hi – thanks for clicking my way. this is my debut. so excuse me while i take a sip of water before speaking.
tonight on facebook i did something i rarely do. talk about myself — in a way that uses my own words. often, i quote some amazing and inspiring saying; words seamlessly strung together, but profound nonetheless. other times i will discuss the weather or post about things i have experienced or make comments about i dunno, superficial stuff.
but tonight (about 30 minutes ago actually), it was quite different: “i have determined that not doing something is worse than actually failing at it. so… i’m going to do it. (this is huge for me to actually state “publicly”): i’m going to start writing. i dunno what medium (book? blog?), i dunno what genre (fiction? musings?), i dunno what timing (now? 2099?). but well, evolution requires motion and not doing something is well, doing nothing. wish me luck. thanks.” and in a matter of less than 30 seconds, two of my cousins “liked” my status.
upon typing those words, i felt like i’d just stepped into the “cold room” (as my youngest son refers to the refrigerated vault at Costco) and had taken an exhilarated breath; like i’d just had a baby; or had my first kiss (from a boy i actually liked, not that guy my mom knew from her teen drama classes — yes, parents actually paid for their teens to learn drama… but i digress). or like that moment when you first put on glasses. everything seemed Crys-Tal Cle-ar. like i’d made the right decision.
often, i give great advice (i’ve been told). i tell other people, “do it!” or “you can’t win if you don’t play!” or i quote (butcher) to my kids that great line from “The Dark Knight”: “why do we fall down?” “so we learn to get up.” but me? i’m full of reasons, or at least i was full of reasons to wait. not to fail… just to wait. and wait. and oh, wait. i’d rather clean out my car or basement freezer than actually do something that inspires taking a chance. i know the wrinkled blueberries in the freezer (or the car, third row, under the eco friendly shopping bags) need to go. that’s an easy choice.
but enough is enough. i can’t hide from myself. i will rat myself out eventually. i’m terrible at secrets. privacy i’m good at. secrets – not so much. “look! there she is not writing!” i’ll say to myself and then i’ll say, “molly, what are you waiting for?” and i’ll say, “better advice.” ugh.
who will read? me. probably my parents, because they’re that cool about this stuff. i hope my cousins will. and some really great friends. and maybe they’ll tell their friends and theirfriendswilltelltheirfriendsandoneofthosefriendswillknowapublisherandtheni’llbefamous! egad. i dunno if i’m ready for that.
>sip. need more water. i really don’t like to fly. book signing deals. i don’t have a lawyer. can the Today Show do a remote from my home? sip.<
will i swear? perhaps. that’s me. this is me. it’s wildly ironic(?) that i’m doing this at all — not because i shouldn’t, but because i’ve been fighting doing it for years. it’s part of my genetic denial program, or GDP.
it really doesn’t matter. because what does matter is that i’m doing it. and not doing anything to me is worse than doing nothing. as my dad said (i’ll quote my parents a lot), “i don’t care what you do, but you’re not doing nothing.” it seems i’m finally listening to his …advice? or would that be more of a maxim?
oh, about the title: “Grass Oil” – that’s the name in homage to my youngest son. you know how lots of kids say things really cute when they’re little — like “miminee” for “lemonade” or “botty bots” for “monkey bars”? those two examples are actual things my first two sons said. but my youngest? he said those kinds of things too, but he took it to the next level and didn’t stop. “Grass Oil” was a phrase he would use to describe how something i made for dinner tasted. it tasted like Grass Oil. simple. random. elegant. there it is. what was it that tasted like Grass Oil? hell if i know, but when the kid was three and he came up with stuff like that — well, it just stands out. he’s brilliant. the phrase has become synonymous around here for things that are unique, that stand out. to me “Grass Oil” doesn’t mean “bad tasting.” its use transcends meaning — it just is. and no one else in the blogosphere had taken it. but it speaks to who i am — a mom who can write and knows great phrasing when she hears it.
so i’ll write about all sorts of stuff. motherhood, my cleaning lady, observations and that deflated and overused word, “musings” which maybe i will refer to as “mewsings” or “moosings”; no sacred cows here. but i pledge to be eloquent, occasionally use proper Case and i’ll always be grateful.
i’m clicking “publish post” now… eeeeeeeeeeeeee!
thanks for reading. see? i’m grateful now.
Grass Oil by Molly Field 
Simply…lovely. Proud of you…
I've been waiting for something random, simple, and elegant! So proud of you.
You are the quintessence of grass oil. just sayin. i love it. and I love you for doing this.
I am so proud of you. You make my eyes rain!
Way to go Molly! Can't wait to read more.
mtf, lurvin' the lack of upper case letters! very nice touch! now that you've had a humble-breakin'-the-ice-debut…let's hear from the tiger within you…i love the passion for writing that you have…and the provocative fire that your writing expresses. i'm sure your blog will be a success…will grass oil fuel cars? that was my thought when i noticed the name…(maybe it will fuel your's one day if you get published–who knows!!!) hopefully. good luck to you. nzb.
I TOLD you that book inside you would have to come out!! About stinking time, too. Welcome to the world, baby girl!!!
That's exactly how I started my blog. If you say it in public, then you'll do what you said you'd do, or embarrass yourself to death if you don't. I don't like being embarrassed. Rock on, chica. 🙂
Thanks, Astrea. I hate being embarrassed too.