work ethic--infused to me by generations of hard-working Dutch folk--which leaves me unsatisfied with a missed week or a bland entry, but I think writing is different for me than dishes or laundry. I can't will myself into a creative writing state like a rehearsed drop-to-my-knees-for-a-kitchen-floor mopping. And you know what, I'm okay with that...today anyway.

back to the grind

Last week Wednesday through Sunday our family visited my sister and brother-in-law in Dallas. Though the city doesn't have many cultural attractions to speak of--it boasts cement strip malls and chain restaurants--, we had a relaxing time walking around the Ft. Worth Zoo, enjoying dinner at Zorba's Greek Cafe, talking theology by the pool, and catching up in the living room. We slept late (all 3 of us) and loitered in our pajamas well past breakfast.

Then we flew home.

The alarm bleeped us back to reality on Monday morning, and in case we felt like snoozing, our built-in alarm woke up an hour earlier than he had all vacation. Yep, vacation is over, and it's back to the grind.

Here are a few pictures of our trip:

We decided the lion roaring at the zoo alone was worth our admission fee. This fellow had quite the superiority complex: he felt the need to exert his authority after he caught a playful paw in the jaw from his female counterpart. I suppose--keeping up appearances for the passers-by. Poor boy bolted the opposite direction from his watchful tante (and the commotion) when the king of the zoo bellowed his warning.


My son enjoyed the exotic bird exhibit where he mostly tried to touch the lime-yellow and sea-blue feathered strays which were seemingly in his reach...to no avail. He didn't seem too phased and found a bit of water on the ground to pat his palms in and swish around.

In true sports fan fashion, the hubby toured the new Texas Stadium with his brother-in-law. The television screen in the picture is actually one of the smaller side versions of the 40-million dollar one next to it. Apparently, it's the largest high-definition television in the world, and it cost more than the entire old Dallas Cowboy stadium.