The Imposible Dream - Connie

August 28, 2010 Connie Wolf This is what I wrote for my last assignment for our on-line class. It is not what I posted there, that's another story but it is what I wrote so I'll post it here, where I feel safe:
Assignment: If it weren’t impossible I’d…..
If it weren’t impossible I would make the whole world laugh. My gift to the world would be a giggle, a chuckle, an “I can’t catch my breath” belly laugh. I would write a world-wide column that would be translated in every language, printed in every newspaper the world over. It would miraculously transcend all cultural, regional, and social differences.
My little essays on the absurdity of the human condition would be reprinted in an anthology that would sky rocket to the top of every imaginable Best Sellers list. It would stay there, on top, year after year. It would be outsold only by the Bible. This would be accomplished without one personal appearance without a single interview and without a book tour. I would be allowed to cling to my privacy, maintain my anonymity and revel in my solitude.
Eventually, I would stretch my creative muscle and write a novel. This novel would be filled with laughter and tears, touching the hearts of my loyal readers. The book will be made into a Tony award winning play that will go on to break all records on Broadway. Inevitably it will be translated to the silver screen. This story, like most first novels was somewhat biographical and the heroine, a thinly disguised me. My character would be played by Julia Roberts, perhaps? Maybe Sandra Bullock, or more likely, played by Kathy Bates. It would have to be an actress that can laugh at herself, could laugh at the entire human predicament. I would like this laughter to transcend gender and maybe be played by Hugh Grant; I love his satirical British humor. Better yet, I’ll remain a woman but transcend cultural and ethnicity barriers, I could be played by Queen Latifah.
Forgive the digression; let us get back to matter at hand, making the whole world laugh. The only public appearance I would even consider making would be the presentation of a personal monologue, a sort of underplayed stand up routine. My routine would never rely on obscenity or stoop to cruelty. I would play only for the masses, no smoky late night comedy clubs for me. I would make a DVD from a performance given to a conference of PTA mothers. I would distribute it for free. I would appear only on daytime television. Maybe Oprah or Ellen or better yet, PBS, never would I appear on late night or cable TV. I want to share laughter with hospice and assisted living centers, in cancer wards and prisons, in soup kitchens and in the waiting room at the DMV, God knows those people could use some distraction. My audience would be old, fat, and tired like me but I would also reach out to the young and struggling, the lonely, the misunderstood. I would share laughter not at the Four Seasons but at the Sizzler, not at the Hilton but at Motel Six, and not in the Big Apple, on the Las Vegas strip nor an exclusive resort on Maui, no I will perform in Pittsburg, Bakersfield and Kingman Arizona.
I would be ignored by the Pulitzer, rejected by the National Book Award and, of course, shunned by the Nobel. I would accrue my honors from the P.T.A., from Parents without Partners and Overeaters Anonymous. I would be overjoyed if I could lighten the load of twelve step programs everywhere. Let others grace the pages of the New Yorker; I will proudly publish my quips in the Pennysaver. I will broadcast on AM radio stations played in the drive up window of McDonalds, the waiting room for Mammograms and piped through ear phones in the dentist’s chair. I’ll do warm-up acts for Weight Watcher’s Meetings, for Neighborhood Watch and Tupperware parties. I will be your “Everywoman”.
If it was only possible, I would make the whole world laugh.

conquering your own summit

I get a weakly blast in my email from a site called "Zen Habits".  When I signed up I thought that Zen would be good for my soul.  However, like a lot of other things I sign up for, I very rarely read it. I call it "Zen for my soul".  It's not that I do not need it, because I do.  I just find every reason in the world to avoid looking into my Zen Soul.

However, today I read a guest writer and his mountain theory.

How to Summit Life’s Everyday Mountain (Scott Dihsmore)

“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.” ~Confucius


....Last week I sat on top of Mt. Shasta, a 14,179 foot mountain in Northern California. It was my first real summit and I was proud. Getting there took me through two days of snow, ice and below-freezing camping conditions, using crampons, an ice axe, and more layers than I thought I owned.

......I began to realize the lessons required to reach the top and make it back down safely. As it turns out, the most important rules are just as relevant in the snow as they are in conquering our everyday challenges.


When was the last time you reached a mountain summit, whether outdoors or in life?

He is comparing reaching a summit in life to climbing a mountain.  I think what caught my eye was the statement about sitting on the mountain top. That brought a part of my own life to memory.  I sat on a mountain top once but it wasn't Mt.Shasta.  It was a small mountain in the Cedar Breaks area of Southern Utah and it was only a half mile hike from the road.  However, I hiked my mountain and let it all hang out.  I climbed my mountain in the nude.  I sat on my mountain top in the nude.  I heard my echo yelling back at me in the nude.

Scott gives the following advice for mountain climbing and life:

Pack light...I certainly did that.

Take one step at a time...you try to take two steps at one time and you'll fall on your butt, nude or not.

Don’t go at it alone...disagree here...not to excited about a lot of people seeing me in the nude.

Listen to the experts...actually I wasn't to interested in hearing about other people hiking in the nude.

Slow down...well duh, you cannot walk fast over sharp rocks with bare feet.

Look back and take in the view...check for Forest Rangers while your at it.

Save some energy for the trip down...now there is some good advice.  No one wants to spend the night nude and on top of a mountain.  (at least I don't)

Getting to the top is optional...I don't think so...why would I want to walk around a forest in the nude and not claim victory over a dumb mountain.

Getting down is mandatory...double duh...if you cannot get down, don't climb the tree.

Failure is a part of the process...OK, get out of the car, take you clothes off, shiver for a couple seconds, put your clothes back on and wait for a warmer day.

“It is not the mountains we conquer but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary

I absolutely agree Sir Hillary.
 
Running around nude in the trees and rocks is awesome. Standing nude above a canyon listening to your echo screaming the call of the wild is an experience few will ever experience.  I was not sure if my echo was nude.

Eat your heart out Scott.

three dots and a blah

I have been writing a lot lately but most of it has been my (book?)... (there they are) and my net class.
I have not been very happy with the net class.  I took the class to learn something.  I was hoping that I would get some constructive criticism and just maybe learn how to improve my writing.  The only criticism I have received is about my punctuation. The criticism is, "there are some problems you need to fix."  OK, what are they?  I was hoping the instructor would at least say what is wrong and maybe give me a lead  as to where to go for some help.  I was not given any help.  Unfortunately I know I do not have the greatest knowledge of punctuation and could use some help.  The class I am taking is not the place to go for help.
However, I have discovered  that using three dots (...) is not good.  My problem is that I have fallen in love with the three dots.  They solve a ton of problems for me.  "Word" allows me to use them without screaming at me with red or green lines so I assumed I had found my panacea for writing.
However,  my instructor told me to get rid of the dots (...).  It made me want to cry because it is sort of like having to return a wallet full of money that you just found.  You know you cannot keep it but it sure would be Nice to have the money.
Alas, poor me...adios my old friends...I will never forget you...If I ever become a famous writer I will resurrect you...

Third Summer Nap

Dust motes dance in the sunbeam that slants across my bed. I’m lying on my back, my legs in the air. First I wave them freely about then I walk my bare feet up the wall, going higher and higher until my hips leave the bed. Suddenly, I lose my balance and I fall back with a resounding thump. Mommy calls out from the kitchen,
“What are you doing in there? You are supposed to be taking a nap”.
“I’m not tired,” I call back.
“Then just lie still for fifteen minutes and rest your eyes. Just fifteen minutes and then I’ll let you get up”
I grimace and wiggle some more, eyes wide open. I don’t want to sleep. It is summer and the side yard is full of wild strawberries to eat and daisies to pick. A breeze smells sweet as it gently flows through my bedroom window. I am too young to know if the fragrance is from the clover and sweet peas outside or from the freshly laundered and starched gingham curtains that move with the current of air. I don’t even wonder I simply accept it as part of the delight of this perfect summer day, I could not yet conceive of any more to come, not tomorrow, not next month, not next year.

It is my third summer but I am experiencing it as my first, a year is a concept that I haven't yet grasped, I remember no other summer. Every joy, every touch, every taste, every smell is wondrous and new. The smell of fresh cut grass is not laden with nostalgia and memories when you are only three. It is the first delicate scent on the first day of the first summer ever. The first time my bare feet touch the lawn and I feel it’s tickling delight an unbidden giggle bubbles up. The metallic taste of water drunk directly from the garden hose astonishes my tongue. Digging in dirt, capturing a ladybug, the prick of the berry bush, all are new, all are remarkable, all waiting while minutes stretch like hours before me.

I couldn’t sleep; I wouldn’t sleep, not on my one and only perfect summer day.